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.

Spectralism

The topic of spectral music came up in class today, and I thought it would be interesting to find out more about it.

Let's start by listening to an excerpt from "La Barque Mystique" by Tristan Murail, chosen in part because the instrumentation is very similar to that of the ensemble some of you are writing for (second project, W2012).  This may also give you ideas for textures and roles of the instruments to use in your own composition.

You may have noticed that there appears to be no melody.  The texture changes frequently, but at no point do we get anything that might be described as melody with accompaniment, or homophony.  The instruments often play different material from one another, some of it linear, but it doesn't appear to be contrapuntal in sense of intertwining relatively independent melodic lines.

Instead, we hear a succession of sonorities for the most part, often begun in the piano, with other instruments contributing pitches to the piano's, thereby changing the overall musical colour.  Many of the sonorities are sustained, but there is sections with short bursts of activity, particularly in the piano.

To me, the effect is of many "splashes" of sound colour.

You also may not have heard anything resembling a regular pulse here; it may well be that the performers are feeling a pulse that helps keep them together, but it does not sound like metrically predictable music in any way.

And so, with no melody and no regular pulse, we might well ask, what is it that holds this music together?  The answer is that it uses timbre (sound colour) as its primary organizing principle; it is an example of spectral music.  An even clearer example of this is Gérard Grisey's Partiels, which can be found at the end of this blog.  Have a listen to it now if you like.

From Wikipedia (accessed today; disregard the fact that the second sentence is not a sentence):

Spectral music (or spectralism) is musical composition practice where compositional decisions are often informed by the analysis of sound spectra. Computer-based sound spectrum analysis using tools like DFT, FFT, and spectrograms. The spectral approach focuses on manipulating the features identified through this analysis, interconnecting them, and transforming them.

The spectral approach originated in France in the early 1970s, and techniques were developed, and later refined, primarily at the Institut de Recherche et Coordination Acoustique/Musique [IRCAM], Paris, with the Ensemble l'Itinéraire, by composers such as Gerard Grisey and Tristan Murail. Murail has described spectral music as an aesthetic rather than a style, not so much a set of techniques as an attitude – that "music is ultimately sound evolving in time". Julian Anderson indicates that a number of major composers associated with spectralism consider the term inappropriate, misleading, and reductive. More recently (2003) the Istanbul Spectral Music Conference redefined the term "spectral music" to encompass any music that foregrounds timbre as an important element of structure or musical language.

Some points of particular interest are:

1. Murail describes spectralism as an aesthetic, rather than a style, which I take to mean that he regards it as a principle or value within his compositional philosophy;
2. Murail's statement that "music is ultimately sound evolving in time" makes me think of light passing through a slowly turning prism or crystal,  changing colour gradually and beautifully;
3. Some composers associated with spectralism consider the term misleading, which suggests to me that different composers define the term differently; and
4. The Istanbul Spectral Music Conference (ISMC; 2003) definition of spectral music encompasses any music in which timbre is an important element of structure or musical language; this seems significantly more open-ended than the definition found at the beginning of the Wikepedia article (compositional decisions … often informed by the (computer) analysis of sound spectra).

If the idea of composing music in which colour is an important organizing principle appeals to you, then I encourage you to give it a try.  You are free to define spectralism in whatever way you wish, be it the more "scientific," computer sound analysis model, or the more open-ended, ISMC redefinition, or even some other definition of your own making.

One of the wonderful freedoms in composing is that you can define terms relating to your compositional practice in any way that is meaningful for you. Your understanding of these concepts may be spot on, or seriously flawed, but ultimately it doesn't matter as long as you compose good music.  Good music can grow out of an idiosyncratic or even inaccurate understanding of a term or concept, such as spectralism, polystylism, minimalism, etc.

I think it is important for composers, even experienced ones, to constantly find ways to increase our compositional vocabulary (knowledge of techniques, devices, and styles), and trying a variety of compositional approaches such as spectralism, polystylism, etc., in whatever way we understand these terms, are ways of doing this.

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Below are more videos of what could be considered to be spectral music (the first might not be considered spectral by some, but it is certainly an example of #4 above):

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

Gérard Grisey —Partiels (1975)

John Chowning — Stria (1977)

Iancu Dumitrescu - Cogito/Trompe l'Oeil (part 2/2)

Want to learn more? Read Introduction to the Pitch Organization of French Spectral Music, by François Rose, in Perspectives of New Music, Vol. 34, No. 2 (Summer, 1996), pp. 6-39.

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!

On the "hatred" of modern classical music due to the brain's inability to cope...

Last week I posted a link to an article in The Telegraph (UK) entitled, "audiences hate modern classical music because their brains cannot cope."  The subheading of the article states: "Modern classical music is so widely disliked by audiences because the human brain struggles to find patterns it needs to understand the compositions as music."

Note that somewhere between the headline and the sub-heading, modern classical music has gone from being "hated" to "widely disliked." At least things are looking up!

