Musical purpose & happiness

"I have never looked upon ease and happiness as ends in themselves -- this critical basis I call the ideal of a pigsty. The ideals that have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been Kindness, Beauty, and Truth. Without the sense of kinship with men of like mind, without the occupation with the objective world, the eternally unattainable in the field of art and scientific endeavors, life would have seemed empty to me. The trite objects of human efforts -- possessions, outward success, luxury -- have always seemed to me contemptible." -Albert Einstein

Like Albert Einstein, I feel that happiness is not the purpose of life. Instead, my purpose lies with the world--in making and learning things, and in so doing satisfying some primal urge to live and to be fully. 

Perhaps it is egoism that drives me to this. I feel profoundly that I have something to say. In creation, specifically musical performance, I truly feel like my voice is heard. It's me playing and all I have is myself to make a statement with. 

I want, right before I die, to look back and know that I lived. And I want to know that I made people high--high on music, high on beauty--not because I think it will make me happy, but because I think it's the best thing I can possibly do with my time.


I feel there is great good in communication of life's experiences. To make the internal the external is to understand the internal well enough to externalize it--to understand yourself well enough to tell others of your feelings. 


The musical experience, in many ways, is an empathetic one: music conveys emotions. It's character, its motion, rises and falls, dynamics, all communicate sensations. And, these sensations are not random; with a well-enough written composition, one can grow and learn of life and beauty. Thus, communicating the most intimate of life's nuances is an empathetic experience.


Listen and learn.

Analysis: Beethoven’s 30th Piano Sonata in E Major, Op. 109, Mvt. 1

I was initially very attracted to this piece when I first heard it in History of Western Music II. It strikes me as a piece out of time: it doesn’t sound like 1822. Like many of Beethoven’s late pieces, it inspired generations of composers, changing the musical landscape from the classical to romantic aesthetic.

Beethoven is known for altering the strict sonata form of the classical era, especially in his late works. The piece, which was composed between 1820 and 1822 (Beethoven died in 1827), is no exception. There is no exposition repeat, though Beethoven maintains the traditional modulation to the key of V between the first and second themes.

Additionally, the first theme melody is voiced differently during the recapitulation and, though the texture of the second theme remains the same, it is completely changed, containing a near harmonic mirror of its original form. The alteration is reminiscent of the third movement of the piece, which is based on a chordal texture and similar harmony. This is highly unusual, and, with Beethoven’s other developments, marked his move towards romanticism and away from the strict formal rules of classicism.

The first theme is based upon a traditional chorale tune that Beethoven modifies and changes rhythmically. Instead of a straight quarter note melody with chord accompaniment throughout, Beethoven gives the melody to both hands and alters the rhythm, changing the straight quarter notes to a series of sixteenth-dotted eighth followed by two sixteenths. Beethoven changes the time signature between the two themes, moving from 2 /4 to 3 / 4.

The second theme is quite contrasting, as I’ve noted, and is transitioned to with an arpeggiated diminished seventh chord. Beethoven employs, cleverly, then-advanced 19th century techniques for the modulation to the key of V for the second theme. The arpeggiated diminished seventh in E, D# diminished 7, becomes, by means of common-tone diminished relationships, a D# major arpeggio. D#, which is major III in B major, the key we’re heading to, is a major third away from B; Beethoven employs the chromatic-mediant relationship between D# and B, and so our D# major harmony nicely transitions to a B major harmony.

Besides all of this, this piece is beautiful. Call the harmonies what you will, Beethoven’s voice in this piece is that of a man who has endured immense suffering and relished in great genius. In 1822, the year this sonata was completed, Beethoven was nearly completely deaf, and most certainly could never hear this work. What tragedy, to possess such enlightenment, such art, and never be able to experience its richness.

Hindenburg

Five minutes. Five minutes. Mark thought it again: Five minutes. It seemed the only thought he was capable of.

He was standing in a small crowd, backstage. The crowd was amoebic, and though not consciously centered on him, Mark was its natural focal point. And, though each component had his or her dignified reason for being backstage at the last Hindenburg concert of 1972, it seemed to Mark like they were all there to, sinisterly, impress their emotions upon him. Try as they might, the only one he was feeling was panic.

Zeb, his manager, was closest to Mark, and noticed him staring into space. Five minutes, Mark thought. Zeb caught Mark’s eye, and spoke. “Hey—Mark—forget about last night, will ya? Listen, everybody has a bad night every once in a while, right? Relax. I, uh…”

He placed his finger to one side of his nose, inhaled sharply, placed his finger to the other side, inhaled, and then put his hand down.

“I got Benny to get something a little special,” he continued. Mark was staring at a purple light fixture above Zeb’s left ear. He was thinking about what Rob, his crewman in charge of production had told him: Five minutes.

“Mark, are you listening to me? Snap outta it, man!”

Zeb slapped Mark. This caused a stir, though not a big one. Most of the backstagers—notably, Mark’s girlfriend, Teresa, his bandmates, Eric Hamil, the bassist, and Luke Cartwright, the drummer—were inebriated and in their “party-zones.” They didn’t give a fuck about anything for longer than two seconds unless it was a threat to their good time. And Zeb was known for his theatrics.

The slap worked, to some extent. Mark realized he had been listening, at least in part, and his brain regurgitated an abstraction of Zeb’s words to him: Zeb wanted Mark to relax, and he mentioned that he purchased some “special” cocaine, whatever that meant.

