Besides the fact that one of them had an incredibly long name that makes you wonder if his parents loved him and the other may or may not have been routinely beaten by his father. They're polar opposites, really, when you sit back and listen to their music. In today's terms Mozart would be a good deal like, say, Justin Timberlake and Beethoven would be Trent Reznor without the backing band; or with a backing band of people in his head. It really depends on which stories you believe.
Mozart, at first, seems more user-friendly. You can sit back and listen to, shall we say, The Magic Flute and the first time you're thinking, "This is great. Sexy is coming back!" and then you listen to it a second time and sing along, or hum along, there aren't really any words. Then you start to think about it and you're like, "Wait, where'd sexy go? Why didn't it take me?" By this time you've heard it three times so you play it again and you start to wonder. You're sitting back, in your darkened room a darkened room is the only way to listen to classical, thinking about where Sexy would go without inviting you along. Where would this person, who said you were their BFF, go and not tell you about it? Oh, you know. You know you know.
Sexy went hosteling in Europe and didn't invite you along because you're lame. You're lame and secretly Sexy hates you and she's only keeping you around so you'll do her homework. What kind of BFF is Sexy? I'll tell you, Sexy is the worst BFF in the world. Sexy is the kind of friend that goes hosteling in Western Europe, you know, the safer countries. And when she got back she told you she was confused and went to Eastern Europe and didn't want to bring you along because there was a chance you'd be sold into sexual slavery. And you're all like, "But Sexy, you were there." and she's like, "I didn't want to put you danger." and you feel safe and loved but then you hear...
Wind Concerto no. 11
Or, as I like to call it, "The Real Reason You're Now a Godmother." And you realize that Sexy doesn't care about you. Sexy cares about that night in France with those five people two boys, two girls and one she isn't all that sure of she met in the hostel. The ones she didn't want to tell you about because she was, allegedly, in Moldova fending off people that wanted to sell her as a sex slave.
Do you want to know what The Marriage of Figaro is about? Because I can honestly tell you that it's about that time that, had Sexy stayed in the UK for another three years, she'd have citizenship. That's what the Marriage of Figaro is about. And she wasn't even going to tell him that the baby wasn't his! But I'm pretty sure, when the baby was born half-black, he might have suspected something. If not you'd have been able to honestly say "Well that's the man that balances out Stephen Hawking..."
So you're sitting back in your darkened room feeling used, betrayed and more than a little suicidal so you pop in some Beethoven. Yeah, Beethoven understands what it's like when your BFF goes hosteling in Europe and doesn't tell you. You listen to a little Fur Elise and you're like, "Ludwig, how do you know me so well?" Feeling a little better that someone, sure he's a little dead, understands what it's like when your BFF goes hosteling in fucking Europe when she knows good and well that you can barely afford a bus ride across town, conceives a child, gets married, gets divorced and then comes home and sticks you with her love child while she whores herself about town, not paying you a single fucking penny for 18 and 24 hour shifts of babysitting.
Hell, you have to pay a babysitter so you can go to class. And where is she? You don't know. She doesn't text. She doesn't call. She shows up drunk every other week and asks where her little Tommy is and then yells at you for three hours after you tell her that she named him Johnny. At which point she vomits on your shoes and passes out on your couch.
Oh yeah, Beethoven and Moonlight Sonata know exactly how you feel. And Violin Romance / Violin Concerto in D op. 6 knows what it feels like when you have to tell that cute boy from your physics class that you can't go on a date with him because your friend abandoned her child with you and you can't afford childcare. It knows what it's like to be given the look. The look that says, "You don't have to lie. I know it's your child." and know that he, and most of society, wouldn't believe you when you tell them, "But he really isn't my child!" So you don't bother, no, you sit at home with Tom-John, as you're starting to call him, and wonder if foster care is really as bad as the news makes it seem.
And just to make yourself feel a little better you tell little Tom-John that Mozart's Requiem has nothing on Beethoven's Symphony no. 5.
[this is good] By far the best and funniest comparrison between Beethoven and Mozart I have ever read. You know after reading all this, I wish that Sexy would stay away.....
Posted by: Samuel Counter | August 18, 2010 at 03:14 PM