Thursday, January 29, 2009

So, this didn't fit in the context of the other blog, so it gets its own:

Dr. Brunner asked us to start thinking about who we want to present on in class. I've been pondering this for the better part of the time since we brought it up in class Tuesday. Despite being a dumb drummer, much of my musical expertise from a historical/analytical standpoint lies outside of the repertoire for my instrument, although I came to most of it through percussion.

Rather than me picking, I would like to hear back from some of you (preferably the non-percussionists) about what you'd like to hear from me. I'll throw up a preliminary list of composers below, and probably add to it as I think of others. Or if there is someone on this list you think I'd be interested in based on the list below, throw em at me. Don't be bashful, either way, it's a learning experience for me, which will hopefully turn into a learning experience for you.

Some of these folks are not American, and/or are perhaps not considered innovative, but I'd be more than happy to present on any number of them. In no particular order:

David Maslanka
Steve Reich
David Lang and/or Bang-On-A-Can
Frank Zappa (specifically his non-rock works)
Louis Andreissen and European Minimalism
Arvo Part
Henryk Gorecki
Martin Bresnick (head of Composition faculty at Yale, great writer)
Iannis Xenakis
George Crumb
Karlheinz Stockhausen
John Cage
Nigel Westlake (the most famous composer from Australia, fabulous stuff!)

Plus anyone else that has written anything for percussion

OK, ready, go!

Modernism, or Back to the Future

Look, I got inspired to write, with no mention of edges in sight!

So, I was thinking about Back to the Future this evening, and about how fabulous those movies were/are, and what a shame it is that I don't own them on DVD. A flood of nostalgia overtook me, and I wished for a moment that I could trade in my venerable Camry for a nice '82 production model DeLorean. Then I thought about how much the dang thing weighs (it was fiberglass and stainless steel, mostly), and how much trouble I would get into with the US Department of Propriety in 2009 for driving a car that was terribly fuel inefficient and probably ran on leaded gasoline anyway (No beer cans and eggshells to dump into a Mr. Fusion, say it ain't so!)

So the whole plot of the movies and the reality of the car got me thinking to our recent online and real-time discussions of Modernism and Ives, etc.

Let me first lay out some of the threads that have emerged thus far, so I can refer to and tie them together:

Modernism as defined by Taruskin is an affinity, if not a fetish, for the trends of the present in lieu of the traditions of the past.

Ives can't be considered a Modernist because he "is too nostalgic," that is, he referred too much (at least for Taruskin's taste) to music of the past.

Brahms was the first truly modern composer (Burkholder's assertion, yes?). Like the sterotypical non-musicologist, I know the quote, but not where it's from.

Brahms was modern: He wrote music about music. Whatever the hell "about" means, per our discussion Tuesday.

Schoenberg once said something to the effect of "I am a Conservative that was forced to become a radical."

So, here's where I'm headed:

First off, I agree with Jeffrey, we are doomed to a semester of running around in circles if we continue to argue the semantics of terms. American this, non-American that. A conversation between Ben and I produced the product of identifying American as a synonym for United Statesian, we all obviously knew what we (and the title of Gann's book) were talking about, but yes, the ambiguity of the term gave everyone license to argue the interpretation. Same here with Modernism. Taruskin means "modernism," an affinity with the present, not Modernism, a self-referential term used to allow a group of individuals to identify themselves based on their shared affinity for the present at the time that they were active as a collective unit (albeit a loose unit). Now, the term Modernism is still up to debate obviously, but is convenient as a label, not at all evoking the controversy of the term Minimalism, since Modernism does not go far in describing the musical process.

I think it is therefore possible for one to be modernist without being a Modernist, and but perhaps not vice versa, since the artistic credo of the Modernists required a modernist bent.

But here's the rub for me: all Schoenberg (and his mates) did was take the direction of art music from the past 40 years to its logical conclusion (and Boulez, Messiaen, and Babbitt, etc. to the next conclusion beyond them). They stopped using a key signature, they stopped using harmonic progressions. Later, they came up with a new method for determining the organization of pitches (obviously serialism vs. scales). But what's truly new? They still used the standard 12 pitches, wrote in traditional forms (Webern just figured out how to turn the exposition of sonata form into a single pitch), and used music as a form of expression (hence Expressionist). How is their music any different than Brahms in the sense of writing music about music, that is, music that came previously? It isn't, right? Hence why the Modernists gave Brahms an honorary induction as the first modern composer.

So, Mr. Taruskin, explain to me again why Ives doesn't get to count? Did he not use forms that were created before he got to them (sorry to burst any bubbles, but the wind band, as an evolution of the Marching Band, is WAAYYYY older than the symphony as an ensemble)? So isn't he writing music about music, and further, by quoting older hymn tunes and whatnot in his pieces, then treating (rather than subjecting?) them to development, etc, is he not, in a greater sense than the Modernists, writing music about music, since the subtext of his treatments is that vernacular and other musical traditions are just as fertile a ground for the compositional techniques that are in use in Western Art Music at the time? So, affinity for modern techniques (including some of his own devising), reference to music and forms of the past. Tell me again how he doesn't count?

I get nostalgic for DeLoreans, despite the fact that my contemporaries (fellow US-ians in 2009) would vilify me if I drove one regularly (but honestly, let's not kid ourselves, you all know you want one, too =). Ives was nostalgic for marching bands, and has likewise recieved some vilification. I like Back to the Future, it reminds me of my childhood, not to mention that Huey Lewis rocked it on Back in Time, though MJF did a lousy job of superimposing Eddie Van Halen onto Johnny B. Goode. Shoenberg is no different, to me. He wanted to take old forms (not to mention old ensembles) and bring them into the future, too. Whatever helps ya sleep at night. One of the fabulous things about the age we live in now is that we've made it ok for any and everyone to play in the sandbox. Ives=modernist, not Modernist, nostalgic, whatever. He's obviously a competant composer, so that's all there to it, as far as I'm concerned.

enough.
Oh no! This cranky curmudgeon is back to further adulterate this perfectly self-respecting blog. Can anything be done? Sorry, but I cannot be flunked until the end of semester.

So what's my beef today? Well, the good professor graced us with a succinct summary of Tuesday's half-attended class, but deftly overlooked my plaint about the flurry of usage of the term "modernism" in the class. After hearing fellow classmates note the modernism of certain 16th-century composers and the like, I felt impelled to remark that "Modernism" has been used as a reference to a particular era in history, which, only now may I declare, as best as I understand the term, would be the early 20th-century to, or maybe a little past, WWII. My remark was met with a round of spluttered denials, yet the history books I feel will support me. Modernism the era was established through efforts throughout Western culture of particular time; as Schoenberg veered towards atonality, so did Picasso paint eyes where the ears were expected, and Joyce write stream-of-consciousness prose, all struggling to find new modes of expression beyond the inheritance of previous centuries.

