Fun Time?

Glancing through the latest edition of Pianist magazine, I was alarmed by an article from our friend Martin Prendergast, who spends most of his spare time as one heck of a terrific amateur pianist. Attending a dinner party recently, Martin writes, he was startled to find someone mouthing judgmental platitudes about his beloved hobby. Apparently being a keen pianist is self-indulgent. Which means you shouldn’t do it.

Martin mounts a spirited defence, explaining some of the sacrifices he makes to keep up his expertise – he rises daily pre-lark to practise for two hours before work on a silent weighted keyboard with headphones – and he thanks those close to him for indulging his indulgence. But still…

I’ve encountered plenty of nastiness about predilections for playing classical music – especially when I was a music student desperate for somewhere to practise. But never, ever before have I heard of anyone being morally judgmental about someone choosing to play the piano as a hobby.

Hobbies generally are a bit self-indulgent. I mean, in the time we spend on needlepoint tapestry, sketching by the river or going on stop-the-war marches, we could be slogging more hours at the office, working ourselves into an early grave, ruining the UK’s economy, or learning how to siphon off our organisation’s money into our own bank accounts. Heaven forfend that we should spend any time trying to add something spiritually meaningful to our personal and individual lives. 

You ever heard of anyone being sniffily, bossily judgmental about a fellow dinner guest expressing a fondness for binge-drinking of a Friday or spending Saturday afternoon at the Emirates Stadium or gambling at the races? The notion that something more demanding can also be fun – maybe that is just too much?

Martin handled it with brilliance and diplomacy, but I wonder if it’s an indication that if we’re not careful we might face a sort of cultural revolution in which a pastime that requires skill, is artistic or faintly intellectual, and is carried out primarily to please ourselves, will be automatically disapproved of. And if we stop creating music, art and idealism, life generally will be that much less enjoyable and attractive.

I’d better shut up or else I’ll find myself agreeing with Roger Scruton, whose programme about beauty on TV at the weekend was nearly brilliant, but not quite. The squalling out of the Pergolesi Stabat Mater in St Pancras Station wrecked it, as did his apparent inability to draw upon attitudes towards beauty in the world outside the UK, Prince Charles’s model village (!), and Italy beyond the Renaissance, which could have made his best arguments even stronger. I do agree, though, that ‘beauty’ can be what makes life worth living. And if we have to create that beauty as amateurs rather than pros, then so be it – at least it will still exist.

Anyway, it’s our choice. As long as it doesn’t impinge on anyone else, it’s nobody’s business. If I’d been Martin, I’d have put the guy’s nose in a sling.

An autumn note

“For many, the end of this uneasy year cannot come quickly enough”

An ordinary killing

Ian Cobain’s book uses the killing of Millar McAllister to paint a meticulous portrait of the Troubles

Greater—not wiser

John Mullan elucidates the genius of Charles Dickens
Search