It's Novemember 2007 and I'm sitting in a piano practice room at the University of Rochester. This room was remotely located in the basement of the old gym, not one of the fancy rooms reserved for senior music majors. None of the pianos down there quite had the right action to the keys, but that was half the fun. You never knew what you might get. It had been a stressful day, and the harsh Rochester winter was on the horizon. As I got into the room I had this flood of energy, like some sort of angsty calling. "There's an emotion I'm feeling right now that I just need to record musically before I lose it."
This mad dash to the practice room with manuscript paper in hand resulted in a piano piece called "All the Right and Wrong Reasons," the title track for my album of similarly moody piano music from that time period. What I was so upset about is anyone's guess, and of course, when you're 20 years old, all emotions seem more melodramatic than anything a supposedly mature person might come up with. But this is precisely why "Reasons" intrigues me. Some fires you can only light once, and I'm just glad I got it on paper and on tape. Here it the original recording:
But now four and a half years later, I realize the same stuff is still there. Life is still confusing. There's confusion about life direction, confusion about politics, confusion about spirituality, confusion about romance, but somehow I've never really wanted to totally figure things out, because that would take away the impetus for the art. Now as I plan out a new album "Hydrogen" I have come to realize pretty quickly that "Reasons" needs to appear, albeit in a re-arranged and re-produced form, not because it is a particularly good piece of music, but because it means something to me. There is something intriguing about a remnant from the past that speaks with new clarity. Just because a piece is associated with a particular time, that does not mean the emotions it brings are out of date.
There's a certain intrigue about filtering your recent experiences through the lens of nostalgia. And the coming re-recording has a great appeal, as if I'm hoping the new me can provide, both as a producer and as a person, a more mature spin. Good luck.
I remember once I went to a talk by Prof. John Covach at the University of Rochester, and he said something that I found really interesting. "The music you listen to when you're young, say 18, 19, or 20, that music sticks with you forever." Now I wonder if that's also true of the music we write, not just the music we listen to. Maybe even more so.
Think about important events in your life, and the music associated with them. You might be intrigued by the connections you find for yourself. And I just want you to realize, it's not a sign of weakness, it's human.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
In Remembrance of Earl Scruggs
Earl Scruggs, one of the greatest banjo players ever, has passed away at the age of 88. Scruggs was a key figure in the history of bluegrass, and he helped develop the three-finger style. If you are not familiar with Scruggs, check out this video of his instrumental hit "Foggy Mountain Breakdown."
When I hear Scruggs play, I am reminded that complex music can provide for just as much fun as simple music. Scruggs was a player of unparalleled ability, but he played music that appealed to all listeners. The joy contained in this music just overflows.
When I hear Scruggs play, I am reminded that complex music can provide for just as much fun as simple music. Scruggs was a player of unparalleled ability, but he played music that appealed to all listeners. The joy contained in this music just overflows.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Why I Do Not Choose a Career in Music
When I say that I do not intend to pursue a career in music, this is not something that comes lightly for me. In fact, I have come to believe that a musical career is one of the greatest things a person can have, and turning away from it is something that I do reluctantly.
Now some may applaud this decision for its maturity, but I would not be so quick to agree. Practically-minded people will think that making a career out of music is a risk, but I would actually say the opposite. Making a conscious decision not to pursue a career in music carries a unique danger all to its own, and this fact is grossly overlooked. There are many would-be geniuses walking around carrying bitter what-ifs. Cubicles across the world are full of those who wish that they had taken the plunge when they were still young and care-free. People with hidden dreams of musical greatness appear anywhere you may look, but you would not necessary know it at first, because their music has taken a back seat to the mundane pressures of a "normal" life, and all the expectations society attaches to it. In my life I have also met a number of people who have, in fact, recognized this other little-talked-about danger, and followed the dreams that so many others do not. They decided to take the road into a musical life, not only because they recognized their own excellence, but also because any other path would be unacceptable.
These people are my heroes, and I do wish I were one of them too. But I have found a different path, one that I find equally fulfilling. For the last year and a half I have worked as a court advocate for crime victims, particularly victims of domestic violence. It is truly an honor to do this work. In this field I have found a new equally-important dream, one that uses my talents to the fullest and improves my surroundings. I have decided to apply to law school to further develop the potential impact I can make. In the excitement of this new discovery, I sometimes take a step back and say "But wait, what about music?"
When I think about it, this is actually a question that I have been grappling with for as long as I can remember. And I suppose the best answer I can come up with is another question. "Do I want to rely on my creative process for my income?" When it comes to music, and so many other things in life, I am a searcher. I write "weird" music because I wonder what new and exciting places it will take me. But the commercial forces that operate today don't share that curiosity. So if you were to ask me, "can you trust yourself to create something that will support you financially?" the answer is an emphatic no.
