I Know, But: “Symphonie fantastique”

The spiky, hormonal whiff of adolescence clings to Hector Berlioz’s “Symphonie fantastique” Op. 14. A classical music gateway drug, it stands for sophistication as clove cigarettes, Smirnoff Ice Green Apple, or the stems at the bottom of the baggie stand for sophistication, that is to say: not at all. All dark premonitions, opium, orgies, beheadings, and very deservedly unrequited love, it appeals to the young adult with an inkling that classical music is not as sexless as he’s been led to believe, but who also doesn’t know nearly as much about sex as he thinks. This might sound vague, so I’ll give, at some risk of personal embarrassment, an example: When I was in my teens I thought it would be really cool to program “Symphonie fantastique” on a concert, then advertise it with a poster reading “Sex. Drugs. Classical music.”