We’ve all got our contradictions.
I, for example, will diligently rinse out food cans before recycling them, carefully tearing off the labels so that the paper and metal can be disposed of separately. And yet, I will rinse out milk bags and put them straight in the garbage despite their recyclability. I have no idea why.
I will dutifully use the glass-and-paper method with a beetle that has wandered into my house, shepherding it outside to the garden where it can live a happy beetle life. And yet, any spider in my house gets the Kleenex-and-toilet-flush method faster than you can say, “double standard.”
To make myself feel better about these contradictions, I just think about French composer Francis Poulenc, who, like me, was a person of contradictions.
It starts with his parents, who were a contradictory pair: his father was an industrialist from a Catholic family in the south of France who ended up running a chemical factory with two of his brothers. His mother was from a Parisian family of artisans.
This divided family tree seems to have portended further contradictions in his life, as explained in an article written for NPR on the fiftieth anniversary of Poulenc’s death:
Although Poulenc could be witty and effervescent, his spirit wasn’t always so light. He was prone to bouts of the blues. He was once in love with a woman, but he also came to terms with his homosexuality. He relished his friends and Parisian social life, but he also craved the solitude of his country home in Touraine, where he spent time composing. He was a religious man who wasn’t above a risqué comment or two.
Huizenga, Tom. “A Little Part Of Poulenc In All Of Us.” NPR, NPR, 30 Jan. 2013,
So, Poulenc was a person of contradictions.
Which is to say: Poulenc was a person. Just like the rest of us, regardless of our selective recycling habits or biased handling of multi-legged home invaders.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. Though it was written in 1941, its cadences make it sound nearly baroque.
2. Though it’s usually performed by a full choir, this small-scale performance (by British ensemble Apollo5) somehow makes it sound more powerful.
3. Though it cruises along for most of its five minutes with a minimal amount of dissonance, there’s a surprising note in the soprano part, just as the piece enters its final thirty seconds. It’s a semitone higher than the listener expects; the kind of note that pushes your head back on your shoulders and raises your eyebrows, as if you’ve just watched a loved one heartlessly destroy a well-meaning spider.
Recommended listening activity:
Putting together an outfit that clashes on purpose.