Was Modern Music a Slavic Age?

(Warning: potentially contentious statement later in this article...)

Last month's issue of Classical FM magazine dealt beautifully with the subject of modern Russian music. Reading over the roster of names -- many of whom did their work in the 20th century -- got me to thinking:

Which nation or geographic region had the greatest effect on the course of 20th century music?

While this may seem like a loaded question, music history texts have no problem pointing to various eras where styles and trends were dominated by Italy, France, or Germany. Indeed, the Germans seem to take the crown historically, providing us with more geniuses from the Classical era than any other nation.

It was a supremacy they fought hard to keep. Arnold Schoenberg predicted -- with the typical Tuetonic flair of that unfortunate era -- that he had "discovered something that will guarantee the supremacy of German music for the next hundred years." (Thankfully both him and that other Aryan supremacist war-mongering occultist intellectual dictator were both wrong in their grand predictions. You could call me bitter, but I'm not exxagerating.)

I will celebrate this 11/11 -- the 90th anniversary of Polish independence from her less-friendly neighbors -- by making a potentially contentious statement:

Where music is concerned, the 20th century was a Slavic Century. While I know this is a personally biased statement, it nevertheless has great historical weight. I firmly believe that when leveled in the perspective of (non-Boulezian) history (assuming certain racial stereotypes in music are perhaps dulled or forgotten), students will one day learn about the powerful Slavic turn of 20th century music.

I also believe that it is the Slavic composers who saved modern composition, at least as far as audiences are concerned. The 19th century folk-tinged rumblings of Chopin, Dvorak, and the Russian Five led to a veritable musical explosion in Central and Eastern Europe. A brief survey of names includes: Stravinsky, Shostakovich, Lutoslawski, Glazunov, Gorecki, Scriabin, Penderecki, Schnittke, Janacek, Ligeti, Gubaidulina, Part, Kurtag, Rachmaninov, Szymanowski, and of course Bartok. (This was a list off the top of my head -- feel free to add your favorites.) Then there was the mighty teacher, Nadia Boulanger -- Catholic, half-Russian, and deeply aware of both.

While western Europe blazed a trail of largely soulless music, Stravinsky (bolstered by his mentor Boulanger) brought another version of musical modernity into being. The echoes of the rite still reverberate through our concert halls and conservatories.

Where Schoenberg & Co. codified atonality and paved the way to musical modernism, it seems that it is the composers of Eastern and Central Europe -- always placing the demands of expressionism over the demands of craft -- that gave modernism a soul.

Then there are the quasi-folk musings of Janacek and Bartok, who stooped classical high-browery back to the earth, unleashing tremendous expressive possibilities which are still being explored across numerous cultures today.

A glimpse back to the Russian five may give us the roots of this cultural success. These men were concerned with music for its spiritual and expressive properties, rather than any numerical interest it might engender. They were certainly under-trained as musicians and composers (or, perhaps, unhampered by over-training?) They were humanists first, seeking an expressive nationalistic vision for their resurgent nation. They also recognized the inherent power of folk music. This began a trend which would carry through most of the following century.

I am particularly proud of Poland, where modernism both found a soul -- and a way out. Long before his neo-romantic musings, Penderecki was at the head of the avante-gard in composition. Most of us are too young to remember the extreme cultural impacts of his Threnody and St. Matthew Passion. In all fairness, we can thank the Germans for embracing -- and funding -- most of Penderecki's international successes.

In Estonia, Arvo Part began his career by writing some of the most expressive serial music ever penned, before realizing the limitations of such a musical language and withdrawing to reconsider his craft.

1976 will likely be considered a magical year in future music history texts. It was in this year that Gorecki penned his magnanimous Third Symphony. After the premiere, one member of the modernist hegemony was said to decry that "Gorecki has abandoned 200 years of musical progress with a single piece." Yet it has become the best-selling recording of modern music in history, inspiring countless composers to return to a new simplicity. (It is also the piece that saved my young compositional life.)

In that very same year, Arvo Part emerged from his long self-imposed silence with a new musical language, blending ancient religiosity with a stark modern simplicity. In the end, the very nations that either resisted abstract modernism -- or gave it a soul -- also provided composers that -- along with the American minimalists -- showed a way out of the cultural morass of modern music.

In short, it was these men who maximized the modern, while later giving us permission to dream a different musical dream. Faced with the bleakness of a secular, mathematical century, the "Kyries" and "Agnus Dei's" poured forth once more. The end of the Slavic century presented a fitting musical gift, turning our hard-headed art back to more basic human needs.

