ARIA
I feel so small every time I listen to the main Aria of the Goldberg Variations.
It's the melody, of course, but it's also the mathematical precision of the entire work, the way happiness and sadness intertwine without one having to apologize for the other. Also, there is the pianist, who needs an extraordinary level of technical training and, more importantly, a degree of musical maturity that cannot be acquired simply by practicing eight hours a day.
As a composer and pianist myself, I cannot help measuring what I hear against what I know I am capable of producing. I sit at my own piano, think about the music I write, the hours I spend working on it, the ideas I get excited about, and then I listen to Bach. Suddenly, the distance between what I do and what is possible seems enormous. My music sounds like "Mary Had a Fucking Little Lamb."
And yet, I don't feel discouraged. Quite the opposite. Composing is one of the activities that brings the greatest joy to my life, regardless of the final product. I don't need to write a Goldberg Variations of my own, thank you very much. One is quite enough.
But Bach does something to me that goes beyond admiration. His music seems to reach out and become the whole universe. For a moment, I become painfully aware of my own limitations, of how much I have yet to learn, and of how small my contribution to this enormous musical world really is. I'm not saying this with regret. It's simply a realization that comes with listening to something so extraordinarily complete.
At the end of the day, I'm just glad I can sit at my piano, open my ears, and have access to music that continues to challenge everything I think I know about it. I can spend my life composing my little pieces, enjoying every minute of it, and still be humbled by the work of another composer.
And if my music sounds like "Mary Had a Fucking Little Lamb" afterward, so be it, I can only hope that Bach is too busy being dead to notice.