Ah, yes, the cocaine. Mark could go for some of that right about now.

“Zeb.” Mark barely spoke. His mouth was dry. It tasted of cigarettes and stale whiskey.

“Let me get somma that.”

Zeb knew what was up. He took out a small bag (he had more in the back, I assure you) with a small rubberband coiled around one end. He opened it, laid it down, and cut it right there, on a small table fashioned just for the purpose. He took out a bill, rolled it quickly and expertly, and handed it to Mark.

Mark didn’t speak. He was no longer thinking about time; he was thinking about getting high. He waited, attentive to Zeb’s every movement. He was caught somewhere between dreaming of joy and lightness and feeling the dread and weight of what he knew was bad for him.

That was part of his trouble. Mark wasn’t stupid—he was brilliant. He made it. His craft, his rock and roll guitar playing, was the undoubted cornerstone of Hindenburg’s success—not to mention his song writing and good looks.

He had a lot going for him. He managed to be amazingly famous and still personably likeable, was great in bed, a favorite of the ladies, and extremely wealthy. He graduated from high school at the top of his class.

He was aware. He bent down, put the rolled bill to his nose, and inhaled strongly.

His head rushed back. He pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Yes, thought Mark. Yes, yes, yes.

Zeb bent and repeated Mark’s ritual.

“Hey, man, think I could get one?” It was Teresa, Mark’s girlfriend. She was blonde, pretty, with blue eyes, the color of lake, which at present had red streaks through the whites. Mark loved those eyes, could see simultaneously a beautiful, confused girl and himself, a lonesome traveler.

She slid her arm around Mark’s waist, seductively. She never bought her own drugs. Only yesterday, right before Mark went catatonic on stage, Mark saw her and Zeb making love in a dressing room. Mark now began thinking about this.

It wasn’t that he loved her—he did, though, for the record. It was that he saw her, saw her actions and emotions truly, and so saw his life. He was sick, desperately sick: all the cocaine and the drunken nights and the senseless groping in the dark, as if for a fleshy proof of human unity. He saw himself as a broken man, of only the capacity to make and use pleasure; a wielder of great “art,” and simultaneously great nonsense. For what is music but sound?

He ran, right then and there, two minutes till show time, October the thirteenth, an audience of twenty-two and a half thousand people, all hungry for him, crying his name into the night.

The Symphony in my Kitchen

I love the sound of my dishwasher. It is melodic and rhythmic; it swells and falls, moving through its cycle in beautiful, oceanic fashion. Sometimes, I'll turn off my stereo, start a load, and do my homework. In other words, my dishwasher makes music.


I like my dryer too. It's a little more punchy, a bit more uptempo, and is characterized by unpredictable sforzando flourishes that catch me off guard. It's spunky. The washing machine is pretty good too, and includes lots of water squirting noises, but it doesn't touch me the same way as the dishwasher and dryer.


Sizzling vegetables tantalize my taste buds and my ear buds. Mixing my macaroni with cheese powder produces are liquidy-slurp. Boiling water rumbles and pops pleasantly.


All of these things are acoustic sound generators. No speakers--the music is coming directly from the instrument, resonating and moving in whatever way it will given the shape of the objects and the room. It's very organic in this way.

Just because it's not written out, doesn't make it not music. Just because no one thought about the aesthetics of their dishwasher sounds, doesn't make it not music. It is music because I like it (and because it's made of sound waves and has rhythm and pitch, of course).

Private Investigator

Artie is a detective--well, Private Investigator, actually. He's quite skilled, I assure you. I think you'll find his work of the highest quality.

I spent some time with him yesterday. He was busy though, distracted. He told me he was on-case investigating a Fatham M. Whitechurch, OBE, though from the looks of it he was simply eating a sandwich outside a cafe in downtown Portland. Mr. Whitechurch (OBE) had been accused, Artie told me, by a Mr. Wigijigiwig Smith of callously curtailing creative catharsis.

Meanwhile, Mr. Wally Wicktenstien ponders the meaning of life. And jelly donuts.

//

The Musical Video

Unfortunately, MTV popularized the music video. 


It is unfortunate not because music videos are bad, but because the music videos on MTV are bad. Music videos, I think, are actually very good. The music video is a fantastic medium, and I think it should be more highly academically regarded--but it's not, because of the likes of MTV.


The music video is a wonderful medium. In combining music with moving images, a new meaning and purpose is conveyed by both the music and the video; there is a synergistic, new piece of art that means more than either could mean separately. We, automatically it seems, impart meaning and connection between the music and video, and this effect is particularly powerful when the artist takes care to reinforce the connection. In a way, the well-done music video is more than the music or the video could ever be.


Additionally, and practically, it makes both aspects more interesting. Video is captivating, and can really make an audience member listen closely to a piece of music that maybe they would have otherwise overlooked. 


In other words, music videos are awesome! To prove the point, here are two videos by the DJ group NASA.


N.A.S.A. "The People Tree" (feat. David Byrne, Chali 2na, Gift Of Gab, & Z-Trip)
and


N.A.S.A. "Money" (feat. David Byrne, Chuck D, Ras Congo, Seu Jorge, & Z-Trip)

The Casual Musician

A casual dude

I think that playing music is for everybody. It is something that (and don't berate me for absolutist statements; you know what I'm trying to say) is always good.