Not that any of us in this class has the slightest competence in this domain, least of all myself, nonetheless a glance at the architecture of this time may merit attention. Of all artforms, architecture may be the most kingly, as it typically takes years and millions of dollars to accomplish, and so may the most representative of its own time. We all can distinguish vintage of the Old City Hall (and every American town has one) from an I.M.Pei glass box; both sorts of buildings shriek their time-of-construction to the viewer, the International Style of the latter telling us that it had to have been built no earlier than this date, and in this "postmodern" era not any later than that date.

Of course, Monteverdi was as daring an innovator as Debussy, and for his efforts he helped inaugurate the Baroque era. But to suggest that "Orfeo" invited us to the exact same understanding as did "Le Sacre du printemps" is to attempt an abolition of the timeline inherent in history, and for that I can see no help in it.

Before me, as I write my tirade, lies Taruskin, vol.4, pp1-5. Sure enough, he defines modernism as the impulse, not the era, and of course the urge to innovate renders Gabrieli and Webern in some sense brethren, and while he is welcome to appropriate established terms, devising new definitions for them, let us not become confused by this. As for the other term he throws about willy-nilly in his discussion of Ives, "maximalism", myself, I had only heard this word before uttered by Milton Babbitt in his staunch refusal to be ever, ever confused with the minimalists. So far as I know, Babbitt is the coiner of the term, and I do not doubt for a second that Taruskin picked up the word from the same source. And that, so far as I comprehend his explanation, to use the word to mean "intensification" is to liberate it from any time and place, such as Babbitt's studio in the late 20th century.

All this is to admit some doubt as to the redefinition of words to suit one's thesis. I suppose that Taruskin is eager to be held as a controvert, but I, for one, tire of quibbling over definitions and usages of words, and I cannot help but wonder if, with a little more effort on his part, Taruskin could have found terms that the OED cheerfully supports his exact meaning. I could try and sit here, attempting to think of such words, but must admit that Taruskin has a six-volume head start on me. Nonetheless, I prefer established usages and I will always be inclined to consider Babbitt a maximalist, and not Brahms.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

When God speaks to John Cage

When reading the Taruskin assignment this last week, I was especially drawn to a William Lyons Phelps quotation within the chapter:

“When we see the Sistine Madonna, or read Hamlet we admire the extraordinary power of Raphael, of Shakespeare. But when we hear the Ninth Symphony, we are listening to the voice of God. Beethoven was more passive than active, the channel through which flowed the Divine Will.”

I was preoccupied with Phelps’s perspective for a number of reasons, but I was chiefly enthralled with his idea that music has inherent transcendental properties that are not necessarily found in other art forms.
I am no philosopher, nor do I have any extraordinary insight into the works of Emerson or Thoreau. So my interpretation of Transcendentalism is obviously flawed. Feel free to pick my argument apart. Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, my jist of this philosophy it that God’s will is made manifest on earth through our instinct. The trick is to learn to decipher what is really instinct and not prior learning tainting one’s worldview. In this post, I am not concerned about music as means of communing with God. Rather, I believe Phelps’s quote reveals much about how the West views the purpose of music and how cultural tradition affects innovation, specifically innovation in aleatory music.

According to Phelps’s view, music has a higher purpose than entertainment. It has a message, divine or otherwise. I am reminded of the post-Romantics like Liszt who believed musicians were superhuman: see ‘The Artist is the Bearer of the Beautiful’ and ‘For the formation of the Artist, the first pre-requisite is the development of the human being’ for further details. In others words, Artist is Man 2.0. Because music is important and has a message, much of Western music of the past 300 year has ingrained specific gestures that connote certain emotions and evoke various atmospheres.


(Oh, by the way, if you saw Clint Davis’s presentation on the New York school, it was fantastic. I’m basing much of my post off of his hard work.) The main innovation in the New York school is conceptual. The tradition that preceded this school insisted that music had a higher purpose, and that the composer used musical gesture to connote emotions, certain ambiences, narratives. The tradition also insisted that the composer’s personal ideas played an integral role in creating the meaning and message of a piece. This where the New York school’s innovation is especially apparent. Composers of aleatory music, such as John Cage and Morton Feldman, divorced emotion and message from their creations. They relinquished control by creating a framework for performance but removing their personal influence from the interpretation of a piece. Aleatory composers relished the gray area between the composer’s ideas and the performer’s interpretation whereas many composers seemed to want to eliminate this uncertainty by specifically dictating their ideas through clear notation.

The interpretation of their work could fall into two main camps. 1. Music does not have a message; it should it be appreciated merely for the sounds being created. 2.Or, if music does have divine meaning, does the composer have any personal influence on that message? The first interpretation shows that their philosophy is complete rejection of the transcendental property of music, a belief that has been present throughout almost all of Western music history. The second implies that musical message, if music is a vehicle through which we understand God, has become encumbered by composers who refused to take a more passive role.

Or I could be completely off base. Any thoughts?

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Things Our Fathers Loved

The Things Our Fathers Loved is a particular favorite of mine. I have the score if anyone is interested in having a look. I think this piece alone encapsulates a great deal of what Ives is known for. By that, I mean, the composition itself is idiomatically Ivesian, as well as the subject/topic of the composition, i.e. the structure and content.

1. Quotation is the most obvious perhaps, and that includes both direct quotation/allusion to specific tunes or pieces, as well as stylistic quotation, i.e. the conjuring of an impression that we associate with a particular venue or genre. Examples: mm. 7.4-9, the text "Aunt Sarah humming Gospels" is set to the tune of Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing—a direct quotation.



Also, m. 13, the text "The town's Red, White and Blue" is set to part of the patriotic tune of Rally 'Round the Flag.



Interestingly, Ives is using tunes that we associate with "humming Gospels" and "Red, White and Blue" flags.

Stylistic quotations include places like mm. 5.4-7.3, where the text, "I hear the organ on the Main Street corner" is set to a strikingly different rhythmic pattern, from the preceding or following material—a hear it as more lilting and for me in conjures a sense of band concerts in the park around the turn of the century. Also, "The village cornet band, playing in the square," set in a much more miltaristic style than other passages of the song.



2. Some edgy dissonances. Clearly this in not his most obscure or crunchy piece, nor is it one of his entirely traditional, 1st symphony sorts either. One of the features I have always found most striking is the unexpected imitation at the very beginning. The voice begins in a very diatonic, and acceptable fashion that seems to imply C major, but within moments the piano is imitating the gesture up a major third. It doesn't really have time to imply a key, but if I had to pick, I'd say E major, perhaps. At the moment the piano enters (on a G#), it is creating a tritone with the voice above and the base pedal below, so it seems a little off-center from what the listener expects.