My thoughts on the article:

1. What is meant by "modern classical music?"  Schoenberg (who died in 1951) is cited seven times, and Webern (who died in 1945) once; no other twentieth-century or present-day composers are mentioned.  This suggests no awareness whatsoever of the "modern" classical music scene.  If this article had been written in 1930, it would make sense to cite Schoenberg and Webern as representatives of (only) one stream of modern classical music, but even then it would have been a very narrow cross-section of the composers active at that time, which also included Vaugh Williams, Rachmaninoff, Ives, Holst, Ravel, De Falla, Bartok, Prokofiev, Gershwin, Copland, Khachaturian, and Shostakovich. Equating "modern classical music" with "the music of Schoenberg and Webern" in 2010 is beyond perplexing; it is bizarre.
2. Where is the evidence for audience "hatred" or "wide dislike" of modern classical music? None is given.
   
   Don't get me wrong; I am not living in some alternate universe in which people never express antipathy towards contemporary classical music. Quite the opposite, in fact! I am suggesting that the article in question takes this view as a given, without any attempt to substantiate it.  I have certainly heard people say they don't like contemporary classical music, but I have also heard the same said about medieval music, classical music in general, rap, jazz, rock & roll...  In fact, I think I have at some point heard just about every musical genre maligned, but none of this constitutes evidence for widespread hatred of these genres.
   
   On the other hand, each musical genre has its own and often substantial following, and contemporary classical music is no different. Consider this:
   
   
   • Compact disc recordings of Henryk Górecki's Symphony No. 3 ("Symphony of Sorrowful Songs") have, according to Wikipedia, sold more than a million copies.
   • According to an article in the New York Times (to which I posted a link in another blog last week), Nonesuch Records cultivates its own version of [an] alternative audience, and has done wonderfully, sometimes selling more than 100,000 copies of CD's by Steve Reich, Philip Glass, Astor Piazzola and the Kronos Quartet, and only slightly less of John Adams.
   • I have witnessed packed houses whooping and hollering their enthusiasm for new classical music numerous times at the Winnipeg New Music Festival.
While none of these things "prove" that modern classical music is overwhelmingly popular, they are among many other indicators suggesting that some of it, at least, has a significant following. Michael Gordon, composer and co-founder of "Bang on a Can," writes: The wonderful guitarist, Mark Stewart, who is a member of the Bang on a Can All-Stars, but who also plays in Paul Simon’s band and on the film scores of Elliot Goldenthal, says “I play three kinds of music: popular, semi-popular, and unpopular.” Mark calls my music and the music of Bang on a Can “semi-popular.” [New York Times, 5 March 2007]

"Semi-popular music;" that gives us all something to aspire to!


3. We often speak of audiences as if they were single, monolithic entities, but they are groups of individuals that typically share some traits, but are distinct from one another in other ways. It is problematic to generalize about what audiences like or dislike; if it were simple, every television show, movie, and pop song would be a hit.
   
   I was a church music director for several years, and I remember once being told that "the congregation finds the music too fast" (or perhaps it was "too loud;" I don't actually remember).  How did we learn what the congregation thought, I wondered; was there an exit poll?  Of course not!  In the subsequent conversation I learned that one individual had complained about the music to one of the priests, and the priest, perhaps sharing the same concerns, had reported it to me.
   
   I don't mean to pick on this priest; I suspect we all have overstated a case on occasion. I have had similar conversations with radio producers, concert producers, etc., who have suggested they know what audiences like and dislike, but upon further discussion it often turns out that they are stating personal preferences, often reinforced by a few others telling them they feel the same way.
   
   Conducting a poll is theoretically a more objective method of finding out what people really think, but interpreting the data gathered through a poll can be a tricky business, potentially flawed by the biasses of the polling organization or individual conducting/interpreting the poll.  
   
   In any event, when a person states that audiences "hate modern classical music," they are not usually conveying the results of a poll; they are often expressing their own personal feelings about modern classical music, possibly based on part on what a few others have told them. This does not constitute evidence in support of their statement.
4. The implication that modern classical music is complex, and the music of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven isn't, shows a lack of understanding of both older and newer classical music.  There are works of deep complexity by the great composers of centuries past (e.g., late Beethoven quartets, Thomas Tallis' 40-part motet, "Spem in alium," Bach's "Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue" and "The Musical Offering," Chopin's "Prelude in A Minor"(the tonic is not clear until the last chord of the piece), etc.), and there are works of great simplicity by contemporary composers (e.g., Terry Riley's "In C," The New Simplicity movement, much of the music of Arvo Pärt, etc. ).
5. "Mr. Ball believes that many traditional composers such as Mozart, Bach and Beethoven subconsciously followed strict musical formula to produce music that was easy on the ear by ensuring it contained patterns that could be picked out by the brain."  I am curious to know to which "strict musical formula" (sic) Mr. Ball is referring. This tantalizing statement is not explained, although perhaps it is in Mr. Ball's book.

