On Further Reflection

More reflections on On Further Reflection

Traveling last week to DC for the premiere of
On Further Reflection, wonderfully rendered by the commissioning ensemble, the Atlantic Reed Consort, has yielded a few additional insights. First, just before departure, I realized that I should add subtitles to the movements. It was during my daily meditation, first thing in the morning, and I suddenly understood more of the what was in the piece. As described in another essay on the piece, I used the I Ching to generate a series of energy states that I then allowed to guide the sectional changes in the piece.

Now, I had a realization of how the changes in energy related to each other in a loosely narrative sense. The meaning deepened as I described my realization to the ensemble, and seems rather to arise from consideration of what conditions nurture a sense of well-being. Each movement has four sections, and is connected to a trigram from the
I Ching. The trigram Tui/Joy kept showing up, and I used the energy, but the kind of joy I was using was not very overt or cheerful. It was more a matter of fleeting moments, particularly in the first movement, where glimpses of joy or swagger come between lower, almost foreboding energies which punctuate. Once I had the flash of appropriate subtitles, things settled into place in my mind.

The subtitles:
I. Seeking Refuge, II. Sheltered, III. Confident.

What I realized was that the joy of the first movement was a limited, restricted kind of joy, and that the primary content of the second movement was, even as I composed it, marked by the image of rain, of keeping still and being sheltered, protected. (These images came from the
I Ching.) Wind shows up as short sections throughout, connected to the concept of dispersion. The final pair of those sections comes at the end of the second movement and the beginning of the third, where I chose to use the sense of wind as a penetrating force. That penetration then sets off the last movement, which offers a confident flowering of the materials which gradually emerged during the protection of the previous movement.

What is so interesting to me about this whole progression is that I composed with the energies offered by the trigrams, pondered them at great length, generated music which carried them, and yet never quite grasped the underlying implications of their order. These energies and relationships had as much to do with my personal life as with the larger world “out there”. Only in working with the group, hearing actual instruments play the notes, and fielding questions about how to treat this place or that, did I gradually admit to myself that there might be a narrative that fits the shape and structure of the piece.

I have never wished to offer programmatic narratives for my music, and I will not now. Whatever I might state at this time would be to make up something that wasn’t intended while composing, and would replace the open-ended pondering that can happen in a listener with what would surely be received as the “correct” interpretation of the energies heard. So I leave the story there, as one of a composer learning more about the piece he has composed by experiencing it with the people who are bringing it to life.

not knowing

I have experienced the incredible value of not knowing in every aspect of my life. This comes from my Zen practice, which has allowed me to realize that such a phenomenon had been growing in my consciousness for many years before being named as such.

I seem to have used that awareness in driving a bus in high school with the broadest range of class and race aboard in the rural South, when I took the path of treating everyone equally and with respect, in essence choosing not to know what one group might say about another group. Peace emerged within weeks on what had been a bus full of fighting and mayhem.

That awareness served me when I realized, in 1990, that what I had thought was a single musical phenomenon turned out to be the sum of other recognizable parts. This realization first led to a new approach to composing, then to a method of analysis. It has now evolved to the point that I realize the approach as a contemplative form of analysis, one that depends upon not knowing in order to hear what is really taking place in music.

And the place of not knowing has been of inestimable value in relations with other people: when I have the courage not to know, even when I think I do, I can deeply hear others. When not knowing is the foundation of action, all directions are possible, peace and justice are attainable. There is a great need of not knowing in the world today.

global musical analysis

I recently received notice of a call for papers at a conference being organized to address the development of (among other things) an analytical approach that is equally valid for sound art and music. The Sound Energy Aggregate (SEA) method is essentially that already, having grown from my experiments in sound as the fundamental expressive medium, so I look forward to addressing the issues raised by the conference in a new paper. On further looking around, I was intrigued by finding mention of a move to create a globally applicable foundation for music criticism or analysis.