By making this decision, I want to reiterate that I do not think things would be better if everyone followed my lead. Quite the opposite, in fact, and in any field, there is surely room at the top. We need musicians who are forward-thinking and imaginative to do what I do not have the courage to do. The status quo needs to be challenged, and new ideas need to be brought forward, even if commercial forces push back the other way.
People have asked me "why not teach music?" It would seem to be the perfect way to improve the world, provide financial security, and do what I love. This is a very good question, and my answer is somewhat cynical. I believe people usually go into teaching for the right reasons, but they do not as often go into law for the rights reasons. However, the attorneys who do take the spirit of service to heart are the ones who are really doing a world of good, and I want to take part in that tradition. My choice is unique to my set of circumstances, but of course, my story does not necessarily need to be your story. I would say to anyone, whether you are musically inclined or not, that you should follow whatever path leads you to the most good, and no one except you can say what that might be.
As for me, music will always be part of my life. I have every intention of being an old man in a basement studio turning knobs on a mixer trying to reach that unattainable perfection. The only difference is, I will only need to answer to myself, and not the commercial forces that may or may not care what I'm doing. In a way, those of us who choose not to make a career out of music have the greater responsibility. We are the music-lovers, and we are the ones charged with supporting our friends who have done the right thing and devoted themselves to music full-time. If we the consumers of this art do not prop it up, no one will. And, of course, we must continue to contribute our own talents to the mix. It is far too easy for us to give up the faith, to let our creative processes fall by the wayside while we take care of our real-world problems. But we cannot let this happen. The more we sing in choirs, play in bands, or run through string quartets on the weekends, the better we become, and the more we add our voices to humanity's library, the better we make the world.
Now some may applaud this decision for its maturity, but I would not be so quick to agree. Practically-minded people will think that making a career out of music is a risk, but I would actually say the opposite. Making a conscious decision not to pursue a career in music carries a unique danger all to its own, and this fact is grossly overlooked. There are many would-be geniuses walking around carrying bitter what-ifs. Cubicles across the world are full of those who wish that they had taken the plunge when they were still young and care-free. People with hidden dreams of musical greatness appear anywhere you may look, but you would not necessary know it at first, because their music has taken a back seat to the mundane pressures of a "normal" life, and all the expectations society attaches to it. In my life I have also met a number of people who have, in fact, recognized this other little-talked-about danger, and followed the dreams that so many others do not. They decided to take the road into a musical life, not only because they recognized their own excellence, but also because any other path would be unacceptable.
These people are my heroes, and I do wish I were one of them too. But I have found a different path, one that I find equally fulfilling. For the last year and a half I have worked as a court advocate for crime victims, particularly victims of domestic violence. It is truly an honor to do this work. In this field I have found a new equally-important dream, one that uses my talents to the fullest and improves my surroundings. I have decided to apply to law school to further develop the potential impact I can make. In the excitement of this new discovery, I sometimes take a step back and say "But wait, what about music?"
When I think about it, this is actually a question that I have been grappling with for as long as I can remember. And I suppose the best answer I can come up with is another question. "Do I want to rely on my creative process for my income?" When it comes to music, and so many other things in life, I am a searcher. I write "weird" music because I wonder what new and exciting places it will take me. But the commercial forces that operate today don't share that curiosity. So if you were to ask me, "can you trust yourself to create something that will support you financially?" the answer is an emphatic no.
By making this decision, I want to reiterate that I do not think things would be better if everyone followed my lead. Quite the opposite, in fact, and in any field, there is surely room at the top. We need musicians who are forward-thinking and imaginative to do what I do not have the courage to do. The status quo needs to be challenged, and new ideas need to be brought forward, even if commercial forces push back the other way.
People have asked me "why not teach music?" It would seem to be the perfect way to improve the world, provide financial security, and do what I love. This is a very good question, and my answer is somewhat cynical. I believe people usually go into teaching for the right reasons, but they do not as often go into law for the rights reasons. However, the attorneys who do take the spirit of service to heart are the ones who are really doing a world of good, and I want to take part in that tradition. My choice is unique to my set of circumstances, but of course, my story does not necessarily need to be your story. I would say to anyone, whether you are musically inclined or not, that you should follow whatever path leads you to the most good, and no one except you can say what that might be.
