This has been an amazing year for concerts. I'm quite fortunate to have been in Montreal, where all the action happens. In February I saw Children of Bodom for the first time; September brought Kamelot and my fourth Nightwish concert (second time meeting the band, and, as fate would have it, one of the last concerts with their now ex-singer); last weekend I saw Wintersun, whom I never thought I would see; Tangerine Dream in June was a throwback to my childhood (and some of my first exposure to electronic music); I got to see the Robert Flood Octet throw down their debut show in November; and two of my favourite gaming franchises came to town with Symphony of the Goddesses (Legend of Zelda) and Distant Worlds: Music from Final Fantasy.
They were all unique experiences, and it got me thinking about a lot of different things. One aspect of the concert experience stuck out in particular: the role of the audience. It sounds a bit odd at first, as one does not usually think about the listeners having a "role" at a live performance. Now, the role of the audience has shifted a lot over time, and perhaps it seems odd that the audience might be considered in a concert setting because many of us have now grown up with our primary role as listeners being simply The Observer. It's much cheaper and easier to listen to an album at home (and geographical location has a huge influence on who you'll be able to see in concert). In fact, if you have your headphones on, you are literally the only audience member at that point. We have no interaction with a live setting: we can't see the performer(s), we aren't affected by sitting right in front of the orchestra/speaker or by being too far away/in a dead zone, and this particular listening is now an artifact--it has been months or years since it happened, in another room (or rooms), another country, the artist could be dead, there might be five layers that were recorded on different days.
This type of listening experience differs greatly from the days gone by. Before recorded audio, when you went to a concert you were probably hearing the music for the first time, and there's a good chance you wouldn't hear it again. Now--particularly with rock music--there'a an album release often several months before touring so that fans have a chance to get to know the music before the show. And even then, bands rarely play more than three new songs on tour because everyone wants to hear what they're familiar with. That's an interesting idea to me. Why are we so uncomfortable listening to new music? Are we afraid it's going to be bad? How does it differ from going to a concert where they play something you've heard before that you don't like?
Though I generally like processing new music on my own, I'm not opposed to hearing it in a concert setting. However, I have noticed that I tend to receive it in different ways depending on what it is. For instance, both the Tangerine Dream and Robert Flood Octet shows were about 90% music I'd never heard before. But there was something about the setting where I felt like I didn't need to know it, and I was okay just sitting back and hearing it, knowing I probably wouldn't be able to hum the tunes after the show. In those cases, I really felt like it was more the experience of being at a live show that was important. The Wintersun concert was a little different. It was about half old material and half from their new album, which, unfortunately, I have not had the chance to hear yet. I won't say that I wasn't there for the experience (I was), but I felt a big shift in the way I experienced the concert as they played songs I knew and those that I didn't. As it was a rock concert, I was free to sing along and move about in time with the music. But when they started playing something I didn't know, it was like shifting from rehearsal to improvisation. I had to take cues from the audience members who knew the songs and the band (can I cheer on every beat for this section, or is the feeling really on every other beat?). I could "rock out" to the new music, but I had to pay constant attention to where the music was going.
I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with rock concerts. My main purpose is to go and experience the show, and hear the music. So far, Nightwish has provided me with the best concert-going experience. I can sing and dance and let the music flow through me, without the insanity of mosh pits that are often found at metal concerts. Nothing takes me out of the moment more than being pushed around, kicked in the back of the head and having wild hair whipped in my face. Some people really love going to concerts to mosh and crowd surf, or drink or get high, and I will never understand that because the music is always the most important thing about the concert to me.
The two video game-based concerts I went to were very interesting. At their base, they are already a hybrid, a meeting between the symphony and "high art," and "popular" multi-media entertainment. This creates a curious atmosphere because the setting to an unknowing observer would appear to be that of a typical symphonic concert, but the audience's energy level is so much higher. Classical musicians are often frustrated by the lay community clapping between movements or making any kind of sound above and beyond polite applause. I understand why you would want to maintain silence between movements, but I can also appreciate that some people are very excited and moved by the music and want to show their support and approval. However, I think we can draw the line clearly on some points. For instance, it felt very obtrusive when during the opening notes of Aerith's Theme applause broke out. During the final piece, credits rolled on the screen behind the orchestra, and people clapped and whistled on and off as various names came up. I can't say it's wrong to do this because I know I'm excited to be there and be a part of it, but when it interferes with the music, I find it hard to reconcile.
