Exploring Music with No Melody, part 2

In part one, we compared a ridiculous number (20) of definitions of the word, melody, and came up with our own, functional-but-flawed definition (a sequence of notes), eventually arriving at the question at the core of these music with no melody blog posts:

 Does good music require a strong, singable “tune” in the foreground? 

In part two, we conclude this discussion and examine a variety of works in which a foreground melody is not a primary organizing principle. There is a description of a composition project relating to this topic for my students at the end.

Discussion of the above question:

"In the foreground," means that the "tune" is front and centre, the musical aspect that most prominently gives the composition its identity. When we think of Yesterday (the Beatles song), Jingle Bells, Mendelssohn's Wedding March, Star Wars (main theme), or Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, we may think of many facets of these pieces (instrumentation, rhythms, our emotional responses to them, etc.), but it is likely that the aspect of these compositions that first pops into our head is the tune.

However, there are, perhaps surprisingly, numerous compositions whose most prominent and memorable aspect is probably not the “tune," and yet we consider them to be "good." Or even great!

Here are some of them; the first two have audio clips beneath the music examples, the remaining ones are all videos, some with scrolling scores:

J. S. Bach, Prelude 1, WTC I, BWV 846

If audio player not visible, click here to listen

L. van Beethoven, Symphony 7, II: Alegretto (pno. reduction)

Schoenberg — Farben (#3 of Five Pieces for Orchestra, also called "Summer Morning by a Lake: Chord Colours"; 1908)

A. Webern, Variations for Piano, op. 27, II

Glenn Gould's performance of the Webern is above; if you haven't heard it, I strongly recommend having a listen (and watch the hand crossings in the second movement, which starts at 1:31). It's very short, as is the case in all Webern music.


Next is another short one, Ligeti, Etudes for Piano, Book 1, No 2:




Howard Bashaw, Prelude no. 5; watch the pianist's hands:




Next is Messiaen, Petites esquisses d'oiseaux:




And after Messiaen, it makes sense to listen to some Toru Takemitsu music. This is Riverrun:



Morton Feldman, Piano And String Quartet (it's an hour and 20 minutes long, so get comfortable!):




Philip Glass's music very much belongs in this discussion; this is Glassworks:

These are just some of many compositions that don't have a melody, or "tune," as most people understand those words, as a prominent, foreground feature. There's also an entire genre of music in which this is also the case, which is called Spectralism, music that uses sound spectra or tone colour as a fundamental organizing principle. I wrote a blog about spectral music music a few years ago; click here if you wish to learn more about it. That post also has more music videos by other composers to check out.

In spectralism, as well as in all the above examples, composers found ways of drawing our attention to musical aspects other than melody. These aspects included continuous motion broken chords (Bach, Ligeti), repetitive arpeggios (Feldman), a focus on musical colour and/or sound masses (Schoenberg, Messiaen, Takemitsu, spectralism, Feldman), pointillism (Webern), arpeggios with interjected bird call emulations (Messiaen), fast, angular writing with repeated motives (Bashaw), static minimalism (Schoenberg, Feldman),  and pulsed minimalism with oscillating figures (Glass).

Composition project:  Write three short pieces for piano and one other instrument, in which melody is not a predominant feature. Each piece should approach this challenge in a different way. You can borrow techniques from any of the pieces cited above, or cited in my Spectralism blog, or from any other pieces, or you can come up with your own original solutions to this challenge. The harmonic language cannot be traditional tonality, but this does not exclude the use of traditional sonorities.

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UPDATE (2019): Here are more examples, suggested by, and with huge thanks to,  Robert Humber:

Rautavaara: Symphony No. 7, "Angel of Light"

Another piece by György Ligeti; this one's a modern classic: Lux Aeterna

Check out Symphony No. 1 (1951) by Henri Dutilleux; melodic fragments abound, but they don't really coalesce into what most of us would call a tune:




And here's another Robert Humber suggestion: Chukrum, by Giacinto Scelsi:

And finally, Child, by David Lang, part I: My Very Empty Mouth:

If you have any other suggestions of works that belong to this category, please share them via the "comments" section below!