As for me, music will always be part of my life. I have every intention of being an old man in a basement studio turning knobs on a mixer trying to reach that unattainable perfection. The only difference is, I will only need to answer to myself, and not the commercial forces that may or may not care what I'm doing. In a way, those of us who choose not to make a career out of music have the greater responsibility. We are the music-lovers, and we are the ones charged with supporting our friends who have done the right thing and devoted themselves to music full-time. If we the consumers of this art do not prop it up, no one will. And, of course, we must continue to contribute our own talents to the mix. It is far too easy for us to give up the faith, to let our creative processes fall by the wayside while we take care of our real-world problems. But we cannot let this happen. The more we sing in choirs, play in bands, or run through string quartets on the weekends, the better we become, and the more we add our voices to humanity's library, the better we make the world.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Repost: "I Hate World Music" by David Byrne
Thanks to Laney Widener for posting this really great piece by David Byrne:
Read his full essay here.
"In my experience, the use of the term world music is a way of dismissing artists or their music as irrelevant to one's own life. It's a way of relegating this 'thing' into the realm of something exotic and therefore cute, weird but safe, because exotica is beautiful but irrelevant; they are, by definition, not like us. Maybe that's why I hate the term."
Read his full essay here.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Levin's Requiem
In honor of Mozart's birthday, I want to offer a few words about a very special recording of his Requiem in D Minor, a recording which also happens to pose some really interesting questions relating to artistic integrity. Here I paraphrase the liner notes from that recording:
Mozart's Requiem (K. 626) is a milestone of 18th Century choral music, and is one of the most celebrating pieces of all time. Adding to the intrigue surrounding the piece, is the fact that Mozart died before it was completed. His wife Constanze hired the composer Franz Xaver Süssmayr to complete the work, and make it performable. Given the enormity of this task, Süssmayr, a minor composer, exceeded expectations, and his score remains the most performed version of the piece today. There is debate within the scholarly community about authorship, with some insisting that the sections attributed to Süssmayr far exceed his compositional ability, while others point to the fact that his sections contain minor compositional errors (parallel fifths, and things of that sort) that are simply not found in Mozart's output. Whatever Süssmayr's real contributions were, he is a major figure in the Requiem's history, and his work is an essential element of the piece's performance history.
Fast forward to the late 20th Century. Some musicologists have decided to revisit the score and correct the (albeit minor) problems that are found in it. Now this is considered to be a controversial notion. Some would ask if it is really defensible to tinker with a work that has stood the test of time, and is rightly considered a masterpiece. Furthermore, is it possible for modern ears to have any say in how this work "should sound," or are we far too removed from its original context? There have been several approaches, each with its own unique features. A layer of intrigue was added when, in 1962, a fragment of music from an Amen fugue was discovered, leading historians to believe it originally belonged as part of the Requiem, but no one is completely sure.
The musicologist Richard Maunder put forward a completion which omitted anything not thought to be written by Mozart, therefore eliminating two entire movements from the piece, but adding the Amen fugue. This seems like an extreme approach, first, because it is impossible to know exactly what was sketched out by Mozart himself, and also because it results in the exclusion of some very good music.
Duncan Druce takes an equally radical approach, but instead rewrites rather than eliminates the Süssmayr sections. Like Maunder, he adds the Amen fugue. This product, in some places, sounds quite far-removed from the original score. The Lacrimosa movement in particular is difficult to recognize in its new form. This is surely problematic. The Lacrimosa movement, even if not entirely written by Mozart is an iconic section that is strongly identified with the composer (even being used in the burial scene in the movie Amadeus, for example). Turning this movement on its head is a questionable choice.
Robert D. Levin's answer lands somewhere in the middle, using the Amen fugue like the others, but still addressing the project conservatively with the great care it deserves. He writes:
I personally find Levin's approach the most convincing from a philosophical standpoint, but more importantly, the music itself sounds convincing. You might say it takes a certain amount of hubris to attempt to improve on a masterpiece. This is certainly true, so then I would say a little hubris can be healthy for artistic advancement. If we never tried new things or reinterpreted old things, we would not be where we are today. Part of what makes Mozart's Requiem so great is its mystery. If we could solve all the unanswered questions, perhaps we would not enjoy the work as much as we do today. Debate and discussion is half the fun.
Mozart's Requiem (K. 626) is a milestone of 18th Century choral music, and is one of the most celebrating pieces of all time. Adding to the intrigue surrounding the piece, is the fact that Mozart died before it was completed. His wife Constanze hired the composer Franz Xaver Süssmayr to complete the work, and make it performable. Given the enormity of this task, Süssmayr, a minor composer, exceeded expectations, and his score remains the most performed version of the piece today. There is debate within the scholarly community about authorship, with some insisting that the sections attributed to Süssmayr far exceed his compositional ability, while others point to the fact that his sections contain minor compositional errors (parallel fifths, and things of that sort) that are simply not found in Mozart's output. Whatever Süssmayr's real contributions were, he is a major figure in the Requiem's history, and his work is an essential element of the piece's performance history.
