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By David Amos
 SAN DIEGO—Some time ago, I found in my compact disc library an album titled Romantic Moments. It was a collection of dreamy, romantic classical music in schlocky, gooey adaptations for the appropriate intimate moment, I would assume. Don’t ask me how I had acquired it. Maybe the record club sent it by mistake, or someone eagerly gave or mailed it to me.
So, why not? I put it in my car’s CD player, and from my commute to and from work, I gave it my undivided attention.
At the first hearing, I was horrified. It turned out to be a compilation of familiar classics which were re-orchestrated, mostly for violin and orchestra, into disgusting aberrations of the originals. Just like a piece of salami, chopped, pressed, processed, cut, and more than a few miles away from the initial inspirations of the composers.
The purist in me instantly screamed garbage, Garbage, GARBAGE!!! Although many of the selections, I must admit, were tastefully performed, but the sheer, unadulterated commercialism of music which I hold next to sacred, arrogantly altered to boot, truly offended me. Nevertheless, I played the disc in its entirety.
But, Then, I started to think: There are many fine people out there who may like this recording. And, horror of horrors, I bet that some may actually consider it their favorite disc!
I started to rationalize. Maybe it could be an introduction to classical music for some people. It certainly was accessible stuff. But, on the other hand, so many attempts have been made to popularize the classics by watering them down, to, supposedly appeal to the musically uninitiated, and most have failed miserably. It may superficially entertain, but hardly convert others to the joys of quality classical music
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I kept thinking of this self-indulgent abomination. No doubt, it was conceived as a money maker. Maybe it could be used as a soft (very soft) background music at a dinner party. Maybe it could serve to soothe nerves at an acupuncture session, although it may have quite the opposite effect on me, putting me on pins and needles. It could augment a romantic evening for musically ignorant lovers. Or, it may come handy as a frisbee in family picnics.
My classical background and training has always taught me that in practically all cases, the original conception by the composer is the best. There are of course, exceptions, but the less we fool or tinker with the works of the masters, the better. The intents of the composer should be respected.
In trying to loosen up and not be so austere in my judgment, I concluded that this is nothing more than a commercial project, produced to make sales, with a potential appeal to a reasonable number of buyers. It may make many people feel good, and goodness knows, that is better than the loud, aggressive pop one hears in other car radios in slow, heavy traffic, with the car’s windows fully open, as if to taunt the frazzled nerves of fellow commuters on a hot summer day.
As a rule, performing artists analyze, agonize, and give a lot of time to study a classical work, attempting to penetrate and be faithful to the composer’s intentions, while tastefully making a personal statement as well.
The story is told of a time when the legendary conductor Arturo Toscanini, was talking to other conducting colleagues on how to interpret Beethoven Symphonies in the most authentic way possible. Others participating in the conversation explained their sources, such as, “Beethoven was Carl Czerny’s teacher, and Czerny was so-and-so’s teacher, and that man’s nephew passed along to me tips directly from Beethoven himself." Toscanini disagreed with this very graphically, by picking up the conductor’s score of the particular symphony, pointing to it, and saying, “I have an even more direct source, the notes that Beethoven wrote here!” End of argument.
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