YES, HE POLISHED UP THE HANDEL ON THE BIG BRASS DOOR!

I went to the local opera house last night, and I can report that, even after 125 years, the magic of Gilbert & Sullivan still delights modern audiences. I realized that the operettas of Gilbert & Sullivan were the Monty Python's Flying Circus of the nineteenth century, or, more accurately, Monty Python were the Gilbert & Sullivan of the twentieth century. They are direct descendants in the line of silly British comedy.

After the show, I wondered why it is that modern composers seem bound and limited to strictly serious subjects. The last modern operas I've seen were Dead Man Walking and The Death of Klinghoffer, and every other modern opera I can think of is also based on a morose topic. Even Broadway's greatest living composer, Stephen Sondheim, is afflicted with the glums. His masterpiece, Sweeny Todd, tells the story of a serial killer, and most recently there has been a revival of his Assassins, which is concerned with people who have attempted to murder presidents.

Now, there's certainly nothing wrong with serious topics, and such fare is an improvement on the Sex Music for Adolescents © that the music industry forces upon us, but even Bill Shakespeare wrote comedies as well as tragedies. Where is the modern version of Rosalynde? Where is the 21st-century equivalent of Gilbert & Sullivan?

Part of the problem, of course, is that classical music has become closer akin to a religion rather than an entertainment. Audiences flock to yet another rendering of Beethoven's Ninth or Handel's Messiah so that they may be spiritually uplifted; they listen to Mozart in order to spin their brains from straw into gold. The very idea that classical music could be fun borders on blasphemy—like saying that prayer or Holy Communion could be fun. And if one aspires to be a classical composer, it is analogous to becoming a high priest or a theologian in this religion. The job of the composer is to come up with new theories and esoteric discords, just as it is the job of the performer to interpret the scriptures of the ancient masters. Where is there room for fun in such a scheme of things?

Classical votaries would sniff in disdain at the very notion: Of course classical music is serious! Why, we're all very serious and high-minded people—that's why we prefer only the immortal masterpieces! In the lands of the East, such people join the Taliban, but we occidentals instead study fugues or memorize all 193 leitmotifs of The Ring.

The problem has been exacerbated by the dead-end classical music has driven itself into, and by this I mean atonality and dissonance. How does a composer write a merry dance or a rousing tune if his style is to employ tone-rows or clusters? How do you stage a song contest in act II when there is no longer such a thing as melody?

A highlight of the performance I witnessed of The Pirates of Penzance was an extra two verses added onto the show's most famous tune, "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General." The verses contained references to the local sports teams and personalities, and I'm told that it has been a tradition to throw in such topical references. Hearing Eminem mentioned in a 19th-century operetta had a great effect on the crowd, and it led me to wondering why this couldn't be done with other operas.

Why, for instance, should we not jettison the dreadful libretti of Wagner's operas—at least the endless repetition of "O joy! My heart is filled with wondrous joy!"—condense the operas and insert topical references? If nothing else, it would keep more audience members awake during the tedious hours.

Ah, there I go blaspheming again. The very notion of vitiating the sacred masterpieces drives classical votaries to apoplexy! The classical repertoire consists of works of pure genius, and they are the zenith of perfection! Suggesting that they could be improved is as if I had rewritten the Gospels so that Pilate instead sentences Jesus to six months of community service. The goal in classical music is not to modernize anything whatsoever; the only valid performance is one which is unimpeachably "authentic." Who cares if all the enjoyment has been drained from the music?

As a footnote, I would fain observe that from December 11, 2004 to January 21, 2005, the Lyric Opera of Chicago will perform The Wedding, a comic opera with music by the admirable William Bolcom with a libretto by Arnold Weinstein based on Robert Altman's 1978 movie. It is billed as being "witty satirical, poignant, and hilariously funny!"

I hope it's a success.