Music Form & The Mind

Recently I was reading a book by James Tenney all about "Clangs" and "sequences" in music. Clangs being just groups of sounds, either horizontal or vertical, and sequences where collections of these sounds. There were all kinds of tidbits of a lot of technical jargon about how these groups of sounds effect form and create form etc... 

and then I was reading a book entitled "The Psychology of Music" by Seashore. Where, for an example of the content, there was a lengthy look at vibrato, what makes it pretty, why we like it and how much the average vibrato deviates from the pure tone (using some very complicated graphs). 

This is all well and good, and, for the most part, was actually very cognitively interesting. But it got me thinking. Even though it is all interesting and these two people obviously went to great lengths to break apart music and analyze it on these minute, almost atomic levels and I appreciate their academic research and endeavors, but when it all comes down to it, who cares. In the Seashore he went on about how we can scientifically analyze music on an emotional level. It was really bizarre. I still can't quite understand how he worked that but I have come to grips with my failure. 

I have always had some issues with this kind of analyzation and breakdown of music. I know it is there, it exists, I have had to do quite a bit of it and all that, but when it comes to actually creating something musical, I actually go to some length to disassociate my mind from these aspects and allow things to organically unfold as they see fit. So, outside of the academic world, and geeks like me, what does this atomic level of analyzing really mean, and what are we suppose to do with it. People don't actually compose grouping things into "Clangs" consciously and so forth. 

One thing Tenney did talk about, which I liked, was when he was talking about music forms, traditional forms in particular (i.e. Sonata, Rondo, Fugue etc...) he made the distinction that these are not forms, but formulas. 

I am not really sure what my point is in writing, but it got me thinking about the purpose of analyzing music in this way, and does it really serve a functional purpose. 

Another fine example is Forte's "Structure of Atonal Music". This book goes beyond the horizon of Set Theory and takes it to levels that I can't even imagine. And in the end, who cares how many times set 3-12 is transposed and smattered throughout "The Rite of Spring". In the end it still caused riots and still is one of the great 20th century pieces and no one is the wiser... especially given the fact that Stravinsky did not do it purposefully. Which further begs the question, why impose analytical and formal functions on music that was written without those tools. Take that Schenker!!!

It really chaps my hide.

Process and an Audience

Due to a couple of very intriguing posts over here and a couple of interesting conversations on a few composition listservs that I belong to, I have been doing a lot of thinking about process, tension, art vs. entertainment, new territory and a plethora of other similar ideas.

Due to the recent passing of Robert Rauschenberg I have been looking at a lot of pictures of his work, and listening to various interviews etc... basically anything I can get my hands on (or eyes on) just to try and get a real perspective of this man's great work. Especially the later glass work, I knew a lot of his work from the 60's but never really looked at this newer work. Of course it is insanely interesting, but that is a post for another day.

Rauschenberg's ideas on process have intrigued me to a point where I find myself thinking about it almost constantly over the last few days. Which also brought me to reflecting on John Cage as well (specifically dealing with the white paintings, which came before 4' 33"), and reflecting on his ideas of process, tension and exploration. So I have been sitting at a piano (in my elementary school classroom, which I find just hilarious, Cage pieces being pounded out of an elementary school classroom, and I think Cage would find that delightful in its own way) playing various Cage pieces, to the best of my ability anyway. Both of these men dealt with an almost pure process related perspective. For Cage, at least on a generally speaking level, was more about how to go about writing a piece, or experimenting with sounds etc... than he was about the final product. 

I was also recently listening to an interview from Chuck Close. He began talking about similar ideas about experimentation and process. The idea between tension and process goes like this:

as you go along you have artistic ideas, no matter what art form you particularly practice, you begin to establish processes, wether conscious or not. Basically you have ideas and you try to express them through your art. Now these ideas can be of all sorts, but for my purposes and how I am currently dealing with my work, these ideas are about the process itself. Close talks about continuing to introduce new challenging ideas to keep tension in your work and this allows you to progress as an artist. Otherwise you are just finding something that works for you, and then you stagnate until you die (and even after in some cases). The idea becomes that each "completed" work is simply a snapshot of a constantly evolving process.

