Leaving Facebook (A Music Post)

I deactivated my Facebook account yesterday after having used it for about 14 years. Yes, I was one of those people who watched The Social Dilemma and was appalled at the evils done by the social media business model. I never quite understood how much my phone tracks about me (EVERYTHING) and how aggressive it markets based on our weaknesses. Because it is run by advertisers even more than its owners (the customer is always right…), people can sway populations with a big enough price tag. Myanmar used it for genocide against the very Rohingya population I lamented in The Story of Our Journey . Much of the violent rhetoric in the past several years only spread because of how social media targets users through high-emotion content. Political extremism and conspiracy theories have completely obliterated the confidence in truth, leading to our near inability to talk to people different than us. I can’t support such a destructive platform.

Some musicians have long felt threatened by the DIY aesthetic that rose out of YouTube. The amateur could become famous while the professional gets lost in the shadows. I believe that threat is healthy for musicians! If we can’t get people interested in our music, then we have to look at either our presentation of media or our music itself. Also, being “famous” has never been that appealing of an aspiration. A musician doesn’t need to get that one big famous video to subsist and thrive, for one-hit wonders on YouTube are not worth as much as the one-hit wonders were in the 90s. True recognition comes from years of experience, great connections, and true fans. The long-term famous YouTubers place their entire career on making videos. They live the life of the entrepreneur and put in more time than most would imagine. They aren’t my competition.

Perhaps social media’s greatest blessing and curse is its redefinition of musical choices based on emotion over genre. I’m still a bit mystified on how artificial intelligence “listens” to music and recommends artists fitting into a certain mood, but it’s actively happening and has been for years. If I listen to “Chill Thursday” or “Workout Fire,” then I’ll get a playlist that we’re told fits the mood (and we’d agree much of the time). The singular aesthetical assumption is that music’s purpose is to generate a mood that resonates with the listener. Younger acts lean into this assumption and genre-bend their work to fit into multiple categories (which is argued to naturally fit into the diverse tastes of the generation). When I write music, I think about the atmosphere or sound world, but that’s a starting point. If mood were the core of music, then it would be a shallow endeavor. Maybe that’s why we now compare music with temperatures; we regard music as important as changing the thermostat from 68 to 72 F.

But, I’ll be blunt: they have done an awful job at mood-mixing concert music idioms. The contemporary classical music is more-or-less okay, but it is mostly post-minimalist. Almost every other classical playlist has branded as Baby Mozart music. I typed in Classical on Amazon Music and received the following playlists: “Deep Sleep Music,” “Instrumental Lullabies,” “Putting the Baby to Bed,” “Bedtime Lullabies,” “Classical for Pets,” “Classical Focus,” “Classical Sleep,” “Relaxing Children’s Classical,” “Relaxing Classical,” “Classical for Meditation,” “Classical Slumber,” “Dream Time,” and, as a relief, “Fun Classical.” Ouch. Obviously the AI doesn’t even try to figure out the mood of classical music. Isn’t this supposed be the same brand of music that brought you the riots at the premiere of The Rite of Spring, the performers who painted their faces white and pretended they were possessed (Liszt, Paganini), the most psychologically disturbing works ever (Berg’s Wozzeck and Lulu), and the thrilling collection of works that has influenced every dramatic film composer from Day 1 (Holst’s The Planets, Strauss’s Salome)? Even live classical musicians have fallen into the traps set up by these “moods.” I can’t say how many times I have fallen asleep during concerts where “nice” musical interpretation supersedes the power within the harmonic structures at play. Oh, how I’d love to hear (post-COVID) something more dramatic at the orchestral stage (preferably a concert by living composers)!

