For awhile now I’ve been waking up to Beethoven, thanks to one of those CD/Radio alarm clocks. I had hoped sweet, ethereal, soul-ish music would cut through the painful brain fog of waking. I imagined soft notes wafting around the room, caught up in a slow dance with the morning light. The shadows of night would be rendered powerless with Beethoven in the room.
Instead, I effectively ruined an otherwise exquisite violin sonata. Instead, I mash the snooze button before the end of the first bar. Only to hear the muted violinist pick up where he left off nine minutes earlier and scratch out several more notes before his execution. Sacrilegious, I know, using a good piece of music like that. If I’m lucky I wake with spinning of CD before the music ever begins.
I hope I’m never at a concert when this particular piece is played. I will break the violin over the concertmaster’s head.
If waking pain is strong enough to ruin Beethoven, maybe I should fight fire with fire, as the saying goes. Reduce pain by inflicting greater pain. For the first time in my life I might actually buy a polka album. Or a nausea-inducing, eardrum-bursting, nihilistic, nails-on-chalkboard, heavy metal album.
On the other hand I could stay with classical and go with Cage instead of Beethoven. His 4’33” piece would be particularly soothing.