Music in Trains

“The DJ is the custodian of aural history.”

—Paul D. Miller, a.k.a. DJ Spooky

There has been a back and forth of influence between popular and serious music throughout the ages. One of the best known examples is the use of the popular tune “L’homme armé” as the basis for over 40 separate “Missa L’homme armé” from the Renaissance.

Going the other direction, much of the progressive rock movement was an attempt to elevate rock to a more credible level via classical influences. Notable examples include King Crimson, Yes, Genesis, Pink Floyd, Jethro Tull, Soft Machine and Emerson, Lake and Palmer.

One of the interesting notions of the 20th century is post-modernism that happened in one way or another in both realms nearly simultaneously. The idea of quotation, or reference, music seems to be pervasive in both worlds to a great extent. A quick glance at composer bios frequently shows comments related to pop, rock or jazz influences that are sometimes very apparent. Composers such as Berio took literal quotation to a whole new level with his Sinfonia with musical quotations of Mahler and text quotations of Lévi-Strauss and Beckett.

References and quotes are almost the modus operandi of the popular realm. Rap and hip-hop would almost be non-existent if it were not for the use of sampling.

DJ Spooky sparks some interesting thoughts with the DJ posed as a “custodian of aural history.” Is that a fair statement? I would say so, with some qualifications. Sampling tends to include music from all realms, including classical. In this sense, it is much more inclusive than much of the classical version of quotation music. Jayson Greene wrote an article in Stylus magazine in which he listed the “Top Ten Classical-Music Samples in Hip-Hop.” Angus Batey referenced this list as he argued that Hip-hop is not inferior to classical music.

The qualifications I suggested would include such matters as the fact that within the DJ realm, all classical music will likely be in reference to popular music, and not the other way around. To me that is a bit limiting. On the other hand, where else can aural history be wrapped up in such a neat little package as Nas’ “I Can” (Beethoven’s “Für Elise”)?

On my drive home yesterday, I was listening to NPR, as I am usually apt to do. I was struck by some thoughts presented in a report by Andrea Shea, “Conceptualizing Sol LeWitt’s ‘Wall Drawings’.“

Although Sol LeWitt died last year at 78, one of his biggest installations, “Sol LeWitt: A Wall Drawing Retrospective” will open to the public soon, at MASS MoCA in North Adams, Massachusetts and be on view for 25 years. LeWitt hired a number of artists to execute his ideas over the past several years, including the time after his death.

LeWitt was one of the pioneers and masters of the “conceptual art” movement. For him:

In conceptual art the idea or concept is the most important aspect of the work. When an artist uses a conceptual form of art, it means that all of the planning and decisions are made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair. The idea becomes a machine that makes the art.

-Sol LeWitt, “Paragraphs on Conceptual Art,” Artforum, June 1967.

This much I am on board with. As a composer, I find there is usually a point about a third into each piece or movement that I write where I notice that the conceptualization is complete and it is just a matter of executing the remaining notes on the page. In a sense, once the ideas are there, they can—in a sense—take care of themselves.

Where I took issue with the report was when one of the artists began to compare the roles of conceptualizer/executer (my terms) across disciplines. For example, LeWitt (conceptualizer)/hired artists (executers). Also architect (conceptualizer)/construction worker (executer). Then came: composer (conceptualizer)/performer (executer). With this I can simply not agree.

Composition and performance, to me, are two separate arts. Both require conceptualization and execution. A composer must come up with original ideas (conceptualize) and work them into notes on a page (execute). Performers must determine an interpretation (conceptualize) and then practice long hours in order to be able to perform successfully (execute).

I’m not sure where the disconnect is, but I suspect it may be related to the public not being quite sure what a composer actually does (see “Classical Music’s Marketing Problem“). Perhaps, if the public could recognize the dual role of conceptualizer/executer for both composers and performers, we may move a great deal forward in our reconnection between listener and artist.

The current issue of Spectrum (vol. 30 no. 2) opens with a line by medieval music theorist Jennifer Bain:

Since the nineteenth century, analytical studies and discussions about music often have arisen either explicitly or implicitly from organicist roots. In its most extreme form, the organicist model states that in order for a work to have aesthetic value, it must have arisen from a single musical idea or concept.

