On My Blossoming Love of Atonal Music

I was a romantic teenager. Chopin nocturnes made me cry, Haydn sonatas made me laugh, and Rachmaninov concertos sent me into little fits of Russian brooding. I had to feel the music in the very depths of my soul. Music wasn't an intellectual experience. It was an art form. If I had to study it in order to appreciate it, then it wasn't doing its job properly. If it didn't move me to some deep emotion, then it most definitely wasn't doing its job properly.

You can guess at what my first encounter with atonal music was like. It was Schoenberg's Klavierstuck, Op 33a. At the time, it was the first piece of music I had ever heard that didn't sound like music. To me, it was a jumble of notes. There was nothing I could express about it. For the first time in my life, I couldn't say, "This music makes me feel [blank]." I discarded it, and the entirety of atonal music. It wasn't worth my time. Not when there was Mozart to be listened to.

In the meantime, I had taken my first theory classes at Baylor. My knowledge of theory prior to Baylor was slim, but I love knowing things, and theory was no different. I learned how to analyze chord progressions, pick apart fugues (this is still my favorite), and diagram forms. Obviously, this helped me to appreciate music in a new way. It was still emotional, but it wasn't quite so mystical. A Haydn sonata still made me smile, but now I knew why.

Eventually, I realized that I could (perhaps) enjoy atonal music in the same way. I read books. I took the requisite class on 20th century theory. And the learning worked! I could listen to Wozzeck without grinding my teeth, because I understood--at least to some small extent--what Berg was doing. I could listen to Webern and appreciate his sparse compositional style. Every piece a perfect miniature: focused, economical, almost spartan.

I still don't enjoy atonal music in the same emotional way that I enjoy, say, Schubert. But I don't think that's the point. The point is, I've realized that music can be enjoyed in different ways. Music can be emotional, but it doesn't have to stir the soul in order to be called music. Music can be enjoyed in a purely intellectual way. I appreciate atonal theory, and because of that, I appreciate the music itself in how well-constructed it often is. I'm not going walk around campus whistling a happy, little, atonal tune, but that doesn't detract from the music's value.

I'm almost embarrassed to post this, because it seems so obvious now. I think that any intelligent, thoughtful person would eventually come to the same conclusion. But still, I feel like I've discovered a vast treasure of music which I can reflect on, emotion aside. Also, I just really like learning new things.

PhDs

I've been spending time this week researching grad schools. This is exciting and terrifying. It means that I have to think about the rest of my life. I'm getting married, and going to grad school. That's the exciting part. The scary part is when I graduate with a doctorate and have to start looking for a job which I may not ever get.

I want to get a doctorate in musicology, and teach at a university. But that may not ever happen. I'll still go get a PhD, but that certainly doesn't guarantee that I will ever be able to teach at a university. There are so many people and so few jobs. Music is a popular field, and I understand that. But from everything that well-meaning professors have told me, the competition is downright cutthroat. The prospects are grim, to say the least. And I dislike that I'm less worried about getting into a good program, and more worried about being able to actually put my degree to good use.

Musicology is more exciting to me than just about anything in the world. I know that this is what I need to do. I know that I'm good at it. I know that I wouldn't be nearly as happy doing anything else. But when I hear from a tenth professor that it took him ten years to find a tenure-track position, it starts to get discouraging. What do I do when I hear horror stories from everyone who hears about my grad school plans? When a professor tells me, "Don't do it! It's not worth it!"? Not get a doctorate because it might not pay off? Disregard their advice and do it anyway?

Musical Invective

Lexicon of Musical Invective: Critical Assaults on Composers Since Beethoven's Time.

I found it in the library the other day. I'm quoting some of my favorites.

"We were afflicted by Preludes, poeme symphonique by the miserable Liszt."

(George Templeton Strong's Diary, May 4, 1867)

"I can compare Le Carneval Romain by Berlioz to nothing but the caperings and gibberings of a big baboon, over-excited by a dose of alcoholic stimulus."

