Latest / Nero: Mad Tyrant or Misunderstood Emperor? — Fexingo History / Nero's Music: The Emperor Who Played Rome
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've covered a lot of Nero's world — the fire, the building projects, the conspiracies. But there's one thing that was almost as important to him as anything else, and it's something the Roman elite found absolutely scandalous: his music. Luna: Right, the singing emperor. But wasn't that just a hobby? Lucas: Oh, it was far more than a hobby. For Nero, music and performance were a genuine obsession, maybe even a vocation. He trained relentlessly, took his art deadly seriously, and saw himself as a true artist — a citharoedus, a singer who accompanied himself on the kithara, that large wooden lyre used in formal contests. Lucas: He even had a vocal coach, a famous citharoedus named Terpnus, whom he brought in to teach him. Nero would practice for hours, doing vocal exercises, and he even followed a strict diet to protect his voice — he avoided certain fruits and foods that he thought were bad for his throat. This is an emperor, mind you, who had the whole world at his feet, but his greatest ambition was to win a singing contest. Luna: So he genuinely thought of himself as a professional musician? Lucas: Exactly. And that was part of the problem. In Roman society, performing publicly for money was considered degrading — it was the province of slaves, freedmen, and the lower classes. For an emperor to step onto the stage was an almost unthinkable breach of decorum. But Nero loved it. He first performed publicly at the Juvenalia, a festival he created in 59 AD to celebrate the first shaving of his beard — a coming of age ritual. That was a private-ish affair, but it set the stage. Lucas: Then he went further. He started performing at the public games, and eventually he insisted on competing at the Olympics — not in the athletic events, but in the musical competitions. And he wasn't above a little cheating, as we covered in an earlier episode. He basically bought the victories, but he took the competition itself very seriously. Luna: So what did he actually sing? Lucas: That's a great question. We don't have any of his music, but we know he performed works from the Greek repertoire, and he also composed his own pieces. Suetonius tells us he sang about the Great Fire of Rome — the one he famously didn't fiddle during, by the way, that myth came much later. After the fire in 64, he actually performed a song about the destruction of Troy, which some people took as a commentary on the fire. He also wrote poetry, though none of it survives. Luna: Wait, he wrote his own songs? That's kind of impressive. Lucas: It is, and it's part of the complexity. Nero wasn't just a dilettante — he was deeply engaged with the artistic culture of his time. He loved Greek culture, the whole philhellene thing, and music was central to that. But his passion for performance also had a dark side. He would force senators and other dignitaries to attend his recitals, sometimes for hours on end, and they were afraid to leave. He even posted guards at the exits, according to Suetonius. Luna: That sounds more like a hostage situation than a concert. Lucas: It does. But there's another layer — Nero used his performances to send political messages. By singing about the fall of Troy, he was drawing a parallel to the fire that had devastated Rome, and he positioned himself as a new founder, like Aeneas. He was also openly competing with the memory of past emperors, especially Augustus, who had tried to promote traditional Roman values. Nero was basically redefining what it meant to be emperor — not just a ruler, but a cultural icon. Lucas: And it worked, to some extent. The common people loved him for it. They flocked to his performances, cheered him on, and saw him as one of them — a man who wasn't above the arts. But the elite saw it as degrading, and it fed into the narrative of his tyranny. There's a famous story that when Nero performed, he would sometimes make mistakes, and the audience was so afraid of his reaction that they would applaud anyway, even if they thought he was bad. Luna: So his concerts were a mix of terror and fandom? Lucas: Pretty much. And you know, there's this lovely detail from Tacitus — he says that when Nero sang, he would sometimes have the audience sing along with him, and he'd get annoyed if they didn't know the words. He was that committed to his art. Lucas: We should pause here for a second. You know, we do these conversations without any ads — no sponsors, no interruptions. It's a choice we've made, and it's the kind of thing that keeps the show feeling like a proper discussion. If that matters to you, you can help keep it that way with a small contribution at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It's a simple way to say you appreciate what we're doing. Luna: I think that's a good thing to mention — it keeps us free to go down these rabbit holes. Lucas: Yeah, and we're grateful for anyone who chips in. Anyway, back to Nero's musical career. There's another angle I want to get into: his rivalry with the ghost of an old actor. You see, Nero was fascinated by the theater, not just music. He loved acting too, and he would perform in tragedies, wearing masks and reciting verses. But he was particularly obsessed with one role: the character of Orestes, the Greek hero who killed his mother. You can see why that might resonate with him, given what he did to Agrippina. Luna: Oh, that's a loaded role for him to play. Lucas: It is. And it's one of those moments where you can see the psychological depth of the man. He also played the role of Heracles, and he was said to be quite good at conveying madness and despair. But what's striking is that he wasn't just performing for the stage — he was performing for his life, in a way. His artistic ambitions were so intertwined with his identity that they became part of his downfall. Lucas: When he was finally overthrown in 68 AD, and the Senate declared him a public enemy, he reportedly said 'Qualis artifex pereo' — 'What an artist dies in me.' Whether or not he actually said those exact words, they capture the tragedy of his self-image. Here was a man who believed his greatest legacy was his art, not his rule. Luna: And yet, his art didn't survive. Lucas: No, it didn't. The music, the poetry, the performances — all gone. But the legend lives on, and the irony is that his musical pretensions became a symbol of his decadence and madness. During the Great Fire, the story goes that he 'fiddled' while Rome burned — that's an anachronism, because violins didn't exist, but the image of a man so absorbed in his art that he ignored the flames is powerful. It's a myth, but it speaks to how his contemporaries and later generations saw him: as a man who valued appearance over substance, art over duty. Lucas: But there's a counter-narrative too. Some modern historians argue that Nero's philhellenism and artistic patronage were actually a deliberate attempt to bring a new cultural golden age to Rome. He built the Domus Aurea with its lavish frescoes, he promoted Greek-style competitions, and he associated himself with Apollo, the god of music and light. In that sense, he wasn't just a madman — he was a visionary who wanted to reshape Roman culture. And he failed, because the elite rejected him and the memory of his excesses was too strong. Luna: So his music was both a personal obsession and a political tool. Lucas: Exactly. And that's what makes it so fascinating. Nero wasn't just a tyrant or a fool — he was a complex figure who used his art to try to connect with the people and to assert his power in a way that was unprecedented. He pushed the boundaries of what an emperor could be, and in doing so, he created a template for later rulers — not always in a good way. But the next time you hear about 'Nero fiddling while Rome burns,' remember that it's not just a metaphor for negligence — it's a window into the soul of a man who really did believe that his music mattered more than almost anything else. Luna: I've never thought about it that way. Thanks, Lucas. Lucas: You're welcome. And that's our story for today. If you're curious about Nero's Greek tour and his performances at the Pythian Games, we have a whole episode on that — but for now, I'll just say this: Nero's music may be lost, but its echoes still resonate in how we think about leadership, art, and obsession.