Howard Goodall traced the turbulent arc of classical music through the twentieth century. He argues that the art form reached its lowest point in the 1950s and 60s, when composers such as Stockhausen pursued extreme experimentalism – abandoning conventional instruments, the note system itself, and any connection with the ordinary listener. Meanwhile, popular music, for all its energy, was largely formulaic: Chuck Berry and Elvis seldom strayed beyond three or four chords. The gulf between the concert hall and the concert-going public had become, Goodall contends, almost irreconcilable.
Into this impasse stepped The Beatles. Goodall’s central and provocative claim is that they saved classical music. Emerging in 1963 as a fairly typical beat group, they brought with them an unusually rich musical inheritance: rock and roll, jazz, blues, dance, film music, and in McCartney’s case – the influence of church music. This breadth equipped them to develop with extraordinary speed. Within a few years they had not only become the dominant force in popular music but had quietly reintroduced into the mainstream almost every musical device from the classical tradition of the preceding three centuries: rich harmonic progressions borrowed from Bach and Mozart, interlocking chords, extensive modulation, and purposeful key changes.
Crucially, Lennon and McCartney recognised no meaningful boundary between pop and classical. With producer George Martin providing both classical training and access to orchestral musicians, the band’s studio work became increasingly ambitious. The results speak for themselves: Yesterday, Eleanor Rigby, I Am the Walrus and many others. Eleanor Rigby is a particularly striking example, its use of the Dorian mode lending the string writing a modal, almost medieval gravity. The influence of Indian music, especially on Harrison, and the pentatonic scale added yet another ancient tonal tradition to the mix. Even in their final phase, the Beatles were absorbing elements of the experimental avant-garde – tape loops, studio-as-instrument – though always in service of accessible music rather than wilful obscurity.
Goodall concludes that the Beatles’ achievement gave subsequent composers – Philip Glass and John Tavener among them – the confidence to return to tonality without embarrassment. The experimental movement had not killed classical music; it had merely driven it underground, where it survived in film, dance, and popular song until it was ready to resurface.
Members found the thesis stimulating, if not entirely persuasive. There was broad agreement that The Beatles were genuine musicians whose harmonic sophistication set them apart from their contemporaries – but some scepticism remained about whether ‘saved’ is quite the right word. Revitalised, perhaps; reminded of its own possibilities, certainly.
The second half of the meeting offered a lighter interlude. Brazilian YouTube pianist ‘Lord’ Vinheteiro demonstrated instruments ranging from a jumble-sale upright to multi-million-pound Steinway concert grands. The group’s verdict was gently democratic: beyond a quality Yamaha grand at around £15,000, the improvements became difficult to detect. The session closed with a glimpse of an automaton violin player – a suitably thought-provoking coda to an evening about what music is, and who or what makes it.
Report by Ian Royston