(George Templeton Strong's Diary, December 15, 1866)

"To one critic, the music of Schoenberg's Five Orchestral Pieces suggested feeding-time at the zoo; also 'a farmyard in great activity while pigs are being ringed and geese strangled.' On another the identical section of the work produced the impression of 'a village fair with possibly a blind clarinetist playing at random.' The same listener heard sounds as of 'sawing steel' and the 'distant noise of an approaching train alternately with the musical sobs of a dynamo.'"
(London Daily Telegraph, January 24, 1914)

And my personal favorite:

"Poor Debussy, sandwiched in between Brahms and Beethoven, seemed weaker than usual. We cannot feel that all this extreme ecstasy is natural; it seems forced and hysterical; it is musical absinthe; there are moments when the suffering Faun in Debussy's Afternoon of a Faun seems to need a veterinary surgeon.

(Louis Elson, Boston Daily Advertiser, January 2, 1905)

I want to be a music critic just so I can be paid to describe pieces as "musical absinthe."

(I picked some particularly cruel ones, but the whole book is delightfully mean-spirited.)

Beethoven Variations Op. 34

I promised to write about the music I'm playing in my recital, so here goes! I'm starting with this piece because it's what I've been working on for the last few weeks. And by "working on," I mean, "furiously memorizing because I can't perform anything well unless it's been in my brain for at least four months." I told Dr. Marks last semester that I wanted to play a variation set, and this is one of the few he suggested. It's lovely. I know I use that word too often, but it is truly lovely. I mean it.

I like particularly that the piece is dedicated to Princess Barabara Odescalch, one of Beethoven's pupils. Why do I like that so much? Because I pretend I'm a princess every time I play this piece. (Sometimes it's hard to let go of little-girl dreams)

The theme is beautiful, and almost Mozartian. There are sweet little trills and turns. It's very docile and pretty. It's worth noting that the theme is in F Major, Beethoven's pastoral key. However, the piece doesn't stay in that key, and that's what makes this variation set so interesting.

Each of the variations is in a different key. The variation set rotates through mediant relationships. This means that, if the theme is in F Major, then the first variation is in D Major, the second variation is in B-flat Major, etc. It's essentially a pattern of falling thirds. I should mention that I chose to play this variation set because of mediant relationship bit. I think mediant relationships are God's special gift from heaven. Really. I think God invented mediant relationships to make the world a happier place.

The variations themselves are fairly tame, for the most part. They all sound a bit flowery and sweet. It's the kind of piece fit for a stereotypical princess. It all flows along very prettily until the fifth variation. The fifth variation is like reading Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid. Where she dies at the end instead of marrying the handsome prince like Disney always told you? That's the best comparison I have for how the fifth variation comes across.* The previous variation ends in sunny E-flat Major. Then you hear these murky c minor triads way down in the bass, followed by crescendo-ing, descending arpeggios in octaves (so Beethoven-esque!). The middle section contains broken octaves arpeggios in the bass over a gut-wrenching melody. It's so dramatic, and I feel that it foretells Beethoven's more mature style.

You can hear the piece here. I'm giving you the Gould version, because he makes some entertaining faces.

*Actually, no. The closest comparison I can think of is this: Patrick Rothfuss recently wrote a children's book called The Adventures of the Princess and Mr. Whiffle. The subversive ending? Where the princess eats everything?! That's the fifth variation.

A Question

I would apologize for not posting, but May is a terrible month for students. I'm sure you'll understand. I've been busy taking finals and playing for juries. I also earned credit for that silly freshman comp. class that I never took. That adventure involved forays into subject-verb agreement and the proper use of capital letters. It was truly riveting, and I did not feel at all that I had wasted two weeks of my life.

The good news is, now I have a glorious summer ahead of me! I'm using it primarily to practice for my junior recital in the fall. There will be lots of lovely music: Scarlatti, Hovhaness, Beethoven, and Kabalevsky. By the end of the summer, I will have written excitedly about all of it. I will also be brushing up on my French and fostering my morbid fascination with the Soviet Union. (I'm starting with this.)

Speaking on Russians, I've been falling more deeply in love with Kabalevsky. I also want to know why I can't find much of his choral music here. Is it a silly copyright law? Is it because America thinks of it as Soviet propaganda? He did adhere much more strictly to socialist realism than either Prokofiev or Shostakovich. Is it because so much of it was composed during the Cold War? We weren't exactly buddy-buddy with Russia during Kabalevsky's lifetime. (Van Cliburn was greeted with ticker tape parades when he won the Tchaikovsky competition in Moscow in 1958. Generally, pianists don't get parades. It's like Cliburn was a war hero or something. He went into battle and stole that first place from the Russians! Hooray!)