The search led me to the realization, at the end of another semester of teaching Contemplating Music at the Longy School of Music, and after the fourth meeting of the new organization by the same name, that the SEA is in fact a tool ready for use in the analysis of music from around the globe. I will work these ideas out more fully, but here is the thinking at the moment:

Certain features (parameters) of music are so basic that operations which use them are quite likely truly global in scope. The old maxim that “music is the universal language” has always both bothered and excited me, and I am beginning to understand why. Those who dispute the notion usually do so because of the degree to which culturally learned features mean that what practitioners of a tradition gets from the experience can be quite different from what listeners from another culture get. Likewise, it is easy to show that what happens in a person's imagination while listening to music, creating what the music “means” is often vastly different even among even members of the same tradition.

What I am beginning to think is that indeed, the subtle aspects of a tradition, the features involving pitch organization, are culturally determined and take years of practice to fully understand and process while listening to or performing music. On the other hand, the most obvious features of music – it gets louder, it gets faster, it gets higher, etc. – communicate very directly, are responsible for a huge proportion of what is often called “emotion”, and have pretty much escaped the attention of those who theorize about music. I can certainly state that intuition about western classical music, and from what I know about the musics of other cultures, suspect it to be true rather universally.

As I say in my classes, “the obvious is in control: expose it!” The most obvious force in our daily experience, gravity, escapes our notice most of the time, and is yet to get a fully satisfactory theoretical explanation, even in our scientifically advance age. Yet we all benefit from the line of brilliant minds who have attempted to explain gravity: Newton, Einstein, Hawking. Shouldn't we in music have the courage to stick with the task, and bring the most obvious features into the rigorous world of musical analysis?

The Sound Energy Aggregate offers a way to bring the obvious factors into analytical consideration, by estimating or calculating the energy contribution of each parameter to the ever-shifing energy field of music as it interacts with our consciousness. The more subtle energies of pitch usage, refined over centuries in the musical traditions of the world, are likewise estimable in energy contribution. These will probably always lie a little beyond a totally inclusive global analytical framework, but an incredible amount of commonality exists on the obvious aspects of sound that will allow an incremental step toward a worldwide technique.

So, shared by all, theorized about by almost none: the basic features of sound:
  • dynamics
  • register
  • horizontal density
  • vertical density
  • timbre
  • articulation
How many times have my students listed at least two of those in their list of three required parameters to explain the energy of a piece of music? Over and over and over again.

Ok, so they're obvious! Let's deal with it. If we want to develop a means by which to discuss music from around the world on equal footing, why start theorizing about things that require extensive explanation when the things that most deeply affect listeners, cause physical reactions, are so immediately obvious, easily defensible, and clearly responsible for the listeners' reactions? We will gain perspective from dealing with what is already available, and allow important musical factors to put all traditions on equal footing in at least the most fundamental parameters.

To end for now, a personal experience of note: At the last meeting of Contemplating Music: the Greater Boston Center for Contemplative Mind in Music, we listened to a selection of music from Azerbaijan, very much in the tradition of Persian music. I had thought beforehand of using SEA principles to analyze a piece together, and on hearing the music, I was reminded of just how powerfully the approach yields results. It was hardly even necessary to talk over how clearly the use of rising register, volume and activity level were responsible for communicating energy to a listener. This experience preceded only by a day or two the discovery of a person in the UK seeking to develop a global critical approach to music, and leads me now to think of the SEA as not only a contemplative approach, not only as a phenomenology of music, but as a globally applicable method of analysis.

Contemplating Music: the organization

It's been a long time since my last post, but not for want of activity in the contemplation of music arena! In fact, one reason for the dearth of posts this fall is that I have founded an organization that meets monthly. In addition to a very heavy teaching load, this has taken up the little extra energy I have available.

The organization, called simply Contemplating Music, but with the more verbose subtitle, Greater Boston Center for Contemplative Mind in Music, meets at my home for the present period. We have a number of people of widely varied interests who have attended regularly or seek to find a way to make it to the meetings. A Longy student, a blues pianist, a musicologist, a clarinetist, a cantor, a body-mapping practitioner: all use contemplative methods in their musical work in some manner.