Music is both highly rewarding and interactive, and in this way is much more like a sport than an art like drawing. Now, don't get me wrong; drawing is very interactive. When you make a drawing, you're using technical expertise and creative mojo to create a finished work, just like in music. But, because music is performed, it is much more mentally athletic than drawing (usually, I mean). 


And it involves practical discipline, which I think is very good for people. It does not demand the overbearing, rigidity of martial arts or military service, but instead requires the subtle poise and artifice of a craftsman.


Most people I know have played music, usually when they were younger, for some extended period in their lives. I think that, and, of course, this is only if it appeals to them, everyone should foster their musicality.


And, it's fun.

Musical social networking

I recently got an account over at SoundCloud, and I think it's absolutely brilliant. 

Essentially, the website is a social network for musicians, DJs, producers, and the like, that encourages sharing of music. But it doesn't look like Facebook: instead of profile pages containing  images and wall posts, profile pages instead contain streaming audio and diagrams of waveforms. SoundCloud lets all users upload, for free, their music. It has a commenting and rating system, similar to many other social networks, except that comments are attached to specific points in an audio clip. SoundCloud, in other words, revolves around the music (and is much more like Flickr or Vimeo than Facebook).


Right now, it's primarily used for electronic music. The company is from Berlin, and it is quite popular in Europe; a majority of the users are European. 


What a great idea. This website is a hundred times more productive than Facebook--that is to say, because of its existence, art is created and shared, people are enlightened to new music and therefore grow musically. The internet is finally, after a good 10 years or so of stumbling through (various degrees of) useless novelty, is beginning to actually bring people together in positive ways. 


And it's great for self promotion, too. You should probably check out mine.

Brian Blade and the Fellowship Band at the Bagdad, Portland, OR 11/6/10

Drummer Brian Blade was in top form on Saturday night, his unique flourishes and pointed accents filling the Bagdad Theater with excitement. Full of vigor, and his usual ecstatic and colorful flashes, he performed to a sold-out crowd as a benefit for the Portland Rescue Mission, which supports the homeless

The Bagdad is an impressive venue and was ideal for the music: comfy seats with personal rectangular tables for drinks and food, and a relaxing atmosphere.

The Darrel Grant trio, with Darrel Grant on piano, Cameron Morgan on guitar, and vocalist Maureen Ferry, began the night. The trio’s gospel-influenced sound was pleasant, but didn’t really hold my attention. The trio played nearly exclusively ballads and slow gospel grooves that lacked excitement and oomph.

When Brian did come on, after around an hour of Darrel, it was all the sweeter. The Fellowship Band currently consists of Myron Walden, alto sax, Melvin Butler, tenor saxophone, Chris Thomas, bass, John Cowherd, piano, and Jeff Parker on guitar, though it has gone through several arrangements since its founding in 1998.

The band was tight on Saturday, and played quite well, but as expected the focus was on Brian. The Fellowship’s tunes are modern jazz pieces—there wasn’t a single straight swinging groove all night—and combine influences from jazz’s many distinct historic periods. Brian’s true art and skill is in his capacity to rhythmically synthesize these disparate elements into a unified sound.

The music clearly has a very strong conceptual basis; each tune is well arranged with rich harmonies and clear peaks of emotion. It was pleasant and surprising to hear the alto saxophonist switching for several tunes to the bass clarinet, as the tenor sax player switched to a soprano sax, for a nice effect.

His punchy playing and knack for beautifully accenting melodies stole the show, without a doubt. The horns could be a little cheesy and lacking in sincerity at times, but Brian made up for it.

Just feel the vibes, man

“Heady” people piss me off. Let me be clear who I’m talking about: the hedonistic, party-loving, weekend eco-warrior who gets into spirituality, man, and is really excited about Jack Kerouac’s On the Road (or some other stupid book I also don’t care about). These people are selfish, but, and this is the horrible part, their worldview tells them that they are not selfish. They seek to, just like the close-minded religious fanatics they so-often bad mouth, spread their hippie dippy eco-centric beliefs all over.

These people most probably go to Evergreen College, or Naropa University; some of them even go to Lewis & Clark, you might be surprised to learn. They hide among the regular hedonists, waiting to strike, malevolent. They’re full of great ideas and stupid self-imposed nick names: I can’t imagine many things more pretentious than introducing yourself as “Bonsai.”

Now: I love the environment, I love great literature, and I think Jack Kerouac is and should be respected as one of America’s finest authors of the 20th century. But when you begin to preach to me about freedom, Buddhism, and the Way as if you’re God’s own son come to enlighten the ignorant masses, I get annoyed.

Let me tell you a story. In the summer of 2009, my girlfriend at the time convinced me to go to a gathering of the aforementioned people as a function of what was called Portland City Repair. She told me there was free food, so I brought my roommate. We were instantly bored, and left soon after eating our dinner of (you guessed it!) quinoa and kale. We went home, an started a great party at my house—we were playing music, socializing, drinking, and having a generally merry time. My girlfriend came back from the event with two hippie drifters in tow.

The party winded down, and we were all hanging out, and my roommate puts on “Cookin’”, an album by Miles Davis. Now, this freaking twerp, he gets all excited, swiftly turns off the music, and demands that we all join him in Hare Krishna chants, or some similar bullshit. When we protested that we were enjoying the music, he said that the chanting was something we all could participate in, and was spiritual and uplifting.

How messed up is that? My roommate had quick enough wit to point out that the Miles Davis experience is a hell of a lot more spiritual than anything a nineteen year old fool was about to impose upon a group of drunken, unsuspecting college students. But it is the hypocrisy of this boy’s statements that really drive me off the wall.

