But in other cases, as in that of classical music -- well, there are standards, and the tribe of My Opinion Must Ultimately Superordinate is frankly wrong to think otherwise. Certainly if I told you how to operate a particle accelerator, I’d hope you’d actually consult a physicist before proceeding. So it is that if I were to tell you about this vinyl copy of Bruckner’s 9th that I got, which has a studiously breathtaking detail from a Rodin in black and gold on the cover, I’d feel like a fraud. Do I know something about classical music? Sure; I studied piano when I was kid, and I could break down the basics of symphonic structure and the four major periods for you if you had me at gunpoint.
I could certainly scare up a few pertinent remarks about what happened during the blur between the end of the romantic period and the beginning of the modern. Who couldn’t? We are all performers here. But most of what I might have to say about Bruckner would really be a reporting of the feelings I was having while I listened, which, while a totally & incontestably valid way to write about rock and pop music, is a boorish way to talk about Bruckner.

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