MAHLER TWITTER

There was something icky about Mahler Twitter, a sort of mild, feverish hysteria amongst (mostly) men that brought to mind the romantic despair and suicidal madness of Werther, the famously doomed, lovesick protagonist from that famous novel by Goethe.

As a casual observer, it seemd to Nick that there was a sort of unspoken competition between various classical music minded accounts to see who could express the most excessive and decadent hyperbole about Mahler and his symphonies; and as a consequence it had the unfortunate and undesired effect of making him question his own authentic and sincere love of the composer and his work.

"I have just listened again to Mahler's 9th symphony in the darkness of my room and it has left me a shuddering wreck, a spent force in a loveless age," - account MahLaLand tweeted followed by "If you don't hear from me in 24 hours, it'll be because I died from the sheer tragic beauty of Gustav's final death notes."

NakedBruckner replied to MahLaLand in an equally pretentious manner, "I can listen to the 9th only in darkness. Daytime seems too crude for such exquisite morbidity."

On and on they tweeted in this fashion as Nick was preparing to write his own book on the ten symphonies (some say eleven if you were to include the song cycle Das Lied Von Der Erde) for his publishers. With a deadline looming, he was under pressure to deliver the first draft. And yet, the more time he spent on Twitter, the more his love for Mahler decreased and subsequently his motivation to finish his book.

"Just played the 7th and want nothing to do with the world anymore. Just me, Mahler and Nature. Please be kind." - Wunderhorn86 tweeted, much to the irritation of Nick who found he was now in some algorithmic hell, a sort of Klingsor's garden of soy boy flower maidens who were opining about their beloved Mahler as if he belonged solely to their unique and sycophantic cult.

"Fuck this! I can't do it! I'm calling the publishers to tell them I quit," he shouted out loud as Francis (his girlfriend) tried to talk him down from his obvious frustration.

"Maybe you need to just stay off Twitter for a bit. It's clearly doing your head in. Play some Sibelius. That always helps."

Stepping down from the proverbial ledge, Nick nodded and deleted his Twitter account, taking his girlfriend's advice as he played Bernstein's classic recording of Sibelius's 5th Symphony with the New York Philharmonic.

"Oh my God, darling. You're so right. Sibelius keeps me honest. It's like splashing cold water on your face after a panic attack. It was like I was trapped in some sort of fever dream, a never ending episode of The Twilight Zone. But with Mahler."

But later that night, in the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep, he couldn't help himself but re-activate his account to see what Mahler Twitter was saying. It had become like a desirous curse, one that held a peculiar fascination for him.

"If anyone tells me Das Lied isn't Mahler's actual 9th Symphony then I will report you for hate crimes against music," MahLaLand had recently tweeted.

NakedBruckner also had something to say on the matter. "The sensitivity of genius is something most mere mortals won't understand. But those of us on here with tender hearts and high emotional EQ's have some small inkling. We love you Gustav."

It was at this point Francis woke up to the sound of glass breaking and loud banging.

"Oh my God! What's going on?"

She walked into Nick's study/office to find he had completely obliterated his desktop Apple computer with a large hammer she hadn't seen since they first moved into their apartment and hung up some paintings on the walls.

"You need to stop right now, Nick. This isn't healthy."

"Fuck these absolute cunts and their bullshit. I hate Mahler! There. I fucking said it. I. HATE. MAHLER! Come and get me fuckers!"

Looking like a hipster version of Jack Torrance with a deranged grin on his face, Francis sensed this would be a good time to leave for her own personal safety.

Discreetly packing just her essential items, she left her mad, frenzied boyfriend to his own descent into a heart of darkness. Sitting in the back of a taxi, looking up at their apartment window before driving off, she intuitively sensed he was too far gone to bring back from the point of no return  without a wider collective intervention of friends and family. It had happened a few times before but never quite as bad as the display he had put on tonight.

"Francis?" Nick called out, but deep down he knew she had gone. Mahler Twitter had finally ruined him, destroyed the one thing of value he had to fall back on when his mind was in turmoil.

Sitting in the darkness of his now lonely apartment, he slipped out a vinyl copy of Richard Strauss's 'Ein Heldenleben' conducted by Herbert Von Karajan with the Berliner Philharmoniker and played it full blast as he waited for his downstairs neighbours to call the police on him. He felt not dissimilar to James Dean in 'Rebel Without A Cause' when surrounded by cops outside the Giffith Observatory in Los Angeles in a doomed attempt to save his friend Plato.

There is a point in even the sanest of minds when something snaps.

And Nick had found that point in Mahler Twitter.

How many others had been broken in similar fashion, he wondered.

Maybe there was a book in it?

He'd call his publishers in the morning. If they hadn't cancelled him already.