Exploring Music with No Melody, part 1

Does good music require a melody? Does the melody have to be something memorable that we can sing or whistle after having heard it? And what exactly do we mean by “melody?”

Let’s take these questions one at a time, but in reverse order:

1. What is melody?

Compare these definitions of melody:

Oxford Dictionaries:

1. A sequence of single notes that is musically satisfying; a tune.
2. The aspect of musical composition concerned with the arrangement of single notes to form a satisfying sequence.
3. The principal part in harmonized music

Dictionary.com:

4. Musical sounds in agreeable succession or arrangement.
   
5. The succession of single tones in musical compositions, as distinguished from harmony and rhythm.
6. The principal part in a harmonic composition; the air.
7. A rhythmical succession of single tones producing a distinct musical phrase or idea.

Merriam-Webster.com:

8. A pleasing series of musical notes that form the main part of a song or piece of music.
9. A song or tune
10. A sweet or agreeable succession or arrangement of sounds; tunefulness.
11. A rhythmic succession of single tones organized as an aesthetic whole.

More from Dictionary.com:
12. A pleasing succession or arrangement of sounds.
13. A rhythmically organized sequence of single tones so related to one another as to make up a particular phrase or idea.
14. Structure with respect to the arrangement of single notes in succession.
15. The leading part or the air in a composition with accompaniment.
16. A succession of notes forming a distinctive sequence; tune.
17. The horizontally represented aspect of the structure of a piece of music.
18. The perception of pleasant arrangements of musical notes.
19. A rhythmical succession of musical tones organized as a distinct phrase or sequence of phrases.
20. Musically satisfying sequences of notes collectively

Well, the range of definitions is impressive! The closest thing to a common denominator in these definitions is that melody is a sequence (or succession, or series) of notes (tones, sounds). [The word sequence in these definitions simply means succession, not a musical sequence.]

I find it both surprising and odd that so many definitions include words like satisfying, agreeable, pleasant, and pleasing; it seems problematic to attach an emotional response to the definition of melody. 

If a melody is musically dissatisfying to someone, does that mean it's not a melody? Melody can be described in many ways — satisfying or dissatisfying, good or bad, aimless or purposeful, pointillistic or linear, chaotic or predictable, sparse or dense — without changing the fact that it is still a melody. One person's "bad" or "dissatisfying" melody may be another's "good" or "satisfying melody, but in either case, it's a melody. Subjective terms do not belong in the definition. 

My feeling is that a sequence of notes is a somewhat functional, albeit imperfect, definition of melody, because it allows debate on the relative merits or satisfaction-level of melodies without invalidating a melody or entire composition just because we don’t find it pleasant or satisfying. 

The problem, unfortunately, is that this definition — a sequence of notes — doesn't really tell us very much; is any sequence of notes a melody? This is debatable of course, but I suspect most people would say, for example, that a succession of pitches randomly selected from the 88 notes of a piano, with random durations, spaces in between, and dynamics, is not the kind of musical line we associate with the word melody. But perhaps for some people it is.

2. Does a melody have to be memorable?

Again, a problem with this question is that “memorable” is a subjective term; what I find memorable, you might not, and vice versa. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, is memorable. The melody to Scriabin, Prelude, op. 74 no. 2  (below), although very beautiful, perhaps less so (this is very short – only slightly longer than a minute – so, if you don't know this lovely miniature, please have a listen):

There are types of music, such as pop or musical theatre, in which it is particularly important that the melody be memorable.  More generally, it seems likely that most compositions that we enjoy have memorable melodies, but, at least in classical music, the entire piece is not likely to be equally memorable.

Symphonic development sections, for example, don’t need to be memorable; they just need to take the listener for a ride (sometime a wild one) to places where fragments of melodies sound familiar, but are used in unfamiliar contexts and often unstable harmonies.  Most people probably find it challenging to leave a symphonic performance humming the development section, but we don't hold that against a great symphony. For music geeks like me, classical development sections can be enthralling to hear and study, even if more memorable (and more complete) melodies come in the exposition (first section).   

