If one believes in the intrinsic value of art, then -- contrary to most contemporary ways of thinking -- taste and social construction are of decidedly secondary importance. Composers often speak of pieces being well constructed or clever, sometimes even brilliant, and then go on to say that they don't particularly care for them. This is because personal preference is seen as being much less important and enduring than these other, harder-to-define criteria. Even real Shakespeare-haters are unlikely to criticize the quality of his verse. We can all feel the genius even if we are not all sensitive to its charms (or at least this is what I tell myself).

Some composers may be bristling at this point and muttering that they are not so cavalier as to completely disregard public taste and societal demand. They may believe this, but ultimately they are wrong. If taste and society were their real yardstick, then the Billboard Hot 100 would be the true arbiter of worth and value (in the non-economic sense, as it already is in the economic sense). Let's face it, any "classical" composer holding that view is in the wrong business.

This is not to say (as some have done) that success is incompatible with cultural value. It is merely to say that the worth of a work is either intrinsic to it and therefore completely independent of its commercial success (as I believe), or it's determined entirely by its social reception, in which case any flash-in-the-pan boy band is "better" than just about any "classical" composer.

So while an individual composer may feel he is considering both his audience and posterity, the work will ultimately be valued on its intrinsic merits alone. Whether they were achieved in an effort to please audiences or provoke them will become irrelevant.

When we look at our system of cultural production and delivery, we realize that it was shaped by this belief in the intrinsic value of art. Museum curators, artistic directors, ministers of culture, music directors and other chattering-class nabobs exist to sift through the masses of mediocre work and find those with real quality. This is almost the inverse of the pop-music or market-oriented system, where music is played for demographically sorted focus groups, and -- presuming the sampling techniques are adequate -- it's immediately obvious what's a hit and what's a flop.

Over the last few decades, however, even the most revered cultural institutions have been affected by market-think. Selling art these days requires a marketable theme, a marquee name, sex appeal and advertising sponsorships. Most major symphony orchestras now give their marketing directors the equivalent of veto power over the music directors. Album covers of new releases by classical soloists offer a panoply of beefcake and cheesecake. The Web site for talented young violinist Hilary Hahn looks as if it might be publicizing a new show on the WB about a beautiful teen violinist and her struggle to balance the rigors of art and worldwide touring with teenage life. (I want credit if that actually becomes a series.)

Anyone looking at those photos and the seasons now offered by classical music institutions has to wonder whether those involved are still listening for the next great performer who will transform how we hear, or whether they're just looking for a strapless gown or a bad attitude. Of course, this sort of thing exists all over the cultural world. Does anyone believe that the Guggenheim Museum's exhibits on motorcycles or Armani fashions are driven by anyone's conception of intrinsic value?

This situation is the inevitable result of an unwillingness on the part of the public to take someone else's word -- the word of an "expert" -- on whether something is worth seeing or hearing. Today we want to decide for ourselves. "Choice" is the buzzword of our times; how can one object to it without seeming to be some sort of arch-reactionary snob who wants to force his taste on others? But there's the rub: The whole market-driven system is predicated on a basic belief incompatible with the idea of intrinsic value or worth.

Technology magazines predict a day when we will shape a movie as it unfolds, giving it the ending we want, concentrating on the characters that interest us most, and generally making it into a movie designed for each viewer. How wonderful: We'll all be the artists shaping our own artistic experience.

Marcel Duchamp and John Cage taught us that a toilet seat or traffic noise could be appreciated aesthetically. So why not shape sculpture into what we want to see, or a piece of music into exactly what we want to hear? If we accept the market's basic assumption -- that the customer is always right -- then this can only be a positive development. My fear, however, is that rather than free the artist in everyone we may be eliminating the place for art altogether.

What happens if there are truly intrinsic values, or if we at least believe that there are? This view, which has dominated our culture until quite recently, led schools to force children to read Shakespeare and college students to read James Joyce. The idea was that whether they enjoyed these works or not, the works were somehow important.

Even in the United States (one of the few countries that do not see the need for a cabinet-level guardian of culture), presidents invited orchestras to play for them whether or not they liked orchestral music. John F. Kennedy had an aide who told him when to clap so as not to embarrass himself. Families dragged children to operas, museums and ballets.

Recent Stories