Based on these thoughts I had this idea of introducing new ideas in my work, (at least new to me, or things I have never tried, no matter if they already have a place in history or not), and as soon as I get a piece done that I feel does a good job representing that process, to never write a piece like that again. Move on, find another method or change the process so much that it becomes something completely different. One person on a listserv said that eventually you will have to repeat because you will run out of things to try. Well, I think that is foolishly narrow in thinking that everything has been done, and there are only so many things one can do etc... Of course this was a part of a conversation about art vs. entertainment that I will discuss momentarily. 

Kris Tiner talked about, in a comment to another post at another place, that when things seem to not be working it is because he has fallen into "some kind of groove". Which I heartily agree with and have had many experiences like that myself. Not to say that the work is necessarily bad, but the fact that it isn't working for you anymore should be blaring sirens that you need to move on from that process.

Which brings me to the point of art vs. entertainment. During the listserv conversation on this topic one gentleman composer actually stated that we have to remember that we, as composers, are not our target audience. This is such rubbish. We are absolutely are target audience. We are the first person to hear the piece, we are the person who decides to let it out into public or not and if we aren't continually intrigued and challenged by our work, then what is the point of working, we should just run off and become the next Yanni or Tesh or American Idol judge. 

The conversation went on and on like this, and it surprised me that most of the people were wholeheartedly supportive of at least, to some degree, writing for a specific audience. It bothered me to a point where I had to discontinue my involvement in the conversation so I am not entirely sure how it ended, or if it even has. Not to say that there aren't specific audiences for whatever it is that people are doing, and the audience may be very specific depending on the genre of ones work, but the point is to not write for that specific audience, allow the audience to come to you if it so wishes, just like a good visual artist. Do the work, present it, and let people either come and stand and experience, or avoid, but allow them the option, and knowledge that there is no wrong answer. And if no one ever comes, then hope that they do after you die, and know that you have still done a good thing.

So this brought me to start thinking about how we deal with art vs. entertainment. Thinking about it from a visual art perspective, that world has done a much better job of getting a public to recognize and enjoy, or at least experience, modern art. With paintings, sculptures and the like, you walk in to wherever they are and you can't help but experience the piece. Good, bad, indifferent, doesn't matter, you have had the experience and when you feel satisfied you can walk away at any point. With modern music, perhaps there is more demand placed on the listener. You can just get up and walk out of a symphony hall or recital hall, I have seen it, and I have experienced people doing it on my work, (which makes me laugh), but you are considered rude to do so. I have experienced people liking my work, hating my work, indifferent, not even paying attention etc... so it got me thinking, is the modern musical world more demanding on the audience? We want them to sit in a chair for some period of time and take in whatever they are about to hear, which usually they have no idea what is about to occur. Whereas an artist hangs his work in a space and people can either gravitate toward it and have a very intimate experience with it, or they can avoid it based on a first glance, but either way they have experienced it in its completed form. Music cannot do this.

 I don't know what the answer is, or even if this is true, but it has begun a thought path in my mind that I haven't quite figured out yet.  

The Original Experience

Lately I have been conversing with several people, and reading a lot about, music and what, if anything, it is suppose to express. And if it doesn't have any inherent expression, as Stravinsky would say, what is the purpose of writing music. Stravinsky was notorious about saying that music expresses nothing. I think that has been slightly skewed over the years from what he originally meant. I was recently reading his autobiography, which I rather enjoyed and recommend, and he explained it in a very different way. It wasn't that music doesn't have expression; it was more about music does not, or cannot, represent. You can't make music represent a waterfall on Tuesday in May, and he believed looking for such things is useless.

So I was thinking about his idea a lot and started to connect it to the idea of "The Original Experience". What I mean by this is the experience someone has with music. I call this original because it is a completely unique experience from person to person, and even from hearing to hearing. This is a pretty common idea, we all react to pieces of music differently, and we all understand that. I like to think about this in connection with the questions "What does that piece mean?" or "what were you saying with that music?". I find these questions incredibly difficult to deal with... not in an angry way (usually), but they are very difficult to questions, in fact I would say they are impossible to answer, at least fully anyhow.

You might ask "but program music has those expressions and so on". Do they really? Or do they simply say they represent something that is really quite unrepresentable to auditory sound. And do they represent those things, do people hear those things, because they really represent them, or because they are told they represent them. I could write a piece about nuclear winter and tell people it is about springtime and a good percentage of them will hear springtime. So why is the question "What does this piece mean?" impossible to answer? Because its full meaning is impossible to express, if it were, I would have written it or said it, and not written music for it. Of course we can all try and explain what a piece means, but it will never be entirely correct, and we shouldn't try, it is fruitless, lay your energies elsewhere.

