Music in Trains

One of the great things about composition in today’s world is the vast social library of styles and media. In a short span of about 100 years, we have gone from mere national stylistic differences to ‘isms’ for any and everything that comes along.

I recently read a passage written by The New Yorker music critic, Alex Ross, that made clear to me the value of these enormous stylistic differences. In preparations for translations of his popular book The Rest is Noise, his goal was to include all quotes in their original languages in order to obtain the best translation. Here is an example:

“Il y a trop de musique en Allemagne,” Romain Rolland wrote, back in the heyday of Mahler and Strauss. Something was lurking, the French writer suspected, in these humongous Teutonic symphonies and music dramas—a cult of power, un “hypnotisme de la force.” Germans themselves recognized the demonic strain in their culture. During the First World War, the not yet liberal-democratic Thomas Mann wrote a manifesto titled Betrachtungen eines Unpolitischen, in which he praised all the backward German tendencies that he would later come to lament in the pages of Doktor Faustus. In the earlier work, Mann states that die Kunst “hat einen unzuverlässigen, verräterischen Grundhang; ihr Entzücken an skandalöser Anti-Vernunft, ihre Neigung zu Schönheit schaffender ‘Barbarei’ ist unaustilgbar…“

To me, the text is enriched by the insertion of original-text quotes. How better could one understand the content or ideas behind these statements than to look at the words that were used to describe them.

On the other hand, there are those authors that use foreign words without necessity. T. Maretic, the great Croatian linguist, formulated the rule, “Do not use unnecessary foreign words, that is those for which good substitutes can be found in the vernacular.”

The parallel to music is nearly direct. The use of one style within the context of a different style may be extremely beneficial in order to best express the intent of the composer. It may simply be that what must be said can only be expressed a particular way.

Back on the other hand, Maretic may have said, “Do not use unnecessary foreign styles, that is those for which good substitutes can be found in the familiar (i.e. first-employed) style.”

For this, I am thankful to have so much to draw on. Like no generation before, composers today have endless possibilities. So, how multi-lingual can we be?

Some surprising figures:

“For years, [William Weber] has been gathering data on late-eighteenth- and nineteenth-century performances, and he summarizes his findings in graphs showing how works of dead composers came to dominate concerts in Paris, London, Leipzig, and Vienna. In 1782, in Leipzig, the percentage was as low as eleven. By 1830, it was around fifty, going as high as seventy-four in Vienna. By the eighteen-sixties and seventies, the figure ranged from sixty-nine to ninety-four per cent (in Paris). Matters progressed to the point where a Viennese critic complained that ‘the public has got to stay in touch with the music of its time… for otherwise people will gradually come to mistrust music claimed to be the best,’ and organizers of a Paris series observed that some of their subscribers ‘get upset when they see the name of a single contemporary composer on the programs.’ These quotations come from 1843 and 1864.”

This summary comes from Alex Ross of the New Yorker in an article called, “Why So Serious?“

I was dumbfounded when I saw these numbers; clearly, the lack of contemporary music in concerts is not a modern problem. As Ross puts it:

“Anyone who believes that twentieth-century composers, with their harsh chords and rhythms, betrayed some sacred contract with the public should spend a few moments absorbing Weber’s data. In fact, the composers were betrayed first.”

This says to me that there is something deeper at the root of the modern state of affairs than a simple disdain for the whims of modern composers. Would, for example, this void still exist if composers essentially never stopped composing like the classics? I’m thinking the answer may be affirmative. Even as contemporary composers return to more palatable material, audiences are not following. It doesn’t take any brilliant analysis to see that the music of contemporary composers is not really making any headway with the public.

We might look instead to changes in cultural practices that surround this music. For example, classical concerts used to be a sort of background music for aristocratic socialization. Such a function might be compared to the modern “elevator music,” background to our everyday activities. At restaurants, music is inevitably piped through the room with anything ranging from pop to cheesy classics. This is quite similar to the way in which opera was originally consumed (at least fairly similar.)

The fate, however, of ending up piped over some dingy speakers in a overcrowded restaurant is not desired by modern composers, myself included. Part of our job as composers goes beyond just writing music down to making sure that people hear it.

How can we be a part of culture if culture never hears us?

Artie Isaac, a Columbus native, who works at an award-winning, creative marketing strategy and advertising agency, recently made a presentation to City Year Columbus on the topic of ethics in speech.

One of the great questions of the day was, “What’s the hardest part of maintaining ethical speech?”

The answer? Silence.

He writes quite brilliantly on this topic in his own blog at Net Cotton Content, and therefore, I won’t retell the whole story. I will just repeat his closing thoughts about a time in which he showed tact by staying quiet:

But, man, that moment is still awkwardly quiet. Because there are certainly things that could be said.

Isn’t that true in music as well? How often do we composers look to stock filler because the silence is just too overbearing? A run; churning arpeggios in the inner voices; overly complex transitions—there are plenty of easy ways to fill those isolated seconds of silence.

I’d venture to say that there is definitely a sense of “tact” in composition. The audience, knowingly or not, will develop a set of expectations for each piece they hear. They know when you have gone too far, said too much, i.e., left out the silence.

It wouldn’t be a surprise if the audience caught a faux pas before the composer. Surely, as in speech, a great deal of control must be developed over time so as to not go to far.

The hardest part is a silent moment.

Having a free week this summer was a rare commodity, but that’s just what enabled my wife and me to take a trip to Long Island and visit her family. It was exactly what a vacation should be: non-productive. Needless to say, I did enjoy learning some of the basics of banjo-music from Emily’s brother, Randy. We even wrote a tune called (I think) “Moonshine Under the Moonlight.” Not too shabby, but I’ll spare you the details for now.

In the midst of this time, however, I did keep up on my reading of posts on music around the net. Here’s a few “found objects” that I thought worth sharing without comment:

• “Roll Over Beethoven” by Jean Cook
  

  Music sites that tell you Beethoven is the performer, that “Allegro” is the name of the piece, that the piano soloist might be the Berlin Philharmonic. I find these experiences endlessly frustrating. I don’t understand how something so simple has to be so hard to figure out. (I take that back. I do understand. Believe me, I really, really do. But it still makes me crazy.)

• “M50: Minimalism Turns Fifty” on Sequenza21/
  

  This September marks the 50th anniversary of musical Minimalism, an artistic revolution which critic Kyle Gann has described as “the most important musico-historical event of my lifetime.”

• “A dancer’s disciplines” by Andy Crouch
  

  For 30 seconds I danced in front of everyone. It was a very ridiculous-looking version of modern dance (and, c’mon, that’s a long time to look ridiculous). Then a professionally trained modern dancer (with Stillpoint Dance Theater) danced for 30 seconds. Hers was beautiful. I said, “Folks: exhibit A, exhibit B, this is the summary of my talk.” And with this my talk officially began.

Enjoy!