[M]uch of the sexuality of what we call classical music is in the harmonies. It can be in the melodies, of course, especially in opera and song, and to a lesser extent in the rhythms (with obvious exceptions—Bolero); but I’d say, by and large, the deeper and darker urges make their home in the chords. Whereas if I listen to some jazz performances, for instance, I immediately feel sex in all different parts of the musical fabric: the timbre of the voice, the bending of notes of the melody, the sultry backbeats, even the process, the improvisatory feeling-around. And it’s hyper-evident in a lot of pop, too—the human voice above the pounding beat, often-raunchy words, and harmonies that stay out of the way, to let the other parts do their work. When people who are used to other styles of music come to classical, I often sense they are looking for these visceral pleasures, but they’re not there, not in that form. And when I listen to other styles of music, too, I often have to remind myself that I’m missing the point. I’m looking for pleasure where I’m not meant to find it.

Jeremy Denk, Every Good Boy Does Fine: A Love Story, in Music Lessons