Eugene David
...The One-Minute Pundit

Saturday, November 01, 2003


That last post and Ben's review of the immortal genius Mr. Sondheim's latest opus give a clue as to why our creative culture's a spent force: it can't and won't do anything right when it's so self-conscious. I noted earlier that Leonard Bernstein was too me-centered to be an enduringly great composer, and his first-class music writing virtually ended when he became the world's conductor (in 1958, the year after West Side Story). And face it, a good many masterworks sprang up almost by accident. When everyone's looking for genius in every nook and cranny -- and too often find it -- posterity gains nothing. And we are so hyperaware of the slightest offense art can do to this aggrieved race or that aggrieved ethnic group, the chance of the happy cultural accident become smaller still. Our age will not survive on rap and blogs, except for derision.

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