On November 1st, I just about tripped while walking through my living room, seeing the unmistakable lights of a Christmas tree coming from a neighbor's window. Advent had not yet begun, the Turkeys had not yet been shipped, I still had a carved pumpkin on my balcony, yet here was the symbol of the Christmas season, right in my face every time I walked from my bedroom to the kitchen. Not suprisingly, and like a malignant growth, it soon split off and made friends.
Does anybody remember Advent? Yes, you recall: that unfortunate old quasi-religious practice that was once imposed on people by a dominating medieval Church? That time when religious prudes kept people from having fun? That period only slightly less unpleasant than Lent?
If you listen to college history professors and neo-bobo-yuppies, this is probably your perspective on the matter.
What about Advent as a time of reflection, as a time of greater quiet, as a time of moderation, a time of self-inquiry, a time of prayer, and a time to pursue peace in our lives and in the world?
Nah... I'm sure you don't need any of that. Clearly, the great success of modern man has proven that no such introspective periods (yoga lessons aside) are necessary. Who needs Advent when you have Prozac and the Wellness Network?
I once heard a noted author remark that "there is true genius in the structure of the Church." Advent, my friends, is a work of genius.
Every year, we sing the "12 days of Christmas." It's too bad we only celebrate one of those days. Or does anybody remember that the Christmas season actually BEGINS on the 25th?
The 23rd is still Advent. Not a good time to get sloshed at your company's Christmas party.
Let me suggest, in keeping with the Western world in all of but the past 25 or so years, that Advent is a valuable and necessary component to be experienced before we arrive at Christmas. I have found it to be personally beneficial. I will even fast a bit before the big day, just to bring further austerity and depth to the time. When Christmas Eve arrives, I really feel like something important is happening: this is greatly helped by the sense of awareness and personal balance which can be achieved during Advent.
Christmas Eve itself is traditionally used to celebrate the birth of Christ. In keeping with the Church's suggestion, my family has always practiced a vigil meal, and the mood is somber and reflective. I will say that now, at 29 years of age, the structure of our Christmas Eve allows me to still feel that child-like magic. It is perhaps even greater now, butressed with an adult's knowledge of the true meaning of this holiday. It is a "silent night," and a "holy night," and all really IS "calm," and all is certainly "bright."
I will suggest that a meaningful, somber, musical, spiritual and family-oriented time (sans tv) is a far superior way to celebrate Christmas Eve then take-out food, rented movies, needless Christmas parties, and last-minute shopping.
Christmas Day is the one thing we still have relatively right in our culture. I'll leave it alone.
What about the day AFTER Christmas? In Europe, it is still widely viewed as a holiday in which to visit other family and friends. Only in America do we have to trudge back to work. In fact, our Christmas parties should begin to be held on the 26th.
The Christmas Season proper begins on the 25th, a fitting celebration of the season lasting until Three Kings Day. Every year, my family proudly puts up their tree "late," keeping it going well past the new year. Every year, people ask us if we're either too lazy to take it down "on time," or if we're Orthodox.
Few things are sadder than the sight of Christmas Trees in the garbage and people bustling around, business as usual, on December 26th.
This year, I encourage you to embrace the tradition of the Advent and Christmas seasons, as they were meant to be celebrated. Perhaps you will experience the genius in this seasonal design, and -- as is intended -- come out a better and deeper person in the end.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Thought for the day...
A short story for your day...
A professor began his lecture series on "ethics" by asking his students to opine on ethics, their source, and their guiding principles.
The conversation quickly shifted to one of existential opinionation. Phrases such as "it's all a matter of opinion" and "ethics are determined by the beliefs of the dominant culture" were generally agreed upon. When the professor brought up the idea of an "absolute truth" guiding ethics, he was largely disagreed with.
Towards the end of the class, the professor stopped the conversation and smiled widely. He began to explain how the class would work, and how students would be graded. He said:
"In the end, if I like you, I'll pass you. If I don't, you'll fail."
