I am unfit for polite society for a lot of reasons. Breaking down in tears a few seconds after switching on the radio, for example.
You read about people at the moment of death, or near death, seeing a white light. I think that what you hear is something like the minute that starts at about 4:16, here.
There are people who like to flippantly call pieces like the Emperor — well known, often played — “war horses.” In the exemplary words of Robert Graves’ celebrated essay on swearing, I suppose they need their bleedin’ ear-‘oles syringed out.