I went to part of the EARS concert tonight. Paul Drescher played the 'quadrachord,' an instrument of his own creation. It was a fantastic performance, colliding stylistically with minimalism and post-rock. I think it's fair to say that Drescher really expressed himself in every way possible: not only did he play an original composition, he also created the instrument on which he played it. More than ever, it made me question the values of originality and relevance.
As a kid, I was raised on a hearty diet of Mozart and Beethoven with a smattering of Brahms. As I grew up, I discovered different composers, moving forward chronologically: Chopin, Rachmaninov, Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Barber, Rautavaara, etc. While these don't necessarily echo in my music, they've become a part of my musical subconscious. Essentially, these have melted into a sort of Platonic ideal I try to express.
(That came out sounding much more pretentious than I thought.)
But the point is this: my true musical roots lie in the classical tonal tradition. Music needs to move me. It needs to emote. I love playing games and I love systems, but music is not a zero-sum game. My music is basically a rehashing of what's been done, and that's fine with me. I'm perfectly content sitting in my corner writing whatever moves me. It might be relevant and original only to me, and that's fine, too.
But what I loved about Drescher's performance is that he actually did something that hasn't been done before. Whether or not it'll become relevant to the masses remains to be seen... but it was totally original, and that has to count for something.
Dec 8, 2007
Dec 5, 2007
Tchaikovsky
As we speak, I'm listening to the a webcast of the UT symphony playing Tchaikovsky's Fourth Symphony.
I have very mixed feelings about Tchaikovsky. There is no denying that the man was a fount of absolutely gorgeous melodies -- this symphony has several of them, my favorite being the tearjerker in the second movement. The short-term development of that first theme is fantastic, culminating in the most wonderful moment in the whole symphony. But why not save that for the climax in the recapitulation, or better yet, the coda? The same is true of many of his other pieces, most notably the First Piano Concerto.
There's an incongruity here. Why does Tchaikovsky have such a good ear for musical momentum and drama in the short term but not in the long term? When he starts developing his themes, things fall apart. The energy dissipates. He, pardon the pun, peters out.
At the risk of opening myself up to a barrage of criticism, I think you can place composers on a continuum. People like Tchaikovsky and Dvorak write the most incredible melodies but often fail to develop them properly. Their tunes often get lost in the muddle or become trite after being repeated ad nauseam. (There are, of course, exceptions in both of these cases, in the form of certain masterpieces by both of these composers.) On the other hand, composers like Brahms or Beethoven often wrote banal or square themes that can be easily justified by their masterful development.
When both of these characteristics -- short term thematic bliss and long term structural integrity -- meet, in my opinion, a masterpiece is born.
I have very mixed feelings about Tchaikovsky. There is no denying that the man was a fount of absolutely gorgeous melodies -- this symphony has several of them, my favorite being the tearjerker in the second movement. The short-term development of that first theme is fantastic, culminating in the most wonderful moment in the whole symphony. But why not save that for the climax in the recapitulation, or better yet, the coda? The same is true of many of his other pieces, most notably the First Piano Concerto.
There's an incongruity here. Why does Tchaikovsky have such a good ear for musical momentum and drama in the short term but not in the long term? When he starts developing his themes, things fall apart. The energy dissipates. He, pardon the pun, peters out.
At the risk of opening myself up to a barrage of criticism, I think you can place composers on a continuum. People like Tchaikovsky and Dvorak write the most incredible melodies but often fail to develop them properly. Their tunes often get lost in the muddle or become trite after being repeated ad nauseam. (There are, of course, exceptions in both of these cases, in the form of certain masterpieces by both of these composers.) On the other hand, composers like Brahms or Beethoven often wrote banal or square themes that can be easily justified by their masterful development.
When both of these characteristics -- short term thematic bliss and long term structural integrity -- meet, in my opinion, a masterpiece is born.
Dec 3, 2007
First post.
I've kept many blogs in my day. I started blogging in 2001, when I was still in high school. Two of those blogs lasted several years (although one is dying a slow death as we speak), but most ended up containing only a few posts and are then unceremoniously abandoned.
A blog is nothing without an audience. Why else would you write something and publish it on the intertubes? If private shoe-gazing is what you're in to, get a journal with a heart-shaped lock to hide under your bed. Blog posts enter the ether forever, archived by Google 'til kingdom come. A hippie astronomy professor I had a few semesters back told us that radio waves emanate from the earth outwards, in all directions, at the speed of light. Some aliens 13 parsecs away are probably watching Johnny Carson and Tricky Dick Nixon as we speak, much like equally alien beings will be pouring over this fossilized blog post god-knows-how-long from now on the way-back machine. Maybe they can be my audience. I don't like to be caught gazing at my shoes for too long.
A blog is nothing without an audience. Why else would you write something and publish it on the intertubes? If private shoe-gazing is what you're in to, get a journal with a heart-shaped lock to hide under your bed. Blog posts enter the ether forever, archived by Google 'til kingdom come. A hippie astronomy professor I had a few semesters back told us that radio waves emanate from the earth outwards, in all directions, at the speed of light. Some aliens 13 parsecs away are probably watching Johnny Carson and Tricky Dick Nixon as we speak, much like equally alien beings will be pouring over this fossilized blog post god-knows-how-long from now on the way-back machine. Maybe they can be my audience. I don't like to be caught gazing at my shoes for too long.
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