As AI continues to brand people towards certain moods, I wonder how that will influence musical taste and exploration. The sudden access to everything is brilliant now, especially with the collective memory of music from the 50s on. But just like in social media, what are the consequences of AI silently driving our decisions? Will we be softly baited (even if over the next several decades) into our comfortable “Autumn Chill” niche and let the vibrant blues, reds, yellows, and greens in popular idioms, like classical music, turn into an unremarkable brown? Who actually stops to listen to a full musical piece anymore? Who actually stops for anything anymore? What caught my attention the most during The Social Dilemma was that the user thinks they are in control because the AI is programmed to hustle us unknowingly into every decision to keep us engaged. I feel like the prophetic call to avoid future tragedies, not only politically and socially but artistically, is to learn how to listen and make active decisions. Radicalism and violence will be abated as people act to serve as mediators, not instigators. Artistic depth, which we do still cherish now, will bring about some of the most fascinating music if we are willing to actively connect with it rather than push it to the back of our minds. Will you search for the most different piece of music you can find, turn off all distractions, and listen to its album (yes, the whole 45 minutes) in its entirety? As John Cage said, “If something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, then eight. Then sixteen. Then thirty-two. Eventually one discovers that it is not boring at all.” Go for it.

Multimedia Production from the Musician's Perspective

October brings the premiere of two pieces that have deep personal meaning to me. Next week is the premiere of The Story of Our Journey, written about earlier and detailed more here. And at the end of the month Lo! premieres, thanks to a grant from the Brigham Young University Group for New Music. The thing they have in common? Both include a carefully constructed video to complement the music.

I finished the music for The Story of Our Journey in May 2020, yet little did I know how much work still lay ahead. I admit to a serious misperception of the amount of painstaking work that goes into making video, especially to make something as artistically satisfying as the music itself. Our volunteer video director from Their Story is Our Story, Esther Michela, was tasked to make the entire 51-minute video by herself while we battered her with constructive criticism in a push towards a July deadline that, if we had been honest with ourselves, was a complete impossibility. In a state of emergency, TSOS sought out additional help for Esther (realizing that most productions of this stature have an entire team!). They were able to recruit Garrett Gibbons and David McAllister, who provided additional insights and helped with the other movements. Even then, we had too much work to do and after the passing of another impossible deadline (August 1st), we resolved on the first realistic goal of October 16th. I am grateful we waited because the project is now something that has revolutionized the way I want to approach the presentation of my music. Video and music, when properly balanced, are more powerful than when separate. Especially when only online performances are readily consumable, a good video is everything.

How does one balance video and music? This is a question of counterpoint, which is normally a term used to describe the interaction between musical lines. The principles are similar, for there must be a relationship between the two elements that allows for one to not overpower the other. On the one extreme, a video of a live performance from one camera angle is all about the music and relegates the video component to simply a captured moment that probably would have been much cooler live. The opposite of this is film music, where the music always lurks in the shadows while the visuals drive the narrative (especially in Hollywood films). Musically sensitive film directors and composers are able to navigate good counterpoint with the music, and you know this when you remark on the music and the film. The best counterpoint between video and audio would include some sort of interaction between video and audio that allows both to “speak,” which means that there needs to be some crossover in traditions.

The Story of Our Journey captured the happy medium between the two in ways I did not initially consider. Crucial to the music are the interview clips; in fact, every melody in the clarinet and synthesizers—almost every musical note in the entire piece—rises out of the speech patterns and even the background noises (especially a distinctive truck horn) in the interviews. When the video team matched the interview content with its fragmented audio counterparts in the music, it created additional opportunities for interaction. Video effects caught the grittiness of my noisy synthesizers inspired by desert sands from the narrative. The energy of the oceanic electronic rushes became a literal dive underwater with the refugees crossing the Mediterranean. A complex web of relationships were either clarified or compounded onto what the music alone had to offer, and I feel like the image complements rather than conquers the music, which would have been tempting to do. Our clarinetist Csaba Jevtic-Somlai keyed the term Gesamtkunstwerk for this perfectly balanced collaboration. I am grateful to Esther Michela and Garrett Gibbon’s enormous efforts to make such a wonderful and equal counterpart to the music.