This brings me back to this "original experience". It is simple really; each piece of music that exists (and those that don't yet) offers an original experience to each person, composer, performer and listener. Even on recordings, but especially on live performances. The experience I have, the meaning I get out of and the part of me I put into writing a piece is obviously going to be unique to myself, and quite different from the meaning the piece has for someone else. The part of themselves that a performer and listener give of themselves to experience/perform a piece is going to dictate their original experience and they cannot understand the pieces meaning as I see it, no more then I can understand their experience and meaning of a piece. Now this does not in any way mean that we should talk about pieces, but to try and explain them (outside of the technical aspects) is almost useless.

Going back to the example of Stravinsky, he very much disliked interpretation of his work. He would often berate people (usually privately) for putting in their own interpretations and their own "he meant this, and he is saying that" in the music. He claimed that the music said something very specific and it is on the page, nowhere else, and nothing else should enter into the performance (this is why he liked to conduct his own music so much, especially in recordings. He felt that this meant that it would be done right, and with recordings that other composers would have a model to go after, leaving his dubious skill as a conductor aside). A lot of me will agree with this (excepting when that interpretation, or freedom has been built into the piece, but this was not Stravinsky's style, obviously). I believe that when people try to say "that composer meant this" or "which emperor was Beethoven talking about in his 5th piano concerto?" that it ultimately doesn't matter. Who cares? Does that take from, or add to the piece in anyway? I would say no. Other then useless trivia knowledge. I feel that when a composer is prompted to speak or write about their music, their expression should be of what they believe about music and composition and subjects of this nature, not "this piece is about waterfalls and roses". These ideas bring nothing to the original experience, and in fact take that opportunity away from the listener or performer. This does, however, give the opportunity of some understanding of you as an artist. I don't believe ideas about pieces are what matters (other than to the composer). There was something about that subject that couldn't be expressed in words, so it was said through music and should be treated as such. Thus giving every opportunity to give everyone that original experience, including the composer.

What is Harmony?

In response to a comment from Kris Tiner on 'What Is Melody?' (see below) I began to think about harmony in the same way I was thinking about melody and decided that the response needed to take on a larger form and some more thought, and perhaps even some new directions. In 'What Is Melody?' I referenced Schoenberg and Kris referenced him in his comment as well and I began to think of old Arnie in terms of harmony. Wasn't his harmonic language even more rigid than the language he was rebelling against? And in that rebellion his submission to form and structure was (in my mind) sometimes crippling. Perhaps, perhaps not, but the question remains, and began me thinking of harmony.

Harmony, as we know it, has a few definitions, and the definition in my trusty Harvard Music Dictionary is too long to repeat completely here, but there are a few interesting points that I would like to talk about in the multi-paragraph definition.

"The relationship of tones considered as they sound simultaneously, and the way such relationships are organized in time; also any particular collection of pitches sounded simultaneously"

Now this is a very interesting sentence. As opposed to the definitions of melody that I discussed in my last non-death related post, these definitions are something I can get behind (for the most part), in particular I like how they discuss that harmony isn't just the vertical collection of notes but also has a connection to temporal organization of tones. Now traditional purists will call that the traditional functional harmony that we all know and love ('functional harmony' being one of those terms that kind of gives me the willies) but I like to think of it as any organization of sound over time. I like to relate this to the Pythagorean idea of the Harmony of the Spheres, after all, when dealing with distance in space you are talking about time, at least as we can perceive it, (although I don't limit this to the diatonic scale like Pythagoras did). 

The definition goes on to actually say, "In principle, any chord may follow any other, constituting simply a harmonic succession." I like this very much, but of course it then has to go on and ruin it by the qualifying statement "In practice, however, the vocabulary of tonal music is greatly limited in types of root motion, and these may be regarded variously as strong or weak harmonic progressions" thus setting very limiting parameters on what harmony can do. Now this brings me to one of the main reasons of writing this. Isn't weak and strong harmonic progression all relative to an individual's ear? It says that weak progressions are, for example, triads whose root movement is in thirds, but does say in certain situations this can be effective depending on how it is used and all that, so I will give it that. 