Fast forward to the late 20th Century. Some musicologists have decided to revisit the score and correct the (albeit minor) problems that are found in it. Now this is considered to be a controversial notion. Some would ask if it is really defensible to tinker with a work that has stood the test of time, and is rightly considered a masterpiece. Furthermore, is it possible for modern ears to have any say in how this work "should sound," or are we far too removed from its original context? There have been several approaches, each with its own unique features. A layer of intrigue was added when, in 1962, a fragment of music from an Amen fugue was discovered, leading historians to believe it originally belonged as part of the Requiem, but no one is completely sure.
The musicologist Richard Maunder put forward a completion which omitted anything not thought to be written by Mozart, therefore eliminating two entire movements from the piece, but adding the Amen fugue. This seems like an extreme approach, first, because it is impossible to know exactly what was sketched out by Mozart himself, and also because it results in the exclusion of some very good music.
Duncan Druce takes an equally radical approach, but instead rewrites rather than eliminates the Süssmayr sections. Like Maunder, he adds the Amen fugue. This product, in some places, sounds quite far-removed from the original score. The Lacrimosa movement in particular is difficult to recognize in its new form. This is surely problematic. The Lacrimosa movement, even if not entirely written by Mozart is an iconic section that is strongly identified with the composer (even being used in the burial scene in the movie Amadeus, for example). Turning this movement on its head is a questionable choice.
Robert D. Levin's answer lands somewhere in the middle, using the Amen fugue like the others, but still addressing the project conservatively with the great care it deserves. He writes:
"The completion heard here seeks to respect both of the tendencies of the newer versions. On the one hand the compositional problems of the Lacrimosa and the Amen fugue, and the movements surviving only in Süssmayr's hand have not been overlooked out of blind piety before their 200-year-old origin. On the other hand, the historical and performance tradition of the Requiem demands respect. A clearly drawn line of separation, in which everything except the contents of Mozart's autograph draft was to be considered spurious per se, was explicitly rejected. Quite the contrary: the goal was to revise not as much, but as little as possible, attempting in the revisions to observe the character, texture, voice leading, continuity and structure of Mozart's music. I have retained the traditional version insofar as it agrees with idiomatic Mozartean practice."
I personally find Levin's approach the most convincing from a philosophical standpoint, but more importantly, the music itself sounds convincing. You might say it takes a certain amount of hubris to attempt to improve on a masterpiece. This is certainly true, so then I would say a little hubris can be healthy for artistic advancement. If we never tried new things or reinterpreted old things, we would not be where we are today. Part of what makes Mozart's Requiem so great is its mystery. If we could solve all the unanswered questions, perhaps we would not enjoy the work as much as we do today. Debate and discussion is half the fun.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
What Sounds Weird Now?
In music we currently subdivide the octave into 12 equal tones, a system known as Equal Temperament (or Equal Temperament 12 to be more precise). This system sounds natural to us because it resembles the perfect ratios we want to hear from music. For examples, a ratio of 3:2 represents a perfect fifth (a C note to a G note). A ratio of 4:3 represents a perfect fourth (a C note to an F note). These perfect ratios sound consonant to the ears. Equal Temperament 12 does not match these ratios exactly. If it did, we would not be able to easily play music in every key. A tradeoff is required, and Equal Temperament 12 is generally considered to be the best system for being able to play in all keys, while still coming close to the perfect ratios we enjoy.
It is possible to divide the octave in other ways too. Consider Equal Temperament 15. It is the same principle, the only thing that changes is the number.
Listen to this composition by Jonathan Rabson that I found on Youtube:
Of course, it sounds pretty weird. But think about what it would be like if we only heard Equal Temperament 15 our whole lives, and then someone played in Equal Temperament 12? How would that be? I actually don't know the answer to this question. On one hand, Equal Temperament 15 is further away from the perfect ratios that humans seem to enjoy. However, if we had no context for Equal Temperament 12, I'm not convinced we would necessary be naturally drawn to it.
It is possible to divide the octave in other ways too. Consider Equal Temperament 15. It is the same principle, the only thing that changes is the number.
