Cricket Bats and Quality

Some people just know more about some things.
For instance, some people just know more about words...
Tom Stoppard is a brilliant writer, IMO (which, I hasten to add in light of the subject of this post, is worth nothing whatever.)
I realized recently that something I have often wished to say, to find the words for, has already been said, by Henry, in the Real Thing, or more accurately, by Tom Stoppard, his creator.
The Snowbird Statement put the same idea very succinctly, but not with much wit: some music is of higher quality than others; not all music is good. Certainly, musical standards are not absolute or unchanging, and church history attests this mutability. Still, we are convinced that the elements which comprise the musical judgment are objective and are something more than mere assertions of personal preference or of social or historical convention. There are those who, through training and talent, are able to identify music that is technically, aesthetically and expressively good.
One of the complaints about me in my last job was "Oh, she always has a reason....," as if that were a Bad Thing, as if trying to control various aspects of the Liturgy on personal preference, or gut instinct, or whim, or even tertiary sources (my friend says that the O of W says that the official document says...,) were better.
Because that was how the complainant operated. "In your opinion," was the hissed retort to many statements of mine, and when I would cite a reference, seething ensued.
I am not a wordsmith, but oh, how I wanted to make them understand, some things are "good" or "bad," not because I (or anyone else,) says so, but because they are.
Even rudimentary musical explanations (that showy syncopation puts the accent on a syllable that makes the phrase virtually unintelligible, that tessitura is always going to evoke either performance mentality or excruciating strain from the cantors who should just be a conduit for the Word of God, that voice leading pretty much guarantees the altos are not going to find that tri-tone, "evil" is not the best choice of word in the Lord's Prayer to make the musical climax, if you set the tempo that fast when you get to the 16th notes in the last period no one will be able to articulate the words or notes and the hymn will fall apart, of course it's too high not to mention the refrain sits in the sopranos' passagio and if I transpose it the verse will be too low even for the basses and altos...) usually elicited blank stares, and I won't say some weren't just attempts at obfuscation because I was tired of the contempt for experience and education and, yes, talent.
From someone much impressed with his own single afternoon's training in "facilitating" whatever the latest diocesan program was, (Oh no, Spanish-speaking people had to take the program, and he couldn't speak Spanish, but a native Spanish-speaking priest couldn't mediate and translate the session because "He isn't a trained facilitator,") he had no commensurate respect for other people's degrees, or years of training.
And Tom Stoppard, being a wordsmith, defends the rights of "the guy who knows," (to quote Himself,) and in the process defends the primacy of the judgement of the few over the opinions of many, with perfect, perfect, words.
And being a wordsmith, he does so in defense of "the guy who knows" words, (not alas, Liturgical Music.)
But I think even Toby would understand the Cricket Bat "aria" Stoppard wrote for Henry.
To quote Wikipedia: he defends the importance of beauty in language and skill in writing using an analogy with a cricket bat: good writing is like hitting a ball with a cricket bat (i.e. something that has been carefully designed to hit balls with in the best manner possible); bad writing is like hitting it with a plank of wood (i.e., something that has the same composition as a cricket bat, and bears it some resemblance, but is ultimately random and inferior).
I should rather have said, he defends the person capable of creating that beauty, and more, the utility of the well crafted phrase, that propels an idea as the bat does the ball; and defends that person's "right" to say what is "good" or not so good.
(In the same way "good" liturgical music has the ability to bear the Word which is beyond words, and to propel spiritual truths rather than merely pleasing or soothing.)
Anyway, I haven't read or seen The Real Think in a long time and I would very, very much like to.
(Always wanted to play Annie, I'm too old now, of course.)
I'll have to dig it out.