Sunday Morning with Buckley

Happy Sunday morning!

I hope the day finds you as it does me, with a coffee nearby and a psalm on one’s mind — Psalm 5, in particular.

Written by David to enjoy a flute (or pipe) accompaniment, the psalm reads:

 For you are not a God who delights in wickedness;
    evil may not dwell with you.
 The boastful shall not stand before your eyes;
    you hate all evildoers.
 You destroy those who speak lies;
    the Lord abhors the bloodthirsty and deceitful man.

 But I, through the abundance of your steadfast love,
    will enter your house.
I will bow down toward your holy temple
    in the fear of you.
 Lead me, O Lord, in your righteousness
    because of my enemies;
    make your way straight before me.

 For there is no truth in their mouth;
    their inmost self is destruction;
their throat is an open grave;
    they flatter with their tongue.
 Make them bear their guilt, O God;
    let them fall by their own counsels;
because of the abundance of their transgressions cast them out,
    for they have rebelled against you.

A dazzling and instructive piece. Also, “their throat is an open grave” has to be one of the most heavy metal sentences ever afforded a flautist’s flourish.

The cylindrical woodwind was in the news this past week, James Madison’s crystal flute wielded by Lizzo for a sensational media firestorm. The greatest tragedy of the entire episode was the reminder that our culture celebrates profanity and abhors beauty. The videos of Lizzo dressed in black and playing gorgeously on other flutes in the Library of Congress’s collection were overshadowed by her concert performance — yelling b****, twerking, and “stunting.”

That a young woman would find more value in debasing herself as a debauched ignorant when she is as talented and capable as the practice session shows her to be, I’m ashamed. Many of our pop stars are classically trained, but the market demands trash and there are some willing to provide. That the Library of Congress would abet such performances with our nation’s heirlooms is perverse, but I understand the incentives of controversy and what the Library stands to gain. One needn’t like it, but also, I’m not overly bothered. Madison’s flute is not diminished, nor is our country by how generous we are with our possessions.

This column’s title promises Buckley, and here he is, writing a response to William F. Rickenbacker’s (the son of Captain Eddie Rickenbacker) dismissal of Beethoven’s early works through Opus 52, and, further, the necessary eradication of all Ludwig’s operas. Citing the early efforts’ “manipulative bangbang” and formulaic nature, Bill Rickenbacker reckons anything replicable by another isn’t worth much of anything. Buckley’s rejoinder is classic WFB charm and cheek:

You cannot keep music students from permanently ruining the reputation of, say, the “Minuet in G”: though when it is played by, say, Myra Hess, one is reminded of the simple beauty of it, like on of the pastoral poems of Wordsworth. The third movement of the “Moonlight” is a little junky, so what? It is perfectly agreeable, and in any case it is a foundation for some of the exploits so perfectly consummated in the later sonatas.

The very first sonata, in F minor, is wonderfully pleasant; really, what a bore it is to say that having tasted the great vintages, you can never enjoy table wine. Can Mr. Rickenbacker seriously maintain that the adagio movement of the C major sonata (number 3) is less than sublime? The “Pathétique Sonata” is grand and exciting, though to be sure one can skip the last movement, even though music boxes are also worth listening to every now and then.

I tell you what. here is my propitiation to Beethoven. There is a splendid artist whose name is Alfred Brendel, a Viennese who teaches in Mexico and performs everywhere. He has recorded all of Beethoven’s piano music, in stereo, for Vox. And a wonderfully enterprising company, The Dollar Record Plan, Inc., at P.O. Box 86, Pearl River, N.Y. 10965, has brought out these records at the astonishing price of one dollar ($1) apiece. You can buy all the sonatas for $12. If you have caught the Richenbacker virus, you can buy all the later sonatas) volumes 2 and 3) for $6.

Now, my offer is this: Buy the lot. If you don’t like the first half, send them to me and I’ll reimburse you your $6, and transship the records to a hospital, as the anonymous gift of someone who went deaf. And when next I ask Bill Rickenbacker to write for National Review, I shall ask him please to refrain from using the early letters of the alphabet.

— November 3, 1970, “Beethoven’s Two-Hundredth”

What I take from Buckley here is that good things stay good no matter their mistreatment. Beethoven transcends a student’s poor recital or a compressed recording. Our nation’s treasures are not besmirched by misuse. We embarrass ourselves by doing so, but that’s on us. The flute, the psalm, and the Founding remain good, no matter the day’s foolishness.