I suppose the question should be asked: Does the audience need to know what's going on? In any given concert setting, very few listeners will be professional or educated musicians. So if most of the audience is made up of non-musicians, who may or may not attend many concerts, can they be expected to know the "rules?" Can they be blamed if they can't clap in time? Will they even know where the end of the piece is? I went to a concert this year where they played the Kyrie from Mozart's Requiem. Near the end, the chorus builds to a high point and climaxes on a diminished seventh chord (for reference, see this clip which starts at 2:10; the chord of interest is at 2:25). Now, it was probably Mozart's intention to lead everyone to this climax, thinking it's the end. But once you hear the chord, even without musical training it's likely you will find it uncharacteristic on an ending. However, at this particular show, as soon as they hit that chord, the audience broke out into thunderous applause, and it was all I could do keep from laughing aloud at the absurdity. It wasn't so much "haha, I know about music, and this isn't the tonic chord" as it was "these people have stopped being active listening participants." I think it's unlikely many of them were actually listening to the piece at that point, but were responding to the stimulus that a big, loud, held chord means the end of the piece, and now I applaud. If people aren't listening to the music anymore, that worries me.
And maybe that's why new music isn't played as often. If no one's listening, it's not really worth it, is it? So I think in one way, active participation as an audience is a good way to keep people engaged and listening. That was something I really noticed at the RFO gig, and most of the rock concerts I attend. Especially with solos, you can see and feel an immediate reaction. I don't see this trend being passed into "classical" music settings for various reasons, but mostly because of the difference in sound levels. No matter how many people are at a rock concert, you're not really going to drown out the band if you cheer after a solo; at a jazz show, the setting is much more intimate, so there are fewer people, and chances are the instruments will be amplified anyway.
One final thought about my experience at the Symphony of the Goddesses and Distant Worlds concerts. Both shows used a large screen behind the orchestra to synchronise game footage with the music. I think the Zelda show did a much better job with creating a real harmony between the music and video, but in both cases I found myself spending far more time looking at the screen than at the musicians. In that respect I was a bit disappointed because I felt I lost some of the experience by spending time with the screen rather than sharing that interaction with the performers. On the other hand, having the display helped to ease some of the discomfort I experience watching a live performance--my own fear of screwing up in a public concert manifests itself physically, and I have to constantly remind myself they're professionals and much better at a) not screwing up, and b) dealing with unexpected mishaps than me.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Vox pop
I've heard some strange criticisms of popular music over the years, usually from people trying to claim (or at least trying to imply) classical music is somehow inherently better. One of the most common complaints I've heard is that popular music abuses the song structure. I admit that it is ubiquitous. I think it would be fair to say 9 out of every 10 songs you hear on the radio are written thusly: verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus, with the possibility for minor variants, such as an intro or an extro (if it doesn't get cut for the radio edit), or a pre-chorus/extra bridge. Unless you listen to very progressive music, it's unlikely there will be a lot of variety on any given CD.
Alright, that's a little strange then, isn't it? And it must get boring to listen to songs written in the same structure over and over again! After all, people keep complaining about all these songs with "catchy choruses" and "sweet hooks." On paper, it looks like they all sound the same.
Except. Except. Except. Classical musicians are totally hipsters and were doing it way before it was cool. Remember the sonata-allegro form? I have never heard anyone complain that composers relied too much on the sonata. Why is that? After all, it can be quite simply broken down into three sections (exposition, development, recapitulation), and more often than not has a plain overarching structure of I-V-I. Why would composers keep coming back to this same form for sonatas, songs, symphonies and movements of suites? What could possibly make the sonata interesting after Beethoven and Schubert and Haydn wrote so many of them?