This was perhaps the most beautifully worded summary of so many of the discussions I have been a part of in recent days. Here, I will illustrate only a few.

Schenker’s theories have been a central topic of interest among my colleagues in recent days. There are some postulates of his that everyone seems fairly willing to accept and others which are either so limited as to be of little value or simply seem inaccurate. One such agreement is the idea that a Schenkerian understanding of a piece can positively inform performance. A disagreement lurks around the dubious explanation for the Neapolitan chord.

An interesting middle ground (no pun intended) is the question of the status of the major triad as the “Chord of Nature” from which all true music flows. Composers may be fairly ready to agree to the concept of the compositional task as the resolution of the vertical and horizontal dimensions of music (harmony, melody). Much less likely is the possibility of finding a composer who wants to suggest that everything comes down to the major triad.

The question then becomes, is it possible to retain a majority of Schenker’s postulates while electing to reject the major triad as the only fundamental sonority? How much of modern music could be explained in such a light? How many composers think this way? To me, this is an area of introspection that deserves more time from composers today.

Another opportunity for such a discussion came up at the 2008 SMT/AMS National Conference. Joanna Demers presented a paper on “Noise, Silence, and the Microsound Movement.” This is a field that posits the smallest musical unit as a single sound wave (or some such small measurement.) Interestingly, this area of composition came from the popular realm of hip-hop.

Not surprisingly, this type of music tends to be very quiet: almost inaudible. The listener is not to raise the volume, but rather to lower the volume of the surroundings so as to be able to better focus. This music has also been termed “Glitch Music” as many of the sounds resemble mistakes more than they do traditional music.

A question arises with the premise of the Microsound Movement in regards to the smallest musical unit as it relates to music. The man who coined the term “microhouse” also said, “[Glitch] notes, pulses, and textures bear no immediate relation to the world around them, to a language of melody or tonal narrative…”

Such a view does not seem at all foreign to a compositional market that values electronics, but clearly it does raise some new questions. I haven’t made any decision on the subject of the “smallest musical unit” or what a “single musical idea or concept” might be; nor am I sure that I will have to make such a choice. For now, I am enjoying the conversation and look forward to continued discourse!

I have to admit that I am only now reading through the theories of Heinrich Shenker for the first time. I am reticent to mention this in an atmosphere of assumed understanding. This is not to say that I have been oblivious; rather, quite the opposite. What may be more accurate is that I have never taken the time to read the theories from the horse’s mouth/pen (the mixed metaphor clearly falls apart.)

One tenet that keeps sticking out in my mind as I read is the connection between analysis and performance in Schenker’s mind. Perhaps he takes it a bit far to suggest that there is only one true performance of each piece, or, even more so, that performance is superfluous to the music that exists in the score. He does, however, demonstrate that performers can lead the listener through each piece by performing an analysis (not the literal graphs that so many recognize, but rather the resultant understanding.)

Benjamin Zander, a leading interpreter of Mahler and Beethoven recently spoke on TED.com about Classical music. I think he expressed much of what Schenker intended in a humorous, yet powerful way. He takes the audience through “performances” of the same piece as played by a young piano student who progressively gets better. The student begins by placing emphasis on every note; then beat; then measure, phrase, then… they quit lessons. These students generally leave their studies right before being able to demonstrate the direction of the music by only emphasizing structural goal points. I think Schenker would be proud.

Granted, Schenker’s theories traditionally pertain to a limited selection of music of which Brahms is emblematic. Theorists, however, have been feverishly working for years to bring his thinking into the music of today (as are some of my colleagues.) If nothing else, I think this principle of direction in music can, and should, be carried forward. I have heard plenty of awful performances of new music that use emphasis not merely at the the measure- or beat-level, but at the pure note-level. How, distasteful! I think there is a call for performers of new music to find the direction and then, only then, perform.

This does not get composer’s off of the hook. We can not leave the performers to flounder in a murky sea of notation. Rather, it is our responsibility to at the very least compose a sense of direction into each piece. Even better: we can make it obvious. I understand that not all compositions must have direction (i.e. soundscapes and the like), but for those that claim to be “music” in the western tradition, I hardly think that this is an option.