Interestingly, G# is exactly where the voice ends the song, and the whole last phrase of text sounds to me like the fulfillment of the hint given by the piano in m. 2. The the melodic gesture of that last phrase is, of course, the same as that at the beginning in the voice and imitated in the piano at a pitch level a whole step above the voices first iteration and a whole step below the piano's.



I suppose that's enough theory for now, though, eh? All that to say that within this one piece, Ives does indeed play the chameleon! Within three bars he reference something new and, in effect, switches "colors."

Monday, January 26, 2009

Music of the USA

Over the course of history, musicologists refer to music as being of a specific school within a given nationality. These labels are intended to facilitate a variety of things 1.) identification of certain stylistic traits inherent in composers within that specific school, 2.) the ability to easily contextualize where specific composers fit within their microsociological and microhistorical context, and 3) a ready means of organizing specific eras and movements within the fulcrum of music history.

This method is highly effective when talking about countries within the European heritage. Germany has a distinct style of music as well as a distinct musical heritage. Within this heritage, there exist schools that have dominated musical thought for a time, only to be superseded by another school. Even though such distinctions occur within a certain musical heritage, it is obvious to any onlooker that these distinctions are only surface level, and that they at most serve as guideposts within the German musical heritage. For example, even though Bach's Birth is almost two centuries before the birth of Richard Strauss, any listener can listen to their music and even though there is a tremendous gap of time between the composers, know that they come from the same musical heritage.

This works well until a country such as the USA is introduced. What heritage does this country have? This is a question that plagued musicians for centuries. Some tried to emulate European composers in their music. Others looked to native American Indians for this country's musical heritage. Still others sought the negro spirituals as the starting point of a national musical heritage within the USA.

This article is not simply here to point out the exact date of which such a musical heritage began within the United States. Such a move would be ludicrous. Not even a country with as well established a musical tradition as Italy could point to a date of origin for its musical tradition.

The USA, because of its abundance of external influences from all the nations of the world, is a unique study. There have existed many different schools of thought within this country, but for many of them (throughout the history of the USA), the composers depended heavily upon European tutelage. This can be readily seen in the number of composers that crossed the Atlantic to study with the great composers in Europe.

With such a great deal of importance placed upon external sources then, a new and different approach to studying music of the USA needs to be adopted. Each source needs to be studied as its own school of thought within the USA. Hence, there was a German school of composition within the USA, a French school of composition, and an Italian school.

The question does arise: do such schools constitute merely an extension of their European counterparts? The answer is an overwhelming no. Such schools are merely catalysts, since once the composers has left Europe for the USA, even though he has studied music within a certain cultural context, he now has entered a different social context with different social norms. This would then result in a blend. While there are many traits extant that would be, for example, indicative of German music, it is not German, since the composers, place of composition, and indeed performance, occurred within the confines of a different country, the USA. The instrumentation, performance venues, and the musical background of the performers themselves would cause the result, both in composition and performance, to be significantly different than had the same piece been written in Germany. So even though such a piece bears resemblance to music of the Germanic tradition, it is just that, a resemblance.

To further complicate the issue, as pointed out in the textbook for this class, both world wars had different affects on the musical scene in the USA. The first World War gave the USA the status as the most powerful nation in the world. As pointed out by Gann, this resulted in the USA exerting its independence musically. However, the second World War had drastically different results. Even though the USA was again victorious in the conflict, because of the totalitarian regimes in Europe that suppressed artistic freedom, composers sought refuge in this country (such as Schoenberg, Stravinsky, and Hindemith) in order to pursue artistic endeavors, hence, creating their own schools of composition.

It must me concluded that while the USA presents a special case for the musicologist, it is not an insuperable one. In fact, because of the unique nature of the music of the USA, one is able to look at a musical heritage that, while dependent on all of the peoples of the earth for inspiration, is as much an independent entity as any other musical heritage on the earth.
Now I see my folly in signing up for "American Innovators". As the one musicology student in this musicological course, I alone will be expected to have reviewed the entire scholarly literature upon these compositional figures before I am to post entirely new and hitherto unthought ideas about them. And just to grace a lousy blog. Oh, my aching back...

Nonetheless, when I ponder a remarkable figure such as Charles Ives, I cannot help but have thoughts about him and his work, though their entire newness and hitherto unthoughtedness cannot be assured, pending that aforementioned exhaustive literature review.

I have read the assigned Robt P. Morgan article, and found it interesting, not least for the unsupportable howlers he writes on his way into his discussion of Ives. Like what? one might ask. Well, his bold assertions about the historical overview of the just-buried century contain some whoppers, such as "historians have failed to keep abreast of today's rapidly changing musical environment and to evaluate the implications of that environment." I, for one, would not ask historians to keep me on top of "today's rapidly changing enivronment", musical or otherwise. That is what we pay journalists to do. Let some time pass and some dust to settle, then and only then can historians make any sense of what had happened before.

Shortly after, Morgan then writes "the past needs to be brought more clearly in line with the musical present." I cannot help but wonder if Morgan thought to read what he had just written, for such a patent piece of balderdash is startling to find in the scholarly literature. How could one possibly propose to accomplish such a task, seeing as how the past always just sits there being done and over. One can demand that the past struggle to meet the requirements of the present, if one is fond of flailing uselessly, because the past will not comply. It is the present that will always have to do the adjusting to the past, because it is nothing more than the infintesimal border between the past and the future. Since the latter does not exist, the past is all we have, which is why historians struggle to get it right - they know we have nothing else.
Having ripped Morgan a new one, I should note the good sense he showed when he got around to discussing Ives. He dwelled at length upon Ives' use of quotation, though his stubborn sense of the vernacular or hymnal material as "quotes" seems to me to fail somewhat to appreciate Ives' use of these melodies as thematic material to be pondered and developed. Ives' Second Symphony does not simply "quote" "Turkey in the Straw", it uses that melody as a basis for compositional insights, much as any classic or romantic composer would have done.
Gotta go teach class. Maybe I'll get to rave a little more on this topic...

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Listen to Ives

After carefully listening to the recordings on e-reserve I have to shamefully admit how truly ignorant I was of Ives’ music. My biased opinion of his style was completely uninformed and my textbook knowledge of his compositions did not do him any justice.
Hearing Chris play the recording of Ives’ earlier church music in class this week, sparked an instant interest. It was not like anything I’d EVER imagine Charles Ives composing. It was, well in a single word, beautiful. As Burkholder states, Ives wrote for his intended audience. And that makes a lot more sense now knowing what his immediate surroundings were and his primary musical influences.
But the most impactful element of the several pieces on reserve to me, is the commonality of patriotism that resounds throughout the works. Whether in text or musical quotation, I get the distinct impression that Ives was a true American in the most loyal and sincere sense of the word.

