By Al Drinkle
Springtime had technically begun but the skies remained obstinately indifferent. I was on a solo woodland retreat to nurture my dominant but neglected introverted side, and had just finished reading a novel of extraordinary breadth and insight. The afternoon, like the morning, was mine to do whatever I wanted, so I bundled up for a leisurely stroll through my isolated, snow-swept environs to digest what I had just read.
The book was Richard Flanagan's The Narrow Road to the Deep North, the title of which haiku aficionados will recognize as being lifted from Bashō. Within the novel, the protagonist asserts, “a good book… leaves you wanting to reread the book,” whereas, “a great book compels you to reread your own soul.“Indeed! So I trudged around, rereading my threadbare soul and, among other things, contemplating various definitions of “greatness” that I had been toying with for many years.
This is my first attempt to commit any of these to the page, so let's see how it all goes. As with the definition of a good book that Flanagan communicates through his main character — and despite my own vehement subjectivity — these all leave room for personal interpretation within a hopefully useful framework.
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One could define a great song as one that’s frustrating to listen to through headphones. Instead, one wishes to wander around town blasting it through an outsized boom box like Radio Raheem in Do The Right Thing — not to annoy people and not even of the desire to impose your superior taste upon them, but in the auspicious conviction that hearing the song will eminently improve their day.
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This gets me thinking about what all of my favourite (and therefore the “greatest”!) guitar solos have in common. To me, a great guitar solo epitomizes artistic altruism wherein the song is considerably improved by its inclusion. This may or may not involve fretboard pyrotechnics (my examples below suggests that it doesn’t), but virtuosity only matters if it's serving the greater good of the song, and not just the guitarist's ego. I'm going to make this the most contentious category by providing examples… off the top of my head, there's “Turn Around” by Charlie Megira, “King of the Surf” by The Trashmen, “I Want My Baby Dead” by The Manikins, “Snowblind” by Black Sabbath, “I'm So Glad You Love Me” by Juanita Rogers, “Nobody to Love” by The Nips, “I Walked With a Zombie” by Roky Erickson and the Aliens, “Fix My Brain” by The Marked Men, “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC…
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Definition of a great movie? After deviating from my goal of concision in the previous section, I'd like to keep this simple — but it's difficult! Flanagan's definition of a great book would probably apply here too, and while a very good film consummately entertains, a great one communicates a compelling narrative while catalyzing an array of diverse and often contradictory emotions. Maybe I need an example here too and would cite City Lights by Chaplin. There are parts that make me laugh so hard that I cry and there are parts that are so heartrending that I cry and then by the end I'm smiling and crying and it leaves me shattered with wistfulness about how sad and beautiful life can be.
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A great friendship is one in which small talk doesn't exist and can’t exist — and silence can be as comfortable as effusive chatter. It isn't precluded by a particular activity because each other's company is the activity. A great friend will make hours seem like moments and will reduce the years between visits to nothing more than flecks of dust.
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My definition of a great romantic relationship is one in which, despite your excessive flaws and repeated exhibition of shortcomings, somebody loves you enough that they'd do absolutely anything for you — and you love them enough that you'd never take advantage of that. Like a great friendship, which is a prerequisite for greatness here too, this relationship will also eradicate the concept of time.
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A great sunrise is one that's so beautiful that it seems to deep-clean the soul, as if the universe is forgiving you for all the terrible things that you've done and is offering another chance to be the person that you want to be.
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The definition of a great pet is one that expands your heart to such an immeasurable extent, you have no idea how it hasn't exploded yet. Every time you look at that furry (or winged or scaly) little fucker, you instantly become a master of selflessness.
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Finally, what about great wine? Well, a good wine makes you very happy and invites the pouring of another glass or the emptying of a bottle, but you can tell if it's great by utilizing a simple thought experiment. If you're deriving immense enjoyment from a wine and, despite the exhaustive contemplation of past experiences and desired ideals, you simply can't imagine anything that you'd rather be drinking, then you're probably lucky enough to be engaged with greatness. Note that context matters, and more so than professionals, critics and nerds typically want to acknowledge. Greatness isn’t predicated upon context, but the right circumstances help to unveil the magic.
Forget about 100-point scales, florid tasting notes and preconceptions of prestige, because true greatness in wine is impervious to these things. Unfortunately, a high price also fails to ensure greatness, although one wishes that it did. In fact, staggering prices can be distracting by setting unachievable expectations.
One of life’s most acute pleasures is the elation of discovering greatness in an unassuming bottle of modest origins.
