The problem with reclaiming music for the people

It's really interesting when you see the way we look at the whole history of music, we think of it all as being classical and then one day it was jazz and then one day it was rock and roll. But, in a lot of ways, I think what you're really seeing is the music of the people taking over. Taking the position it should have always had.
--Will Sheff of Okkervil River, in an interview with Pitchfork.

Homer: Oh, Lisa! There's no record of a hurricane ever hitting Springfield.
Lisa: Yes, but the records only go back to 1978, when the Hall of Records was mysteriously blown away.
--The Simpsons, in the episode "Hurricane Neddy."

So here's the problem with Sheff's statement: the history of music is actually awash in populist movements; it wouldn't be far-fetched, in fact, to say they've consistently outnumbered all others. The idea of reclaiming music for the people, of bringing it back to its folk roots where it rightfully belongs, has been around since early humans started carving flutes out of bones. If Sheff or anyone else has never heard of these movements, it's not for their lack of numbers, enthusiasm, nor even prominence. No less than the revered poet Goethe himself railed against the artistic liberties taken by Schubert in setting his poetry to music, for example. He much preferred the simple, strophic works of Reichardt and Zelter, which were more closely attuned to the feeling of authentic German folksong that he was after.

But of course, if you know your composers, then you already know how this story ends. You've heard of Schubert; you've likely not heard of Reichardt or Zelter. Here, then, is the great mystery: each generation might favour the backward-looking music of its contemporaries, yet remembers only the forward-thinking artists of its past. And as the present fades into history, the cycle repeats itself, discrowning yesteryear's populists and shoveling them underneath with such ferocity that when a new populist movement emerges, it looks around and genuinely believes itself to be at the forefront of rediscovery. What gives?

I have two explanations for this mystery. First, all populist movements share a common sense of aesthetics: simplicity and purity, as evinced by an artist's earnest conviction and lack of formal training. (Keep in mind that populist movements are urban, middle-class phenomena and distinct from the traditional music of rural folk they often seek to emulate, which tends to be less concerned with issues of authenticity and places a higher value on virtuosity.) There are only so many ways for populists to do simple and pure, though; by contrast, there are countless ways for visionaries to do multifaceted and challenging. Consequently, an established backward-looker won't sound all that different from an up-and-coming one and thus won't be missed, but each new forward-thinker is unique and irreplaceable. So over time, while the former simply rotate, the latter steadily accumulate.

Still, I think my second explanation is more likely, which is that backward-lookers always know who their audiences are, so they always know exactly which social language to speak in, which emotions to validate, and which well of shared values and cultural assumptions to draw from. Forward-thinkers, on the other hand, cannot foretell their future audiences, and thus are forced to express themselves in ways that transcend any particular time, place, or culture. So the populists of our own time will speak personally to us in ways that the visionaries among us simply do not. We might be convinced that this makes them superior and invincible. But our time--and our place, and our scene--can happen only once, and then never again. The future, however, is forever.