This also hits up another point, and perhaps even an issue (for me), in music. With every rule, every functional progression, every form that we come up with, or have come up with, for things, there are exceptions, and lots of them, so many that there is usually as much in the label as out. For example, with good old Mr. Schenker, half of Brahms' music is brilliant the other half isn't music at all. This is the extreme of course, as I personally think Schenker was off his rocker, but the idea that we can make those judgements is absurd. So with each exception that arises in quantifying all past music into categories and then shoving all new music into one of those categories (occasionally having to invent new categories just to have something to shove someone into) begs the question of the point of all these things. Form, functional harmony, weak/strong, all that stuff, there is no point to any of it once the creative process has begun. The point is so that someone can call something by a name and feel they understand it (which they will never be able to, unless they are the creator themselves, and even then I am skeptical). I don't mean to say that music shouldn't have structure sometimes, my point is why bother with putting that label on it, just let it be. One thing I learned from my last teacher is that form is important, for cohesive purposes, especially with story music, but what the label of that form may be is arbitrary and doesn't need to be discussed (but I digress for this is not about form).

This brings me to my thought on harmony that may or may not have a place in this world outside of my head (or even make sense). About a year and a half ago I was working on a pretty significant piece for me, both philosophically as well as musically. It was a big form (which was not label-able), virtuosic playing and dealt with things that I hadn't really dealt with before. But without going into too many specifics of the piece, I started to realize when using key centers, and relatively traditional functional harmony, I began to develop boredom almost with what was happening. Not that it sounded bad, and it wasn't even that I disliked it so much, but I kept thinking to myself "well, that is good and works well, but what is the point?" Meaning what was the point of the key center and the functionality of the harmony. Now in examining this question the piece took a turn to a less traditional language because of this exploration, (so there is a very interesting dichotomy to the piece that I would enjoy very much if I ever listen to the piece again). But after this I began to really examine what I was thinking when talking and writing harmony. I began realizing in the next few pieces, that I was becoming dissatisfied with just clumping notes together in nice chords (even when extremely dissonant, although it was far more satisfying with dissonance). So then I began to deal with the linear aspect of harmony, moving into a more temporal harmony and not worrying about the vertical harmony quite so much (or at all, in the most recent case).

This brings me to the next interesting point in the Harvard definition, "Harmony is vertical, as melody is horizontal." I do not believe this at all, and for me it even contradicts what was said earlier in the definition, but that is neither here nor there. I believe they are interconnected and are basically the same thing (this plays into my idea of melody being something bigger than a pretty line of music). I have been experimenting with this idea of horizontal harmony, but it is too early to tell what will really come of it, as I have only really dealt with it consciously in tow pieces, one of which has yet to make its real life auditory debut. But the first was quite successful, for me anyhow, and I hope this endeavor reaps some interesting dividends.

So in thinking of harmony I have discovered, for myself at any rate, that the real notes are somewhat unimportant, or at least less important then other things. In my process they are often the last thing to be included, after overall structure, texture and temporal direction. This is significant in my mind.

And with one final thought, in looking at the definition of harmony from a non-musical standpoint, there are some interesting connections to be made. In the Webster's Dictionary the definition talks about congruity, common interests, agreement and even friendship. I like thinking of musical harmony in these terms more than in any music-specific language. Each part of a piece has a common interest, namely, to make the piece do what it was intended to do, a journey, a statement or whatever the point may be, but each part has its role to play in the process and the final product, so if the goal of the piece is reached and executed, could that be considered functional harmony, no matter the content?

What is Melody?

When talking about melody one should take a long look at the definitions that are provided via standard dictionaries and of course our trusty music dictionaries, before really examining what we aesthetically (and maybe even philosophically) think a melody truly is, or more to the point, what constitutes a melody and what doesn't.

My worn and trusty Webster's dictionary states that a melody is:

1. a) pleasing sounds or arrangements of sounds in sequence. b) musical quality, as in the arrangement of words. 2. Music a) a sequence of single tones, usually in the same key or mode, to produce a rhythmic whole; often, a tune, air, or song. b) the element of form having to do with the arrangement of a single tones in sequence (distinguished from harmony). c) the leading part, or voice, in a harmonic composition; the air.

Some of these are generic and need not be bothered with, however some of these terms create on interesting puzzle, in particular "a sequence of single tones... to produce a rhythmic whole." I find this to be a very vague statement  open to many possible interpretations. As it should be, because who is anyone to say what a melody is. And then, of course, there is the "pleasing sounds... in sequence" definition. This is just kind of a worthless definition in my mind. What is pleasing?