The students began to complain, and soon the word "injustice" emerged.
The professor laughed, saying: "Justice? Justice is just a matter of opinion. Justice is just a tool of self-determination. I'm the professor, I'm in charge, and therefore I am the dominant culture. This grading system fulfills me and makes me feel good about myself. I really, TRULY believe that it will fulfill you too."
The purpose of the lesson began to dawn on the students...
A professor began his lecture series on "ethics" by asking his students to opine on ethics, their source, and their guiding principles.
The conversation quickly shifted to one of existential opinionation. Phrases such as "it's all a matter of opinion" and "ethics are determined by the beliefs of the dominant culture" were generally agreed upon. When the professor brought up the idea of an "absolute truth" guiding ethics, he was largely disagreed with.
Towards the end of the class, the professor stopped the conversation and smiled widely. He began to explain how the class would work, and how students would be graded. He said:
"In the end, if I like you, I'll pass you. If I don't, you'll fail."
The students began to complain, and soon the word "injustice" emerged.
The professor laughed, saying: "Justice? Justice is just a matter of opinion. Justice is just a tool of self-determination. I'm the professor, I'm in charge, and therefore I am the dominant culture. This grading system fulfills me and makes me feel good about myself. I really, TRULY believe that it will fulfill you too."
The purpose of the lesson began to dawn on the students...
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
...is new again...
In my recent music-turncoat theme, I'm starting to latch on to the commentaries found on websites like newmusicbox.org. A striking theme on the site has been that of "newness", or, that undefinable American urge to be revolutionary and original. Again and again, Ives and Cage are held up as model mavericks, as if a new-music society full of barely comprehensible creative rebels were the goal of music-making.
What is "newness?" Must we reinvent the wheel every time we sit down to compose? Considering the dizzying blur of the past century of musical innovation, is it any wonder that we're slowing down a bit in this day and age? Even electronic music, that self-proclaimed new creative frontier, has already become bogged down in its own cliches and traditions (as humorously expressed in Mark Applebaum's piece "Precomposition.") The composer who is slowing down, taking stock of what has occured, and creating a meaningful synthesis -- is this not "new" as an approach? What about the composer who actually tries to build an audience with his work -- is he not, in recent light, doing something radical and "new"?
We do not see authors chastise other authors for using words that were in use more than a half-century ago, nor is an aspiring artist told "don't use so much red: it's SO 1950." I've never heard a poet say: "my work focuses entirely on words beginning with consonants." Tell a jazz musician that they play with Coltrane's fire or have a harmonic sensibility comparable to Miles, and you'll see a beaming smile. Why then this "newness" obsession in new music? I ask: what IS new? Is it perhaps possible that certain pre-formed elements of music simply... work? I'm not sure there is a more self-conscious and hypocritical strain of thought amongst new music composers than our pandering to the "new," whatever such a term actually means anymore. What about music as a process of synthesis and discovery? Ives certainly discovered new modes of expression, as did Schoenberg. Ives was also a synthesist, blending the great European tradition with his (and his father's) more individual ideas. Ives also believed in the transcendent element of music: something most modern music is lacking to its detriment.
This whole obsession with newness is absurd, and is clearly a cover for the fact that much new music simply lacks meaning. It lacks meaning, because much of it is self-centered and unwilling to look outside of itself. Write the words "God" and "Soul" in a newmusicbox commentary, and you'll be either hammered or ignored. Or, as one composer put it to me: "you lost me when you brought up the whole soul thing."
Funny, considering that the concept was part and parcel with new music for Bach, Beethoven, Ives, Messiaen, Penderecki,.....