It is curious, then, and perhaps even a bit xenophobic, when music schools require German or Italian from their musicology students. Should not Polish and Russian be added to the list?
Often impossible to analyze, often too simple for academic prose, the music of the Slavic century may have more than cultural biases to overcome in order to assume a proper historical prominence.

It's still too early to say where the new century will lead us. Will it, by virtue of our continued melting-pot status, become the American century? Will the Chinese seize cultural dominance? Or will the rise of communications technology make it the first truly international era of music?

Contrary to popular belief, classical music has never been stronger or more widespread then it is now, despite the lack of (generally pessimistic) major-media coverage. Out of the political darkness of the 20th century, we've been handed a battered baton of hard-earned progress from the Slavic greats. It is a baton covered with the sweat of the politically-hounded and the blood of freedom fighters, emerging from a modern history stranger (and more brutal) than fiction. Where will we run with it?

Stravinsky's Crawl

"You know, I can tell when you're just composing to compose, and when it really means something."

...So said the punctually wise fellow-composer Michael Bratt to me one week, after I had just been criticized during a particularly unsuccessful group composition lesson.

My own inner-voice told me: "You know, if you had to stand there and explain what you were after, it doesn't work."

Yeah. I get it now. And Mike's words have made all the difference.

I could easily turn this into a commentary on words. Words have power, after all, and we should never underestimate the power of a personal statement. I can easily list the handful of personal and courageous statements which have changed the course of my life.

That being said, I'd like to talk about notes.

I'm generally full of theories as to why so much modern music doesn't work, yet given the nature of art, I'm willing to admit that often it's nothing more than opinionated grasping at aesthetic straws.

As to why certain music does work, however, things are far less mysterious in nature. There are really two levels of musical intent, and modern classical music seems to often miss the boat on both counts.

The first, as my good friend Mike expressed to me, has to do with personal meaning. Clearly, I'm an expressionist. When I acted on such things first and foremost, my work resonated with others. When I didn't, it fell flat.

I can follow this line of thought: clearly, all of our greatest musical expressions, be they the impossibly controlled fugues of Bach or the ripping-raw energy of my favorite Metallica song, all are works of deep personal expression.

I've received two kinds of post-concert handshakes. The first is the polite, contrite "I liked your piece" greeting. The second is the full-grinned and enthusiastic acknowledgment of a deeper connection. For me, there is nothing more gratifying.

I was shocked, when at ISU for the premiere of my Aevum, a woman came up to me after the concert. She said: "I'm a pianist I loved your piece. It grabbed me, and seemed to describe the very turmoils I've gone through this year. Thank you."

Wow. I was speechless. More often, after new music concerts, I'll hear things like "that piece was neat" --or-- "where did you derive your pitches from?" Ouch. I know what kind of comments I prefer.

How much serialism is concerned primarily with deep human expression and connection, as opposed to the extended expression of technique?

Reading the composer posts on www.newmusicbox.org, one can quickly identify the "self-conscious ipod listening-lists" given by so many, as if to prove they can feel as well as think. (For instance, it seems that every instance of Boulez must be balanced by the mention of a punk band. Fascinating.)

Where does such an implication come from? Has new music stopped being primarily concerned with expression? If so, what's the point of writing it?

Yet there is a second and more powerful element, though it is more rarely (in modern times) spoken of. This is the deific element in music, and the lack of it is the main reason that so much modernism falls flat.

When Kandinsky wanted an icon in his workspace, he asked for a solid black portrait. (I'll spare you the details of Kandinsky's and Schoenberg's mutual occult associations, though I'll give a special prize to the first person who can identify the mass-murdering dictator who followed the same philosophical principles!) John Cage, despite all of his ingenuity, ultimately embraced and propagated a relativistic and anti-humanistic philosophy in his life and work. Schoenberg may have been searching for new levels of meaning, but Boulez took his numbers and ran to a place of stifling formalism and seemingly meaningless abstraction.

This is not to say that these artists did not produce instances of haunting, beautiful, and deeply expressive work. It's to say that on the whole, something was certainly missing.

The reason so much modern art and music falls flat is simply because of the direction it points -- which is so often either nowhere, or to the figure of the artist.

Beethoven, for all of his supposed megalomania, never lost sight of his place in the universe, his music consequently pointed from the human creator to the one who created him. When I see Boulez conduct great music, I see a revelry which is ultimately self-contained (though brilliant nevertheless.) When I saw a tape of Boulez conducting his own music, I perceived a joy taken in human ingenuity.