The process inspired me to try my hand at video-making, which became important for my commission by the Brigham Young University Group for New Music. I wanted to have complete freedom and safety in my video-making, so I took historical public domain footage from the Prelinger Archives, specifically old television advertisements and a short-lived game show. Again I took the audio from this archival footage and made it central to the music, and I put a thick layer of noisy gestures to complement the video clips’ rough sound quality. It was surprisingly intuitive to work with video editing software because the abstract development of materials is still the same. I found the ideas of opposition, fragmentation, juxtaposition, large-scale evolution through variation, and so forth relatable in terms of color and audio effects. With the help of a friend Erin Jossie, I was able to capture nature imagery for the end of the piece and edit it to feel natural (going through a variety of shots instead of developing material was less natural to me, and I definitely needed the counsel!).

Despite my best efforts, the video was much improved by my brother Michael, a professional multimedia artist. He was able to express the noise in the audio in a way I could not and added some visual consistencies that helped unify the work. He did countless micro-edits in addition to some major reconstruction and still managed to keep my original vision and feel intact. I learned that I have much to do in having the technical capabilities, the imagination, and the eyes for top-grade video editing, and I look forward to collaborations very soon to continue learning.

It’s hard to go back to setting one camera down at a performance after considering how video changes the viewer’s experience. We love to simply listen to music as musicians, but video done artfully adds a visual perspective that approaches both a depth and immediacy hard to achieve in music alone, especially when estranged from its live venue. Here’s to much more video work in the near future.

Baby Mozart

In an effort to legitimize music education through “facts,” scientists set out to prove the intellectual, emotional, and even physical benefits of participation in music experiences. Rather than trust that the organized sound that accompanied humankind from the beginning had in it some inherent strengths, figures and statistics assuage policy makers. And once numbers get involved, we get interpretations of data and initiatives that lead to a plethora of potential truths and obvious misconceptions about what music is and what it does for the everyday person.

And thus Baby Mozart was born.

Infants who listen to classical music may become smarter and more emotionally mature. This would be a wonderful result of the sonic art form that has intrigued our forebears for countless generations. But when do children listen to Baby Mozart? Parents often use the music to put their children to bed. And if not, the music is administered in doses as if a supplement to the anxiety-ridden broccoli-feeding and diaper change. In my family, Baby Mozart was the new age music from the early 1990s. I later learned that my father used them because he believed they were so boring they would put anyone to sleep. Does this translate over to the treatment of classical music at-large?

I had two completely different experiences with classical music as a child. The first were recordings of Bernstein conducting Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet, Marche Slav, and the 1812 Overture. Also in the room was a CD of Mozart’s Symphonies 40 and 41. These energized me, akin to the Sound Test options on Super Nintendo videos games, which conveniently played atmospheric or intense music on endless loop. These experiences likely drew me towards music-making.

Then, there were the dreaded CDs titled “Meditations.” Six volumes of the most bland moments of classical music history were obviously intended to knock one out or at least nullify the mind. And then that famous CD Chant . I tried many times, even as a child, to survive that CD to secure some form of personal musical depth. As cited by Wikipedia, “it was strongly marketed as an antidote to the stress of modern life.” I actively work against achieving this Meditation CD status.

How do the majority of people perceive classical music today? Is the orchestral hall a place of liveliness or is it an extension of the fuzzy reclining chair in the living room? And if it is a place that people envision falling asleep, why would the average person spend money and time to attend? To many, the perception of classical music is that it is simply boring. And concert programmers have a knack of feeding into this stereotype without realizing it.

To gain young audiences at concert halls, the concert experience should feel lively. The real Mozart felt this excitement in his day as he traveled from place to place. The 1780s were an unusually active time for music throughout Europe and especially in Vienna. He marveled to his father about amazing performances and complained about dull ones. Mozart especially loved the new technologies in music. The piano was relatively new technology, and instrument makers continued to finesse its sound during his lifetime. Mozart also loved the inventive basset horn, which soon after became the clarinet. The time also saw an increase in size and accessibility of performing groups. The orchestras, typically reserved for the court, entered the public square as part of the Enlightenment. The Mannheim Orchestra specialized in creating magnificent rushes through intense, long crescendos. And Mozart did not only involve himself in music but collaborated with theater, poetry, and visual arts through his operas. Though opera was already a longstanding tradition, Mozart revolutionized the art form by bringing the energy of his time into something that had become stiff on the one end or cheesy on the other. He also merged the musics of Italy, France, and Germany into his sound to form a cosmopolitan vibe. These circumstances and activities came together to create an exciting atmosphere from which the famous Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven rose to prominence and bore out a lasting legacy.