In listening to the recordings, I decided to take a different approach. I actually listened to the works before researching any musical or historical elements thereof. The results of which were exactly what I suspected. In my listening I tried to hear elements of compositions with which I was more familiar and link the two.
General William Booth Enters Into Heaven reminds me of Paul Hindemith’s later Concerto’s in which there is often little or no collaboration between the piano and the instrument/voice. The only hint that I had that it was truly Ives, was the use of quotation and the familiar march feel in the opening. (Morgan’s 'Anthology of Twentieth Century Music', gives a thorough analysis of this)
Majority was the stereotypical Charles Ives I have come to know in my previous fleeting studies of twentieth century music. The arm clusters were a dead give away but the beautiful sonorous ending caught me by surprise
Things Our Fathers Loved was another surprise auditory experience for me. It was unusually easy to listen to, with no extreme range. But again, the familiar sense of sentimentality and patriotism with the obvious quotation of Amazing Grace, was very Ives-like.
They Are There! This was a tough one. But recalling the quote from class “Don’t pay too much attention to the sounds. If you do, you may miss the music”, quoted by Ives’ father, helped to put it into perspective and reiterated the concept that Ives was truly a “musical chameleon
And finally, Three Place in New England. This reminded me a lot of Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess in feel and character. Here Ives used extensive quotations and although they sound very familiar, I am not exactly sure what they were (besides the obvious Yanky Doodle).

Any thoughts on these would be greatly appreciated…

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Instrumental-Specific Learning Edges

When I play percussion, I wonder what it is like to have a performance tradition that is so refined and legendary as the violin.  The closest instrument that percussionists have with a performance tradition is the timpano, which was not invented that long ago.  But the idea of a tradition is a funny thing for percussionists, because if we look at cultures from thousands­­ of years ago, there have been percussion instruments since man has been alive…shoot, some animals have been hitting things like hollowed-out trees as a part of their mating calls for centuries (maybe that’s why there are all those jokes about women liking the drummer in the band!).  But animals have been howling and barking for just as long, so do we and the vocalists fight it out for whose craft has the longest performance tradition?  For me, performance tradition is when a person/people try to standardize the way an instrument is played, and for percussionists this started around the early 1900’s and is still happening to this day (people constantly publish method books on things that have just recently come out such as roto-toms, an instrument that was made popular in the 80’s by heavy metal drummers who thought that they just didn’t have enough toms on their drum sets). 

My question is to ask everyone in the class on how they think the history/performance traditions of their instrument/voice affect their learning edge in “American music history?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

This would be my answer to my own question:

I have found percussionists more often than not enjoy a plethora of modern genres in music compared to some other instrumentalists.  Is this due to the fact that the bulk of our music has been written in the last 75 years, which puts us directly in the middle of 20th and 21st Century musical traditions (of which there are so many compared to the few that were in other centuries)?

It is my understanding that people like what they know (usually), so if you have been steeped in the practices of 18th and 19th Century music, and only listen to the music of the 20th and 21st Century as a rarity, then you are probably going to be prone to having an affection for 18th and 19th Century music (I am not including pop music because pop music is around everyone all the time, which is probably why so many people like it).  This is why as percussionists, I think we are a fortunate group, we are around compositions that span the time era this class aims to focus around.  Which is probably why a good majority of the graduate percussion studio is in this class!

 

But what I think is funny about percussionists is that we are usually just as familiar with the Romantic, Classical, Medieval, etc. genres just as much as 20th Century music.  I don’t know if it is because we start at the present in regards to musical composition and work our ways backwards through time in our studies, or if it is because we have such a small repertory that we yearn to learn as much as other instrumentalists and are forced to branch out of our own idiom.  What I mean by that is how, for example, violinists are usually more comfortable in the classical traditions than in modern traditions, whereas percussionists must be able to play a Bach prelude just as well as a 20th Century multi-percussion piece.  Maybe both of these ideas let percussionists in general appreciate more genres of music over other musicians (or maybe I am completely bias, let that discussion ensue!).

 

I also want to mention all of this because of the discussion on “What is Your Learning Edge?” and how (and maybe why) percussionists seem to have such a unique learning edge.   Maybe it is because we have a duller edge that spans a larger time period, whereas other instruments may have a sharper edge that covers a smaller period of time?

I am by no means trying to say that other instrumentalist do not like 20th/21st Century music just as much as Baroque music, but in generalities percussionists usually seem more open to all kinds of music.  Is this due to our exposure (or maybe over-exposure) to so many genres and cultures of music that we tend to be open to anything and everything?

 

My reason for writing this is not to start a fight, but to ask and see if there may be another instrument that is in a similar situation as percussion.  Maybe an instrument like the tuba, which hasn’t been around for a terribly long time, has similar experiences?

Friday, January 23, 2009

Thoughts on Ives

I've always felt an odd connection with the music of Charles Ives.  I grew up in a small town in central Illinois that was as close to a good old-fashioned slice of Americana as one could hope for.  Many of the songs and hymns Ives quoted in his works are ingrained in my memory, having been played by our community band and sung at church services and fairs as far back as I can remember.   Perhaps a large part of my fascination with his music comes from my need to reconcile the innocence with which I used to enjoy those familiar tunes with the complicated view of music I've developed during my college career.

At any rate, I'm very happy that we're beginning the semester with Ives.  Obviously it makes chronological sense to do so, but his music displays such an interesting balance of tradition and innovation that it allows us to make a smooth transition from the more "traditional" music most of us are probably accustomed to learning about to the more "modern" fare that lies ahead of us (though the preceding terms in quotations are certainly up for debate).

When asked to define a complex concept, some people respond by saying, "I can't put it into words, but I know it when I see it."  So it is with American music for me.  I can't even begin to form a complete definition of American music, but when I listen to Ives's music, there's no doubt in my mind that it fits.  I realize this sort of generalization without closer inspection is frowned upon by the relentless investigation machine that is academia, but sometimes--especially in as subjective a field as music--you just have to trust your gut.

(While I'm on the subject, just a short side note--when I mention "American music," I'm referring only to the music of the United States.  I do realize that there is more to "America" than just the US, but every other country on this side of the world gets a cool adjective that is reflective of its name--Canadian, Trinidadian, Brazilian, etc.  We've certainly been blessed with an abundance of wealth and resources, but one of the things we lack is an adjective that accurately refers to things only of this country.  "United Statesean" just doesn't fly.  So, I'm going to stick to the conventional method of using the word "American."  I know it's slightly inaccurate, but it is usually clearly understood.  And remember, the term "Jerusalem artichoke" is still used to refer to something that is neither an artichoke nor from Jerusalem.  Compared to that, "American" isn't very misleading at all.  But, as I can feel my blood pressure starting to rise, I had best digress...)

