Electronic Music as Modern Classical

Alright, let me set the stage for you here. For some reason, a lot of people like to pit electronic music against classical music, as if they’re totally separate worlds and one has to be superior to the other. They picture classical music as the pinnacle of human expression, played by orchestra gods in fancy suits, while electronic music gets reduced to some repetitive noise for strobe-lit dancefloors. This kind of thinking does nothing but belittle the depth and emotion in both genres and completely ignores the fact that, if you look at them closely, electronic music is absolutely the modern-day classical music we’ve been waiting for.

To understand why, let’s start with what classical music was in its time. Back then, it wasn’t just some dusty relic for academic types or background music for posh dinners. It was revolutionary. Beethoven, Bach, and Tchaikovsky weren’t writing for the sake of tradition—they were tearing down conventions, bending rules, and redefining what music could be. They explored complex emotions, depicted grand narratives, and experimented with new structures. Their works weren’t just entertainment; they were cutting-edge expressions of the human spirit, pushing the boundaries of what sound could evoke. Sound familiar? Because that’s exactly what genres like techno, ambient, IDM (Intelligent Dance Music), or even certain forms of EDM (Electronic Dance Music) are doing today.

Electronic music isn’t just about pressing buttons and fiddling with knobs. It’s about using technology as an instrument, just like a violin or a piano, and expressing ideas that are often more avant-garde, more boundary-pushing than anything you’ll hear in a typical pop song. Think about the synthesizer, for instance—it’s like the Stradivarius of the modern age. Just as violin virtuosos coaxed endless shades of colour and texture from their instruments, electronic artists sculpt soundscapes out of thin air, using waveforms, modulation, and effects as their tools. This isn’t just someone clicking "play" on a laptop—it’s a craft, a skill that takes years to master. The synthesizer is no less legitimate an instrument than a piano or a harp. It’s just new, and some people are always gonna be stuck in their ways when it comes to accepting new forms of expression.

Genres like ambient and minimal techno—yeah, the kind you’d think of as “spacey” or “repetitive”—often evoke the same kind of emotional depth and spaciousness that you’d find in a piece by Debussy or Satie. The looping structures of electronic music aren't mindless repetition; they’re like the delicate patterns of a fugue or the gradual build-up of a symphony’s theme. An artist like Aphex Twin, for example, with his haunting melodies and intricate rhythms, can paint a sonic landscape as vivid as any orchestral score. Tracks like "Avril 14th" don’t just give you a melody—they immerse you in a mood, much like a Chopin nocturne would. And then there’s the genre of IDM, where artists like Autechre or Squarepusher seem to bend time and space itself with their intricate, almost architectural compositions. If you listen closely, the layers unfold like movements in a classical suite, with themes and variations that defy easy categorization.

And let’s not pretend classical music has always been easy to swallow. Back in the day, audiences thought Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring was utter chaos—hell, it caused a riot at its 1913 premiere. Yet today, we celebrate it as a masterpiece, just like people will eventually (and some already do) recognize the brilliance in electronic compositions by artists like Brian Eno or Oneohtrix Point Never. These are not just musicians but sonic architects who use their tools to create vast, immersive worlds. Just as Bach’s fugues or Beethoven’s sonatas play with tension and release, rhythm, and form, electronic compositions manipulate sound and structure to evoke something deep in the listener.

Sure, electronic music isn’t tied to sheet music or traditional instruments, but that doesn’t make it any less valuable. The tools are different, but the goals are eerily similar. Composers like Max Richter, who blurs the lines between classical and electronic, or Nils Frahm, who merges piano with synthesizers, are proof of this shared lineage. They show that we can use old and new techniques to chase after the same timeless truths about the human condition.

So, let’s toss aside this idea that one is inherently superior to the other. If you strip away the technology and the centuries, what you’re left with are people—composers, artists, whatever you want to call them—pushing sound to its limits to convey something that goes beyond words. Whether it’s the sweeping romanticism of a violin concerto or the hypnotic pulse of a techno track, what’s really happening is an exploration of emotion, structure, and imagination.

Electronic music is the modern classical music, whether people want to admit it or not. It’s got the same spirit of innovation, the same drive to push boundaries, and the same power to move people. It might not look like a symphony orchestra, but damn if it doesn’t feel like one. And if we can just get our heads out of the past long enough to really listen, we might just hear a new kind of symphony unfolding right before us.