Listen to this composition by Jonathan Rabson that I found on Youtube:
Of course, it sounds pretty weird. But think about what it would be like if we only heard Equal Temperament 15 our whole lives, and then someone played in Equal Temperament 12? How would that be? I actually don't know the answer to this question. On one hand, Equal Temperament 15 is further away from the perfect ratios that humans seem to enjoy. However, if we had no context for Equal Temperament 12, I'm not convinced we would necessary be naturally drawn to it.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Musical Dishonesty
Is it dishonest to concoct a musical recording that would be virtually impossible to replicate in a live performance?
Ever since tape was invented, people have been using it to create new sonic textures, and many times these recordings represent sounds that cannot be heard in real life. The ability to record musical performances is, of course, one of the greatest breakthroughs in all of history. A similarly important but often overlooked breakthrough, however, is the ability to "record" sounds that never existed in the first place. Take this early example of tape music, a piece called "Etude aux chemins de fer" composed in 1948 by Pierre Schaeffer. I have linked to Youtube:
Pieces like this are forgotten milestones. How would one describe these sounds? The fact of the matter is that I can't describe, but this recording is unquestionably musical all the same.
Of course, experimentation of this sort is not without its detractors. Miles Davis made innovative use of studio technology on his 1970 album "Bitches Brew." The album contains multiple edits and uses sound effects such as tape loops and delay, previously unheard of in the jazz world. Some critics found these effects to run contrary to the spirit of jazz because they did not represent the spontaneity of the group, but rather resembled something constructed in a laboratory. Which side do you fall on?
Now with digital technology, there is no limit to the number of distinct sounds that can be created. We are no longer confined to the standard instruments we have become so accustomed to. Technology is a way for music to be advanced, and it is not something that needs to be resisted.
So all of this makes one wonder if our understanding of the word "recording" is starting to blow up in our faces. Certainly making a CD of a live performance is a recording in the conventional sense. But what if the recording itself is the performance, like "Etude aux chemins de fer"? Better yet, what if you meet somewhere in the middle, like "Bitches Brew" does? Indeed one of the biggest issues artists have to grapple with in the 21st century is the blurring of these lines. With innovations such as auto-tune we can no longer be sure if what we're hearing is the "real thing," and this is frustrating for many people. While I certainly don't advocate for the use of auto-tune to correct one's poor singing, generally speaking it does not offend me if we mix the "real" sounds with the "fake" ones. What is music except the sounds the we order? Does is matter how we choose to order them?
This leads to my initial question. Is it dishonest to concoct a musical recording that would be virtually impossible to replicate in a live performance? This is, of course, a contradiction. Any recording can be replicated in a live performance. All you have to do is press play, and listen.
Ever since tape was invented, people have been using it to create new sonic textures, and many times these recordings represent sounds that cannot be heard in real life. The ability to record musical performances is, of course, one of the greatest breakthroughs in all of history. A similarly important but often overlooked breakthrough, however, is the ability to "record" sounds that never existed in the first place. Take this early example of tape music, a piece called "Etude aux chemins de fer" composed in 1948 by Pierre Schaeffer. I have linked to Youtube:
Pieces like this are forgotten milestones. How would one describe these sounds? The fact of the matter is that I can't describe, but this recording is unquestionably musical all the same.
Of course, experimentation of this sort is not without its detractors. Miles Davis made innovative use of studio technology on his 1970 album "Bitches Brew." The album contains multiple edits and uses sound effects such as tape loops and delay, previously unheard of in the jazz world. Some critics found these effects to run contrary to the spirit of jazz because they did not represent the spontaneity of the group, but rather resembled something constructed in a laboratory. Which side do you fall on?
Now with digital technology, there is no limit to the number of distinct sounds that can be created. We are no longer confined to the standard instruments we have become so accustomed to. Technology is a way for music to be advanced, and it is not something that needs to be resisted.
So all of this makes one wonder if our understanding of the word "recording" is starting to blow up in our faces. Certainly making a CD of a live performance is a recording in the conventional sense. But what if the recording itself is the performance, like "Etude aux chemins de fer"? Better yet, what if you meet somewhere in the middle, like "Bitches Brew" does? Indeed one of the biggest issues artists have to grapple with in the 21st century is the blurring of these lines. With innovations such as auto-tune we can no longer be sure if what we're hearing is the "real thing," and this is frustrating for many people. While I certainly don't advocate for the use of auto-tune to correct one's poor singing, generally speaking it does not offend me if we mix the "real" sounds with the "fake" ones. What is music except the sounds the we order? Does is matter how we choose to order them?
This leads to my initial question. Is it dishonest to concoct a musical recording that would be virtually impossible to replicate in a live performance? This is, of course, a contradiction. Any recording can be replicated in a live performance. All you have to do is press play, and listen.
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