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We Don’t Have to Choose McSlop
I was in the gym with my son yesterday, enjoying the rare opportunity to work out with him (he’s at university in the UK while I’m currently in Switzerland). The gym was full of the noise of some uneducated gansta rapper churning out the stock clichés: swear words, women as bitches, trite observations about things of no importance whatsoever. I mentioned to my son that it’s a shame this is standard gym noise these days.
My son, who currently is cultivating the excellent habit of being open-minded, opined that it was merely a matter of personal preference. Some people, he thought, enjoyed what I regarded as ugly life-diminishing aural pollution. He went on to say, “You like serious music, lots of people like this. There’s no difference between the two. It’s just a matter of personal taste.”
I thought about this for quite a while because it’s a clear illustration of how our Politically Correct modern modes of thought have served us ill. There is in fact, objectively as well as qualitatively, a huge gulf between the works of Mozart or Beethoven and the mindless noise spewed out by the latest transiently fashionable no-talent rapper. It’s the same gulf as exists between a Vermeer and a small child’s painting. It’s the same gulf as exists between Shakespeare’s plays and a Trump tweet. It’s the same gulf as exists between a carefully prepared meal in a three-toque…
