He applied the “Page 99 Test” to his new book, Counterpoints of Ecstasy: Music, Mysticism, and the Enchantment of Modern America, and reported the following:
Page 99 appears just before the conclusion of Chapter 2, “The Naturalization of Numen.” It describes how certain nineteenth-century musical cultures promoted disciplined self-restraint as the proper expression of ecstatic experience. The page focuses on Theodore Thomas, conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, who modeled and enforced strict standards of decorum for both orchestra and audience, including synchronized bowing of instruments, prohibitions against talking or moving chairs, and carefully controlled bodily comportment.Learn more about Counterpoints of Ecstasy at the State University of New York Press website.
This ethos of self-control also extended across the Atlantic. The American journalist George Gladden, for example, praised European audiences for their absolute silence during Wagner opera performances: no applause, no cheers, no visible emotional display, even when a singer delivered a deeply moving performance or “poured his whole soul into the darkness.” When audiences did become noisy or expressive, Gladden condemned them as “savage,” “diabolical,” and violent. In this way, musical elites—conductors, critics, performers, moralists, and audiences alike—framed silence, self-restraint, and internalized experience as virtuous markers of refinement and as the proper form of self-transcendence in the concert hall.
If readers open the book to page 99, they would gain a strong sense of one of its central arguments: that certain nineteenth-century cultural authorities redefined musical ecstasy not as visible excess or collective frenzy, but as disciplined interiority. The page also illustrates the book’s broader concern with how musical experience was reshaped, regulated, and naturalized within modern institutions, including the concert hall. Gladden’s quotations reinforce this point, employing moralizing language that highlights the book’s recurring attention to the ways ecstasy became entangled with hierarchies of class, race, and cultural authority.
However, page 99 offers only a partial—and potentially misleading—impression of the whole. Its emphasis on elite European art music and cultivated restraint might lead readers to assume the book focuses primarily on concert etiquette or bourgeois moral order. What the page does not reveal is the book’s wider comparative scope, which encompasses forms of ecstatic expression in contexts as varied as religious revivals, racialized performance traditions, psychological discourse, and the popular entertainment industry. Here, ecstatic experience often diverged from the ethos of self-restraint, embracing physicality, improvisation, and collective participation. Nor does the page foreground one of the book’s more distinctive contributions: its exploration of how ambivalence, contradiction, and countercurrents shaped—and at times destabilized—interpretations of ecstatic experience.
To encounter these other dimensions, readers might turn ahead a further 99 pages to the introduction of Chapter 6, which opens with a first-person account by Gustav Kuhl, a German writer describing his overwhelming reaction to a ragtime performance in Georgia in 1903:“Suddenly I discovered that my legs were in a condition of great excitement. They twitched as though charged with electricity and betrayed a considerable and rather dangerous desire to jerk me from my seat. The rhythm of the music, which had seemed so unnatural at first, was beginning to exert its influence over me.”This example is just one of dozens of historical accounts of intense subjective musical experience examined throughout the book. Together, they create the foundation of Counterpoints of Ecstasy and illuminate its central concern with the shifting interpretations of musical transcendence in America.
--Marshal Zeringue
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