Moments

Classical music works are full of moments. A moment can be anything from a certain sound that evokes an image in your mind to a convergence of multiple threads of development that finally declare the theme of a work in full force. It can be the reappearance of the main melody of Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, midway through the piece, or the first time the left hand begins to play arpeggios during Debussy's Clair de Lune, or the haunting melody that begins Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No. 3, or the fugato near the end of Mozart's Jupiter Symphony, or the first three notes of the finale of Beethoven's Fifth.

Why do these moments affect us the way they do? Because composers prepare you for them (in the case of a beginning, it, too, bears some relation to the rest of the piece and is better appreciated during subsequent listens). By the time a certain moment arrives, you subconsciously perceive its significance, which is usually more than onefold. That is, a single moment can play many roles all at once.

Imagine a moment in a movie where a man walks slowly toward a house to open a door. When he reaches the door, it is the completion of his walking. You notice the gentle way he reaches for the doorknob and also the complex emotion his face shows while doing so. The door is the one he placed there himself when he built the house 20 years earlier. Now, the sun peeks out from behind a cloud and shines light on his face, revealing scars. You notice consciously for the first time that he is carrying a small package, even though he was carrying it the whole walk up to the house. The door opens onto a familiar room - it is the room from the dreams he had been having. Standing on the other side of the door are his wife and children. He has not seen them for four years, during which time he was away at war. He extends his hand, package inside, to his wife, and she grabs hold of him, forcing the package to fall to the floor.

Novelists, screenwriters, and film directors like to create moments like this in their stories, and so do composers. In this movie moment, there are many points of significance, but you would not consciously enumerate each one while watching. Rather, you would simply feel all of the significance, perhaps somewhere in your chest. You would be aware of all the things going on in that scene on a subconscious level. The same type of thing happens while listening to classical music, only everything is more abstract, having the effect of invoking your imagination. Along with all of this, there is also the mathematical aspect of classical music that helps make the music sound good and can help create some moments that satisfy your mind's craving for sense and order.

Now, many moments can be experienced only in proper context. Consider a dramatic movie. You cannot just watch one 2-minute scene and expect it to have the same emotional impact as it would have had had you watched the whole movie, especially if you are not already familiar with the story. Likewise, when listening to Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, the triumph you feel at the opening of the last movement depends on your having experienced the previous three movements. This is why it is often recommended that you listen to a work the way the composer intended it to be listened to.

A concluding remark: There is a philosophy in art that says that a work should have only one main theme; otherwise, the work should be divided into multiple works. Thus, every part of a work should have some relevant and necessary relationship with the main theme. Sometimes, there is a single moment in such a work that expresses the work's theme forcefully, revealing the meaning of all of the moments that came before. An example is during the finale of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony when the chorus sings Ode to Joy. In my opinion, this kind of moment is one of the most amazing things to experience in art.