On Musical Genius

Many of the composers whose music we study and hear are referred to as musical geniuses. I did a Google search for “music genius” and got 142 million results (EDIT: Just searched again in Jan 2019, and got 545 million results), which suggests that a lot of people use this expression. But what does it mean? And if we do not regard ourselves as musical geniuses, can we aspire to become great (or even good) composers?

In The Second Sex (1949), Simone de Beauvoir’s wrote: “One is not born a genius; one becomes a genius.” 

[On a side note, the continuation of de Beauvoir's sentence is, “and the feminine situation has up to the present rendered this becoming practically impossible.” Sexism, as it applies to music composition has long been, and continues to be an issue. Here are links to two blog posts I wrote on this topic: No Great Women Composers? (1); and No Great Women Composers? (2)]

The idea that one can become a genius is empowering because it suggests that some people can reach this lofty status if they wish to do so and if they work very hard and very intelligently, but before going further, it would be useful to explore the meaning of this term

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What does it mean, exactly?

The term “genius” is is widely used, but lacks a precise, widely-accepted definition. 

Wikipedia tells us that “the question of whether the notion itself has any real meaning has long been a subject of debate” (Genius. (n.d.). Retrieved 13 Jan. 2015, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genius). When someone refers to a composer (or anyone) as a genius, we "kind of" know what they mean, but we do not know exactly what they mean. Perhaps they regard the composer as being very smart, but since we are talking about a composer and not, say, a theoretical physicist (like Einstein), how are we to know how smart they were?

One understanding of genius relates to intelligence, and specifically to someone of exceptional intelligence. But "intelligence" is a similarly-imprecise concept; IQ tests are designed to measure it, but, as this article tells us,  the validity of IQ tests has been challenged by many. And besides, if we call Bach a genius, it seems unlikely that we do so because we believe Bach would have scored extremely highly on an IQ test (although one can speculate about this possibility); we are presumably referring to his musical genius. But what does "musical genius" mean?

Possibly it means that we are impressed by the great quantity of well-crafted music Bach wrote, and that we find his music profoundly moving, on a level that few have been able to match in musical history. If you have studied counterpoint and tried writing a fugue, you know how difficult it can be to write a good one; if you analyze Bach fugues after having tried writing them, you will almost certainly be blown away by how inventive, and beautiful they are. You might therefore conclude that Bach was extraordinarily clever, and, on that basis alone, label him as a musical genius.

I don’t have a problem with someone holding Bach (or Palestrina, Beethoven, Bartok, The Beatles, Miles Davis, Burt Bacharach, Kanye West, etc.) in such high regard — the more I learn about music, the more impressed I am by the achievements of great musicians in all genres — but I’m just not sure that we all mean the same thing when we call composers geniuses; as stated earlier, the term lacks a precise, generally-agreed-upon definition.

So why do people persist on using this term? My guess, at least as it is used in music, is that it is a way of accounting for qualities that the writer/teacher/blowhard-in-a-bar/etc. is otherwise unable to account for. Perhaps, when we call a composer a genius, we are saying, “I can’t imagine ever having the skill to produce music that is so profoundly moving (or so darned clever, or so vexingly incomprehensible, etc.), and therefore Palestrina (or Charlie Parker, Keith Jarrett, Mozart, Jimi Hendrix, Ray Charles, R. Kelly, etc.) was a genius, and you and I are not. Or at least I are not!”

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Becoming a genius, in 4 E-Z Steps! 

1. Work hard (practice). Now work harder!
2. Work smart. Don't work hard on stupid things.
3. Be smart. 
4. Find a supportive environment.

Okay, the "4 E-Z Steps" towards genius-hood is tongue-in-cheek, but, whether we regard individuals a musical geniuses or not, mastery of music has always been the result of hard work for extended periods (usually decades), with good teachers, familial/community support, AND above-average intelligence as well. This is an idea suggested by psychologist Scott Barry Kaufman, PhD, in a Psychology Today article entitled: Attaining musical genius: Is practice enough? (17 June 2008). He writes:

“While Mozart may have required lots and lots of practice to produce his great works, his high intellect may have also contributed to his musical genius,”

Possibly your reaction to this  quote is to say (or think), "NO SHIT, SHERLOCK!"