Then again, perhaps one of the most American features of Ives's music is exactly what was discussed in class on Thursday:  his ability to blend different traditions so seamlessly into an integrated whole.  His music can be viewed as a kind of (get ready for it) "melting pot" (I warned you!) that brings together disparate musical styles in the same way that the country in Ives's day welcomed in so many people with different cultures and traditions.  In true democratic fashion, each of these musical traditions has an equally important place in his music.  Maybe this was something Ives considered when composing.  Or, maybe I'm just trying to push a convenient metaphor too far.

I suppose the point of this post is that the "American-ness" of Ives's music is two-fold.  His heavy use of American source material is apparent on the surface level, and a little exploration of his music uncovers a synthesis of styles that reflects (whether intentionally or not) the blending of cultures that forms an important part of our society.  Any thoughts?

Thursday, January 22, 2009

"I want to be in America, Okay by me in America"

Well, to be honest when I started reading the posting from many of you I kind of felt a little embarrassed with the fact that I ended up in this class for, let’s say, lack of possibilities… I share this not to say that I have no interest on the subject, but only to show that this is definitely not my greatest passion.

That being said, I’ll try to explain my experience with music since 1900. During my college years in Brazil I had one survey class on 20th century music. From this class I could associate this historical period with Bartok, Schoenberg, Stravinsky, minimalism, serialism, whole tone scale, prepared piano, electronic music, and… well, I think this is all (not that I haven’t been taught anything else, but this was pretty much all I could retain… Shame on me!). Some years (and hundreds of miles) later, here in the US, I found myself sitting on Dr. Domeck’s class analysis of music since 1900. At this time I learned that the weird and, why not say chaotic music I’ve heard on my undergrad could really make sense, and that in abandoning my so beloved tonality, composers used other means to establish coherence and unity. Mmmmm, interesting! I actually liked the experience - shocking!

As a performer, my knowledge doesn’t go much beyond Brazilian 20th century composers - which may not sound as twentieth as you may think (at least not what I have performed so far), except for a little bit of Falla, Amy Beach, and Gershwin.
What to say now about American composers since 1900? Well I think the answer would be “not very familiar at all.” In fact, the name of Charles Ives didn’t say much to me other than “he is a composer” until, let me see… two classes ago. I think my exposure to music since 1900 and my learning edge are one, or as some may say around here - same difference!

When I think that first I am not an expert on 20th century music, second I am even less familiar with American composers/innovators from this period, third I am not crazy about the subject, and finally I am not as comfortable to weekly write in a blog (in English) as most of you native speakers might be (boy, I wish you all could read in Portuguese…) I think I have two options: 1- to be miserably bored through the entire semester or 2- to be challenged and have fun during the learning process. Well, I have made my mind; I am taking the second option!

Thoughts on My learning Edges

These thoughts are very much in the realm of “stream of consciousness” – in other words, they are not edited and polished. Posting such writing in a public forum definitely brings me very close to my learning edge, but it suits the assignment.

For as long as I can remember I have loved to explore all things new and to learn. For equally as long, my most precarious learning edge has had to do with others’ expectations. Whenever I perceive that I am already expected to have a particular knowledge, understanding, or skill – yet in reality I have had no experience with the subject at hand – I shrink back from the freedom of experiment which how I most naturally learn. Interestingly, as I have become more aware of this, I have become far freer to proclaim present ignorance yet anticipation of learning.

As a horn player, I tend to be far too cautious – which can be a very crippling learning edge. I do not like to play too high. I do not like to play loudly [much]. I do not like to play too fast. Not only are these excellent reasons for me to not play trumpet, they can also be hindrances to learning new horn music which extends technique in each of these areas. Admitting that I do not like to play certain ways does not mean I am not willing to stretch myself. Decoding the newly emerging notational trends frustrates me because I am tied not only to the tyranny of the black dot – but to the classic black dot divided neatly into measured units regardless of meter. Jumping into a percussion ensemble during my last regular semester of undergraduate coursework was a critical step in pushing this particular edge further away.

This obviously relates to music since 1900 – especially music since 1970. Both interpreting and listening to music from this most recent time period does push me very close to my learning edge. Sometimes some new music takes an incredible amount of concentration for me to listen to because it is a vocabulary I do not interpret quickly. Yet as I look ahead and can see the edge and the danger, I can also sense the freedom and exhilaration which could be mind if I am willing to step just a bit closer – then another bit closer. It fascinates me that stretching in this way does not make the old edge less interesting. Rather it infuses the familiar with a renewed energy and opens my ears to hear “old” music through an expanded filter.

My personal experience with music since 1900 has included not only a number of pieces for solo horn or chamber ensemble but also works for orchestra and concert band. While taking MUS 505 last semester, I had opportunity to revisit works by Ives and Riley and Reich and Stravinsky and Schoenberg and many others which I had first been introduced to during undergraduate classes. These revisited tunes gave way to new pieces which broadened for me the scope of what “new” music can mean. More and more as I listen to music from this present day, I understand more clearly the connection of music as a cultural art form, a timely cultural representation for future generations. My first hearing of John Adams’ On the Transmigration of Souls on NPR probably more than anything else precipitated this awareness.

Perhaps in this class we need to be innovative learners to understand what makes a particular composer an innovator. I do not believe that all good composers are innovators; I do not believe that all innovative composers are good composers. I believe that innovation comes in many forms. I also believe that we do not need to define for this class exactly what American means in terms which brings all to agreement.

