The Failure of the Test

When I was a young musician, I frequently heard references to “the test of time,” the way compositions were judged worthy if they continued to be programmed and enjoyed years after they were created. The test of time was never considered infallible: every once in a while a lost gem would resurface: a piece that nobody thought worth a second listen proved to reward frequent hearings. And, conversely, occasionally there were pieces that simply wouldn’t go away, though many agreed they probably should.

But those were exceptions that served to prove the rule. In general, if music was still performed and listened to by future generations, it was considered to have successfully passed the test of time. The word “classic” was appropriated to describe this situation: classics were, by definition, great, old works.

That was then. Now virtually everything withstands the test of time. Classics are not necessarily great – they are just old.

You know it’s true: a visit to YouTube, Spotify or any other archiving service proves the point. Was there a stinker of a movie you suffered through years ago? You can relive the pain as often as you like. A song that was forgotten as soon as it was heard can now pierce your inner ear any time you please. Not everything survives, but an awful lot of little merit does.

This is a bad thing, right? Not so fast. It’s different from what I grew up with, but like most changes, it has positive and negative aspects.

Let me skip the negatives for a moment, because I have little patience for people who complain about how things aren’t as good as the old days.

Look at the positive: the test of time was a grossly flawed test. It gave us the same narrow canon of masterworks season after season, pieces that were, for the most part, wonderful — but so much else that was worthy was crowded from view.

Now the crowd is bigger and less wonderful. But the upside: the onus is on us to decide greatness, because there is no test, arbitrary or otherwise, to prove greatness. We must rely on our own tastes, experiences and arguments, consult the tastes, experiences and arguments of those we trust, and stand in opposition to the tastes, experiences and arguments of those with whom we disagree.

It’s a situation both hopeless (because it lacks objective clarity) and exhilarating (because each one of us is given a greater degree of responsibility). Now, when our test fails, we have nobody else to blame.

What does this mean for composers? If you are focused on having your work survive you, relax: with much less effort than ever before, it probably will.

If, on the other hand, you have some other measure for your aspirations, get to work: true greatness is as tough as you want to make it.