Kaufman cites a 2007 article by J. Ruthsatz, D. Detterman, W.S. Griscom, and B.A. Cirullo, Becoming an expert in the musical domain: It takes more than just practice, whose conclusion may be neatly summarized as follows:

Musical achievement = general intelligence + domain-specific skills + practice

In other words, practice is an essential ingredient, but so are intelligence and "domain-specific" skills. Which you probably knew…

Here's another quote by someone who supports and neatly summarizes this view: 

“I was intrigued by this term "genius", because as far as I can see it is completely useless,” said Phil Grabsky, director of a feature-length documentary, In Search of Mozart. “What the characters we sometimes call geniuses have in common is drive and determination, often good parenting, and the fact that they are products of the social conditions of their time,' he said. 'All of this was true for Mozart. His talent wasn't simply a gift from God, it was the result of tremendously hard work.” (Source: http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2006/jan/01/arts.music)

…To which I would add, yes, it wasn't "simply a gift from God," but Mozart's talent wasn't just the result of "tremendously hard work" either; not everyone who trains diligently for, say, 10,000 hours, ends up producing work of comparable quality to Mozart's.

→ If this topic interests you, you might enjoy this blog post: "Talent? Skill? What's the Difference?"

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Do you have to be a genius to understand how great music works?

Here's some good news: You do not need to be a genius to understand how great compositions work; you just have to make a concerted effort to do so, which develops analytical skills. Indeed, this is one of the core objectives of most music theory courses. Not understanding how a composition works may be the result of not having worked sufficiently to do so, or not having developed the skills to do so, rather than being caused by the composition operating on a plane so high that it defies understanding by ordinary mortals. That said, I'm pretty sure that some composers in the 1950's set out to deliberately write music so complex that it challenged the comprehension of ordinary mortals, but that's a topic for a different day.

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Do you have to be a genius to compose great music? 

Aside from the fact that the term "musical genius" does not have a generally-agreed-upon meaning (or even, if you agree with the Grabsky quote above, it has no meaning), I see it as a problematic term in that it can discourage those who do not see themselves as geniuses from attempting to develop their compositional skills. "Great music was composed by musical geniuses," you might think; "so what chance do I have of ever writing great music, if I am not a genius?"

If such a thought has ever crossed your mind, it might help to be aware of this:

Great composers wrote a lot of not-great music on their way to writing great music. The learning curve for mastery of composition is steep, and every great composer that ever lived took years to develop their "greatness," and it will be no different for you.

"Ah, but what of Mozart," you may ask; "didn't he write great music when he was four, or five, or six?" Answers: No, and no, and no. I discussed this at greater length in "Talent, Skill; What's the Difference?" (apologies for two plugs in one blog post!), but to summarize, although Mozart was indeed a clever and talented youngster, I'm not sure anyone regards music he wrote in the first 17 years of his life as great. Greatness came later. Former New York Times music critic Harold Schonberg went so far as to call Mozart a late bloomer (i'm paraphrasing; he actually wrote that Mozart "developed late"), arguing that few of Mozart's early works, elegant as they are, have the personality, concentration, and richness that entered his music after 1781" [the year he turned 25]. (Lives of the Great Composers, Part 2, p. 103).

It is nevertheless true that some composers —notably Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Saint-Saëns— manifested great compositional talent early. However, even these composers took years to master compositional craft, albeit fewer years than most other composers (including Mozart) took.

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To summarize, "musical genius" is a much-used term, but one whose meaning is not clear, making it problematic to know what exactly people mean when they use this term. It can also be a daunting concept if your goal is to become a better composer, and you are reasonably confident that you are not a musical genius. My suggestion is to not allow yourself to be discouraged by terms like this, and focus instead on becoming the best composer you can become, which, as always,  is done through a combination of hard work, long hours of regular practice, using and developing your intelligence, studying the music of composers you admire in an effort to understand what makes it great, and finding a nurturing environment in which to do this, be it school, a group of friends with similar interests, or retreating to nature in order to compose and study music.

In any great composer's development, not very good music preceded okay music, which preceded pretty-good music, which preceded good music, which preceded great music. I cannot promise that you will write great music, but I can promise that your compositional skills will improve if you stick with it, and it is entirely possible that you have it in you to write great music one day!

