Musico-Musico

My colleague Christian Asplund recently handed a questionnaire to composers at Brigham Young University (students and faculty at all levels).  Here are the questions, with my responses.

1. What is music?

Music is the result of a very fine-tuned combination of terrestrial physics, human anatomy and physiology, and spiritual impulses which give rise to the human desire for order and beauty.  Music does not exist in space, for example (except as concept), because physics won’t allow it.  It doesn’t exist for the deaf, either (I think?), because anatomy won’t allow it.  And we wouldn’t care to organize sound for our physiological perception if we didn’t have some innate impulse as humans to do so.

2. Are there such things as good music and bad music?  If so, what are the differences?

I think that, apart from text or (possibly) extrovert intent, this is purely a cultural/social construct.

3. Can good people make bad music? Can bad people make good music?

Yes to both.  None of us are completely “good” and we all have some aspect of bad, and the same is true of our music (although I think there is such a thing as genuinely “bad” music).

4. Why make music?

To create order, at all levels and stages of the creation.

5. What is the future of music as an independent art form?

Problematic.  We are an increasingly visual culture (although the direction that is headed is also problematic). Otherwise (or always?) music is in the background.  There will always be pockets of exceptions, of course.

6. What will music be like in the future?

How future?  This is a tough one.  I wonder if polystylism is collapsing under its own weight.  I perceive no overarching trajectory.  Babbitt is still alive, after all.

7. How does music fit into society now?  How will music fit into society in the future?

In our (American) culture, music drives people apart (usually).  I think it will largely continue to do so.  Maybe to a greater extent, even.  This all started when we decided that only some people were capable of making music worth listening to, and then we had the creation of a more-or-less passive audience.  Now we have iPods, of course.  We’ve been on this path for hundreds of years; who knows the end of it?

8. What do I want my music to sound like in the future?

Like the universe — perfectly ordered, timeless.  I want less gut reaction and more self-restraint.

9. If I could make my music sound like anything I wanted, what would it sound like?

Like a clock with 10,000 hands — ultimate precision, clarity, and depth, with layers of transparent complexity.

Long ago (maybe not that long ago, but nearly half my life…) I learned that if music doesn’t speak to me, the problem may be mine and not the composer’s. My first real experience with this was Schoenberg’s Variations on a Recitative for organ – a work I was certain nobody could love. And yet, Schoenberg went to all that effort. And Marilyn Mason went to who-knows-what lengths to record the work. So at least two people loved it. What was my problem?

Well, I adore that work now. As a result of continuing this pattern, I generally consider myself open-minded and accepting of a wide range of aesthetic bents.

But I had a revelation last week. After reading a handful of student listening reports about Babbitt, I realized that I have never given Babbitt the effort he deserves. I enjoy his Semi-Simple Variations, but the other music leaves me cold. Baffled, maybe. Why would he spend all that effort… for this?

So, I’m taking a two-week hiatus from all other music and listening to nothing but Babbitt. Maybe I’ll finally “get it” – at least, I hope so, since one can never love enough good music. And maybe not. But I’m determined to give it a shot and see how it goes.

It’s tough being a composer, sometimes.

Often a student will approach me after a reading of one of their pieces, disappointed that their piece didn’t quite work out as well as they would have hoped. Sometimes they blame the lack of rehearsal time, or the performers. Occasionally they request another shot at the reading to get a good recording. Usually they just feel bummed that their brilliant work didn’t get to shine like they hoped.

Get used to it.

Being a composer does have its thrills. Last night, a string quartet comprised of some of BYU’s brightest string players premiered a work of mine. They put together a performance which will rank among my most cherished experiences as a performer. And, truth be told, such experiences often transcend mere “thrills.” It was the kind of thing that makes me believe I can continue being a composer. And keep my sanity. I would think every composer has these experiences, at least on occasion, or they would find something more satisfying instead.

But it doesn’t usually work that way. Often I have a conception of my piece that is so much more glorious than the performance would indicate. “If only the world could hear it the way I meant it!” It happens all the time. All the time.

So if you find yourself falling into this line of thought, here are some tips:

1) It’s never the performer’s fault. (Even if it’s their fault.) It is much better to keep (or develop) a satisfying human relationship than to put any blame for a poor experience on somebody else. Don’t tell them directly, don’t talk about it behind their back, don’t even think about it.

2) Accept compliments gracefully. Resist the urge to comment on the poor performance.

3) Learn to enjoy the human aspect of a performance. So it doesn’t sound as good as MIDI (or as your imagination). Sure I enjoy hearing a flawless performance. But I also enjoy flawed performances because I appreciate that a real human being is doing their best to give life to my music.

4) Learn from your mistakes. Try to think if you could have done something different to help the performers avoid errors or better understand your intentions.

5) Sometimes you might just need to take a break from music for a while and spend a day (or a week, or a month) doing something else.