Content. It's all about content. And structure has no bearing on it. I could write a sonata that sounds just like any other sonata, the same as I could write a song that sounds just like any other song. But I don't because /that/ would be boring. Structure helps give me a guideline for organising the music I write, but does not dictate what the music is.
Of course content is subjective. That's the whole point of music. Music is a universal language, and everyone understands it, but not everyone speaks or understands the same dialect. After Nightwish's Once came out I often used "Nemo" as a way of getting people familiar with Nightwish. It embodies a lot of their qualities, it's short and straightforward, it's catchy, and I think a very nice piece of music. I once played it for someone who I thought might appreciate its beauty and who should know better than to say to me, "Well, it's just circle of fifths, isn't it?" This person is a highly educated musician, and I think that's a very basic way of talking about music. I don't care if they didn't like the song, but to debase it like that is unacceptable because if "Nemo" is "just circle of fifths" then what are all the sonatas written during the classical and early romantic period? And the worst part is that "Nemo" isn't even based on circle of fifths. Taken from the official Once Notebook, the verse is: ||: Dm, C/D, Bb/D, Dm, Dm, C/E, Gm, Csus, C :|| (or i, VIIadd9, VI6, i, i, VII6, iv, VII) and the chorus is ||: Dm, Csus, C, Dm, F, C :|| (or i, VII, VII, i, III, VII). And when it does modulate during the second verse and at the end of the song, it goes to Fm. That is not the circle of fifths that I learned about.
Also, I once heard someone complain that Nightwish never changes the tempo in their songs. That's a ridiculous complaint because there are hardly any tempo changes in any single piece of music in any style of any time period. Sonatas will change tempo from movement to movement, but rarely during.
So why do educated people persist in talking about "popular music" as if it can't be taken seriously? For all the times in school I was told to keep an open mind about serial and 20th-century music, I think I should be allowed to say at least once that you should keep an open mind about any type of music. No one genre is the be-all end-all of music. I never want to restrict myself to listening to or composing one style because there are too many emotions, and too many things to be said. Sometimes I need to listen to Sibelius, and sometimes I need Andy Moor, and sometimes I need to listen to Ryu Kyu Freestyle. Some days I want to write piano quartets because I feel that's the best way to express myself, and other days I want to write a heavy metal song because that's the only way I can tell my story.
Alright, that's a little strange then, isn't it? And it must get boring to listen to songs written in the same structure over and over again! After all, people keep complaining about all these songs with "catchy choruses" and "sweet hooks." On paper, it looks like they all sound the same.
Except. Except. Except. Classical musicians are totally hipsters and were doing it way before it was cool. Remember the sonata-allegro form? I have never heard anyone complain that composers relied too much on the sonata. Why is that? After all, it can be quite simply broken down into three sections (exposition, development, recapitulation), and more often than not has a plain overarching structure of I-V-I. Why would composers keep coming back to this same form for sonatas, songs, symphonies and movements of suites? What could possibly make the sonata interesting after Beethoven and Schubert and Haydn wrote so many of them?
Content. It's all about content. And structure has no bearing on it. I could write a sonata that sounds just like any other sonata, the same as I could write a song that sounds just like any other song. But I don't because /that/ would be boring. Structure helps give me a guideline for organising the music I write, but does not dictate what the music is.
Of course content is subjective. That's the whole point of music. Music is a universal language, and everyone understands it, but not everyone speaks or understands the same dialect. After Nightwish's Once came out I often used "Nemo" as a way of getting people familiar with Nightwish. It embodies a lot of their qualities, it's short and straightforward, it's catchy, and I think a very nice piece of music. I once played it for someone who I thought might appreciate its beauty and who should know better than to say to me, "Well, it's just circle of fifths, isn't it?" This person is a highly educated musician, and I think that's a very basic way of talking about music. I don't care if they didn't like the song, but to debase it like that is unacceptable because if "Nemo" is "just circle of fifths" then what are all the sonatas written during the classical and early romantic period? And the worst part is that "Nemo" isn't even based on circle of fifths. Taken from the official Once Notebook, the verse is: ||: Dm, C/D, Bb/D, Dm, Dm, C/E, Gm, Csus, C :|| (or i, VIIadd9, VI6, i, i, VII6, iv, VII) and the chorus is ||: Dm, Csus, C, Dm, F, C :|| (or i, VII, VII, i, III, VII). And when it does modulate during the second verse and at the end of the song, it goes to Fm. That is not the circle of fifths that I learned about.