Talent? Skill? What's the difference?

In my previous blog entry, I posed the question:

What about talent? Where does that fit in the makeup of a good composer?

Here is a definition for "talent," from the online Cambridge Advanced Learner's Dictionary:

A natural ability to be good at something, especially without being taught.

Other definitions often use the word "innate," meaning "something you are born with," which means the same thing in this context as "natural."  Some of the many areas in which people are sometimes said to have talent include:

• Public speaking
• Dance
• Mathematics
• Writing
• Sports
• Being funny
• Chairing meetings
• Music

But how could anyone possibly be born with a talent for chairing meetings? you might ask, possibly with some indignation After all, babies seemingly never actually chair meetings, at least when grown-ups are around (when grown-ups aren't around, who knows what they are up to?).

Since we tend not to see babies engaging in action such as chairing meetings, writing fiction or non-fiction, composing concertos, etc., how do we know if they are born with these talents?

It would seem very difficult to establish proof of talent in many of these areas in an infant; I would suggest that they generally become evident at later stages of development (c.f. Erickson's stages of psychosocial development), after an individual has had the opportunity to develop skills relating to these areas (talent in composition generally follows the development of skills as a musician, for example).

This leads me to propose the following:

Talent must be developed in order to be manifested.

However, something that has to be developed in order to be manifested sounds very much like a skill; how is talent different from skill?

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Here is a definition of Skill in The American Heritage Dictionary:

Proficiency, facility, or dexterity that is acquired or developed through training or experience.

The essential difference, it would seem, is that talent is something we are are born with, while skill may in fact be related to an innate talent, but it must be developed.

But even this does not fully clarify the difference between talent and skill, because if talent is only manifested after at least some development, then how is it any different from skill, which is also manifested after development?

Some might argue that the difference is that a person with a particular talent would require less training to develop proficiency in that area than someone without that talent.

Perhaps this is true, but the speed with which one develops proficiency in an area is also highly dependent on other factors as well, such as motivation, environment, opportunity, and instruction. Someone of average talent might develop skill more quickly than an individual with greater talent, if the first person were more motivated, and/or had better teaching.

All of this leads me to wonder if it is possible to measure innate ability, and, if it cannot be measured, is it possible to prove that it even exists?

Let's explore that.

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When we describe an individual as "talented," we often mean that they learn or develop particular skills very quickly, or do them very well, with seemingly less effort than someone else with seemingly less talent.

However, these things do not necessarily mean that an individual is talented; perhaps the so-called "talented" person learns particular things quickly or does them well because they have had more practice doing so.

Or perhaps some of the skills a person has developed in one area (e.g., bicycle racing) can be transferred to another (e.g., speed skating), and it is this that allows them to develop so quickly in the second area.

(Canadian Clara Hughes, who has won multiple medals in both the summer and winter Olympic games, is a great example of this kind of skill transference. Another example is Pierre Boulez, who quickly (while still in his twenties) established an international reputation as one of the leading composers of the Modernist era, but he has subsequently also become known as one of the leading conductors in the world.  Most of the "great" composers of classical music were also regarded as among the great performers of their time.)

As a teacher, it can be tempting to conclude that one student is more talented than another because of a difference in their rates of progress. However, because teachers have limited knowledge of their students prior to meeting them in the classroom or private studio, we do not actually know how much time students have spent developing skills in the areas in which we teach, or in cognate areas. Not only that, but we don't really know how hard students work outside of the classroom on the skills we teach, or how efficiently they are working.

While teachers often get a sense that some students seems to learn more easily or develop skills more quickly than others, the lack of information we have about their background, practice habits, and other impediments to learning (there are many circumstances in a student's personal life than can inhibit learning) gives us no basis on which to conclude that one student is any more talented than another.

A potential danger in drawing conclusions on the relative talent levels of our students when we don't really have a basis for doing so is that we might give in to the temptation of tailoring our teaching in some way to the "talented" students, perhaps because they respond better to our teaching, thereby ensuring that those who struggle continue to do so. Or, more generally, we might encourage the "talented" more than the "untalented."

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Are you suggesting that there is no such thing as talent?