I’d like to think that I am actually pro-freedom, etc., and as such am completely against imposing social events such as chanting. He wanted us to be free, feel the vibes, groove with the moment, and a million other clichés, and by asking us to join in his psychotic, pseudo-religious cultist practices, all he did was point himself out as the biggest egoist in the room.

Concept, concept, concept

Conception is a fundamentally crucial aspect of musical composition. Good ideas are the fundamental components of sound music. 

When good ideas seize serendipitous moments, I think truly amazing things can happen. In the process of creating "2,000,001: A Space Opera" for Music & Language class with Nora Beck, I received a humorous email from my librettist (the dude who writes the lyrics). 


I thought it was funny. The text is below.

 Hey, what is up homies? I hope you gangsters are staying out of trouble tonight, but still keeping it real. I am trying to hook it up sick with the librettos and shit and I somehow, someway can't remember all of the characters. I know that ethan is mr roboto, emma is chuck(the bad boyfriend), jackie is ms humana, but the last mofo I cant remember. If one of you could help a brotha out big ups to yourself and let me know by tonight so i can wrap this mutha up and youse wise guys can kill the music. Mad respect playas. Peace.

P.S. This isn't how I normally write emails, but I'm trying to get the creative juices flowing like steroids in the MLB.
P.P.S. Also attached is the first love scene libretto and beginning of the party scene, let me know if I need to make any changes.

So, I was reading this email aloud to my roommate, who thought it would be funnier if a computer read it. It was. Why not have some relaxing jazz in the background too? And how about some relaxing, nature noises--say, the sweet songs of the common loon?


What I present to you now is art. I particularly like the way the computer reads the text. Check out how it says "Peace," "MLB," and "changes." Classic stuff. 


Enjoy.

Classic Beats

Bach, Beethoven, and Ravel rapping about how fly they are. Made with Ableton Live, samples from each composer during their rap section. For Music & Language class with Nora Beck. Check it out.

"Adjustment"

Before most musical performances, especially when stringed instruments are used, the performer prepares the instrument. First, the performer typically tunes, and then, frequently when amplifiers or external electronic effects are used, the performer hones his or her sound to perfection. Often, while tuning, I’ve experienced the pleasant sensation one feels while listening to music; to me, tuning is quite musical. It reminds me of spaceships, or some large objects, taking flight.

However, I think to most non-musicians, and to those who play non-stringed instruments, tuning is something to be ignored. Before an orchestral performance, the orchestra tunes, and the feeling of the audience is one of waiting and expectation, not of enjoyment. To most, tuning is not the content of a musical performance. But, today it will be.

I’d like to share with the world my positive, appreciative feelings for tuning. Additionally, I’d like to reveal what is often a subconscious routine to the spotlight of artistry. Every time I perform, I do this ritual in passing.

The piece should be performed with a calm perseverance by the performer, and a dedicated look. The formal layout of the piece is as such:

1. Bring gear on stage. Guitar in case, with cord underneath guitar in the case. Amp should have all equalizer knobs set to their highest values.

2. Plug in amplifier.

3. Lift guitar. Remove cord. Plug one end into amplifier.

4. Get strap. Place on guitar. Place on body. Adjust.

5. Plug cord into guitar. Turn amp on. Guitar should be with rhythm pickup selected, at full volume.

6. Place left hand over an A-major barre chord, with right hand as if it’s about to strum.

7. Take pause.

8. Go to piano. Play an A two measures below middle C. Tune A string to piano.

9. Switch to the bridge pickup.

10. Play the harmonic on the seventh fret of the A string followed by the harmonic on the fifth fret of the low E string. Repeat as necessary to tune E string.

11. Play the harmonic on the fifth fret of the A string followed by the harmonic on the seventh fret of the D string. Repeat as necessary to tune D string.

12. Play the harmonic on the fifth fret of the D string followed by the harmonic on the seventh fret of the G string. Repeat as necessary to tune the G string.

13. Play the fourth fret of the G string, followed by the B string open. Repeat as necessary to tune the B string.

14. Play the harmonic on the fifth fret of the B string followed by the harmonic on the seventh fret of the E string.

15. Confirm that the two E strings are in tune by playing the low E string followed by the high E string.

16. Look at the audience. Pause.

17. Place the left hand over an A-major barre chord, with right hand as if it’s about to strum.

18. Switch to the rhythm pickup.

19. Place the left hand over an A-major barre chord, with right hand as if it’s about to strum.

20. Take a pause.

21. Play a small series of notes (any notes). Adjust the treble to an appropriate level.

22. Repeat the previous step for mid and low.

23. Play an A-major barre chord.

24. Turn off amplifier.

25. Unplug, etc. clean up.

26. The end.


I think it’s preferable if the audience doesn’t understand that the tuning and sound adjustment is the performance. I’d like for them to feel mild, pleasant confusion momentarily as I walk off stage.

Dark Star (1 of 2)

For the purposes of this blog post, I'm speaking most specifically about the Grateful Dead before 1971, when their sound got more fleshed out, polished, and less free. 

The Grateful Dead don't get enough credit in respected, ivory tower musical circles. But, they should. Nothing Miles Davis did in 1970 wasn't done by the Grateful Dead first. Long, free-form compositions? Check. Extensive percussive elements? Check. World music instrumentation and influence? Check. Cohesion through melodic fragments? Check. Spacey, off-kilter explorations? Checkity check check (listen to Bitches Brew or Live-Evil and then to some early Dead for comparison, especially texturally and compositionally).