Also, I once heard someone complain that Nightwish never changes the tempo in their songs. That's a ridiculous complaint because there are hardly any tempo changes in any single piece of music in any style of any time period. Sonatas will change tempo from movement to movement, but rarely during.
So why do educated people persist in talking about "popular music" as if it can't be taken seriously? For all the times in school I was told to keep an open mind about serial and 20th-century music, I think I should be allowed to say at least once that you should keep an open mind about any type of music. No one genre is the be-all end-all of music. I never want to restrict myself to listening to or composing one style because there are too many emotions, and too many things to be said. Sometimes I need to listen to Sibelius, and sometimes I need Andy Moor, and sometimes I need to listen to Ryu Kyu Freestyle. Some days I want to write piano quartets because I feel that's the best way to express myself, and other days I want to write a heavy metal song because that's the only way I can tell my story.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Memory
One time in my fourth year, I performed the first movement of Bach's f minor keyboard concerto during our regular studio masterclass. It was probably November, and I had started working on it in July, but it was the first time I'd worked up the courage to play it in front of the class. Afterwards I was asked how I could have memorised it so early in the semester; in fact, at that point, I had already memorised not only the whole concerto, but most of my other repertoire as well. I don't say this as a means of bragging, and I never considered my ability to memorise superhuman by any stretch of the imagination. I think too many people have the wrong approach to memorisation--precisely because that's what they're trying to do.
It's frustrating returning now to some pieces I played during my undergrad because of the disconnect. I know these pieces very well even after several years. I can sing along to them, I can feel the shapes of the phrases and the harmonic shifts. But my memory of them is much poorer. So as I'm reading along I know where it's going, but my hands can only vaguely remember how to do it.
Admittedly, I do consider myself to have a good memory (for some things), but really what I'm doing is learning a piece of music. I do have to memorise certain things about it, but I think it's more accurate to say it's a learning process. I don't have any secrets either, but there are some things that help me along the way.
Harmony. This one is easy for me, but I think one of the harder things for many--or so I've gathered from talking to people about memorisation, as well as theory discussions. It's one of the most important steps in learning new music, and with my strong attachment to theory possibly gives me an advantage to learning common practice period music over newer pieces with unfamiliar harmonies.
Learning the harmony of the piece doesn't help you so much at the end of it all, but it's a good place to start. Analyse the overall structure just to see where the music goes. Then you can start breaking it down into smaller cells. Especially in piano scores, memorising a few bars of music can seem daunting at first, but it's almost never as complicated as it looks. To take the f minor concerto as an example, the first three bars are: i-VI-iv, all using the same figuration. Not surprisingly, this figuration and chord pattern is repeated in mm.5-8, as well as a half a dozen other times in the piece (with slight variations). Once you have those first three bars down, Congratulations! You now know about 20 bars of music! I know it sounds really simple...but that's just it. It is that simple. And while you're analysing harmony, take a look at how many passages you'll play that are literally fancy arpeggios or scales. Sometimes you'll luck out and you'll have measures upon measures of standard chord progressions laid out for you in easy-to-read broken or solid chords.
Visual memory. Here's an interesting test: start to learn a piece of music, then switch to a different edition and see if it feels different reading it. There are times when it's helpful to remember key points in the music based on their physical position in the score. Often it's around a page turn; sometimes it's helpful to learn these passages first so when you're still learning you're not fumbling around the page turns. But other times I've been able to visualise the score, not necessarily in perfect detail, but enough that I can find where I am and keep me on track.