I am suggesting that we need to reexamine our assumptions of what talent is, whether there is any way of measuring it, and yes, even of whether there really is such a thing as talent (as opposed to skill, which is something that very clearly exists and that can be both developed and measured).

One way to prove the existence of talent would be to establish a control group of kids who all received identical upbringing, including parenting style and values, education, and training in the arts and sports, and then measure their achievement in the various areas in which they had been trained at regular intervals to see if some were to demonstrate a significant and lasting superiority to their peers in particular areas.

I'm not actually sure this would prove anything (other than being an impossible study to conduct from a practical standpoint, not to mention the ethical/legal impediments to establishing such a control group!), because you would have to factor motivation in there as well; people learn more easily when they are motivated to do so, and there it would seem unlikely that everyone from this hypothetical control group would have a similar level of motivation in all areas.

Another way — and this has the advantages of being both feasible and legal(!) — would be to study identical twins adopted into different families to see if one twin's significant strength in a particular area is matched by the other twin. I would guess studies like this have been done, and if I find any, I will report back on a later blog.

But what about Mozart? He must have been HUGELY talented to compose symphonies when he was only four years old!

Indeed, he would have been, but he wrote no symphonies (or any other type of music) when he was four. After Mozart's death, his sister, Nannerl, wrote: At the age of five he was already composing little pieces, which he played to his father who wrote them down (Deutsch 1965, p. 455).

There are several points to note from this statement:

1. Nannerl was writing years after the fact, at a point when her late brother was widely acknowledged as a great composer — according to Wikipedia, Mozart's sparse funeral did not reflect his standing with the public as a composer: memorial services and concerts in Vienna and Prague were well attended. Indeed, in the period immediately after his death Mozart's reputation rose substantially: Solomon describes an "unprecedented wave of enthusiasm" (Solomon 1995, p. 499) for his work; biographies were written (first by Schlichtegroll, Niemetschek, and Nissen); and publishers vied to produce complete editions of his works.
   
   Nannerl also wrote that upon meeting her brother and becoming familiar with his music in 1781, Joseph Haydn said to Mozart's father: I tell you before God, and as an honest man, your son is the greatest composer known to me by person and repute; he has taste, and what is more, the greatest skill in composition (Deutsch 1965, pp. 461–462). It seems likely that Nannerl's goal in writing these statements was to document (and perhaps even embellish) her brother's greatness, and, as such, it is difficult to know how historically accurate they are.
   
   In any event, that Mozart became a great composer as an adult after having been a precociously-skilled child is not in question (at least by most people familiar with his music; Glenn Gould famously felt otherwise, arguing that Mozart died too late rather than too early (Ostwald 1997, p. 249)). What is less certain is the degree to which his youthful compositional efforts were aided by his father.
   
   
2. Nannerl mentions her brother composing "little pieces." Not symphonies. Now, admittedly, composing little minuets at the age of five (or six, some historians maintain) is pretty darn special, but did these little pieces contain the seeds of greatness he would later achieve as a composer? Or, put another way, there have been (and continue to be) many highly-precocious young kids in the world whose impressive early achievements might have been comparable in some way to Mozart's, but very few of them have come anywhere close to achieving what Mozart did as an adult. Mozart's place in music history was achieved on the basis of his compositional work as an adult, not as a child.
   
   
3. "... which he played to his father, who wrote them down." His father, Leopold (1719–1787), was a highly-accomplished musician himself — he was deputy Kapellmeister to the court orchestra of the Archbishop of Salzburg, as well as a composer and an experienced teacher. If young Wolfgang played mistakes (parallel fifths, doubled leading tones, etc.) in his childhood compositions, might Leopold have corrected them in the process of transcribing them to music manuscript? Given that he was an experienced teacher (and his son's greatest advocate, AKA a "stage parent"), it seems likely that Leopold would have pointed out mistakes and ways of improving these little pieces.
   
   It is presumably for these reasons that the symphonies listed as #2 and #3 by Mozart are now listed as "spurious," with #2 thought to have been composed by Leopold.
   
   In any event, the point here is that it is hard to know the degree to which Mozart's early compositional efforts were aided by his father, and it is therefore at least possible that some of what we attribute to "pure genius" or "natural talent" on the part of Mozart can be attributed to the help received from his father.
   