The Grateful Dead invented (or, perhaps, popularized) modal jazz rock. Modal jazz, which I've blogged about previously, is jazz based upon simple, one or two chord vamps. Instead of the busy harmonic motion of the previous fifty-or-so years of jazz, Miles Davis, in 1959, released Kind of Blue, which included, most notably, So What. So What consists of two minor chords. That's it. Through it's lack of complexity, the constraints of dense harmonic motion are eliminated. 

Undoubtedly, the Grateful Dead were influenced by Miles Davis (Jerry Garcia in his later years even released an acoustic album called So What with mandolin player David Grisman). Now, I don't mean to argue that the Grateful Dead play Jazz better than Miles Davis (that would be folly). But, they did put a rock feel behind Miles' ideas first, and their explorations are deep, and full in their own, not-jazzy way. And, the pinnacle of the Grateful Dead's psychedelic, modal explorations is Dark Star.

What is Dark Star? Jerry Garcia once said (I'm paraphrasing), "There's a little bit of Dark Star in every thing we do." Dark Star is a very simple tune, alternating between two major chords, A and G. It's simplicity is truly it's greatest boon; it served as a template for the Grateful Dead's musical exploration, especially in the early years (when the boys used the gong and foreign percussion sounds, and really opened up the tune).


In many ways, Dark Star comes from the avant-garde musical tradition of the mid-20th century. The tradition, pioneered by John Cage and the like, favored abstract, often "spooky" musical elements and a free, open form. Many early Grateful Dead shows (from 67-69) have 2-5 minute sections simply called "Feedback," which are exactly that: distorted, feedback from electric instruments creating weird, off-setting noises.


This kind of musical exploration makes sense, given the Grateful Dead's origins: their first show as "The Grateful Dead" (they were called "The Warlocks" before) was 12/4/1965, at a Merry Pranksters Acid Test in San Jose, CA. And, what were the Acid Tests all about? In a word, freedom. Exploration and openness were paramount; the tried, over-done I-IV-V rock forms of the previous ten years were not enough (though they still sounded good, and the Grateful Dead still played them, interspersed with their free-form jams). 


In this way, I think the Grateful Dead really arose as a synthesis of styles. Rock was not enough. The Grateful Dead were  educated music listeners, especially bassist Phil Lesh, who was attending undergraduate music school, lead guitarist Jerry Garcia, who played jazz frequently in clubs around the Bay Area in the early sixties, and percussionist Mickey Hart, who was highly influenced by world music and percussion. These influences--classical, jazz, and world--fused with the American songbook and country-esque material that was the pop music of the day, and the result was The Grateful Dead.


And now I would like to discuss the form and explorations within Dark Star specifically, but it seems I've run out of time. More in-depth discussion tomorrow.

The Warlocks in 1965 in Palo Alto, CA. From left to right, 
Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, Billy Kreutzman (on drums in  back), 
Jerry Garcia, and Ron "Pig Pen" Mckernan

PS: Check out this Dark Star while you wait in anticipation. Actually, the whole show is awesome.

The Musical Tapestry - Music and Visual Art

[Transcribed from an in-class writing assignment]

Visual art and music share many similarities and are simultaneously contrasted by stark differences. Music is a performance-based art, while visual arts like sculpting, painting, and drawing, are static and unmoving. This might seem like it sharply separates the two arts, however visual art is brought to life by the observer similarly to the way music is brought to life by the performer (and listener). 


Through presentation and organization, a painting draws an observer's focus to elements chosen by the crafty artist. This is akin to the way that dynamics, timbre, and the orchestration draw the listener's ear to musical elements of the crafty composer's choice. Paintings are like musical snapshots--they are akin to one "musical moment,"one beat,  to continue with the comparison.


At the same time, it's slightly more complicated than that. A painting can represent more ideas than one beat of music because whole forms can be represented in an instant in a painting, while it may take a whole phrase (of several measures) for music to complete an organized, whole thought. I think this is perhaps a better comparison; the painting is akin to a musical unit that, although frozen in time, can convey complex ideas the way a whole passage of music could.


The observer of art has time to explore the meaning of the painting, as his or her eyes are drawn to certain aspects and interpret naturally (consciously and subconsciously). Ostensibly, there is one main point, a central motif or theme to a painting, which is the main point that the artist wishes to convey. Typically, there is also supportive, secondary material that reinforces the point. 


I think you can see where this is going. The musical phrase typically has a primary point--the melody--and secondary, supportive points--harmony--that reinforce the melody. But, how do the two arts form their points? Make their statements?


First, and of chief importance, are shapes. Visual artists craft forms (i.e., meaningful elements) with lines and shading. Discrete, often linear elements combine to form a shapes, which in turn combine to create forms. For example, a picture of a dog is comprised of many lines which form shapes--circles or ovals for the head and body, for example. When the shapes are put together, a whole form is represented.


A similar technique is used in music, where you have, essentially, the same tools: shapes and lines. The movement of a melody forms a pattern in our mind that we pick up on, just like in visual art. Just as we would notice steep ascending lines in a painting, we notice the contours of a melody. Does it jaggedly rise? Fall slowly? Bounce up and down haphazardly?This is especially true, I think, in improvisational music, where clear outlining of shapes is quite common. Additionally, we have whole shapes represented in music as well: chords. Every  aspect of a chord contributes to its shape in our sonic world: its inversion, the distance between its notes, and the specific voicing.