So, shall we bring back more music from Mozart’s time period and recreate this fervor? Surely Mozart would roll in his grave at such a suggestion! While the great composer looked back to find inspiration, he and his contemporaries did not believe in preservation projects. But we can certainly learn from him. Four major focal points came together in that day that also seem to be the best received in our day as well. First, technology cannot be ignored. Electronics do things that purely acoustic instruments cannot. Even with one microphone channeling an instrument’s sound, a new sonic world can be explored. One of the greatest trends in contemporary classical music is the use of software, especially interactive digital technology to create music. Second, theatricality and interdisciplinary work takes music to a higher plane. Opera is in the process of a major revival because it provides a multi-sensory experience. Important new music ensembles, such as Eighth Blackbird, include a visual or staged component to their work. Dance collaborations are particularly welcome. Third, genre plurality and diversity create a more relevant and comprehensible music. To completely ignore the access we have to music throughout the world and to dismiss the popular idioms of today as points of dialogue in classical music ignores the almost constant strain of external influences that fuel the art form. The most important artists had a way of bringing many forms and styles together to create a new path. And fourth, a recontextualization of past styles; in other words, an acknowledgement and play on tradition, seemed to be essential to the First Viennese School. Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven all have a sense of humor in their music as they look to the past, and we have so much more history to deal with.

This last point brings the great caveat: we recontextualize the past, and we do not live there. The current state of music is, in effect, proof of its death. Orchestras that play 90% repertoire from before 1900 are like the rare stumbling on a live website last updated in the 1990s. It is fascinating, curious, and nostalgic, but the average person will not visit the site ever again. Music written hundreds of years ago does not carry the same relevance as music written today. A living art form would include 90% repertoire from after 1990, and museums would take in the rest. The museum orchestra would play Mozart, Haydn, and Beethoven. It would also play Rimsky-Korsakov, Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, Schoenberg, Xenakis, Cage, Takemitsu, Berio, La Monte Young, Milton Babbitt, and Pierre Boulez as pieces of a distant history. What then is there to listen to—even the edgy avant-garde music is irrelevant?! That is the serious discussion to be had to maintain a living, thriving, and relevant art form. More next time…

The Gestalt Musical Experience (Something to Say Pt. V)

In the early days of psychology, two opposing views of the world emerged, gestaltism and structuralism. Structuralists theorized that we perceive things in pieces that come together to form a whole. Gestalt thinkers believed (and many still believe) that a complete object is perceived different than its parts. Some Gestalt psychologists were able to prove that the brain indeed processed an entire event in a way that superseded its parts through optical illusions. To put it differently, one can create something that transcends its parts.

Musicians have been long fascinated with the transcendental experience. Stemming from a religious tradition, classical music has its roots in a yearning for something greater than a group of choir boys and later horse hair over gut strings. But even at a more fundamental level, the brain processes music as a Gestalt experience. How does the brain know that the steps of a scale go together? There are infinite notes between each half step, yet the mind only chooses certain frequency distances to qualify as a step. Something smaller sounds like the same note detuned, and something larger sounds like what we call a leap. How does the brain decide to process notes sounding together as chords and the simultaneous movements between chords as a such thing as “progression?” How can music sound like it is going anywhere at all without the aural illusion of movement from one place to another? We take these premises as granted, and we excel in playing different scales and forming harmonic progress through which the brain can create something much more than the independent notes played.

A composer does so much more than manipulate pitch for the transcendental experience. Music flows through time, and the composer uses rhythm and meter to create different expectations or groupings for the mind that give complexity and flow to the music. Different combinations of instruments and tone colors create illusions of continuity or freshness. Many modern composers focus on gestural writing, by which a mixture of rhythms, pitch events, and instruments are fashioned to create one sonic idea with its own character and nuance (which is then developed in transformations).