What is "newness?" Must we reinvent the wheel every time we sit down to compose? Considering the dizzying blur of the past century of musical innovation, is it any wonder that we're slowing down a bit in this day and age? Even electronic music, that self-proclaimed new creative frontier, has already become bogged down in its own cliches and traditions (as humorously expressed in Mark Applebaum's piece "Precomposition.") The composer who is slowing down, taking stock of what has occured, and creating a meaningful synthesis -- is this not "new" as an approach? What about the composer who actually tries to build an audience with his work -- is he not, in recent light, doing something radical and "new"?
We do not see authors chastise other authors for using words that were in use more than a half-century ago, nor is an aspiring artist told "don't use so much red: it's SO 1950." I've never heard a poet say: "my work focuses entirely on words beginning with consonants." Tell a jazz musician that they play with Coltrane's fire or have a harmonic sensibility comparable to Miles, and you'll see a beaming smile. Why then this "newness" obsession in new music? I ask: what IS new? Is it perhaps possible that certain pre-formed elements of music simply... work? I'm not sure there is a more self-conscious and hypocritical strain of thought amongst new music composers than our pandering to the "new," whatever such a term actually means anymore. What about music as a process of synthesis and discovery? Ives certainly discovered new modes of expression, as did Schoenberg. Ives was also a synthesist, blending the great European tradition with his (and his father's) more individual ideas. Ives also believed in the transcendent element of music: something most modern music is lacking to its detriment.
This whole obsession with newness is absurd, and is clearly a cover for the fact that much new music simply lacks meaning. It lacks meaning, because much of it is self-centered and unwilling to look outside of itself. Write the words "God" and "Soul" in a newmusicbox commentary, and you'll be either hammered or ignored. Or, as one composer put it to me: "you lost me when you brought up the whole soul thing."
Funny, considering that the concept was part and parcel with new music for Bach, Beethoven, Ives, Messiaen, Penderecki,.....
Friday, November 2, 2007
Composers: Strangest of the strange?
More musical musings, because it's that kind of week:
This past week, I'm proud to report that I sparked a curious article by Randy Nordschaw on Newmusicbox.org. In response to an article by Colin Holter, I pointed out that the musical realms of, say, Arvo Part and Britney Spears are both necessarily and thankfully seperate. Randy counterattacked my clear "separitist" attitudes, to which I simply replied: "if it's really all the same, or SHOULD be the same, then sell this site to Rolling Stone Magazine and be done with it."
That being said, I spend a lot of time on this blog defending new music, though I will this time take a different approach. This week has taught me something:
Composers are a scared, insecure, and frequently unpleasant bunch of people. At least those that haven't "made it."
I include myself in that "unmade" mix. Faced with a society largely indifferent to the best of our efforts, we tend to develop curious defense mechanisms.
I think most composers fit into the following categories:
1.) The less-than-1% making a living off their music. Generally few axes to grind.
2.) The "who cares if you listen?" bunch.
3.) The elite non-elitists, like the guy who kept attacking me for a suppossed elitist attitude, missing the point that he was an elitist himself, and that the very idea of an internet forum on new music discussing elitism is in itself... ELITIST. (phew.)
4.) The "pleasantly-elite," "I have refined taste and can help you with yours" type. I admit membership in this category.
5.) The hopelessly insecure type who will list-off their self-righteously eclectic ipod listening lists and talk about how the Gamelan has affected their piano writing, helping liberate it from a restricting classicism/modernism/whatever-ism.
6.) The "what process did you use to generate your pitch material?" type (my least favorite.)
and, lastly, the
7.) "I hate being poor. Fuck it, let's sell insurance and just ruminate about music on message-boards" type -- this is the category I'm viciously trying to avoid drifting in to.
To be fair, I've probably missed a few categories, and many creative-types straddle more than a few of these. I think you get the point.
I love new music. I love composers. I'm starting to think, however, that somewhere along the line, we got a LOT of it going in an aimless and self-defeating direction. What think YOU, composer and musician types?
