In a world shaped by TikTok – a world that scrolls by in seconds and speaks in soundbites – where does an orchestra belong? What becomes of nuance in an age that rewards instant recognition, binary emotion, and algorithmic approval?
I’ve spent my entire life writing for wooden instruments – breathing things, crafted from trees and time, shaped by centuries of touch and tone. These instruments speak the language of ambiguity: of longing, irony, contradiction, tension, release. Their voices were once mirrors for the human soul. But now I wonder – does this vocabulary still reach anyone in a world of LED-lit attention spans and 15-second hooks?
This isn’t nostalgia. It’s a philosophical reckoning.
We no longer live in a culture of cafés, where ideas and nuance are passed like quiet notes between espresso cups. We inhabit a space where subtlety is indistinguishable from silence, where complexity is suspect, and science itself is often dismissed as elitist dogma. We don’t listen to understand; we consume to affirm. The dialectics of meaning have been replaced by the immediacy of reaction.
In the new arts, there are no shades of gray. Just a tribal black and white. Not the chiaroscuro of Rembrandt or the ambivalence of Mahler, but a brutalist beat marching forward beneath declarative lyrics. A machine art form, unyielding in rhythm, absolute in posture, efficient in its aesthetic flattening. It is not “bad” – it is simply not of the world I know.
Is this the result of cultural entropy? A biological pivot? A pendulum swing to counter centuries of introspection with an era of post-literate emotional literalism? In the 1960s, if you were Black and an intellectual, you spoke through jazz. You channeled history, pain, and transcendence into complex harmony and rhythmic defiance. Jazz was resistance and reflection. Now that idiom has been collapsed by the raw algorithmic ascendance of EDM and rap – forms that speak to their own truths but have lost their inner harmonic tension. They exist not in conversation with silence, but in conquest of it.
Perhaps this is a new dark age – an aesthetic pillaging by digital Vikings who trade not in gold, but in attention. The inner life, that most sacred of Romantic inheritances, is now measured not in depth, but in reach. Introspection has become an eccentricity. Spiritualism, a footnote. The individual voice has been subsumed by the hive. Or perhaps this is not decay but reconfiguration. A renaissance not of complexity, but of immediacy. A new human prototype, reshaped by dopamine loops, neural rewiring, and existential fatigue. Maybe we are witnessing the birth of a different kind of soul – a soul that finds silence unbearable, ambiguity useless, reflection inefficient. A soul that does not long for a cello’s lament but is content with a drop and a loop.
Where, then, does an orchestra fit?
It may no longer belong in the center. It may no longer be the voice of its age. But that does not mean it is irrelevant. The orchestra becomes something else – a sanctuary for those who still believe in uncompressed feeling, in the slow burn of thematic development, in the spiritual dignity of unresolved chords. We may be prehistoric thinkers in a post-human age. But we are not extinct. We are the keepers of the ghost tones, of the dynamic arc, of the fragile sigh of wood against string. We are reminders that not all beauty is instantaneous, not all meaning is declarative, and not all art needs to shout to be heard.
And maybe that is enough.
Grammy-nominated David Chesky is a composer of orchestral works, operas and ballets, an author of children’s books, a jazz pianist, and a world-renowned innovator of audio technologies. He is the co-founder of Chesky Records and the person behind HDTracks and The Audiophile Society.
Header image courtesy of the artist/Patricia Dinely.