3. Does good music require a melody, memorable or otherwise? 

Well, here we have to backtrack a little; if the question is, does good music require a "sequence of notes," then it seems that the answer is usually yes: Good music typically has notes, and they are typically in a sequence of some sort.  (Well thanks, Captain Obvious, you may be thinking…)

But even here there are exceptions, such as John Cage’s 4’ 33” (Spoiler alert: It has no notes), and non-pitched electronic music, particularly musique concrète. 

So let’s revise this question, because doing so will get us closer to the objectives of the composition project at the end of part 2 of these Exploring Music with No Melody blogs:

3®. Does good music require a strong, singable “tune” in the foreground? 

— See part 2 for the continuation of this discussion, with lots of music videos.

How much theory do you have to know in order to be a composer?

This is a question that I am sometimes asked, and it came up recently in a conversation I had with Karim Al-Zand, the visiting composer for our recent (January 26-28, 2012) Newfound Music Festival.  I won't attempt to quote him from memory, but my sense of the conversation is that he felt that it was very helpful for a composer to have good music theory skills, and I happen to agree, so I thought I would explain my reasons.

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What is meant by Music Theory?

"Music theory" may refer to any of the following:

• Analysis (structural, melodic, harmonic, rhythmic, Schenkerian, set theory, phenomenological, psychoacoustic, stylistic);
• Orchestration and instrumentation;
• Under "music theory," our university also lists rudiments, aural skills (ear-training), keyboard harmony,  and jazz theory;
• Harmony and counterpoint (renaissance counterpoint, baroque counterpoint, common-practice harmony, late-romantic harmony, 20th-century techniques).

By way of comparison, "art theories" cover a variety of topics such as theories of the nature, functions, and effects of art,  mimetic theories, procedural theories (abstraction, expressionism, formalism, minimalism, naturalism, romanticism, symbolism), expressive theories, formalist theories, processional theories, aestheticism, theories of organic unity, and pragmatism.  Click this link to read more, or do a Google search of "art theory" and browse some of the results.

"Theory" has very different meanings in music and visual art!

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Breaking it down…

With the understanding that "music theory" refers to a wide variety of topics as listed above, how much theory do you have to know to be a composer?

Let's break it down by topic within the wider category of music theory:

Analysis is an attempt to understand how music works using a variety of methodologies.  Analytical skills are useful for composers on at least four levels:

1. Discovering how other composers' music works is one of the best ways to develop compositional skills.
2. Analysis of others' works can stimulate the creative process by giving you ideas of things to try in your compositions.
3. Analytical skills are essential in achieving a deeper understanding of your own music — this understanding can help you make the most out of your musical materials, and can help get you unstuck when you feel as though you've run into a compositional brick wall. and
4. It is easy to lose perspective while composing, because the experience can be so subjective.  Analysis of one's own music is one method of introducing some semblance of objectivity into the equation.

Orchestration and instrumentation:  Instrumental ranges, the ways in which different instruments change tone colour in different registers, how to write idiomatically for different instruments, extended techniques, types of bowing, how different instruments sound in combination with one another, how to create different textures — it's all stuff composers should know.

Rudiments: As the name suggests, this refers to the study of the fundamental aspects of music, such as key signatures, time signatures, scale types, chord types, and accepted notation practices. But many composition students struggle at times with incorrect notation of rests and rhythms, and illogical and/or inconsistent enharmonic spellings. It's basic, it's boring (to some), but it's essential knowledge for composers who want others to perform their music.

Aural skills are among the most important skills a composer can have. It is useful to be able to hear an unusual chord, chord progression, tune, rhythm, etc., and to be able to quickly transcribe it, which might spur a creative impulse such as using some aspect of your transcription in your next piece, or to be able to quickly transcribe your complex musical ideas. If you have an idea, either in your head or something you've worked out on your instrument, struggling to notate your idea correctly introduces frustration, which is an inspiration killer. Good aural skills are also essential when rehearsing your music; if someone plays wrong notes or rhythms, you need to be able to hear this instantly and correct the problem. Or, if the ensemble plays notes or chords that don't jibe with what you intended to write, you need to figure that out and fix the wrong notes.