My Edge

When I was considering signing up for this class, I thought very carefully about why I wanted to take it and what I could possibly glean from studying the music of the 20th century. My decision was made when I completed a Research Methods assignment on Gian Carlo Menotti and his music, focusing on his brilliant career in the 1930s and 50s, and his sudden fall from popularity in the mid 1960s. His choice of medium was Opera, a genre thought to be dying in the early part of the 20th century, and his work was often thought to be too traditional to survive in the modern musical world, where everyone around him was frantically trying to find new ways of expression. I feel however, that through his adoption of this supposedly antiquated form, he managed to produce innovative operas for a new generation, and his work with television and Broadway pushed aside many of the previously held ideas about where and how opera could be performed. His work allowed other composers to find new ways to experiment within the operatic form, paving the way for John Adams and William Bolcom among many other American opera composers.
Beyond the operatic stage, the only other 20th century American music that I know well is that of the Broadway theatre, which I deeply and passionately love. This probably explains my affection for composers such as Bernstein and Copland. My familiarity with other major composers however, is at best brief and more often, fleeting. Composers such as Schoenberg, Stravinsky, Berg, and Cage are not in my general repertoire though bits and pieces of their works pass through my hands, I will admit that I rarely consider them with any great degree of depth. In this class, I hope that I will be able to change that. My “edge” is very much on the experimental music, which includes electronic music, which I hate. Not because it is electronic, but because it often involves prolonged high-pitched sounds which then causes me to suffer from painful headaches. The works of the Serialists are often outside my comfort zone as well. Though I have worked with and enjoyed several pieces by Schoenberg (an entire portion of my recital is dedicated to his cabaret music) as well as Berg and Webern, much of the concept of Serialism is lost on me, largely because I do not have a particularly mathematical way of thinking about music.
Because of my fascination with Menotti, I am hoping that this class will give me a better concept of the world in which he lived and worked, as well as the music that was being composed around him. Perhaps this will help me explain his overwhelming popularity at one point in time and his later dismissal as a sentimentalist. If possible, I would very much like to look at the influence of Broadway on American Classical music, and how the 1950s seems to have shaped much of popular America’s ideas on what Classical music should and should not be. I feel that this class will give me an invaluable amount of perspective on the many works outside of my comfort zone, and with that perspective, I will more fully understand the music that I love.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Ok here goes-My exposure to music since 1900 came usually came through studying music for my own instrument. I assume the same is true for many of you.. As we work through passages in order to technically master them, we force our selves to analyze a piece in depth: a process we might not normally undertake without the pressure of an upcoming lesson. For example, I have studied clarinet music by Debussy, Khachaturian, Martino, Milhaud, Muczynski, Osbourne, Persichetti, Poulenc, Rozsa, Stravinsky, Sutermeister, and other. However, my knowledge of specific pieces after 1950 outside of clarinet repertoire is inexcusably weak.
It is interesting to note how repertoire for the clarinet has changed in the past century. Jazz and ragtime and Dixieland in particular, have made heavy use of my instrument as has the Klezmer musical tradition. Some of our extended techniques incorporated in “classical” compositions originated in these genres. Composers for the clarinet have taken note and often used the instrument as a vehicle for uniting elements of popular and classical music. One of the most easily recognizable examples would be the opening clarinet line of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Clarinet has evolved from a strictly classical instrument to become a voice in vernacular music.
It seems that trained musicians largely ignore 20th century vernacular music. The study of popular music, music for the masses, what ever you want to call it, is not included in the core of music education. Occasionally, vernacular music is glossed over in a survey of twentieth century music, but it is included at the instructor’s discretion and is not considered as necessary as other movements such as neo classical and aleatory music. I use vernacular music, for want of a more appropriate word, to describe the popular genres of the past century that include rock, pop, hip-hop, trip hop, country, electronic experimental, folk, neo-folk, blues, alternative, drone rock, shoegaze, as well as lesser known factions of indie music. Although most trained musicians immediately cite jazz as THE distinctly American contribution to music, I would argue that our 20th century vernacular music, let’s just call it rock, is one of our most innovative art forms and one of our most successful exports. It is a significant part of the American musical legacy. If we are going to analyze American innovation, popular music should be part of the discussion.
Why vernacular music is not treated as part of musical history is disconcerting. What bothers me is that there seems to be this split between art music and popular music; that somehow these genres are not viewed reactions to the same musical past. Yes, rock music is more heavily rooted in rhythm and blues than Rachmaninoff. But the world grew smaller in last century, and musicians no longer draw their influence strictly from the Western, Euro-centric music history that preceded them. Britten and Debussy incorporated indigenous music from the far east; do we know longer consider them part of the art music tradition? By separating art and popular music, we create a hierarchy between the two. They are not treated as entities within the same musical history: rock music is not considered part the pendulum swing between the Romantic and the classical. Since vernacular music is geared toward the everyman, the amateur, it is often viewed as less complex, less skillful, less innovative. However, I would argue that both vernacular and “classical” (again, I cant find the right terms!) music are only as different as we choose to make them.
I will be the first to say that a lot of popular music is garbarge. And by garbage I imply that it is usually poorly written and unadventurous. There are over seven million musicians and bands listed on Myspace alone, and you know at least two hundred of those artists are really acoustic guitar-wielding teenagers saying “I wrote this song for my girlfriend. I love you, Tina!” whose music is akin to bad renditions of Ryan Adams or Jack Johnson. I am not here to say that the skill involved in creating popular music and art music is somehow equal. (Aspiring bands do not train as chamber groups at conservatories over years and years before launching their careers.) Nor do I claim that all pop music is great art just as not all classical music is great art. I am merely saying that popular music is not irrelevant in terms of innovation.
I am really interested in studying how art music and popular music have interacted since 1950. In particular, I hope to study how artists like Charles Ives, Brian Eno, and Jonny Greenwood, chose to view vernacular music and art music with little bias and fused aspects of both genres in their work. I also would like to examine, maybe not necessarily in this class, how innovation is treated in the world of popular music in terms of critical acclaim, financial success, as well as posterity and future influence. Is it even possible to write musically groundbreaking work that is aimed an audience that usually has no music education and often a small musical palate? Can popular music be innovative in the same way as the classical tradition?

I would just like to put in a good word...

...for a composer mentioned in the first chapter of our textbook: Charles Tomlinson Griffes.  As an aficionado of his music- since you can't really be a "fan" of a Famous Dead Composer- I know that not many people seem to know who he is.  Or particularly care.  And since he's in the first chapter, is discussed after Charles Ives, and wasn't particularly "radical," his time clearly still hasn't come.

If, however, you are interested in exploring music new to you which won't assault your senses, look up his name in the Naxos database or search for him in the UK online catalog.  Griffes seems to be the only (North) American Impressionistic composer in existence.  He studied formally for some years in Germany but was fascinated by the music of Mussorgsky and Debussy and his scores reflect that.  Flautists will know him through his "Poem for Flute and Orchestra," my first exposure to his music, but he also wrote a small body of tone poems and and solo piano works.

"The White Peacock" is analyzed in the text but just as good are "Clouds" and "Bacchanale"; these are comparable to Debussy's "Nuages" and "Fetes", respectively, as much as one piece of music can be said to resemble another.  "The Pleasure Dome of Kubla Khan" is a longer tone poem full of that misty, woodwind-saturated, Impressionistic goodness, although Griffes' music seems to have more angst than his French counterpart.

Another almost-totally forgotten composer in a similar style actually was French: Charles Koechlin.  Capable of an infinite variety of shadings and colors in his orchestrations, Koechlin likewise let out some angst: many of his scores employ polytonality or atonality or both, yet "Impressionistic" is still the word I would use to describe his music.  Many of Koechlin's works were inspired by literature, among them a set of tone poems on Rudyard Kipling's "The Jungle Book."

I don't want to get on a soapbox and harangue the masses, I just wanted to share some music that I've recently discovered and enjoy very much.  And yes, Koechlin was not "American" - but we already had that discussion in class.

Where the edge Lies.....

