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"Some Cynical Guy" No. 4: June 30, 2000 Thoughts While Listening to the Car Radio Let me assure you, first of all, that I'm not composing these thoughts behind the steering wheel of a moving car. I'm doing most of the so-called thinking in the safety of my kitchen on a wickedly humid night in the first week of summer. But the thoughts that led me to sit in this overheated kitchen were triggered as I listened to my car radio a few evenings ago, and that's the important thing. I was driving down Pennsylvania's Route 309 from Allentown to Doylestown for a rendezvous with my friend Anne D. As I drove I listened to WWFM, the small classical radio network that miraculously includes the Allentown area as one of its markets, along with Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and about four other towns of comparable eminence. Anyway, that evening as I was driving down Route 309 from Allentown to Doylestown I happened to catch the final scene of Wagner's "Tristan und Isolde." I must confess that I'm one of those classical music lovers who isn't an opera buff; the interminable, unintelligible caterwauling of beefy sopranos and florid tenors generally gives me aesthetic indigestion. I'd almost rather listen to Attorney General Janet Reno being interviewed on NPR. But I make an exception for Wagner, at least in limited doses. His glittering orchestrations are the stuff of genius, transporting me within seconds to a noble, pre-industrial Teutonic realm beyond the insolent reach of the electronic era. There are no cell phones in Wagner's operas. Anyway, I had tuned in just in time for the climactic "Liebestod" (love-death), one of the most celebrated passages in all of Western music. Here the bereaved Isolde sings over the body of her Tristan, who has been terminally inconvenienced as the result of a well-aimed sword. As she prepares to join him in death, the music swells with fevered longing for a union that transcends life; it pulsates, it shimmers, it thrusts its way to a soaring climactic release unlike anything in music before or since. Just as Isolde was going orgasmic that evening on my way from Allentown to Doylestown, the luscious sounds suddenly gave way to static. My car must have been skirting the outer limit of reception for WWFM; the soprano's sighs and the orchestra's pulsating strings gave way to what sounded like an amplifier on steroids; some barbaric rock station was intruding on the same bandwidth as the Wagner, and it was winning. The rock station and the opera battled it out for about a minute; tantalizing waves of the Liebestod climax alternated with the electronic testosterone of the rock station until the hard stuff prevailed, as I knew it ultimately would. Score another one for rock 'n' roll. I started to think about how emblematic this little incident was... how it seemed to recapitulate the conquest of Western civilization by the rude Visigoths of recent pop culture. Especially the music. Why anyone would deliberately choose ugly music over sublime music is one of the great mysteries of the ages, but it happens every day, and it's been happening for most of the past half-century. For every struggling classical station there must be a hundred purveyors of rock, rap, country, pop and other genres unfathomed by proud cultural reactionaries like me. The plight of classical music is sorry and troublesome. Unbelievably, both New York and Philadelphia lost their only commercial classical stations a few years back; I knew the Philadelphia station wasn't long for this world when its commercials started promoting nursing homes, cardiac care centers and the judicious treatment of mental illness. In any case, commercial classical radio in New York and Philadelphia went the way of Wagner's Isolde, and it wasn't just static that drowned them out. I thought about Gresham's Law, which was formulated by somebody named Gresham; I'm not familiar with the particulars of his life and career or even his first name, but his immortal law still rings with bitter truth: THE BAD DRIVES OUT THE GOOD. No matter that Gresham was talking about bad money driving out good money; cultural commentators have adopted his theorem for general use, and it makes an appropriately woeful credo for cynics. But the question remains: WHY does the bad drive out the good? If classical music is as great as I (and several other people, not all of whom require cardiac care) claim it to be, shouldn't it outlast the sloppy and pandering influence of pop? Shouldn't enlightened citizens naturally respond to the sound of Bach's Brandenburg