In starting such an organization, I wanted there to be a natural growth which would allow the organization to be what we want it to be. That is happening, I am pleased to say, and the outcome is really unsurprising. What we will do, it seems, is find out what each of us does through presentations at meetings, and encourage each other thereby simply to keep up the work.

A by-product of our sharing is the slow realization that there is a tremendous amount of musical activity supported by and making use of contemplation. When one encounters the work of others, or reads about it, it creates the awareness or affirms the presence of the contemplative mind in our own work. For example, on reading of the work of tubist Karen Bulmer from the conference catalog of the recent national conference of the Association for Contemplative Mind in Higher Education, my wife (Vivian Montgomery) realized that the writing she has been doing that grows from her experience teaching excellent pianists to play the harpsichord in fact is quite in the tradition of mindful writing and teaching. When she then talked about her work at our last meeting, I became aware of just how much good teaching in music springs from a contemplative place. How could it be otherwise, after all?

The upshot for me is that encouraging each other to go forward with and deepen our work is a very valuable act, and that the fledgling organization can play an important role in music and music teaching.

So, I've got a lot more on my mind to share in upcoming posts. Check back in soon.

Conquest of Cold

The music I contemplate most, of course, is my own, during the process of composing. Since I have a premiere coming up next week of a piece that is deeply involved with contemplation on a conceptual level, let me devote a bit of space to it.

In the new brass quintet, commissioned and to be premiered on March 6 by the Redline Brass Quintet, I decided to go for an arrival that is the opposite of what is expected in Western classical music, an area of extraordinarily low kinetic energy. The decision had a technical stimulus, in fact, which was my desire to use the harmon mute as a careful filter of the brass sound. I pondered this desire, imagining placing the sound in the spot of the “great arrival” and how that would affect the overall shape.

From the outset, a central premise I worked with was that such an area of low energy would correspond to an experience of extreme mental clarity during meditation. Since I always name my ideas, I may as well admit that I called this the experience of pure consciousness. One possibility I considered was that some kind of stress-producing, anomalous event early in the piece would get one reaction, and after the experience of pure consciousness, it would get a different, transformed reception in the imagined mind whose energies the music carries.

It's worth mentioning at this point that after thinking, contemplating, planning for quite a long time, the initial start proved frustrating and difficult. An experience of Zen chanting provided the sound infusion I needed to start over from a place of inspiration. After that, the piece unfolded well.

Sketching ahead the possibilities for a gradual dissipation of kinetic energy, I laid out the energy states that the group would go through. As I got closer to the entry into pure consciousness, when no one really moves any more, and the magic of overtone interaction begins, I realized that I had encountered other conceptions of similar states of being. I read Absolute Zero and the Conquest of Cold by Tom Schachtman some years ago, and learned of the discoveries made as scientists were able to get closer and closer to absolute zero. These include superconductivity and the amazing superfluidity of helium when it is cooled to near absolute zero.

This strange behavior of the physical world seemed to provide a parallel to the effects on consciousness of not following thoughts, of just sitting, allowing what is to simply be there, almost as if the act of thinking is akin to the action of heated matter. Maybe that sense of connectedness to all things and beings which can emerge from calming the mind is more similar to the reduced molecular or atomic vibration which we call cold than we realize. For my purposes as a composer, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that the similarity gave me a sense of expansion, of discovery, and a title that resonates with the piece and my life.

The sense of connectedness that meditation brings leads to compassion, and compassion is indeed the Conquest of Cold on the interpersonal level. The quest for absolute zero led to the discovery of superconductivity, superfluidity. The practice of meditation leads to compassion, or the sense of superconnectedness to reality. What is, is.

What is in the music, is that action – articulation and movement of notes – virtually ceases. Only slowly evolving and interacting overtones emerging from harmon-filtered (muted) brass exist at that lowest ebb of kinetic energy. Yet the hope is that this will be the most magical place in the piece, a real high point of interest that will demonstrably transform the ensemble reaction to anomalous events.

A composer is often filled with hope...