“Some artworks of the highest order would prefer in a sense to become lost in time, in order not to become its booty.”
— Adorno, Ästhetische Theorie
Adorno’s remarks on the fetishization of Dauer, of the endurance of art in time, pinpoint a problem that often arises when works are being “rescued from oblivion,” as the phrase goes. The hailing of “lost masterpieces” — I am as guilty of this formula as any critic — tends only to reaffirm the idea of a fixed canon, through which everything else is consigned to oblivion. Instead of invoking some cosmic injustice, we should limit ourselves to contingent praise: these works give us exceptional pleasure, in this moment. In a similar vein, I am sometimes asked, in relation to new music, “Which of these contemporary pieces you rave about will stand the test of time?” The unspoken implication: none of them, surely. But criticism is not a matter of betting on which horse will win a spectral race that has no clear victor or end. It is the honest report of an intense experience that may or may not be shared by others.