What happens if a composer decides to extend this idea to styles? Popular musicians like to explore fusion genres such as trip hop, bossa nova, country rap, gypsy punk, and reggaeton. The combination of two former genres comes together in a new sound, audibly influenced yet independent from its parts. Concert music composers have a history of fusing styles together to either be part of a new sound, make something fresh, or to invoke the mystery of a culture they did not understand (whether they cared to understand might be a different story…). However, with the influence of postmodernim, mixing many cultural styles together to create their work of art, including those of popular music, is normative and well-accepted today. Countless compositions in the 20th century bring in a dosage of jazz harmony and rhythms into their music, and quite a few current composers are mixing elements of EDM and metal into their sound. Others reach to the past, reinterpreting principles from Medieval music or reach across the world to other music cultures, such as India’s raga tradition or Balinese gamelan and even write for the instruments of that culture (and again, the subject of cultural sensitivity is a different topic). The combinations and possibilities are endless.

The results of sonic combinations, mixed with their cultural implications, create a rich tapestry of meaning and freshness to contemporary music. And living composers have the opportunity to develop a contemporary voice with the sounds that inhabit the present as well as connect to the age-old tradition. Rather than have many mangled medleys or exotic stereotypes, we have aural alloys that speak to the increasing global interactions we have as we come to understand and have an intercultural dialogue. Those of diverse cultures can and do blend their traditions with the ever-loosely defined Western music tradition that seems to accept more and more cultural variety in its reach. Perhaps we will arrive at a point where we acknowledge that while much of the influence of concert music comes from a Western tradition it ultimately transcends its past. But we have much learning to do of the cultures around us before we can confidently accept this task. Until then, we joyfully take the best we see to make something powerful and interesting.

Guilty by Association (Something to Say, Pt. IV)

A big topic in recent music inquiry is that of cultural appropriation. The viewpoint is that when a composer borrows musical elements that do not belong to their culture, especially when displaying them as exotic, then the result is a sort of cultural imperialism. The classical tradition has taken music from its original context and taken advantage of its merits, in a way deeming it subservient to some Austro-Germanic heritage we keep perpetuating. The claims of this argument perhaps have merit when we look at infamous examples such as Paul Simon’s use of African musicians who were basically paid nickels of the millions of dollars earned on his record Graceland. But to condemn musical borrowing is to condemn most if not all traditions in music, for it is the great melting pot and dialogue of world culture. It is very possible to assert that most music traditions of today were influenced by other cultures and that many explicitly borrowed from others, whether it be violins in India, timpani in Western Europe, African drumming styles in Steve Reich’s music, didgeridoos in electronic music, and so on. The issue becomes much more complex when we realize that the bagpipe is not only a Scottish instrument, the harp not only of the Irish, and the fiddle the “national” sound of many countries of Europe and the United States. Then we find that music in Latin America often includes at least three influences in all its music: European music, African music, and pre-Columbian music (in that order). And to ignore that fact that most popular music styles today take elements of folk, jazz, blues, R&B, and so forth (which have been blending, mixing, and matching throughout the last century) is untenable. We would especially have to condemn hip hop and its offshoots for taking and remixing actual samples of music, including some from classical music in addition to early jazz and contemporary artists. Some say that everything is a remix, and this means that everything is so-called cultural appropriation.

Nevertheless, for the conscious composer, borrowing of any nature carries associative baggage, for better or for worse. When a listener hears a melody or rhythm from another artist, style, or tradition, their mind will conjure up some image (be it aural, visual, or a Wikipedia entry on the topic) that paints their perception. For example, every augmented second emphasized in a piece will conjure up some association, which might be Spanish, or Jewish, or Egyptian, or Middle-Eastern, or Eastern European or… (you get the point). Pentatonic-based music makes for an even wider catch of associations, with the most subtle nuances moving one’s mind from China to Bali to Native American to Morocco (the Peer Gynt Suite’s “Morning Mood” is about Morocco!). A composer with a courageous ear—having heard the world over (popular, classical, world, experimental, etc.)—will know the connotations of their music and be sensitive to how they either jump all in or keep cultural shading subtle. With great talent, the fusion of disparate musical elements creates a synthesis that further empowers the virtues of the individual styles in a whole that transcends the parts. While the idea of cultural appropriation might be taboo (and I am all for respecting cultures that are not my own and have quite a bit of experience with wonderful friends from around the world and from very different circumstances than mine), I happily express my guilt by association. I steal (or have stolen) from the following (with subtlety or overtly): Stravinsky, rock, prog. rock, some Classical aesthetics, some Romantic aesthetics, jazz, Debussy, electronic pop music, new wave, Medieval and Renaissance motets, Berio, Latin dance musics (including African drumming patterns), Tom-and-Jerry type music, church hymn music, Kodaly, Mongolian folk music, minimalism (only a little bit), every teacher I have studied with, experimental trends, Haydn (especially in wit and silence), and so on. May we all continue a fruitful musical dialogue built on the shoulders of the rich cultural associations across the globe.