Keyboard skills:  Almost every "great" composer that you learn about in music history since the piano's rise in prominence in the late baroque era was regarded as an outstanding keyboard performer.  This suggests that keyboard skills are (or at least were) extremely important and useful for composers, but are they as important nowadays? To answer that, it would be helpful to know why so many great composers were great pianists. My guess is that there were at least three reasons:

1. Historically, excellent piano skills enabled composers to perform their music for others, even if the music was not written for piano, such as chamber music or a symphony. We now have computer technology to make approximate realizations of our music, but in earlier times, the piano (or organ) was the only way to do this. 
2. Historically, excellent piano skills were a great asset in the development of composers because they enabled composers to hear realizations of their own compositions long before computer technology existed that could fulfill this role.  
3. Being a skilled pianist facilitates score study of works by other composers.  Nowadays we can listen to recordings while studying scores, but even so, you discover things by playing (or, in my case, hacking) through a score that you don't necessarily get any other way.

The fact that there are many successful composers in the world today who are not piano virtuosi illustrates that exceptional keyboard skills are no longer essential for composers, although I believe it is very useful for any composer to have keyboard competency.

Harmony and counterpoint: In order to become a skilled composer, do you really need to master Bach-style harmony and counterpoint, or renaissance counterpoint, or late-romantic harmony, or many 20th-century techniques? Some people may tell you that John Cage and Iannis Xenakis didn't know any of this stuff, and they became two of the most important composers of the 20th century!

But how true is it that "they didn't know any of this stuff?" Wikipedia tells us that Cage had piano lessons as a boy, although he was apparently more interested in sight-reading than developing virtuoso technique – but lots of sight-reading is great training for a composer! He studied for two years with Arnold Schoenberg (who Cage apparently "worshipped"), and also with Henry Cowell. However, Cage claimed to struggle with harmony:

After I had been studying with him for two years, Schoenberg said, "In order to write music, you must have a feeling for harmony." I explained to him that I had no feeling for harmony. He then said that I would always encounter an obstacle, that it would be as though I came to a wall through which I could not pass. I said, "In that case I will devote my life to beating my head against that wall." (Pritchett, James. 1993. The Music of John Cage. Cambridge University Press; p. 260)

Wikipedia tells us that most of Cage's compositions from the 1930s are "highly chromatic and betray Cage's interest in counterpoint." The importance of structure was stressed to him by at least one of his mentors (Richard Buhlig). Cage drew upon an impressive variety of extra-musical influences, including art, architecture, Zen Buddhism, philosophy, and mathematical formulae. He may not have developed the deep mastery of traditional (i.e., "common-practice period") harmony and counterpoint that we associate with most other composers, but he did have some training in these areas with some pretty impressive composer-teachers!

Iannis Xenakis studied architecture and engineering at the National Technical University of Athens, and was subsequently employed at Le Corbusier's architectural studio in Paris, working on a number of projects, perhaps most famously the Philips Pavilion at the Brussels World's Fair in 1958, completed by Xenakis alone, from a basic sketch by Le Corbusier (Hoffmann, Peter. "Iannis Xenakis", Grove Music Online, ed. L. Macy).

Phillips Pavillion, Brussels World's Fair (1958), 
bearing an uncanny resemblance to a nun's fancy cornette and habit (below):

Coincidence?

But he also had musical training, having studied notation and solfège as a boy, and having sung works by Palestrina, Mozart, and other composers in his school's choir. [One of the best ways to learn renaissance counterpoint, by the way, is sing Palestrina, so this in itself represents a kind of training.]  While working for Le Corbusier, Xenakis also studied harmony, counterpoint, and composition with a variety of teachers. However, when he asked Messiaen if he should continue his studies in harmony and counterpoint, Messiaen famously recommended against it, something he apparently did with no other student.