Yet it went no further. The creator was present, but he did not acknowledge his place, only his own ingenuity. It was beautiful, in a way, but ultimately meaningless.

(Not to pick on Pierre: he's merely the great talent by which all of my statements can be tested.)

Take by contrast the (relative) soaring popularity of the "new spiritualists" in Gorecki, Tavener, Part & co. Certainly their compositional chops do not approach that of a Boulez or Ades, nor are they technical innovators. Yet their music rings clearly in places far deeper and lasting than the halls of academia.

I was told a story -- by a nun who once studied with Nadia Boulanger -- of Igor Stravinsky's attitude towards God. He and Nadia (a daily communicant) entered an Orthodox cathedral together one afternoon. Nadia sat to the side, while Igor slowly moved forward to the altar to pray. The closer he got, the more bent he became, as if a giant hand were pressing down upon him. He veritably crawled on all fours to the altar to grovel before his lord. When the entire display was done, the two went merrily on their way, thinking nothing of it. (Think of this the next time you listen to the Symphony of Psalms.)

Stravinsky knew his place.

In fact, if you compare the students of Boulanger to the students of Schoenberg & Co., you have a startling study in musical purpose. While I admire the technique and ingenuity of one side, my heart flutters to the music of the other.

...for a tree is judged by its fruit...

An analogy is perhaps helpful here. I was once told that an artist is like a small child, drawing a picture or doing a dance for their parent. To the parent's refined sensibilities, even the greatest effort of the child will fall artistically short. Yet the parent takes delight in the child's effort, praise, and love.

Some truths, while difficult to prove logically, resonate clearly in the realms of analogy, anecdote, and metaphor. So it is with music.

Regardless of your line of work, one should frequently ask: Are you the joyful child dancing for the love of your parent, giving forth your best effort out of the intuitive knowledge that it is good?

Or are you the selfish child, dancing only for yourself?

If we want to strengthen and build new audiences for modern art, there is only one sure way:

"Soli Deo Gloria."

More about New Music

Are the dictates of modernism beyond repudiation, or is there room to launch an assault on the vaunted ivory towers of 20th century abstraction?

I love reading the posts concerning new music around the internet. The little bit of time that I have to keep track of "what's new" has brought me to a recent conclusion:

Musicians, especially composers, generally don't have a clue as to why they do what they do, nor do they have a clear idea of what music is.

Blame it on a shallow society. Blame it on a lack of (very necessary!) education in aesthetics. Blame it on a century of indeterminate creativity. Blame it on whatever you will, though the problem remains.

Some posit that music means nothing, without even scratching the nature of what we "mean" by "meaning." Some posters pitch the "art for art's sake" (whatever THAT means,) or the "I do it because I like it" modes of thought. (Both arguments are juvenile at best.) Others repeatedly try to justify music as a purely secular art, devoid of the necessity of any meaning or even coherent structure. I will humbly submit that such attitudes are what have alienated new music from performers and audiences.

I'll take the Beethoven-esque "artist hero" over the 20th century "invincible intellectual" composer any day of the week. Say what negative things you will about the Romantic Era's concept of the artist, but people as a whole actually liked it.

I'm not advocating that we throw out modernism as a whole. Far from it. The efforts of 20th century artists have greatly widened and matured our creative vocabulary. I only ask, for example, whether a poet who only writes with vowels would ever be taken seriously. (I know that somewhere out there, a vowel-poet must exist without a small but loyal following. I will question the sanity of such a following.)

In one of the more interesting (and rarely useful) posts on newmusicbox.org, a composer brought up a wonderful story about Moses and Schoenberg. Upon going back to the site to quote him and give credit, I discovered that the quote was gone. How sad.

Anyhow, Schoenberg said that a composer is like Moses going up to the mountain to talk to God. Upon his return, the prophet does not divulge the entirety of his divine communication, rather only giving the people what they can handle at the time. (Or, one could say, a little more than they can handle, to provide a challenge.)

In the case of Schoenberg, of course, we might be referring to another case of the Satanic verses...

Love him or hate him, I prefer Maslanka's take on music, which he divulged to us during rehearsals for the premiere of his 5th Symphony:

"Music is something from somewhere else, something that is constantly trying to batter its ways into three dimensional space. It comes, it is uttered, and it is never heard in the same way again."

Well, at least it gave ME goosebumps.

A century of agnostic politics has only given us a massive body-count. A century of agnostic art has only given us a lack of bodies to count. Is it perhaps possible to accept the grammatical expansion provided by modernism, while rejecting -- for the good of us all -- the philosophy of abstractness and relativism that comes with it?