Tactile memory. I sometimes lament being a pianist. Tactile memory is a double-edged sword for me. On the one hand it gives me the freedom to stop thinking about the music. There are countless passages where it's easier to let my fingers do the work so I'm not working overtime processing the harmony and trying to remember where I am in realtime. There is a massive downside to this, however. If I slip up, I'm lost because I've given up my performance to my hands, and if they don't know where they are, I'm put on the spot to try to figure out the nearest available pick up.
This wouldn't be such a problem if I wasn't continuously practicing on different instruments. During my undergrad, from the first day I read the score to the day of my jury I would have played it on a minimum of five pianos (my own, the teacher's, a practice room piano, a piano in a masterclass room, and the concert hall's piano). The number is more likely to be double that. Not all pianos are created equally! That means while I can usually rely on the general shape, that's it. I might get used to practicing on a piano with a nice grip and springy action, which throws me off when I have to perform on a keyboard with sluggish keys and a propensity for allowing perspiration to build up. And I cannot tell you the number of times I've felt off because the bench was too high or low or because I sat slightly to the right of the centre and my hands are no longer in their regular positions and I feel like I'm an octave too high.
One interesting thing that ties into tactile memory is technical practice. For a pianist, practicing scales in double thirds and doing arpeggios of both triads and seventh chords prepares your fingers for holding the memory of musical shapes. Once you have the basics down of knowing the feeling of a third between your index and ring finger, or the feeling of moving a third and then a second, you free up your fingers to move on their own. They recognise the patterns and can feel the distance between notes, allowing you to gauge your position on the keyboard.
Aural memory. This one's a little different from the other two types of memory I mentioned. It's also something I discovered much later on, and didn't necessarily help in the ways the other tools do, but it was useful at the beginning. Using your aural memory to help you learn involves listening to recordings of the music. Unless you're already familiar with it, I recommend listening to several different performances. I was worried at first that I might be tempted to emulate the recordings, but I focused instead on using it as a guide--a general template to work towards. Since I didn't know the music beforehand, hearing what it will eventually sound like pushed me in the right direction. I found this helpful while learning Debussy's Pagodes. As with much of the romantic repertoire, the music often looks more difficult than it actually is. Some parts just looked like a complete mess to me and I had a hard time wrapping my head around it, but once I knew what it actually sounds like I could use this aural memory to guide my practicing. It's similar to having a finished image to help you along with a puzzle. It's not exactly the same because the puzzle is just a picture and there's only one final product. A piece of music can come together in so many different ways and aural memory is really just a suggestion.
Enjoyment. Never underestimate how much your enjoyment of a piece of music can affect your ability to retain information about it. If you have five pieces in your rep and you really like two of them, chances are you're going to want to play them more anyway, so repetition will factor into it (as my sensei says, practice makes permanent). But if you're relaxed and in a state of mind where you want to learn something, you'll have a better chance of absorbing information. In each of my years, my baroque and renaissance music always came together more quickly and coherently than the others. I practiced it more and I thought about it more. I carried the music around with me even when I wasn't practicing. I saw this phenomenon shift from one end of the spectrum to the other when I was learning two Bartok shorts. I started out avoiding them, failing to understand them, struggling with them. I finally reached a point where something fell into place and I noticed I changed my attitude towards them. After that the practicing flowed more smoothly and I started drawing on my aural and visual memory and I applied harmony to the music. It was no longer a chore.
Stay tuned for a new entry in a couple of weeks where I'll be doing a small giveaway!
It's frustrating returning now to some pieces I played during my undergrad because of the disconnect. I know these pieces very well even after several years. I can sing along to them, I can feel the shapes of the phrases and the harmonic shifts. But my memory of them is much poorer. So as I'm reading along I know where it's going, but my hands can only vaguely remember how to do it.
Admittedly, I do consider myself to have a good memory (for some things), but really what I'm doing is learning a piece of music. I do have to memorise certain things about it, but I think it's more accurate to say it's a learning process. I don't have any secrets either, but there are some things that help me along the way.