On Universals (Something to Say Pt. II)

As I mentioned in the previous post, the first rule of academic writing is to avoid superlatives at all costs. "Always" and "never" are almost always asking to be rebutted and almost never help an argument. This especially rings true in music. Sounds are intangible, and we as listeners largely perceive music based on prior experience and learning. Some ethnomusicologists assert that it is almost impossible to understand the music of a different culture because the preconceived notions we carry with us permanently taint our perspectives. Each person will comprehend and enjoy music of any style and variety based on their upbringing (and surely some of that nature that accounts for individual personality differences).

Despite this strong argument, I cannot help but point to certain universals that underpin any sonic experience. These, in and of themselves, are not emotional, but they do have potential to "play with the heartstrings." In fact, some composers treat the compositional process like a game or a riddle to solve, and many musicologists would point to Beethoven as one of these in how he treated musical form. The primary universal (and the only one I feel confident about) is that there is an opposition in all things. The most basic sonic opposition is between sound and silence. Composers must deal with this question, and different cultures take it in different ways. Balinese Gamelan avoids silence during the performance due to traditional beliefs, and Western music emphasizes silence. Indian Carnatic music abolishes silence altogether with a continuous drone that sounds before the first audience members enter the room. While each culture treats silence differently, there is, at the very least, the potential for this opposition to become a factor in the music.

Carnatic music demonstrates the essential opposition between stasis and activity. Our brains are designed to give attention to the most active parts of our surroundings. Hopefully, the music at a concert performance takes this active role the moment the baton falls. Yet, after some time, some aspects of the music take on a passive role due to sameness. Composers and performers, in response to this natural phenomenon, must ensure that their music contains enough variety to sustain interest. Every variation to the music arises out of opposition to something else. High or low, loud or soft, fast or slow, clarinet or violin, muted or overblown, consonant or dissonant, major or minor (or whole-tone or octatonic), choppy or sustained, groovy or floating: these are some of the tools musicians work with. This game of oppositions becomes as simple or as complex as the musician desires it to be, and each culture deals with opposition in its unique ways.

Nevertheless, a caveat exists in this game. When is there too much variety? The brain can only process so much information before the music becomes incomprehensible. Novice composers may vary their music to the point that the variation becomes sameness (and thus static and boring). A good friend pointed out that perhaps the key to writing music is establishing a sense of consistency and tactfully working to build in musical surprises. I believe in this principle as well, and I also believe that the more familiarity one has with a style of music, the more attuned one is to the subtle surprises at play. For example, a Western musician may have great difficulty hearing the difference between common scales in the Middle East because of the melodic limitations of a twelve-note collection. Also, people from non-Western cultures may not find much satisfaction in Western music's harmonic flow because their primary musical style sustains interest in other ways. Repeated, active listening attunes the ear to some of these differences.

To me, an understanding of how opposing forces interact in music is essential for anyone who engages in music as a musician or listener, even if at a subconscious level. It easily maps onto the human experience, in which each of us deals with variety and sameness (the brain is wired this way). So, from this angle, can someone enjoy music, despite its origin and their understanding? Definitely. Will some education help them enjoy it more? Surely. Will a product of one's immediate culture have the greatest impact? Perhaps. But they can certainly enjoy other styles too.