Classical music is both familiar and strange to me. My parents played classical radio constantly when I was growing up, and I have primal memories of Robert J Lurtsema intoning “This… is Morning… Pro Musica… on National… Public… Radio.” My dad in particular was a huge opera buff, with a floor-to-ceiling collection of tapes and CDs. When I got to grad school, I was able to place out of the music history requirement just by having picked up so much of it by osmosis.
On the other hand, I don’t ever remember feeling like the music was “mine.” It sounded remote and arcane, a maze of formalities in languages I didn’t understand. Sometimes I liked it, sometimes (often) I didn’t, but mostly it just washed over me.
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