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Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Of the many problems composers have to deal with when it comes to their creative endeavors, one of the more interesting issues is whether or not they have a "distinctive sound" in their compositions. Is this "distinctiveness" achieved through the style or genre that a composer chooses? Or maybe, it could be some kind of innate sound that happens completely by accident through the composer's rhythmic and harmonic habits that he or she has worked with for years, sub-consciously?
The Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara once stated that the composer finds his materials rather than creates them. It's as if the composition existed in another place before the composer brings it out on paper. The distinctive sound has already been pre-determined in some way. Whereas the American composer John Adams has often said that when he is in the middle of composing something, there are occasions when he sees himself about write certain material that he may have used more or less in a previous work of his own. He then makes a conscious decision on whether he should come up with something else, or just go with it. Therefore, the distinctive sound can be determined by the circumstances at the time of composition.
There is a great deal of merit with either of these theories. Both Rautavaara and Adams are geniuses in their own right. But this issue also makes me think of another of one my favorite artists: The british composer, Arnold Bax.
Although Bax was a successful composer in his lifetime, the last few years for him were somewhat of a burden. All his life, Bax wrote roughly in the same kind of style. Light attitude, yet with a passion and lyricism merged with a sense of British charm and Irish tinge. Up until his death in 1953, when serial music was at it's most destructive, Bax was often chastised for his somewhat lighter color, which for many listeners, didn't seem very relevant during the mid 20th century, a time when various wars had caused the most damage at that point.
For me, one of the great elements in the music of Bax is his use of subtly. He seems to whisper his emotions through music rather than blow it up in ones face. Most other composers at the time prefered to vent their fustrations musically in a loud and blunt manner with a dissonance that accentuated their rage. But Bax was fully aware of the emotions of hardship in survival. So he makes a vague yet important statement in his works so that the listener can feel his emotional state in a gradual way rather than with the “in your face” attitude.
One should note that Bax himself lived through the horrors of war like everyone else. In particular, the uprising in Ireland and the two World Wars where he lost many close friends. If you were to listen to certain pieces he wrote like The Garden of Fand, Tintagel and most of the 7 Symphonies, one cannot deny that Arnold Bax has a desperate need to metaphorically smile amidst numerous tragedies he lived through during this time. He certainly has a distinctive voice in the works he created, whether they be guided by tradition or the obscure world he lived through, or maybe a combination of the two. In short, you know him when you hear him.
The issue of the distinctive sound will continue to be debated among composers time and time and again. But it is clear to me that the choice of style is merely one of many tools within the mix of an even bigger picture.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
I recently had an interesting conversation with my friend Sam Baker, an enthusiastic drummer who lives in Brooklyn. Our musical backgrounds are very different: Mine, a classical tapestry with a subtle design and a paced structure. His, an "in your face" attitude filtered with percussive strokes made of thunderous rage.
Despite these seemingly polar opposites of expression, we nonetheless saw in our conversation that we both had the same common goal in our risky endeavors in this obscure world of music we are now swimming in and hopefully, we won't drown.
So there we were, Sam and I, at the Bushwick Country Club (Best bar in Brooklyn!) with a couple of pint sized $3 PBRs in front of us, debating the endless debate about what it is we musicians are trying to express in our music and how we strive to put it across. Naturally, the question came up as to what relationship we classical-based composers have with the listening audience. For myself and most of my colleagues, this issue is very difficult to deal with. Because in the classical world, it is widely believed that the living composer either doesn't give a damn about the audience or he panders to it like a prostitute to a pimp. A true rock and a hard place for me.
I told Sam that I knew in my heart I wasn't fully satisfied with either of these scenarios, but I could not fully put into words what my real intentions are. For me, it seemed inexplicable. That is, until Sam said to me: "It's obvious! You want to engage the listener. All musicians want to do that!". And when Sam said that to me, I started to feel this enormous weight being lifted from my back.
As he and I discussed this issue further, the term "Engaging music" seemed to have a nice ring to it. As if it could be some kind of future movement in the arts. Something that could appeal to anyone, classical listener or not (Although I'll hold off on that for now, until I figure this out some more). Nonetheless, the term "engaging" is such a great word. It has little or no baggage of it's own. It can be applied to any style of expression and is not directly associated with any one style alone. And most importantly, it accurately describes what every great artist from any background wants to do. As far as Sam and myself are concerned, we want to do engaging music!
For me, the term "engaging" implies that the composer wants to lure the listener into his or her unique sound world. What that world resembles is not as important, as the fact that it must have some kind of addictive allure which entices and then traps the listener till he's powerless to ignore it. Kind of like a drug addiction, but without the bad consequences. Of course the listener can press the "stop" button or leave the auditorium in mid performance, but that would feel so unnatural to do. The listener must see it through in order to get this incredible high that cant be achieved anywhere else. All of this can easily be done once the listener is "engaged" in the first place.
OK, I know there's more work to be done with this idea. I guess this isn't the musical equivilent of Einstein's theories. I'm sure there are other details I have overlooked. But I must say that this "engaging" concept feels very good insofar as I've been able to test it. You have to start somewhere.
Thank you Sam!