But enough criticism on my part!  Here are some quotes from the article that make good sense to me:

• Phillip Ball: "The brain is a pattern seeking organ, so it looks for patterns in music to make sense of what we hear."
• David Huron (Ohio State University): "Much of what the brain does is to anticipate the future. Predicting what happens next has obvious survival value, and brains are remarkably adept at anticipating events."
• Timothy Jones (Royal Academy of Music): "Mozart and Bach have similar levels of complexity as Schoenberg, but those complexities are in different musical domains. Their music is very information dense. I would question how much of the familiarity with the music of Mozart and Bach has to do with culturalisation rather than an innate cognitive inability to understand the music of composers like Schoenberg. Certain people can learn to appreciate it."

"Culturalization," a term from anthropology meaning "to be exposed or subjected to the influence of culture," is, I believe, a highly-relevant point. Bach and Beethoven are an acquired taste for many; not everyone loves their music the first time they hear it. Similarly, music of unfamiliar cultures or genres can be confusing or perplexing at first, but, through a process of culturalization, we can grow to appreciate and understand it better. Might not the same be said about Schoenberg's music?

The degree to which this article focusses on Schoenberg's music is both strange and troubling.  Strange, because, as mentioned above, his music is not exactly "modern," in the sense of "being of our time," any more, and troubling, because Schoenberg's music was denounced (and, I believe, banned) by the Nazis for being "degenerate" (as was jazz), and this article seems to be suggesting that it is okay, or at least understandable, to hate Schoenberg's music because its purported complexity makes it impossible for most human brains to comprehend.

I don't buy it. But you probably figured that out by now!

"Audiences Hate Modern Classical Music Because Their Brains Cannot Cope"

According to an article in The Telegraph (UK), "audiences hate modern classical music because their brains cannot cope."

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NB: The above link appears to be accessible only by pay, although the website may allow a certain number of visits before demanding payment, so it's worth trying, If you are asked to pay but do not wish to do so, click this link to my follow-up post on this topic; it should give you a sense of what the Telegraph's article is about:

On the "hatred" of modern classical music due to the brain's inability to cope…

It's a provocative headline and an interesting point of view. Have a look at the article, and, if you feel so moved, please share your thoughts about it in the "comments" area below.   I will post a blog with my views next week.

• Do you agree or disagree with points of view expressed in the article? 
• Do audiences "hate" modern classical music? 
• Who exactly are these "audiences" to which the article refers?   
• Is it generally true that modern classical music is complex (and is therefore hard or even impossible to process for the brain)? 
• If it is true that the brain cannot process highly-complex music, does that mean that we should aim to keep things simple when composing?

Atonal — Even the word sounds unpleasant!

I find above all that the expression, 'atonal music,' is most unfortunate--it is on a par with calling flying 'the art of not falling,' or swimming 'the art of not drowning.' Arnold Schoenberg, Style and Idea, p.210

Do you have an unpleasant connotation with the word, "atonal?"

If you do, you're not alone; many people who have some understanding of what "tonality" means don't seem to feel very warm and fuzzy about the concept of atonality.

But, strictly speaking, all that is meant by the word is that the music in question is not based on tonality. It doesn't really tell us anything about what the music is based on.

A quick primer on tonality, from Wikipedia:

Tonality is a system of music in which specific hierarchical pitch relationships are based on a key "center" or tonic. The term tonalité originated with Alexandre-Étienne Choron (1810) and was borrowed by François-Joseph Fétis in 1840 (Reti, 1958; Simms 1975, 119; Judd, 1998; Dahlhaus 1990). Although Fétis used it as a general term for a system of musical organization and spoke of "types de tonalités" rather than a single system, today the term is most often used to refer to Major-Minor tonality (also called diatonic tonality, common practice tonality, or functional tonality), the system of musical organization of the common practice period, and of Western-influenced popular music throughout much of the world today. [Emphasis mine.]

The "common practice period" is generally understood to refer to the baroque, classical, and romantic periods of European music history, roughly spanning 1600 to 1900. So, using this definition, "atonal" could be applied to medieval plainchant, renaissance masses, most Debussy piano preludes, etc., or it could be referring to a work that involves hitting the keys of a piano with an aluminum (so as not to mar the surface of the bat) baseball bat with reckless abandon. It could be referring to "Le Marteau Sans Maitre" by Pierre Boulez, or to "L'histoire du Soldat" by Igor Stravinsky, or to minimalist works by Steve Reich, Philip Glass, and John Adams, or even parts of "Toontown Follies" by yours truly.

It could refer to music that is as deeply moving and beautiful as any music ever composed, or it could be applied to very harsh, disturbing music.

"Atonal" doesn't necessarily equate with "highly dissonant" any more than "tonal" automatically means "consonant." Dissonance and consonance are essential aspects of tonality, but they are essential aspects of much atonal music as well.

Explore the various sonorities that can be created by the scales and modes that you created for our first project of the semester. There is no ban on the use of major or minor triads; I am hoping that your scales will lead you to discover other sonorities that you like and feel can be used in your compositions, and if some of the sonorities happen to be major or minor, so be it! No problem!

But just try to use them in ways that go beyond their use in the context of tonality.