Concertos emanating from their boom boxes? Alas, good friend, it ain't so. Let me introduce you to Bayan's Law, my own brainchild. Here's how it goes: In any conflict of opposing forces, the side with the most energy tends to prevail. The barbarians had more energy than the Romans, just as Elvis had more than Perry Como. Pit Jim Carrey against Woody Allen, and see who sells more tickets. When the good is driven out, you can usually point to the superior energy of whatever takes its place. Think about how often you've seen something good replaced by something bad, and you might become a Greshamite yourself. Think about ugly, raucous starlings and house sparrows driving our native bluebirds from their territories; that's just the start. Think about quaint independent bookstores yielding to the onslaught of the local Barnes and Noble. Think about old buildings full of history and grace, falling to the wrecker's ball so that we might have a parking garage or a Nordstrom's in its place. Think about our celebrities: how the Howard Sterns and Snoop Doggy Dogs have supplanted the lovable Jack Bennys, Jimmy Durantes and Maurice Chevaliers of half a century ago. Gresham, whatever his first name was, couldn't possibly have foreseen how universal his law would become. If he had been riding with me when the rock station drowned out "Tristan und Isolde," a bleak smile of recognition might have crossed his face. © 2000 by Bridget Petrella Media Relations. "Some Cynical Guy" appears here by permission of the publisher.  "Some Cynical Guy" column archive: 2002 81 -- A Brisk Walk Through the Ruins 80 -- The Fountain of Futility 79 -- Farewell to the Big House 78 -- The Cynical Guy Contemplates Cell Phones 77 -- Rich and Poor in Paradise 76 -- Dead Ducks: A Tale of the Food Chain 75 -- Old Comedians Just Fade Away 74 -- Suburbia Comes to Manayunk 73 -- When Nestlings Won't Leave the Nest 72 -- The Curse of High Standards 71 -- Inside the House of Horrors 70 -- The Post-Yuppie Handbook 69 -- Spring Reflections 68 -- Priestly Perversions 67 -- British Teeth: An Apology 66 -- The Sniffling Snout 65 -- Bullies with Social Skills 64 -- Supermarket Rage 63 -- Is the U.S. Really the Greatest? 62 -- The Holes in Our Armor 61 -- A Breath of Used Air 60 -- The Cynical Guy Has Sex 59 -- Let's Abolish the Seven-Day Week! 2001 58 -- Why Worry About the Future of Books? 57 -- The Friendly Face of Evil 56 -- Why We Live Where We Live 55 -- The Cynical Guy Discovers Talk Radio 54 -- Kite-Flying and Other Crimes 53 -- My Night as a Socialite 52 -- Gardening Is Not for Sissies 51 -- Invaders of the Honeysuckle 50 -- To Be a Cat 49 -- The Upside of Terrorism 48 -- The Vanishing Nerd 47 -- Anger Management for Cynics 46 -- Let's Level the Playing Field for Disadvantaged WASPs 45 -- First Impressions, Lasting Impressions 44 -- Close Encounter with a Go-Getter 43 -- Cheering for a Perennial Loser 42 -- The Cynical Guy Reads the Tabloids 41 -- When Does the Good Part Begin? 40 -- Confessions of an Internet Addict 39 -- The Decline of Punctuation and Civilization 38 -- Oh Baby, What a Nightmare! 37 -- The Cynical Guy Watches 'Xena: Warrior Princess' 36 -- A Night-Stroll into the Void 35 -- In Search of the Elusive Wild Tomato 34 -- Getting in Touch with Your Inner S.O.B. 33 -- The Lure of the Lurid 32 -- Black Tie and Beard Stubble 31 -- In Heaven There Is No Pez 30 -- Did You Make the Forbes Celebrity 100 List? 29 -- Redesigning Mt. Rushmore 28 -- On Listening to Dead Voices 27 -- Selling Your Soul on eBay 26 -- Sympathy for Colonel Klink 25 -- Democratic Celebrities in Exile 24 -- High School Revisited 23 -- A Farewell to Bachelorhood 2000 22 -- Requiem for a Middleweight 21 -- Is There a Gene for Tackiness? 20 -- How the Beautiful People Entertain Themselves 19 -- The Cynical Guy Gets Behind the Wheel 18 -- The Fickle Finger of Fame 17 -- Adventures in Bodybuilding 16 -- Some Don't Like It Hot 15 -- The Cynical Guy Watches Oprah 14 -- Sports Parents: Menace to Society? 13 -- Airfare Is No Fair at All 12 -- There's No Such Thing as 'New and Improved' 11 -- Celtomania! 10 -- The Naked Pate 9 -- Vanishing Act 8 -- Bush vs. Gore: It Could Be Worse 7 -- Who Wants to Be a Survivor? 6 -- Adventures in Heart Attack Prevention 5 -- Where Men Are Men 4 -- Thoughts While Listening to the Car Radio 3 -- History Is HISTORY 2 -- The Great Casino 1 -- Greetings from Your New Cynical Guy

Bayan, who claims to be a "kinder, gentler cynic," currently lives in Allentown, Pennsylvania. His weekly column, "Some Cynical Guy," is published and syndicated by Upbeat Online. 

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