Visual art shares another critical similarity with music, and that is color. As you know, colors make visual elements distinct and beautiful. By adding color to a black-and-white painting, one adds another layer of organization and meaning. Visual contrasts in colors add drama, tension, tranquility, excitement, and many other emotions.


In music, our colors are pitches and the relationships between pitches (i.e., keys). The most apparent example is in the subtle (sometimes not so subtle) changes to one's perception of musical color as the key dramatically switches, as in a direct modulation. Suddenly, different notes are accented, and there is a new central color to which all other colors are contrasted.


Keys affect my perception of the brightness or darkness of a piece of music. For example, during John Coltrane's version of "My Favorite Things," (originally from The Sound of Music) there is a long vamp and piano solo over two minor chords, e and f#. At the ideal moment, pianist McCoy Tyner changes to an E major chord, and the sensation is of the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Where there was darkness, suddenly there is light.


Music has one crucial element that is seemingly difficult to compare to visual art, and that is rhythm. One of the most important and defining aspects of a musical work, rhythm would seem at first hard to conceptualize in a non-musical setting.

Starry Night. Click for bigger.

It's visual analog lies in the organization of the various elements of a visual work. One observes art subconsciously at the fastest possible rate that the brain can observe art, which, in a way, gives the piece a tempo. The combination of elements, the size of the shapes and the way that the shapes interlock and interweave, can thus create a rhythm, with larger, bulkier elements taking longer to understand, and having a longer rhythmic value. 

Obviously, complex meaningful fine art is quite complex rhythmically and is harder to interpret in a clear-cut way. But, tell me you look at Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and don't see movement and rhythm (albeit, a spacey impressionist rhythm).


And, really, "Starry Night" is a great example for everything talked about here. The colors, lines, shapes, and movement are a snapshot, an encapsulation of an experience and are complete, just like in a well constructed musical idea. I would like to explore thinking of and writing music visually--perhaps there could be some interesting results.

Music and culture (Part 2 of 2)

Cultures across the globe have notably varied music. Different cultures use different instruments, compose different styles and forms for their music, and use music in many different ways in their society. 

Ghanaian Drummers

In Ghana, drums are used as ceremonial and celebratory. Indian classical music is perhaps more like Western, given its more-composed (though still improvisatory) forms and it's relaxing-though-trancelike presentation. In Indonesia, music for the Gamelan, a large, South East Asian orchestra, was very well composed in a manner quite similar to Western symphonies and orchestras, but the music often made use of non-Western scales, rhythms, and motifs. 

Can I--a Westerner bred on rock and roll, jazz, drum kits, electric guitars, and symphonies--understand what the gamelan means? Is there some aspect of the gamelan that is only significant to Indonesians?

This is a complex issue. Through a series of thought experiments, I'll try and elucidate it.

Indian Classical Music

Imagine a culture to which music is very important and sacred. Our imaginary culture believes that the world, a giant reverberating string, was brought to life from stillness by God, who plucked the string and so brought all of creation into existence. For this culture, the playing of music represents the height of spiritual ecstasy. 

Such a situation is quite plausible, I think you'll agree. Now, pretend I've heard this culture's music and I like it. It pleases me, and it makes sense to me in my Western way--I hear pitches, rhythms, motifs, and it has all of the aspects of music that make music so great. I like listening to it, and would even pay for it. But, there is no way that it could mean the same thing to me that it means to members of our imaginary culture.

Indonesian Gamelan

Culture is not static, though. It is not a blanket--if you come from a certain place, a certain ethnicity, it is not necessarily true that you feel the same way as everyone in your group about art. For example, imagine a youth rebelling against our imaginary culture. It's quite possible he would not feel spiritual ecstasy at the playing of his people's music, because he rejects it.

In this way, I think, we can really see that culture is personal. I may not be able to understand another culture's music, but culture lives within individuals. It's not that I don't understand another culture, it's that I don't understand the shared perspective that many of these individuals have. If I'd grown up around members of our imaginary culture, perhaps I'd understand; then again, perhaps not. 

What it comes down to, really, is that it is impossible to understand the way any other person hears music, just as it is impossible to understand the way that any other person sees the color red, for example. We both can point to the same piece of fabric and call it red, but I can never be sure that we see the same red, the same subtleties of the color. Perhaps someone else's red is green--I'd have no way of knowing.

Music and culture (Part 1 of 2)

In a new two-part series, I'll explore first the cultural authenticity of music, and then the cultural transmissibility of music. The former follows below. 



On the first day of my World Music class, it was suggested that Paul Simon was a cheat and a scoundrel. He went into Africa, my professor maintained, stole the people's music, and sold it for a great deal of money (his widely successful solo album "Graceland"). 

I was horrified. I love Paul Simon. I soon dropped the class, but before I did, I got in a few good arguments with my professor. Paul Simon went to South Africa and, in many ways, collaborated with South African musicians. The record was a hit, and Paul made a lot of money, while the South Africans made significantly less. The situation is complicated given that South Africa was in the middle of apartheid and the rest of the world had a "cultural boycott" against South Africa. 


Was Paul exploitative? The album is highly African-influenced, to be sure. But, is influence exploitation? Many of the musicians on the album (notably Ladysmith Black Mambazo) went on to become internationally famous because of Paul Simon--in other words, he discovered them. 