   
4. And finally, although you and I were probably not composing little pieces for the piano at the age of five, we also did not have Leopold Mozart as our dad. Leopold published a treatise on violin playing the year that Wolfgang was born, and taught both of his children how to play violin and piano at remarkably early ages. He also assembled books of compositions from which to learn piano (and perhaps composition as well) for both of his children (Blom, p.11). Mozart was home-schooled by his father, and this home-schooling included much musical training. Leopold's desire to show off the skills of his children (did I mention he was a stage-dad?) is obvious from the frequent tours to perform for European royalty that began when Wolfgang was six. Given his skills as both a musician and teacher of music, and his evident desire for his children to excel at music and be recognized for it, it seems at least possible that other children growing up in that environment might also have been "composing little pieces" at remarkably early ages.
   
   To what degree were Wolfgang Mozart's childhood accomplishments the result of the intensive musical training he received, and to what degree were they a product of his musical gift or innate talent?
   
   

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Postscript: After writing the above, I was reading Outliers — The Story of Success, by Malcolm Gladwell – mainly because I wanted to learn more about the so-called "10,000 hour rule" discussed in my Inspiration, Perspiration, and Perspicacity blog of about a month ago – and found this quote from Genius Explained, by the late British cognitive psychologist Michael Howe:

... by the standards of mature composers, Mozart's early works are not outstanding. The earliest pieces were all probably written down by his father, and perhaps improved in the process. Many of Wolfgang's childhood compositions, such as the first seven of his concertos piano and orchestra, are largely arrangements of works by other composers. Of those concertos that only contain music original to Mozart, the earliest that is now regarded as a masterwork (No. 9, K. 271) was not composed until he was twenty-one: by that time Mozart had already been composing concertos for ten years (Howe, p. 3).

The music critic Harold Schonberg goes even further:

It is strange to say of a composer who started writing at six, and lived only thirty-six years, that he developed late, but that is the truth. Few of Mozart's early works, elegant as they are, have the personality , concentration, and richness that entered his music after 1781" [the year he turned 25]. (Lives of the Great Composers, Part 2, p. 103)

We can become so caught up in the mystification of genius that we overlook the fact that any person of significant accomplishment, even those we call geniuses, achieved what they did through protracted hard work.

I will conclude by returning to the question posed at the outset: Where does talent fit in the makeup of a good composer?

It's hard to say. I'm not prepared to say there is no such thing as talent, but I will suggest the following:

• If there is such a thing as talent, it needs to be developed in order to be manifested;
  
  
• Skill clearly exists, and can be developed through good training;
  
  
• Skill is measurable, but if someone has come up with a way of measuring talent as an independent quality from skill, I don't know of it;
  
  
• I see no benefit in concerning yourself with the issue of how talented you are, or whether you possess enough "raw" talent to achieve greatness. If you focus on developing your skills, and, if you work both diligently and intelligently over a sufficiently long period, you will become highly skilled. 
  
  
•  If you become highly skilled, AND continue to work hard and intelligently you may distinguish yourself in your field, but achieving publicly-recognized success is dependent on factors that may have nothing to do with talent or skill!
  
  
• Perhaps the main reason everyone who sets out to become highly skilled does not succeed in doing so is that many loose their motivation somewhere along the way.
  

Inspiration, Perspiration, and Perspicacity

Joshua White, who in his most recent blog says he has written more music in this past week than he did in the previous four, asks:

• Does it take inspiration to make music that I will be personally satisfied with?
• If so, is there any way to seek this inspiration or come up with an inspiring idea?
• Would it be better to steer clear of inspiring ideas and become better at working with ok ideas to make them good technically?

These are great questions, and bring to mind Thomas Edison's famous adage about inspiration versus perspiration:

"Genius is one per cent inspiration and ninety-nine per cent perspiration."

What exactly is inspiration? Here is part of what the current Wikipedia article has to say about it:

Inspiration refers to an unconscious burst of creativity in a literary, musical, or other artistic endeavour. Literally, the word means "breathed upon," and it has its origins in both Hellenism and Hebraism. Homer and Hesiod believed that inspiration derived from Gods such as the oracle of Delphi. Similarly, in the Ancient Norse religions, inspiration derives from the Gods. Inspiration is also a divine matter in Hebrew poetics. In the Book of Amos the prophet speaks of being overwhelmed by God's voice and compelled to speak. In Christianity, inspiration is a gift of the Holy Spirit.