As a performer of music in contemporary America, my career as a musician has a somewhat unusual twist. I got my undergraduate and master's degrees at Bob Jones University in Greenville, SC, a move that I do not regret because of the outstanding education given there. The school does not have a jazz program, but they do have an extensive classical music program with two orchestras, six choirs, two wind ensembles, and a host of smaller brass ensembles.

Because of the way the program is organized, I was able to gain a great deal of familiarity with composers within the classical era tradition. The director bands at Bob Jones University, Dr. Dan Turner, has the objective of programming brand new music written specifically for the wind ensemble on each concert. Granted there were some pieces of historical importance written for the wind ensemble that are routinely performed (Holst Suites, Vaughn Williams Toccatta Marziale, Sousa marches, etc.) but the majority of the music consists of works that have been written within the past fifteen years.

Because of this emphasis on recently composed music, the names of major composers who are alive and writing for the wind ensemble are quite familiar to me. Personally, I particularly enjoy performing the wind literature of Johann De Meij, Philip Sparke, James Barnes, and James Curnow. The types of sonorities, the creative harmonic progressions, the metric complexity, and rhythmic diversity that these contemporary composers are able to achieve in the music they write for the modern day wind ensemble is quite fascinating.

Even though not much music is currently being written for the symphony orchestra in comparison to the wind ensemble, I have had the opportunity to familiarize myself with the orchestral compositions of John Adams. Adams particularly is a fascinating case, since very few contemporary works are written for the symphony orchestra that are able to gain a foothold within the symphonic repertoire. Yet contrary to this prevailing trend, Adams has managed to write several highly successful works for this ensemble.

As far as modern brass literature is concerned, I spent several semesters playing in a brass quintet and brass choir that regularly explored music of contemporary composers such as Husa, Plog, and Ewazen. This was a remarkable experience for me, since these works were quite current, gave a great of interaction between the performers, as well as displayed compositional technique that is decisively current and quite varied.

I have also had the privilege of performing numerous contemporary trumpet solos on my recitals as well as having worked on some on the side. In addition, I am in the stages of programming several significant trumpet solos that have been written within the last twenty years for my DMA recitals. The one thing that sticks out to me in looking at these works is the diversity of approaches in composition utilized by different modern composers.

My main weakness then lies in popular music. I am familiar with some of the figures within this field (composers and performers) but I am admittedly somewhat deficient when it comes to being knowledgeable about their music. I don't mind exploring and learning more about these composers, their philosophies, and the compositional methods that they fostered. In fact, as a musician, it is absolutely essential to understand what is going on around us at any given time in the world.

I do not necessarily agree with or enjoy some styles of music. This should not sound odd in any way, since composers throughout history have been vocal about music they detested as well as music they loved. In addition, my field of expertise is avowedly such that popular music typically gets passed over in favor of other music that is going to be on one of my upcoming concerts or recitals. I plan to, over the course of this class, acquire a working knowledge of music styles since 1900 that I do not have a familiarity with, in order that I might understand better how they fit into the historical continuum.

"re-inventing the wheel"

We have all heard the phrase "to re-invent the wheel". Generally it refers to someone who makes insignifaicant changes to an already existing idea and then claims it as there own invention. The difference between innovation and invention can be made no clearer than this. A composer may use someone elses theme or form and call it there own, but it is not a new idea, just a new take on an old idea. However, when someone created tracks on which to put a tank, rather than using tires since they puncture easily he was an innovator. Just as when one expands upon or creates new forms, styles and harmonies he, in the compositional world, separates himself as an innovator.

I suppose growing up in the USA and identifing myself as "American" it was natural to not see the rest of the "Americas" as "American". But as I have grown to have friends of many cultures I have begun to recognize that all of us from the USA have a very narrow view of the world, mind this is not our fault, but what we have been taught. We are not unlike those who would re-invent the world. We assimilate the ideas of many other countries and claim them to ourselves. "As American as Apple Pie" (Germanic in origion). But that is expected of a melting pot community. We should embrace our borrowings and our significant changes that have made them our own.

It has been stated that much of the early American (USA) music merely was an imitation of European music. I would state that much music of that time period was immitation of other music. Music was evolving through many small changes for a very long time. I certainly hope the expectation was not that the people who traveled to the Americas would abbandon all that they new and invent an entire new system of music. If they were to have ignored their musics past, how would they have progressed forward?

So the edge for me is where we cease to need a wheel at all! When we no longer see the need to make written records of our musical acheivements and fail to accept that someone can "reinvent a wheel" or have an entirely new idea and that is all a part of the process. I can't say I like all of the music I hear. As a young musician it was once pointed out to me that it matters not whether I like or dislike a work, but it does matter that I understand it's contributions, or lack there of to music. That I should keep an open mind to the ideas around me. That someday I may be surprised by what suddenly is interesting or unique or a throw to the past.

I'm okay with not liking every peice of music I hear. I still want to hear it... perhaps not several times! LOL! But I think learing is in the process and not in the result.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

My learning edge

...I dread being the first to contribute to this blog after Evan’s former post, which was by the way, incredibly well written. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it, thank you Evan. But as I am new to this ‘blogging thing’, I thought I’d be brave and jump right in (which by the way, completely contradicts my personality type).

As a tubist, my experience with music from the 1900’s could be considered, sound. (excuse the pun). However, considering the youth of the instrument compared to its brass or percussive counterparts, there is vastly less repertoire in existence. That is the primary reason why transcriptions of works from earlier periods are so common.

Hence, my knowledge of music since 1900, compared to the centuries before, is weak at best. It seems that every theory or history class I’ve ever taken seemed to scramble through music from the last century with the few hours left at the end of the semester. The only consistency lay in the omission of several of the great composers of our era and consequently, the creation of a gap in my knowledge of ‘modern music’. However I have found myself, after a decade of studying (miniscule comparatively, I know), to be able to retain knowledge far better when I myself am doing the research. Hence, the past two years in graduate school have been of far greater significance in this area of study, than years past.

To the next question on the agenda, where is my learning edge? Mmmmm….that’s a tricky one. Having completed two performance degrees, I can honestly say that I have always felt as if I were on my ‘learning edge’ (or about to fall into the shark infested ocean). I considered this a result of good teaching from the professors I have had the privilege of studying with. Also, as an internal drive to constantly ‘push my own boundaries’ and test my abilities. Both success and failure have marred my efforts. But composer/piece specific, I have to say that works from composers outside of my immediate repertoire are my most challenging.

Outside of my immediate performance arena, I have always had a great sense of patriotism for South African composers such as Kevin Volans, and Hendrik Hofmeyr. I attribute this directly to the fact that I could relate to their traditional influences, having studied at similar universities, experienced the same historical and social backgrounds, and shared a sense of patriotism with them. Consequently, I was able to appreciate similar composers from different countries directly because of the similarities that I found within their music.

