The Greatest Composer’s Apology (Not After G.H. Hardy)
At the time of writing these words, I have published 66 albums on my personal website. Given what I have accomplished in music, I am convinced that I am the greatest composer of all time. In this following essay, I will explain why it is the case.
The most important factor that separates my works from those created by others is that I ask important questions that most composers rarely ask. For example, as I was exposed to both contemporary music and Classical music when I was young, I was tempted to ask: “Can Hip Hop be as great as Bach and Mozart?” In order to answer this question, a few more questions need to be asked, such as “can we compare artworks that belong to different genres?” and “are Bach and Mozart really great?” It is no easy task to answer these questions in a serious and satisfactory manner, which is why most composers and musicians alike simply dismiss them. If answering these questions intellectually is hard, investigating them in one’s own works is exponentially harder. In fact, in order to really understand these big questions and answer them, one must take the hardest path, which is to become a composer at least as great as Bach and Mozart. You have no right to judge someone who is standing on top of a giant mountain which you do not even dare to climb. The problem is: talking is much easier than making an effort. As a result, while we hear a lot of conversations regarding the great composers, very few have the ambition to become one, let alone actually act upon that ambition.
Although the analogy between climbing a giant mountain and the path to become a great composer seems convenient and convincing, reality is much more complicated. When climbing a mountain, it is often wise to follow well-traveled paths. On the contrary, composers who follow the footsteps of their predecessors are doomed. Strangely, in art, every time a path is traveled, it becomes a trap. Even the artist himself must resist the temptation to repeat what he is already familiar with. A person wishing to become another Mozart will probably achieve nothing, because, literally, everything that he may dream to achieve has already been perfected by Mozart himself.
The only way to be as great as Bach and Mozart is to invent something radically different from anything in existence. This has been increasingly the case as all musical genres seem to have flourished so much that it is almost impossible to go anywhere without accidentally stepping on well-traveled paths. On one hand, it seems to be an advantage to be able to access so much musical knowledge and resources accumulated throughout the decades and centuries. On the other hand, one cannot help but feel that he may have arrived too late in a gold rush.
It is true that everything has two sides. Knowledge, training, technology, you name it - exceptions are yet to be found. Someone ignorant of artistic creation can have a hard time understanding why knowing too much is fatal. Just look at the fact: why did many great artists create their most uniquely significant works during the earliest stage of their careers? Apparently, it is because they had not yet been poisoned by too much knowledge and training, not to mention the toxic impacts of fame or success itself.
No knowledge or training can substitute the deep and immense excitement that captivates your soul when you happen to stumble upon a truly profound idea for the first time. In a sense, nothing else should matter at all. If knowledge, training, and the aid of technology cannot give you that flash of genius, all of them are burdensome and worthless. True geniuses are always extremely cautious of the adversarial effects of learning. The unpolluted sensitivity of a child-like soul is the most sacred source of joy and creativity.
Then, why am I convinced that I am the greatest composer of all time? What does it even mean to be “the greatest composer of all time”? Apparently, my understanding of the term is not centered around knowledge, training, or applications of technology. In order words, when I say “the greatest composer”, I am not referring to the most knowledgeable composer, the most skillful composer, nor someone capable of performing fancy tricks with the aid of new technology. I am referring to someone different, something different.
“The greatest composer” may be a composer who is not “great” at all according to any measurable standards. In fact, he may have never shown the slightest interest in meeting any of those standards in the first place. He may have never even given a damn about being “great”. He may have felt sick of it all since day one. He may have intentionally remained anonymous and invisible, and may continue to do so. He may have consciously and purposefully excluded himself from musical history, just like plotting a conspiracy. Indeed, if musical history itself may be a conspiracy, why not plot against it with another?
Considering my lack of dark humor, there is no way I may deserve the title “the greatest composer”. But it may be you, which may be why you have been lured to read this stupid essay, and this may be my conspiracy. I may be plotting a conspiracy against yours. Now that you are aware of the existence of my conspiracy, make yourself known.
Am I “the greatest composer”? It is already 2 o’clock in the morning and I need to get up early to attend a Latin class at 10. It may be appropriate for me to stop here and leave you wondering. After all, according to my theory, you have to be at least as great as “the greatest composer” to know the answer. Well, of course you are. Otherwise, why would you even bother to come here?
An evening of September, 2020