When parents talk with me about ways to bring music into their children’s education, I often hear the words “composer studies” or “composer biographies.” If a discussion ensues, I try to frame my responses in a measured way. On the one hand, how grand it is to place music solidly in a curriculum! But a problem lurks in the background, since all too often “composer studies” will imply the absence of concepts that make music come alive with meaning.

So, it’s time to jump into the fray by launching my own version of composer studies under the traditional rubric Composer of the Month—even though that is not my favorite rubric. Still, I love tradition, so Composer of the Month it will be—at least initially!

Let me unpack my thinking. The concept of studying music by concentrating on biographies of the “Great Masters” dates back to the 19th century. The intended goal involves helping a child (or grownup) appreciate music by spotlighting the lives of composers deemed to be primary in our Western musical heritage. But such studies, often shaped by truisms and anecdotes as well as long-outdated or even inaccurate information, inevitably fall short of the mark or are simply boring. The exigencies of limited time in a student’s day can result in the actual music compositions being relegated to “Part 2” of the study, with little more done beyond the playing of a recording.

Of course, this kind of study is better than nothing. But think for a moment: would you advise studying, say, Shakespeare, by first concentrating on a biography of The Bard and, then turning to one of his plays? Similarly, would you approach the paintings of Velasquez or Monet by first focusing on a biography as a key to his paintings? My guess is, your answer would be “probably not.” But, then again, paintings and sculptures exist in physical form; literature is conveyed by words on a physical page; and dance involves a physical body. Music, on the other hand, comes alive solely in invisible sound waves that span a period of equally invisible time. By its very nature, then, music is harder to talk about. So let’s turn ourselves to reasons why our “great” music exists in the first place!

Admittedly, it is hard for us moderns to enter into the thinking of earlier eras, particularly in terms of the aesthetics and logistics framing the arts. Still, we need to try. Our own era, with its almost rabid celebration of “the individual” and “his feelings” clouds our vision of why people, historically at least, have created works of art.

Look up any interview with a renown recent songwriter. What questions are posed? Some version of: “Why did you write this song?” The reader likely will find answers that go something like this: “I had just met someone special.” Or, “I was struggling with hard times.” Or, “I had experienced a significant loss.” Would Mozart, Beethoven, or Bach have given similar answers? What do you think?

The answer is “No!” In most cases, their answers would sound more like this: “St. Nikolas Church has renovated its organ, so this prelude and fugue was commissioned for the upcoming dedicatory concert.” Or, “A new cantata is required for the upcoming Feast of the Annunciation (or whatever festal day is on the liturgical calendar). Or, “Count Razumovsky and the Countess will celebrate the engagement of their daughter, so they have requested a festival overture for the occasion.” Or—for one more example, “My colleague and amici Signor Giorelli has requested two new variation sets for the concerts he has arranged to play in Tuscany.”

In other words, an overwhelming majority of our “great” music was composed for concrete and even mundane or uninspiring reasons, shaped far less by individual “creative” ideas and passions and far more by the logistics of the circumstances, the strictures of current styles, and by other measurable factors like the mechanics of the instruments, the budgets for the occasions, the technical abilities of specific players or singers, or the quirks and pleasures of those willing to pay for the new composition. Gaining this kind understanding of our “great works” runs counter to our modern focus on subjective feelings or the individual’s biographical profile.

So why did we adopt the idea that feelings and biography open the best door to appreciating music? This approach grew directly out of ideas of 19th-century poets, novelists, and philosophers and the movement that we describe as Romanticism. It was supported by radical shifts in science and economics and shaped by the outburst of new technologies and rapidly changing social conditions. Developments such as the ability to capture and preserve music through mechanical reproduction, starting with the player piano and gramophone in the late 19th-century, also radically changed the average person’s relationship to music. No longer did a person have to labor to play or sing music, or even appear where music was being performed. Instead, a lever, knob, pedal, or button could be pushed and, voila, music sounded.

Consequently, a study of these concrete types of factors builds a lively context for understanding music and enjoying it to the fullest. True, a printed composer biography may offer certain of these insights. But juvenile biographies rarely have the space (or are written at the necessary level) to establish and convey this kind of information. Instead, the personal side of a composer’s life tends to be highlighted, crowding out factors that would otherwise inform a child in a more sophisticated way.

In fact, someone like J.S. Bach would be astonished, and possibly horrified, at the thought that we focus on his personal life to shed light on his music. Yes, his life had its joys and tragedies, including the death of his beloved first wife and his remarriage to an equally beloved second wife. And yes he had many children but that was no more unusual for its time than meeting couples today with one, or perhaps no children.

A 19th-century composer like Wagner would be less surprised by our modern obsession with biography, but nonetheless he would stipulate that his music expressed things utterly beyond his own circumstances. He would insist that we examine the musical, textual, and theatrical ideas that he wove together to transcend the hitherto-accepted bounds of musical drama. At certain points, events in his life did hinder, or help, his music to develop. But they do not hold the key to understanding what he wanted each note to convey.

So our new “Composer of the Month” series will attempt to meet the problem head-on, or at least make a good start! In the first edition we take up J. S. Bach, focusing on the professional demands of his stations of employment, selective compositional techniques popular during his era, stylistic considerations, and even a timeline or two. We’ll also feature some wonderful performances and insert a few quizzes for fun—all aimed at fostering a better appreciation of Bach’s music.

The “Composer of the Month” will be part of our offerings within the Circle of Scholars. Yet we’d like everyone to have a taste of what we’re doing. So between now and November 7, we invite everyone to take a look at Herr Bach, “our guy” for November.

Our next composer will have a big birthday coming up in December. Take a guess and we’ll celebrate his music together starting December 1st.

Meanwhile, I welcome your thoughts on our endeavor and sincerely hope you will find my approach helpful.