Rock opposites

Merriam-Webster defines the “Apollonian” temperament as “harmonious, measured, ordered, or balanced,” the “Dionysian” temperament as “frenzied or orgiastic.”

No rock ’n’ roll era figures epitomized the Apollonian-Dionysian divide more clearly than the producer George Martin and the keyboardist Keith Emerson. Martin was best-known for his work with The Beatles; Emerson for his work with the progressive-rock trio Emerson, Lake & Palmer. Both were musical titans. And they died within two days of each other in March.

Martin produced every Beatles album except the final, Phil Spectorized version of Let It Be. In so doing, he helped revolutionize the very pop culture that has, during the last half century, become the dominant culture of the West and maybe even the world. Not for nothing was he knighted 20 years ago.

But Martin himself was no revolutionary. He was, rather, a flexible, levelheaded professional devoted not to calling attention to himself but to bringing out the best in the many performers who sought his services.

The abundant fruits of Martin’s approach can be sampled on Produced by George Martin: 50 Years in Recording, the six-disc box set Capitol Records released in 2001. Of its 151 selections, only eight are by The Beatles or the solo Paul McCartney. The rest feature what has to be the most diverse roster of musical talent one man has ever overseen.

There are British Invasion classics (by Billy J. Kramer with The Dakotas and Gerry & The Pacemakers), soundtrack classics (Shirley Bassey’s “Goldfinger”), soft-rock classics (by America), and classical classics (performances of Chopin and Mozart).

There are also worthy curiosities from jazz greats (Stan Getz, John McLaughlin), British comedy stars (Peter Sellers, Spike Milligan), acclaimed singer-songwriters (Jimmy Webb, Neil Sedaka), and middle-of-the-roadsters (Kenny Rogers, Céline Dion). Played end to end, the box—which doesn’t even include Martin’s biggest-selling production, Elton John’s Princess Diana–commemorating version of “Candle in the Wind”—somehow coheres.

Keith Emerson, on the other hand, was as incendiary as Martin was cool. Whether ensconced behind the organs and pianos of his breakthrough band The Nice or behind the Moog synthesizers that were the visual trademark of the Emerson, Lake & Palmer stage show, he became notorious for extravagantly flamboyant showmanship and for tearing into compositions from the high-cultural songbook with an iconoclastic fervor matched only by his virtuosity and imagination.

More than a few rock ’n’ roll fans no doubt owe their introduction to Modest Mussorgsky (Pictures at an Exhibition), Alberto Ginastera (“Toccata”), Aaron Copland (“Hoedown,” “Fanfare for the Common Man”), Sergei Prokofiev (“I Believe in Father Christmas”), and Leonard Bernstein (“America”) to Emerson’s unforgettably audacious renditions of their works.

There was more to Emerson than fireworks. Particularly in his Piano Concerto No. 1 (1977) and his album Emerson Plays Emerson (2002), he displayed a varied and often refined sensibility. Few, however, would have paid attention to either undertaking had it not been for his larger-than-life onstage persona.

Martin and Emerson reflected their Apollonian and Dionysian differences even in death. Martin died in his sleep at 90, a man in full. Emerson died at 71, the victim of a self-inflicted gunshot. He was, reportedly, afraid that his diminishing dexterity might make him a laughingstock on the tour of Japan that he was about to undertake.

In 2004, Emerson published his autobiography. Its epigraphs included a Tennyson quotation that begins, “Come not, when I am dead, / To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave. …”

Honoring that request would be easier had Emerson, like Martin, seen his race through to the end.