This brings me to my main purpose in delving into this topic, the aesthetic and philosophic ideas behind a 'melody'. Schoenberg talks about melody (outisde of the twelve-tone system) like it is something that 'should do this, and should do that, and progress in such-and-such a way.' I sincerely respect Schoenberg, but disagree with these statements entirely, for example:

"A well-balanced melody progresses in waves, i.e. each elevation is countered by a depression. It approaches a high point or climax through a series of intermediate lesser high points, interrupted by recession. Upward movements are balanced by downward movements; large intervals are compensated for by conjunct movements in the opposite direction. A good melody generally remains with a reasonable compass, not straying too far from a central range." (Schoenberg, Fndamentals of Composition, Ch, 4, p.16).

This brings to mind the quote by Laurie Anderson, "talking about music is like dancing about architecture", (and yes I do see the irony in me including these remarks in my thoughts). But I find Schoenberg's statement, although indicative of a true craftsman, lacking in the true aesthetic meaning of what constitues a melody, at least for myself.

So before we get into that, I want to delve into the idea of melody's function, if it has one, and even if it is necessary. I have heard pure texture pieces that have no particular melody to speak of, my own work is often lacking in a distinct melodic idea that I consider the most important thing in the piece (excluding most vocal music). So what does become the most important thing in this realm? It can vary, but generally speaking I feel that when you begin to venture into 'non-melodic' music you have to do a few things to compensate. 1) make the textures interesting and varied enough to be able to engage a listener (even if that listener is simply yourself). Although an argument can be made for how varied a texture must be (as minimalists have shown). 2) use subtle ways to make the music dynamic, or dramatic or some other adjective that allows the moment to progress into the next moment with intent. Now I do feel this is entirely possible (improvisers do it constantly, but I will get into that momentarily). So then is melody really necessary as Schoenberg says, and are these elevations "countered by a depression" really what it takes to make a 'good' melody (or a good composition for that matter)? That is of course mostly a subjective question and has many answers. I have heard composers who cannot do anything without a long romantic melody to start with, I do not have this issue, in fact I have a hard time dealing with long romantic melodies, I prefer shorter motives that are easily tossed around like a juggling clown at the circus throwing them every which way.

So let's get into another world all together, namely improvisation, specifically free improvisation. Now I am a relative new comer to this genre and am admittedly not as versed in it as I would like to be and am trying to expose myself to as much of it as I possible can, so these thoughts on this subject are just coming from an observer and student of the genre as opposed to an actual performer (as I have done a little performing of this music so far). I have, however, begun to incorporate many free improvisation techniques into my concert pieces (sometimes successful, sometimes not). So... having said all of that, let's talk about melody in this context. I think in free improvisation, or something close to that, the issue with melody isn't about a line of any sort, necessarily, or about a "pleasant sequence of notes", it isn't about creating a melody, but more about being melodious. Secondary to that is the journey that the improvisor takes the listener on, or potentially can take. In a lot of ways, I merge these two into the same idea of melody. A performer can be melodious in their playing perhaps, but if they fail to take it somewhere, or me somewhere, with their playing, I feel as though the music has lost something. They don't have a complete melody (being melodious and progressive). So in this regard the melody becomes everything important about what is happening, and takes on a much larger responsibility in the piece than just pleasant collections of sounds. In not-so-free improvisation there is still a similar experience, or at least the opportunity for a similar experience, as what I have described, but on a much smaller (and often shorter), and less free, scale (as usually they are dealing with lead sheets, and playing 'off' of another melody).

So in the end I am merely suggesting that the idea of melody (and in conjunction, pleasantness) is subjective, and often even arbitrary, to being musical (or melodious). Even in more traditional realms of music melody has become something less necessary in music. In a lot of Stravinsky's music melody, although very present and even quite beautiful at times, seems, at least to me, to be a secondary component to his texture, rhythm and sometimes the pure energy (often primal energy), which is why I like his work so much. On the opposite coin, Feldman has similar effects on me, but in a freer, and more colorful way. His music, although both highly structured and free at the same time, provides little in the way of 'melody' in the dictionary sense, but takes you to places that you never thought you could go, and in a way that brings together the melodic idea of being melodious AND taking a journey (sometimes over very long periods of time). 

I could go on and on with examples of the different ways composers have used 'melody', but that would just be too much information so perhaps another time.