Fame Through Frivolity

I have had cause in the past few days to consider the case of the composer/musician doomed to be remembered for his most frivolous work. It started when I received my copy of Thomas Dolby's "greatest hits" collection, called Retrospectacle, originally released in the mid-90's. Tom was not the most prolific of writers of music, but he did write the odd gem, such as "Airwaves", "Leipzig", and the haunting "Screen Kiss". But he's remembered as the one-off one-hit wonderboy of "She Blinded Me With Science", a scherzo with scientist self-parody Magnus Pike on backing vocals, which Dolby himself described as his least favorite song, but one that earned him fame and fortune on both sides of the Atlantic - which, alas, "Leipzig" did not do, even in Leipzig.

Then my daughter had the briefest of appearances in her ballet school's production of the most famous work of Camille Saint-Saens, Carnival of the Animals, a work that he considered so frivolous that he wouldn't allow it to be performed in public, nor published (save the Swan movement). I'm sure he'd have prefered the Piano Concertos or Symphonies to have sustained his immortality, though the Organ Symphony is I'm sure selling better since its airing in the great movie Babe. As I was bringing my ballerina home from practice, what should be on the KVOD playlist that afternoon but Ravel's Bolero - his most famous composition, but one he regarded as trivial - a "piece for orchestra without music". Why can't we like Tombeau de Couperin better? (I do!).

Then there's old Tchaikovsky, who really is remembered for his better works, but who was constantly putting himself down. He even disliked Nutcracker, for goodness sake, but considered the rather boring Serenade for Strings one of his better efforts! No accounting for taste, is there?