The influence of traditionalism, upon which we touched on in class today, is a major contributor to my personal taste and consequently my initiate to study specific composers and their styles. Because my idea of traditionalism incorporates African qualities, I can honesty say that every American composer that we dissect and study this semester will be on my ‘learning edge’. Besides the required reading, class participation, and writing assignments, I will take it upon myself to find comparisons between the composers I grew up to respect and appreciate, and the ‘American Innovators’ we will be studying. In so doing I hope to broaden my knowledge of the specific composers. I may fail at this but at least I will have attempted to relate somewhat to the influences of the great American composers of the twentieth century. Here goes….

Monday, January 19, 2009

Reflections on Innovators and other pests (Class #1)

The trouble with blogs for me is that I never get to them. You see, I have this perfectionist curse, that often leads to paralysis or at least the silence of good intentions. I guess blogs are not necessarily supposed to be finely crafted essays for each entry, but it is hard for me to write on line, as I would like to do a word document, then edit it, then read it again and, finally, post it. Hence the great empty spaces of my previous attempts. Enough apologizing and rationalizing. Here goes:

I wanted to summarize a few of the things I brought up in the first class, last Thursday, since three folks in the seminar were not there and because it may be helpful to read these things so that you know where the wild mind is swinging.

I know that this seminar could (and should) be a powerful learning experience for all of us. (I also know that it can be a flop and a disappointment!). We're in a relationship, all of us, and that always involves personal responsibility. My job, as I see it, is facilitating learning through a variety of techniques and tricks. As mentioned in class, some folks are intrinsically motivated and don't need kicks in the pants or threats to get them going--they're already gone! Others benefit by extrinsic motivation, in the form of deadlines, threats, fear of failure, etc. I'm usually long on inspiration and short on the threatening part, but I will try to be flexible enough to help you as individuals and as a group make this class the best you have ever had (a worthy goal, I think).

I encouraged people to consider a much bigger picture than just "American Innovators," presumably in the 20th and 21st centuries. Grappling with the two words in the title of the course already gives rise to a bigger picture: What do we mean by "American," and what by "Innovators?" America is more than the United States, although it is easy for those of us who live in the USA to think otherwise and forget all the other countries in the two continents called America. And what is "innovation," anyway?

One way of looking at a bigger picture is to consider the tension and relationship between Innovation and Tradition in music, as we discussed in class on Thursday, particularly within the history of music in the Western world. Tension runs through all of music history between the reverence for tradition, continuity, lineage, order, stability, maintaining values, etc., on the one hand, and the need to contribute something new, to explore, create, surprise, develop, progress, escape from boredom, and more, on the other hand. In fact, dissatisfaction seems to be in our very genes, and some argue that this is a good design, since it makes us adaptable and creative (good qualities to have when meeting change, as in climate change, for example!).

We (mostly I) talked in class about the relationship between innovation and tradition throughout music history and invoked the image of the pendulum, swinging between classical values of balance and restraint and the "romantic" values of individual expression and excess. And I invite you to think or reflect upon trends, genres, specific composers, and other forces that operate along this continuum. It's a good exercise.

I think you will find this exploration a useful exercise. Something interesting to do is to take the opposite view of the standard lines or stories. Schoenberg and Peter Burkholder (among others) maintained that Brahms was a "progressive," and the "first truly modern composer." (One can sense Wagner flipping over in his grave: Brahms!!) And what do you make of Schoenberg's statement: “I am a conservative who was forced to become a radical?!?” Was Bach an innovator? No? What about Brandenburg No. 5, with the long keyboard solo? Beethoven? What about the fugues he wrote in his late piano sonatas? Looking back, in an innovative sort of way?

We have lots to explore in music since 1900 or before even on the American continents. And I want to give you plenty of room to roam. But also, I am going to ask you to dig deep at some point, and focus on some specific composer(s) or trends. Perhaps this will help you look at all music history with different eyes.

I have come to think of all serious study of music as "music appreciation." The more we learn and understand, the more our "appreciation" grows, the more we value the music that has come to us and we make, the more we practice gratitude for having the precious opportunity to make, hear, and feel music. Enjoy, and happy sailing.

American Music: Appropriately named?

In the opening class of the semester, Dr. Brunner made a very interesting observation about the nature of American Innovators. He pointed out that while most people equate American composers with being a resident of the United States, there remains a significant problem with such an approach. Left out by this methodology are a significant number of composers who are also Americans, yet do not live in e USA. This raises a question that needs to be properly addressed by musicologists and musicians alike: is the term American an ineffective designation since it is not a nationality but merely a vague geographical designation?

A simple glance at a globe or any world atlas would reveal that there are two continents that make up the hemisphere we currently reside in. Both of these large masses of land bear the geographical labels of North and South America. When a person wishes to invite someone to their house, they don't give vague generalizations such as "remain in America for the duration of the trip." Obviously, if someone were traveling from Cleveland to Cincinnati or from Baltimore to Annapolis, a statement such as this would be ludicrous, since they not only stay within the same country (USA), they don't even leave the state in order to go from the point of origination to the place of arrival.
This sounds completely absurd, but musicologists, musicians -namely anyone involved in the world of music- are willing to let such a nebulous term as "American" remain in common usage and act as if it is clear what is being referred to.

Nobody would refer to the music of Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, and Verdi as simply European. Obviously, it would be a highly convenient method of labeling all of these composers in the same group, but aside from this, it has little practical value. Beethoven, while obviously a European, will always remain in association with the Austro-Germanic tradition. Tchaikovsky, a native of the eastern most country on the European continent, will be remembered for his lyrical compositions that borrowed from the Russian folk song tradition. Verdi, also a resident of the European continent, will be remembered with his nationalistic operas calling for Italian independence from foreign control.

So why then, is this label "American" used? Even if more precise terminology were to be used in order to accurately designate what country these "American" composers are from, the term American unfortunately, has been in use for so long that despite the necessity of such a change, any attempt to make one would most likely prove to be fruitless. While a more accurate means of designating the geographical location with which any given composer in this hemisphere spent their career would be immensely helpful in associating them with schools of composition as well as stylistic traits indigenous to that particular region, improper terminology has been in use for such a long time, that to go back and change now would completely cloud the issue. The lesson, then gained from such a serious nomenclature mistake is twofold. One, it forces us to be specific about "where" a given "American" composer is from, and finally, it shows the importance of properly designating something within the field of musicology before the mistake becomes insuperable.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Welcome to our own MUS 690 Blog!

Greetings,
and welcome to what I expect to be a lively exchange about "American Innovators" in the world of music. I will organize the blog so that each member of the class can contribute as an author (that it make your own entries) as well as comment on other posts. I would like this to be one of the focuses of our learning as we move through the semester and explore what "innovation" might mean to you, with respect to music and what we might mean by "American." Welcome, and lets have fun as we learn together!