Some Final Thoughts

         As the writer of Eccelsiastes said, there is nothing new under the sun.  In my own reflections on this class, mixed with my experiences at the new-music-crazed University of Louisville School of Music, I find myself coming back time and again to this very idea.  This line one draws between old and new, between innovation and tradition is blurry at best.  To my ear, the last brand new idea happened with dodecaphonic music.  Of course, Schönberg had his way of organizing the row, and Dallapicola had his own, as did Stravinsky, Babbitt, and Boulez.  But as varied as their approaches may have been, the underlying concept was the same.  In small ways, each innovated a new way of organizing twelve pitches into rows, but they did not revolutionize music with a whole new system of organization.

         Innovation is a slippery word, and it can take on different meaning in different contexts.  However, my refined conception of the idea after this class is that renovation rather than innovation is where some of the best parts of musical/stylistic development occurs.  In order for an stylistic shift to take root, there must be some familiar element onto which a listener can take hold.  Again, I return to the twelve-tone composers.  Twelve-tone music seems to have, to a large extent, lost art music its audience, and has henceforth continued to live on in the cave of academia, very rarely venturing out into sunlight of the real world.  The innovation was too great a change for the ears of most people.  They did not have enough to grasp hold of.  Now, approximately one hundred years later, more ears accept dissonances as perfectly normal and acceptable.  As much as John Cage may have resisted the control of musical elements, it is that very style that may well have helped to prepare many a mind to accept the cacophonous sounds he employed.

         Charles Ives seems to be at the cross roads of tradition, innovation, and renovation.  Had he been born fifty years, even twenty years, later, he might not have been the remarkable composer he is remembered to have been.  By mixing folk, popular, and hymn tunes (tradition) with harsh, sometimes biting, dissonances (innovation) he arrived at a unique result (renovation).  Charles Ives is an excellent example of the Hegelian Dialectic.  In this case, innovation (the thesis) seems to oppose the innovation (the anithesis), but in fact they can come together to renovate music (the synthesis).

         Eric Whitacre is another example of the Hegelian Dialectic enacted in musical composition.  The assertion that he is a “Neo-Impressionist,” as some have said, implies there is an element that recalls tradition, and yet the “Neo” part of that label also implies that he’s not simply reinventing the wheel.  He is, in fact, renovating, id est, synthesizing certain elements one recognizes from the “antiquated impressionists” with all the harmonic vocabulary (and dissonance) that the last hundred years have made acceptable.  And truly, his music is living in the real world, because it does not leap too far ahead, as one might expect pure innovation to do, for people to follow along.

         From experience and observation, I have become convinced that music has little or no value if people cannot relate to it.  Like language, music is given meaning by people, and as any communication class will reveal, meaning is derived from the receiver, the sender; it does not matter what the message’s intent was, because the meaning is determined by the one who hears the message.  This was certainly true in the case of Frank Zappa’s music, particularly the instances in which the listener may be unsure as to whether Zappa is wishing to parody or pay homage to another work.

         In a similar way, some of the music studied in class this term has little meaning to me.  Some, of course, has a great deal of meaning.  To others, the music in which I found little value may provide a wealth of significance.  But as a general historical trend, my sense is that purely innovative works gain less ground than renovative works because the audiences is unable able to give it meaning.

         Some artists and musicians claim that their work is for themselves and that it does not matter if anyone else appreciates it.  I cannot believe this is true.  If a work is only for the artist, then there would never be a need for anyone else to know.  If no one but the artist knows, then there is no need to make such an aloof statement.  Thus, the very statement becomes a plea for appreciation rather than disregard for it. 

         If one were to examine the historical role of music (or art) within most societies, one would find that the most recent century is unique in its understanding of the question: “what is the purpose of art?”  Trends would seem to indicate that the purpose of art is to try to push the envelope so rapidly that one neglects the fact that there is envelope [thanks to Cheryl for this metaphor].  There is no enjoyment or establishment of an "–ism" before it is replaced by a newer one.  This seems related in part to modern society’s swiftly paced lifestyle, disposable products, and urgent individuality.  Has the act of innovation become a tradition?  Perhaps the Hegelian synthesis would be trinnodation.