"But, on the other hand, if Schubert were alive today, he would find even richer fields to plow"
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There’s a sly generosity in Fischer-Dieskau’s conditional: it’s praise dressed up as a counterfactual. The line pivots on “on the other hand,” as if he’s gently pushing back against a familiar classical-music lament that modernity ruined the soil and the great composers were the last real farmers. Instead, he reframes the present as abundance. Not purity, not decline: richer fields.
Coming from Fischer-Dieskau - a singer who helped redefine how Schubert’s songs are performed and heard - the remark reads like an artistic manifesto. He’s not only defending Schubert’s durability; he’s defending interpretation as a living, contemporary act. “Fields to plow” turns composition into labor and curiosity rather than divine lightning. It suggests Schubert wasn’t a museum piece even in his own time, but an engine of appetite: for new poems, new sounds, new publics.
The subtext is also a quiet rebuke to classical gatekeeping. If Schubert would thrive now, then the walls between “serious” music and modern life look less like tradition and more like habit. Fischer-Dieskau hints at what the 20th century actually gave musicians: recording technology, global circulation, expanded harmonic languages, a widened canon of texts, and audiences primed to listen in new ways. The sentence flatters the past without surrendering to it. Schubert’s greatness, he implies, isn’t that he completed a closed world - it’s that he left a method: keep digging, keep planting, keep turning feeling into form.
Coming from Fischer-Dieskau - a singer who helped redefine how Schubert’s songs are performed and heard - the remark reads like an artistic manifesto. He’s not only defending Schubert’s durability; he’s defending interpretation as a living, contemporary act. “Fields to plow” turns composition into labor and curiosity rather than divine lightning. It suggests Schubert wasn’t a museum piece even in his own time, but an engine of appetite: for new poems, new sounds, new publics.
The subtext is also a quiet rebuke to classical gatekeeping. If Schubert would thrive now, then the walls between “serious” music and modern life look less like tradition and more like habit. Fischer-Dieskau hints at what the 20th century actually gave musicians: recording technology, global circulation, expanded harmonic languages, a widened canon of texts, and audiences primed to listen in new ways. The sentence flatters the past without surrendering to it. Schubert’s greatness, he implies, isn’t that he completed a closed world - it’s that he left a method: keep digging, keep planting, keep turning feeling into form.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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