This past week, I'm proud to report that I sparked a curious article by Randy Nordschaw on Newmusicbox.org. In response to an article by Colin Holter, I pointed out that the musical realms of, say, Arvo Part and Britney Spears are both necessarily and thankfully seperate. Randy counterattacked my clear "separitist" attitudes, to which I simply replied: "if it's really all the same, or SHOULD be the same, then sell this site to Rolling Stone Magazine and be done with it."
That being said, I spend a lot of time on this blog defending new music, though I will this time take a different approach. This week has taught me something:
Composers are a scared, insecure, and frequently unpleasant bunch of people. At least those that haven't "made it."
I include myself in that "unmade" mix. Faced with a society largely indifferent to the best of our efforts, we tend to develop curious defense mechanisms.
I think most composers fit into the following categories:
1.) The less-than-1% making a living off their music. Generally few axes to grind.
2.) The "who cares if you listen?" bunch.
3.) The elite non-elitists, like the guy who kept attacking me for a suppossed elitist attitude, missing the point that he was an elitist himself, and that the very idea of an internet forum on new music discussing elitism is in itself... ELITIST. (phew.)
4.) The "pleasantly-elite," "I have refined taste and can help you with yours" type. I admit membership in this category.
5.) The hopelessly insecure type who will list-off their self-righteously eclectic ipod listening lists and talk about how the Gamelan has affected their piano writing, helping liberate it from a restricting classicism/modernism/whatever-ism.
6.) The "what process did you use to generate your pitch material?" type (my least favorite.)
and, lastly, the
7.) "I hate being poor. Fuck it, let's sell insurance and just ruminate about music on message-boards" type -- this is the category I'm viciously trying to avoid drifting in to.
To be fair, I've probably missed a few categories, and many creative-types straddle more than a few of these. I think you get the point.
I love new music. I love composers. I'm starting to think, however, that somewhere along the line, we got a LOT of it going in an aimless and self-defeating direction. What think YOU, composer and musician types?
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Thoughts from a Conservatory
There is nothing like a Conservatory -- or any room of astute academic musicians -- to point out all the things that you don't know about music. The more time I spend in one, I feel rather than learning, I'm just lengthening the list of things "I should already know."
Composition, however, seems to be a different beast. Like musicality, you can clue people in on where to start, but authenticity cannot be taught. What have I learned in school? A lot about history. A lot about reading scores, hearing things better, improving counterpoint, strengthening various aspects of craft, and learning all the different ways I can string a set of notes together.
The music, however, has nothing to do with any of this. Essentially, I'm hearing the same music I've heard in my head since I was teenager. It is only that I'm hearing it better, and getting more of it down on paper. I'm very encouraged that there are still things floating past my mind's ear that I can't quite put a finger on, so I know I still have much room to grow.
All of this rumination leads me to one thought: is it wise to school a musician for so many years? What, beyond the basics of undergraduate education, could I not have learned from a traditional apprenticeship instead? Were it not for the need to find income in a society brutally unforgiving of unprofitable ventures (like new music), would many of us even bother with the schooling? Would a classical music culture more divided from an increasingly delusional academic world prosper, or falter?
Composition, however, seems to be a different beast. Like musicality, you can clue people in on where to start, but authenticity cannot be taught. What have I learned in school? A lot about history. A lot about reading scores, hearing things better, improving counterpoint, strengthening various aspects of craft, and learning all the different ways I can string a set of notes together.
The music, however, has nothing to do with any of this. Essentially, I'm hearing the same music I've heard in my head since I was teenager. It is only that I'm hearing it better, and getting more of it down on paper. I'm very encouraged that there are still things floating past my mind's ear that I can't quite put a finger on, so I know I still have much room to grow.
All of this rumination leads me to one thought: is it wise to school a musician for so many years? What, beyond the basics of undergraduate education, could I not have learned from a traditional apprenticeship instead? Were it not for the need to find income in a society brutally unforgiving of unprofitable ventures (like new music), would many of us even bother with the schooling? Would a classical music culture more divided from an increasingly delusional academic world prosper, or falter?
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