It seems that inspiration is often seen as something of a mystery. How do we get great ideas? Where do they come from? How do we create the circumstances under which inspiration can arise?

My take on this is that the feeling of being inspired is a wonderful thing, but it is fruitless to wait for 'inspired moments' in order to create something good. In essence, I agree with Edison on the relationship between inspiration and perspiration in the creative process.

Here's another question:

What does it mean if something comes easily to you?
(a) You are inspired; or
(b) You are working within your comfort zone, not really trying anything you haven't done before.

I can only answer for myself, and say that lots of times for me that answer is (b).

Something I have said in class is that it helps to think of composition like a job. If you were a film music composer, and a director said, "we need x minutes of music for a chase scene, y minutes for a love scene, and z minutes for a scene where the protagonist is verging on madness... Oh, and we need all that in 24 hours!", you would probably get busy and write all that music as quickly as possible, knowing that if you failed to do so, or if the music wasn't very good, the director would find someone else to do the job.

In other words, you would work extremely hard (perspiration), and not sit around waiting/hoping for inspiration to magically appear. Deadlines often provide all the inspiration you need.

I find it helps to think of ALL composition projects that way. Some will end up being more personal than others — they will have more of you in them — but it is often easier to finish a composition if you think of it as a job that needs to be done, as opposed to, say, thinking of it as an opportunity to reveal your inner psyche through music.

And, by the way, all things you create will have at least some of your DNA in them, whether you are aiming to do this or not.

Perspicacity — defined by the Compact Oxford Dictionary as "having a ready insight into and understanding of things" — is part of the equation in this way: If you understand the potential of the musical materials with you are dealing, you are far more likely to compose something good than if such were not the case.

Understanding the potential of musical materials that you create, and knowing what to do with these ideas, are all part of the craft of musical composition. It is safe to say that no matter how inspired you are, you are not likely to compose something really good until you have a mastery of this craft. And again, the only way to gain such mastery is to work very hard at it.

I have written about ways in which this can be done in other blogs, most notably the entire nine-part series on Composition Issues that were the very first posts to this blog. I will paste the links to this series at the bottom of today's entry.

I will leave you for today with a provocative statement:

Good composers are good by virtue of the fact that they work hard; mediocre composers are not as good because they do not work as hard. If a composition is not considered to be very good, it probably indicates more about the composer's laziness than it does about talent or inspiration.

Okay, have at it! What do you think?

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→ Composition Issues (9-part series) ←

1. Originality and Quality of Initial Musical Ideas
1.1. The quality of ideas may not matter very much in determining the quality of the complete composition that emerges from them; and
1.2. The degree to which these ideas are original may not matter very much.

2. How do you Develop Compositional Craft?
2.1. Study the music of others.
2.2. Compose as much as you can.
2.3. Invite (and be open to) criticism from others.

3. Understanding your Musical Idea
3.1. Live with it for a while.
3.2. What's it about?
3.3. Does it change character?
3.4. What is its function within the context of the piece?
3.5. Structural Analysis.
3.6. Harmonic (or Pitch, Scale, etc.) Analysis.

4. The Pros and Cons of Development

5. How to Extend or Develop Musical Materials; Specific Suggestions

6. Balancing the Old with the New, the Expected with the Unexpected

7. More Dichotomies to Ponder…
7.1. Less is more, vs. More is more.
7.2. Always leave them wanting more, vs. Give them what they want.
7.3. Don't treat the listener like an idiot, vs. There's a sucker born every minute.
7.4. There can be 'too much of a good thing,' vs. If you have a good idea, then stick with it!
7.5. The George Costanza approach.

8. I think my idea has run its course. Now what?
8.1. The three models for composers' roles.
8.2. Mastery or Mystery?
8.3. The value of a plan.
8.4. Getting stuck, and possible workarounds.
8.5. Don't obsess!
8.6. Challenges = Opportunities for inspired solutions!

9. Taking your inspiration from wherever you find it

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