The native music of Paul Simon, a North American, is quite different from the music of his album, "Graceland." But, as I argued in World Music class, no one owns music, and every composer is influenced by everything he or she hears. 

Oh, Claude!

Claude Debussy was supposedly very influenced by the gamelan he heard at the 1889 World Fair. Debussy took the things that struck him--the off, poly-rhythmic feel perhaps, and the use of the pentatonic scale--and integrated them with his more western ideas of music. This is exactly the process Paul Simon went through. The entire album is written by Paul (though he has some featured composers on some tracks). True, the Africans had a lot to do with it. But, clearly, so did Paul Simon, without whom there would not be a multi-million dollar album.


Could Paul Simon have made "Graceland" just the same without the South Africans? Nope. Could the South Africans have made an album like "Graceland" without Paul Simon? Nope. Paul Simon got the lion's share of the payoff for the album, and that's too bad, but it's not musically unsound. We should be influenced by other cultures' music, other ways of thinking about sound. What peeved me off about World Music class was that my professor seemed to claim that it was not only immoral of Paul Simon but that the album was bad music because of it. And that's just not the case.

Ladysmith Black Mambazo, a picture of whom
is easily available on the internet, thanks to
Mr. Paul Simon.

In 1974, twelve years before Paul Simon released "Graceland," Wayne Shorter, renowned saxophonist (who I have blogged about previously), released "Native Dancer." Shorter linked up with Brazilian musician Milton Nascimiento, who wrote half of the tracks on the album. Despite Nascimiento's important influence on the album, Shorter is credited as the leader (though he wrote less than half of the tracks). 

Clearly, as with Paul Simon's album, there is a great deal of collaboration going on. Check out Ponta de Areia, a Nascimiento composition. Shorter gives it life and breadth. The tune is a synthesis of Brazilian music and Jazz, and is truly a joint effort. Who was influenced by whom?


Interpreting and being influenced by another culture's music isn't theft (though, there may be some theft involved if the work of one performer is not monetarily recognized as may be the case with "Graceland"). It's not poor musicianship or a-musical to take what you like from another culture and integrate it into your compositions. In fact, I'd argue that it's usually quite hip and groovy.

Of course, this brings up an entirely new set of questions: Is it possible to understand the music of another culture the same way that someone from that other culture understands it? I'll tackle that one next post.

Mood & Music

Why do certain types of music appeal to some people more than others? Further, how can the same piece of music appeal to a person on one day and seem repulsive on another? Mood.

Mood--which I'm using here to mean a person's immediate emotional character, be it happy, sad, etc.--is a squirrely, hard-to-define thing. Naturally, it's quite subjective. Additionally, it's hard to precisely identify: we've spent thousands of years trying to encapsulate and convey human moods and emotions in art and literature. And, it's hard to control. If I'm feeling down, I can't will myself up, and if I'm jealous I can't think it away, and likewise with all other emotions.

Music has a special relationship with mood. It has the power to amplify and alter moods, to smooth out their rough parts and to create pleasure. The music of social groups reflects the emotions of those groups--or, at least, reflects tonic emotions that balance the emotions of the group. 

For example, perhaps a person whose life is full of harsh movement, roughness, and energy, would turn to hardcore punk or metal music. Their baseline mood, their most common mood, is probably quite different from mine (though, how the hell do I know, really?); when they hear the highly-rhythmic, distorted, and powerful music of punk and metal, they are not jarred from an inner tranquility. Rather, the harshness of their mood is excited. And, since it is music, and not pain, not physical violence, there is a comfort in the harshness of music, which, though being intense, is just sound, is just pleasure. 

Doesn't that couch look comfy?

So: when I'm down, I listen to Radiohead, because it's kind of somber, but with an upbeat tempo and a powerful musical force, that makes the loneliness feel beautiful, wholesome, and proper. When it's been a long, strange night, I like to kick back with the Grateful Dead, which is some of the comfiest music I know, to ease the rough parts of my soul into slumber and peace. If I'm feeling awake, lively, and intelligent, I get down with some 60's jazz, and if I'm feeling chill, lively, and intelligent, I might be down with some ethnic/jazz-influenced electronica.

But, maybe not at the same time. I don't really have control over my mood, as I said before. And, it's so subtle, and so is music. Perhaps I'll be feeling too sad for one band, too happy for another, too sleepy for a third, and then what do I do? Oh, yes: Compose.

Subjective vs. Objective in Music

Music is simultaneously concrete and abstract. On the one hand, music is definite--it contains objectively discernible rhythms and pitches. At its moment of existence, it has a specific tone and aural character, and it can be written down, so that it can be recreated.

Vladimir Horowitz

At the same time, listening to music is a fundamentally subjective experience. As everyone knows, the joy of music is not (at least not in the larger part) in knowing what pitches or rhythms are played, but in listening to them be played. And, if any joy is gained from, say, reading a piece from sheet music without an instrument, it is in audiation that the joy lies--that is to say, it is in the playing of the music in one's own head.

Truly, music is both subjective and objective. I might love the way that Vladimir Horowitz plays Chopin, and it may really mean something to me, but that doesn't mean that it means the same thing to me that it means to Vladimir Horowitz. In fact, I'd be quite surprised if Horowitz felt the same way about the music of Chopin he plays as I do about the music of Chopin he plays. 

And that right there is really neat. 

Music for my Funeral

1. Igor Stravinsky's Firebird Suite (1910)
I love this piece of music. I think it is quite fitting, too, with its imagery of death and rebirth and new life after destruction. I'd very much like to see the accompanying ballet.


