The Cat's Fugue
And like that, The Cat’s Fugue was out. It vanished from the body of keyboard works commonly chosen for public consumption, otherwise referred to as the canon (a concept could not exist until artists such as Liszt routinely performed music of the past). Of the millions of classical piano compositions, only a couple hundred win the popularity contest of sorts and gain admittance into this category of often-performed works. A very peculiar phenomenon, the canon turns over some members as quickly as hairdos, pants, and political leanings go in and out of fashion. So while The Cat’s Fugue was dumped from the elite musical club, Kitten on the Keys played on around the world.
The situation was both an outcome and an emblem of the growing divide between popular and classical music. Ten years before, one was bound to find both a Chopin nocturne and a popular polka on any given music desk. Now the camps were forming strong and the two sides could not both take pleasure in the delights of curious cats upon piano keys. When compelled to choose sides, the greater public naturally chose the popular side, along with Kitten on the Keys. Just like kittens, popular music is entertaining, malleable to its environment, and a little reckless, while the “cat" is old, predictable, and not nearly as cute.
Two years before the entrance of our Kitten, a fight broke out on the corner of Lenox Avenue and 113th Street in New York City. In doing so, the combatants George Gershwin and Abram Chasins (a famous concert pianist of the day) aptly depicted the divide and mindsets of the two camps: the new and popular vs. the learned and refined. Chasins argued that “George was having a love-affair with music; no regular piano practice, no slaving away at theory, harmony, counterpoint, orchestration, or form.”
CHASINS: “George, don’t you think it would be a good idea to take some lessons? Nobody can do what you want to do without basic training.”
Gershwin stands still and glares.
GERSWIN: “You’re just the kind of person who is keeping me from doing my great work!”
He stamps off, leaving Chasins alone. The two don’t speak to one another for a year.
Unfortunately for The Cat’s Fugue, it was left in a bizarre and most disagreeable midpoint between the two realms. It was much too mature for one side and too cute for the other, and thus, its former membership in the classical dominion was filled by Scarlatti’s less overt sonatas. Once again, our cat made way for the junkyard of musical waste, sauntering however slowly.