In all seriousness, though, I really would like to know why so much of his music is not available to me. If anyone knows, please tell me!

Soviet RAWR!

Sometimes, for fun, I read the backlogs of old musicology blogs. (I know, I'm a dweeb with a capital D.) The other day, in the midst of a dweeby backlog-reading episode on "Dial M for Musicology", I came across this lovely quote:

"What I've always appreciated about anger-driven music is its ability to vent those feelings without engendering them; I suppose the function is similar, in this way, to good songs about love or yearning. They enable a side of the personality to be tapped without making catastrophic life choices."

Isn't that just wonderful? I've often wondered about what exactly draws me to Soviet music. The fact that I feel very connected to it is no question at all. But so much Soviet music is (and I know that I'm generalizing here) angry and tragic and fierce and impassioned, and my general personality displays none of these characteristics. I was born in the South. I was raised to be sweet and meek and mild. I am one Georgia-peach-accent shy of a debutante.

Despite all of that, I love this strong Russian music, and the above quote explains exactly why that is. I can perform music like this, and it enables me to tap into all these emotions which are new and unique to me. It is precisely because I'm neither tragic nor angry by nature that I get so swept up by this music. I can express all of these near-forbidden emotions without actually becoming tragic or angry. It's like riding a rollercoaster. You get the adrenaline rush, but then you get to walk away with nothing left but the exhilarating feeling. To me, there is something very stirring about that, and my performance of the music is better for it.

This and That

I picked up Alex Ross' latest book, Listen To This, this afternoon. I've only read the title essay, but it's wonderful, and I think I need to let it sink in before I continue reading.

In the last few weeks, I've been wrangled into several conversations about how [insert musical genre here] is just terrible and worthless and really should just disappear from the face of the earth. Country music. 20th century classical music. Rap music. I find this to be incredibly frustrating, because no one ever wins. We just argue in circles about this music vs. that music.

I like the fact that music speaks so strongly to people. If I didn't, I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing. I find it interesting that people feel so strongly not only about music that they like, but music that they very much dislike. Classical musicians, I think, are the worst about this. Because classical music is BETTER, right? It is higher up in the hierarchy of musical excellence. Any other musical genre is sub par. If you do listen to country music, you consider it a guilty pleasure, not music of the same value as, say, Beethoven.

I think that there's a deep problem in viewing music this way. Music is an art form. It is subjective. I believe that on its deepest level, the duty of music is to speak to people. In the words of my dear Shostakovich, it "lifts and heartens people for work and effort." Life is hard, and music makes life less hard. If you think about music through this (I will admit) rose-colored-glasses-view, then trying to talk about classical music as better than rap music or country music or any other kind of music just doesn't make sense.

What is unfortunate is that so few people relate to classical music. As Alex Ross so eloquently put it,

"The music does not lend itself to the same kind of generational identification as, say, Sgt. Pepper. There may be kids out there who lost their virginity during Brahm's D-Minor Piano Concerto, but they don't want to tell the story and you don't want to hear it. The music attracts the reticent fraction of the population. It is an art of grand gestures and vast dimensions that plays to mobs of the quiet and the shy."

I am one in the "mobs of the quiet and the shy". I grew up in a happy, sunshine-y world of flower-picking and finger-painting. In my brief foray into teen angst, I read nothing but Dostoevsky and pretended to understand him. Because of this, I love happy, sunshine-y Mozart and Haydn and irrevocably Russian Shostakovich and Kabalevsky, among others. I did not lose my virginity to the Brahm's D-Minor Piano Concerto, but that sounds perfectly lovely to me. My taste for classical music is certainly in the minority.

What I am trying to say is that classical music is wonderful, and it's music that speaks to me. Do I want to say that it's the best music? Of course I do! But if someone else is more moved by Nirvana than Mozart, who am I to tell him that his taste in music is bad or underdeveloped or simply just wrong? I can tell him that he might like Mahler (which is, in fact, exactly what I would do), but I cannot so boldly assert that he has no idea what he's talking about and that his opinions are grossly off-the-mark.

I understand that I sound sickeningly idealist right now, but I'm 21 years old. If ever there were a time in life to be idealist, I think this would be it. Also, if you have read this far, I applaud your patience.