2. John Coltrane, "Naima" (1959)
It's kind of odd, I guess, to put this piece in the lineup, given that it was written by Coltrane for his wife, and is much more of a love song than a somber death march. I really like it though, it is immeasurably pretty.


3. The Grateful Dead, "Stella Blue" (1972)
This song is beautiful, in lyric, melody, and harmony, and speaks to me about the impermanence of life and the permanence of beauty--"In the end there's just a song."


4. Ludwig van Beethoven, Piano Sonata No. 30 in E Major, Op. 109 & Ludwig van Beethoven, String Quartet, Op. 132, 3rd Movement
These are two of my favorite pieces of all time. The piano sonata (particularly the first movement) is uplifting and enlightening, while the string quartet is somber and serious.


5. The Grateful Dead, "Uncle John's Band" (1969)
 This song speaks to the peace and kindness of the human character, and I feel it is perfect to end the set of music for my funeral. In the end, we are each just looking for a little happiness in this life. "Woah-oh what I want to know, is are you kind."

Coltrane, Miles, Wayne, and that Modern Sound - Part 3 - Coltrane

The enduring legacy of John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Wayne Shorter is undisputed in the jazz world. Each contributed greatly to the revolution in jazz in the 1960's, forming, defining, and expanding what is widely regarded as the height of jazz music. In this third of a 3-part series of blog posts, I will explore each in turn.

John Coltrane is the greatest tenor saxophone player to have ever lived. A remarkably fine musician in both of his two highly contrasting periods (early and late, naturally), Coltrane's legacy endures. 

Starting in 1962, Coltrane and his quartet pushed the limits of jazz. Like the music of Miles and Shoter, Coltrane's music often consisted of simple one-chord vamps that opened up the harmonic framework for the performer. (Check out The Inchworm).

The revolutionary aspect of Coltrane was not, however, the type of jazz he played, which, as I discussed in the two pervious posts, Miles and Wayne were also playing. It's because he pushed the boundaries of the possible, acceptable, and purposeful in jazz that he is so recognized here on this blog--because he showed, in a way, that jazz could communicate the spiritual and powerful.

Coltrane's music is not the normal chill-in-the-club-drink-my-cocktail jazz. It is fiery. It is emotive, explosive. His band is spectacular. Elvin Jones, drummer for the quartet, is known for his polyrythmic flourishes of sound. Mccoy Tyner, who played piano, played with commendable force and determination, expertly pushing and pulling the harmony around.

But it is Coltrane himself that makes the band, naturally. The man puts himself into each note. He blows his soul right in the mouthpiece and shoots it straight to the stars. And this makes him non-casual. When he plays something, he plays it fully. His inspiration flows fluidly from this mind to the instrument, he never stumbles, plays just as beautifully at any tempo. 

And in doing all of this so well, he changes what might otherwise sound like boring, repetitive one-chord jams into explorations (The Inch Worm) meditations (My Favorite Things) or spiritual trips (A Love Supreme, Part II: Resolution). And that's just it, really. He takes these, what are essentially "jams," and pushes them to the next level. Their "jammy"ness allows them to be free, open, and spontaneous. 

Here, in Coltrane (and no doubt in countless others, I don't mean to say Coltrane has a monopoly), we have the essence of improvisational live music performance. Interaction, interplay, development, all in a seemingly choreographed symphony of sound.

And he just sounds so good to listen to. Maybe that's it, really. It's impossible to quite put a finger on what it is about the music of John Coltrane that is so compelling, but it sure as hell is compelling.

Coltrane, Miles, Wayne, and that Modern Sound - Part 2 - Wayne

The enduring legacy of John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Wayne Shorter is undisputed in the jazz world. Each contributed greatly to the revolution in jazz in the 1960's, forming, defining, and expanding what is widely regarded as the height of jazz music. In this second of a 3-part series of blog posts, I will explore each in turn.

"The master writer to me, in that group, was Wayne Shorter. He still is a master. Wayne was one of the few people who brought music to Miles that didn't get changed."
Herbie Hancock, speaking about Shorter's compositional role in the Second Miles Davis Quintet

Shorter is not only one of jazz's best composers, but one of its best players as well. John Coltrane, exiting tenor player of Miles' first quintet, suggested him to Miles as a replacement and, after four years of working with various other tenor saxophone players, Miles finally hired Wayne.

Miles was one of the originators of modal jazz, a type of jazz which is organized in sections where one chord serves as the harmony for many measures. Composing in this similar vein but expanding the technique, shorter wrote many pieces with one dominant harmony but many chords, finding interesting and often chromatic ways of reinforcement. For example, instead of playing a D minor 7th chord for eight bars in a row, Shorter would perhaps compose a D minor 7th chord and then chords that quickly take us a way from D minor 7th, and then back again, without ever really leaving the feel of D minor.

The result are tunes that groove, move along in a definite path, but at the same time feel free and spacious. Check out Deluge, Black Nile, or Mahjong. 

He also wrote many tunes that have changes that function modally, but that have a chordal rhythm that is much more rapid than that of most modal tunes. These tunes are like giant tapestries with layers and rows of color that change as one moves one's eye across. As the chords move by, the subtle chromatic ways the notes change are very colorful. Check out Speak No Evil or El Gaucho or Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum (which is a great example; see if you can hear the bluesy progression and feel change in the middle of the tune's form).