I understood straight away that he was not someone like the others. [...] He is of superior intelligence. [...] I did something horrible which I should do with no other student, for I think one should study harmony and counterpoint. But this was a man so much out of the ordinary that I said... No, you are almost thirty, you have the good fortune of being Greek, of being an architect and having studied special mathematics. Take advantage of these things. Do them in your music. (Matossian, Nouritza. 1986. Xenakis. London: Kahn and Averill; p. 48)

Both Cage and Xenakis had training in harmony and counterpoint, although it was arguably less rigorous than the training received by most composers of classical music, even in the 20th-century.

The fact is that so many composers were well-trained in harmony and counterpoint, even among the avant-garde of the 20th-century, might suggest that these are probably still important skills to master for any composer.

But was this cause or effect? Did skills learned as students in harmony and counterpoint contribute to composers' later "greatness," or were "great" composers such good musicians, even when they were students, that they naturally did well in these subjects, whether or not they applied this knowledge to their mature compositions? We can't know for sure of course, but my hunch is that, for most composers, the harmony and counterpoint learned as students probably informed the development of their mature style, and made them better musicians.

If you studied harmony and counterpoint and did not do well, I do not suggest that your future development as a composer is irrevocably compromised, however.

For one thing, you can go back and study this stuff again. I did poorly on most of my Royal Conservatory of Music (Toronto) theory exams until I began my studies in composition, mainly because the material didn't seem relevant to me, and I had no background in classical music. When I began studying with Dr. Samuel Dolin, he told me that "harmony and counterpoint are relevant, but you won't know why until you become good at them." Since he had trained so many good composers before me, I figured he knew what he was talking about, and I dedicated myself to becoming more skillful in these areas.

For another, the fact that at least a few composers without extensive training in harmony and counterpoint went on to do very well for themselves would suggest that this training may not be as vital as was once considered to be the case (and probably still is in music schools and conservatories).

I nevertheless believe in the importance and value of becoming highly skilled in harmony (part-writing and analysis) and counterpoint because subsequent experiences as a composer have convinced me that Dr. Dolin's advice was 100% right. And for that I remain forever in his debt.

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Conclusion

How much theory do you have to know in order to be a composer?

• Think of the many aspects of music theory as a toolkit; the more tools (skills) you have, the better equipped you are to be a composer.
• It helps to know a lot!

Musical Influences - 2

In my "Musical Influences - 1" blog a few days ago, I promised to "spill the beans" and reveal some of my musical influences. Alas, I fear I have spilled a ridiculous quantity of beans; my response is awfully long... In any event, here is an expanded version of the answer I gave to the music teacher in the Northwest Territories who asked me about this last week:

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Some of the composers whose music I most admire include Lassus, Palestrina, J.S. Bach, Beethoven, Stravinsky, Bartok, Ravel, Messiaen, and Lutoslawski, but I'm not sure how much any of them actually influenced my music in any fundamental way. But they, and many other musical creators in many genres, have all inspired me, without a doubt. I am inspired by the fact that so many people have written magnificent works of sound art whose appeal has transcended time and some cultural differences; it gives me something to aspire to. I am inspired by the raw emotional power of great music.

Great musical creators have an uncompromising refusal to be satisfied with anything less than the absolute best work they are capable of creating. I am both inspired and influenced by this.

Something I hadn't realized until I began thinking about the answer to this question is that the influence of various composers can be found in many of my compositions, although usually for just a few bars here and there. For example, I have written a few pieces that have allusions to Bach in sections, for no valid reason other than it seemed like a good idea at the time, such as:

• There are about 15 seconds of Bach-like music at 7:11 of Dream Dance for solo piano;
• There is a longer, Bach-like toccatta section at 3:58 of Steppin'Out, for piano, violin, and cello;
• The piano figure that forms the entire basis of Julia's Prelude is taken from Bach's prelude to the Bb fugue in the Well-Tempered Clavier (WTC), book 1, although I gave it a Schumann-like harmonic treatment;
• Variation 9 of McGillicuddy's Rant is also based on that figure (Bach, WTCI, Bb Prelude).

