| | Good questions, Pete! You wrote: "There is no question that people have emotional responses to music, and it is for this reason that I was eager to accept the idea that music is a selective recreation of emotion. After thinking further, I am now not so sure about this. Having done some composing myself, and having interacted with others who do so professionally, I can tell you that much of the composition process is really just an exercise in experimentation and problem solving. I don't think many composers say, "I think I'm going to recreate a feeling of exuberant joy," and then sit down and write a piece of music." I agree, based on my reading and my own experience as a composer and song-writer. Even when (about 20 years ago) I wrote my most emotionally intense songs, I did not start out with the intent to re-create a specific emotion. Instead, I just felt like noodling around on the piano (or trombone) and found some intriguing or satisfying musical fragment to play with, to explore and expand upon. At some point during this "brainstorming" process, the material "took over," so to speak -- i.e., my subconscious began building bigger units and looking for "where to go" with the material. After some amount of trial and error and lots of elbow grease, I would usually end up with a song I was pleased with, lyrics and all. (Occasionally, I have written tunes that seem to defy my best attempts to apply lyrics to them.) But the emotions conveyed by the songs were embodied in the melodic contours and the harmonic and rhythmic patterns in which the melody was developed. Deryck Cooke has a lot of valuable things to say about this in The Language of Music, so I won't belabor this point here, but I incorporated some of his ideas into a presentation on American popular songs to Jeanie Kennedy's discussion group in San Francisco this past March. Suffice it to say that what the melody does is key to how we respond to it, to the emotions we attribute to the song. As Rand says, it's not as simple an issue as the difference between major and minor (though that does play a role). There is also upward vs. downward melodic motion, rhythmic patterns (end or front-accented and duple vs. triple), and tempo, to name but three important factors. But analyzing which of these factors are strongly operative in a given piece is one thing, and actually using them in the compositional process is another. I tend not to be very explicitly focused on them when I compose. (If, on the other hand, I were to try to compose a "Concerto of Deliverance" or some such piece, I would think a lot more about such things -- and probably be too inhibited to write the first note!)
Pete again: "Rather, a musical idea might begin by a composer hearing a certain melodic fragment in their head, and if the idea interests them enough, they will then sit down (typically at a piano) and explore the idea through a variety of manifestations. The game then becomes how to integrate this idea into a coherent and meaningful whole. This challenge creates a series of problems for the composer: "what sort of chord progressions should underlie this?" "what sort of instrumentation would best capture this?" "do I need contrasting sections or themes?" and so on. Furthermore, I don't know of any composers think of their melodies as characters in a novel or play." Oh, I completely agree. Composers do not, as a general rule, regard their melodies in this way, any more than authors think of their characters as if they were melodic themes. It is the theorists and critics who see these commonalities or analogies between the two art forms and point them out to the rest of us. Rand was trying to explain how music functions, and I am doing the same; neither of us was speaking as a composer. What I have argued is not that music is an abstract form of literature, any more than literature is some sort of verbalized music. What the both are, are dynamic, temporal arts that are capable of presenting things that seem to be engaged in goal-directed activity. It just so happens that literary theory got its hands on the concepts of characterization and plot before music did, and that music theorists point out how music does things that are like (in a general sort of way) what literature does. (Also, it goes without saying, I hope that some music is not characterized by goal-directed progressions of events -- but then some literature is not either. For the sake of discussion and clarifying the similarity in the ways that literature and music function, I am deliberately focusing in on dramatic, goal-directed literature and music. Some music is, instead, more like poetry, while yet other music is more like a descriptive, non-narrative passage in a story. Such music is enjoyable, too, as are the corresponding literary forms.) As a personal note: when I write musical arrangements or compositions, I do it very much in the spirit of Rand's comment, "In a book of fiction the purpose is to create, for myself, the kind of world I want and to live in it while I am creating it." (Journals of Ayn Rand, p. 479) That's also how I perform music. I'm always very conscious of the issue: what kind of (tonal) world am I creating, and do I want to be there? My own personal style/soul thus becomes woven into the pieces I create (or re-create). I have put my own individual stamp on them (for better or worse).
Pete again: "We hear a lot of talk on this thread about melody, but nothing about harmony and rhythm. I earlier defined music as the concious manipulation of melody, harmony and rhythm into an integrated whole. Do you believe harmony and rhythm are not capable of abstract representation? For example, is a solo piece for snare drum capable of re-creating reality? If not, is it even art then? Please elaborate." I agree with the idea that music is the integration of melody, harmony, and rhythm. It is lacking something if one or more of these elements are missing. Musical characters (melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic themes), including the sense of melodic motion; musical plot, including the sense of melodic-harmonic-rhythmic goal-directedness—these and other factors work together to create the sense of a musical world. I don't know about snare drum solos. Generally, I find them boring, but some jazz drum soloists have a true gift for constructing a well-structured, integrated solo, using just the timbres of the various drums, cymbals, etc. and the various possible combinations of rhythmic pattern, volume, tempo, etc. However, such solos are most meaningful (perhaps only meaningful) in the context of a jazz piece within which they are situated as a non-melodic/harmonic interlude. In other words, only in relation to a wider melodic-harmonic context. By itself, without accompanying or surrounding tonal music, a solo drum piece could still be a re-creation of reality, in the sense of an imaginary world. There is a coherent body of patterned sound created by a drummer, and we focus upon it as though we were looking into another world. What we see in this imaginary world, however, is relatively impoverished, compared to the world we see in a piano sonata, a symphony, a song, or a jazz piece with built-in drum solo. A truly genius drummer (or composer of solo drum pieces) could probably transcend what seem like natural limitations to me. I'm open to the possibilities, but skeptical based on experience and (finite) imagination. :-)
Pete again: "Additionally, I think the theory of melodies functioning like characters in a play is easy to understand when you refer to music that has very clearly stated and distinct melodic themes that occur in succession. What is to be said of a fugue, then, where you have two or more separate parts working independent of one another, but neither really has a distinct character or motif unique to it?"
Another very good question! I will refer you to Anthony Storr's Music and the Mind. He says some very clarifying and helpful things in his chapter "Songs without Words." In particular he talks about music that is interesting not due to its being story-like and developmental, i.e., modifying or combining themes to resolve their conflicts or progressing to some expected or unexpected goal, but because of the varied repetition that provides a framework and rhythmic pulse that provides impetus for the musical events to move forward, as in poetry. In a fugue, the separate parts are braided together, rather than stacked up vertically; and when later, more developmentally oriented composers used counter-melodies and/or supporting melodies along with their principal themes, they were adapting techniques invented by the non-(or less-)developmental composers.
I think the important thing to realize is that not all music is like a story, but then neither is all literature. Some literature is non-story poetry, and much music is more like that than like a story. And some literature employs non-story, non-poetic, descriptive writing, and much music is more like that than like a story or a poem. (So-called "tone poems" are actually more similar to landscape paintings or descriptive prose than they are to poems.) I do into this in more detail in my essay in JARS 5/2. (Get it! Read it!)
Best to all, Roger Bissell
|
|