The Pocket Square

Composer Karlheinz Stockhausen, a queer mid-flight find.

I flew to Washington DC last week on Virgin America. I love flying VA out of San Francisco International Airport because it leaves out of the International Terminal and one gets to skip all the turgid fits and halting starts of the rest of the airport. I also adore the little TV that awaits you in the back of the seat just ahead. Though getting all the channels over the course of a flight is a dicey proposition, the music selection is often pretty good–a solid mix of listenable pop and indie rock that won’t scare the parents.

As I went through my listening options I came across the occasional nugget, like a smattering for tracks by Frank Zappa including “Camarillo Brillo.” The classical music catalog was far smaller than the pop, and populated mainly by what you might expect: Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, Chopin and Brahms. I was impressed to see a bit of Philip Glass, quite a bit of Steve Reich and Estonian composer Arvo Pärt. Boilerplate for 20th century music to be sure; when I met her, Washington Post classical music critic Anne Midgette called Pärt ”NPR approved” classical music, and not NPR in an “Isn’t Ira Glass just the coolest” sort of way. I liked her appending the derogatory “NPR” tag to classical music as well, particularly because I’m so fond of slighting NPR rock. Neko Case, Sufjan Stevens and Andrew Bird can all spend the rest of their lives playing to a festival of ever-rotating 40-somethings in Bennington, VT for all I care.

So I had Reich, Glass and Pärt to choose from in the adventurous listening category, but as I paged through my options I came across a wholly unexpected choice: Karlheinz Stockhausen. Difficult in an extreme sort of way, I’ve only really dabbled in his music. Gruppen was appealing, perhaps more so in premise than execution, but I found myself immediately drawn to what was there. Virgin America mustered only two or three tracks, as opposed to all of the Daniel Variations and Drumming by Reich, but nonetheless here was a chance to have a swig of the hard stuff free of charge. 

I later sent a note about my find to Alex Ross, the New Yorker’s classical critic, whose book and website The Rest is Noise which are, by my lights, required reading. He was pleasantly surprised at my find, but lamented being stuck on Continental, “which has yet to discover the twentieth century on the audio channels.” I can’t say that the Stockhausen, which pieces I can’t even recall now, was the most pleasurable listen, but good on VA for giving me the opportunity. Better yet, well done to the music curator who has clearly slipped one past the goalie here, while still serving all the Bloc Party, Brad Paisley and Alicia Keyes a wider audience craves.

I confess that after some Reich, Mahler and Tchaikovsky, Reich was especially pleasant for reading, though my book–A Nervous Splendor, on imperial life in Vienna 1888-1889–demanded Mahler. Eventually I turned to the music videos, a thin group whose only standouts are Beyoncé’s If I Were a Boy and Jennifer Hudson’s Spotlight. The things we do, and find, when ESPN isn’t available.