In none of these cases was I trying to fool listeners into thinking I was Bach; I was just drawing upon some aspects of his music as a source of stylistic inspiration, in much the same way that I draw upon jazz, the blues, funk, tango, etc., in other pieces; it's all stuff I like, so it finds its way into my music sometimes.

Before I became a classical musician, my aspiration was to become a professional jazz musician, so it is perhaps no surprise that jazz, and related forms like funk and blues, has been a major influence on me, and there are great jazz musicians I admire tremendously, such as Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, and Oscar Peterson. Here are some of my jazz-influenced pieces:

• Funky Flute Groove Experience (2008; flute, electric guitar, electronics on CD)
• Jennifer's Tune (2005; piano, bass, optional drum kit)
• Urban Dance Music (#1 & 2: 2000, #3: 2003; alto saxophone, electronics on CD)
• Andrew Jacob's Ragtime Blues (2001; solo guitar)
• Night Music 2 (1993; no recording)
• Late-Night Music (1990; trumpet, bass, drum kit, piano)

Besides the above, I have written a few other works that show varying degrees of jazz influences, such as:

• Three Pieces for Violin and Piano (1997, ®2004).  The main theme in the first piece has a subtle reference (at least for me) to a blues-based pitch collection, even though this is a 12-tone composition, and the theme returns towards the end accompanied by a walking bass-line in the piano, which makes the bluesy feel more obvious. The third of these pieces, is more overtly-influenced by jazz, and really goes to town with a walking-bass idea, maintaining it for almost the entire piece. My apologies to all for this.
• The 4th variation of McGillicuddy's Rant (1980-2003) for solo guitar is titled "Bluesy." A weird aspect of this piece is that the second section isn't particularly bluesy; for some reason, it reminds me of music by "The Allan Parsons Project," even though I was never a particularly big fan of the theirs. That's pretty weird, if you ask me.
• Duck Soup (1994), for bass trombone and piano, makes use of some jazz-like material, but it is less overt than in most of the other compositions mentioned.
• Passage 3 for Orchestra (1992), also borrows from the jazz world in sections. For a while in the late 1980's and early 1990's it seemed that almost everything I was writing had a walking bass-line at some point, and when I realized this I was able to attend a 12-step, walking-bass recovery group that gave me the courage to put a stop to this insidious practice, at least for a few years. Alas, several relapses have occurred since then, but I'm working on this, taking it a day at a time.

Another specific influence on one piece in particular (Steppin'Out) was an ensemble called the Penguin Cafe Orchestra. Steppin'Out also gets kind of crazy towards the end, in a Jimi Hendrix, shredding-type way, so there's another inspiration.

Cartoons (and a now-defunct video game called Toontown.com) have also been a source of inspiration... I wrote a piece called Toontown Follies a couple of years ago that was supposed to be a little bit like cartoon music, and my band piece, The Misty Mall of Avalon, has cartoonish moments, and a kind of TV-show feel to the main theme.

George Harrison died while I was composing I sleep and my soul awakens… for guitar and string quartet, and, coincidentally, around the same time I noticed that the my four-note opening motive was identical to the first four notes of George Harrison's “Within You, Without You,” the Indian-inspired composition on the Beatles' “Seargent Pepper’s … ” album. I have been a huge fan of the Beatles ever since I became aware of popular music — I went to Paul McCartney's concert in Halifax this past summer, and it ranks at the pinnacle of my life's musical experiences — and I had tremendous admiration for George as guitarist/composer and, perhaps even more, as a human being, so I decided to write a section of I sleep… that expanded on that four-note motive so as to make it a more evident connection to Within You… I think the connection is subtle enough that if you didn't know about it, you might miss it, but if you know the Harrison composition and are listening for it, the connection is obvious.

But this is not what I would call an example of influence; it was more a matter of inspiration, so much so that I ended up calling the longish, meditative final section of that work "Kirtan for George."

The influences of a wide variety of composers can be found briefly at various points in different compositions of mine, but I have been influenced in a more general sense by genres of music, such as jazz, rock, funk, cartoons, TV game shows, new age, minimalism, renaissance, modernism, and probably a whole lot more. I like many different kinds of music, and I guess that is reflected in the music I write.