Harmony. This one is easy for me, but I think one of the harder things for many--or so I've gathered from talking to people about memorisation, as well as theory discussions. It's one of the most important steps in learning new music, and with my strong attachment to theory possibly gives me an advantage to learning common practice period music over newer pieces with unfamiliar harmonies.
Learning the harmony of the piece doesn't help you so much at the end of it all, but it's a good place to start. Analyse the overall structure just to see where the music goes. Then you can start breaking it down into smaller cells. Especially in piano scores, memorising a few bars of music can seem daunting at first, but it's almost never as complicated as it looks. To take the f minor concerto as an example, the first three bars are: i-VI-iv, all using the same figuration. Not surprisingly, this figuration and chord pattern is repeated in mm.5-8, as well as a half a dozen other times in the piece (with slight variations). Once you have those first three bars down, Congratulations! You now know about 20 bars of music! I know it sounds really simple...but that's just it. It is that simple. And while you're analysing harmony, take a look at how many passages you'll play that are literally fancy arpeggios or scales. Sometimes you'll luck out and you'll have measures upon measures of standard chord progressions laid out for you in easy-to-read broken or solid chords.
Visual memory. Here's an interesting test: start to learn a piece of music, then switch to a different edition and see if it feels different reading it. There are times when it's helpful to remember key points in the music based on their physical position in the score. Often it's around a page turn; sometimes it's helpful to learn these passages first so when you're still learning you're not fumbling around the page turns. But other times I've been able to visualise the score, not necessarily in perfect detail, but enough that I can find where I am and keep me on track.
Tactile memory. I sometimes lament being a pianist. Tactile memory is a double-edged sword for me. On the one hand it gives me the freedom to stop thinking about the music. There are countless passages where it's easier to let my fingers do the work so I'm not working overtime processing the harmony and trying to remember where I am in realtime. There is a massive downside to this, however. If I slip up, I'm lost because I've given up my performance to my hands, and if they don't know where they are, I'm put on the spot to try to figure out the nearest available pick up.
This wouldn't be such a problem if I wasn't continuously practicing on different instruments. During my undergrad, from the first day I read the score to the day of my jury I would have played it on a minimum of five pianos (my own, the teacher's, a practice room piano, a piano in a masterclass room, and the concert hall's piano). The number is more likely to be double that. Not all pianos are created equally! That means while I can usually rely on the general shape, that's it. I might get used to practicing on a piano with a nice grip and springy action, which throws me off when I have to perform on a keyboard with sluggish keys and a propensity for allowing perspiration to build up. And I cannot tell you the number of times I've felt off because the bench was too high or low or because I sat slightly to the right of the centre and my hands are no longer in their regular positions and I feel like I'm an octave too high.
One interesting thing that ties into tactile memory is technical practice. For a pianist, practicing scales in double thirds and doing arpeggios of both triads and seventh chords prepares your fingers for holding the memory of musical shapes. Once you have the basics down of knowing the feeling of a third between your index and ring finger, or the feeling of moving a third and then a second, you free up your fingers to move on their own. They recognise the patterns and can feel the distance between notes, allowing you to gauge your position on the keyboard.
Aural memory. This one's a little different from the other two types of memory I mentioned. It's also something I discovered much later on, and didn't necessarily help in the ways the other tools do, but it was useful at the beginning. Using your aural memory to help you learn involves listening to recordings of the music. Unless you're already familiar with it, I recommend listening to several different performances. I was worried at first that I might be tempted to emulate the recordings, but I focused instead on using it as a guide--a general template to work towards. Since I didn't know the music beforehand, hearing what it will eventually sound like pushed me in the right direction. I found this helpful while learning Debussy's Pagodes. As with much of the romantic repertoire, the music often looks more difficult than it actually is. Some parts just looked like a complete mess to me and I had a hard time wrapping my head around it, but once I knew what it actually sounds like I could use this aural memory to guide my practicing. It's similar to having a finished image to help you along with a puzzle. It's not exactly the same because the puzzle is just a picture and there's only one final product. A piece of music can come together in so many different ways and aural memory is really just a suggestion.
Enjoyment. Never underestimate how much your enjoyment of a piece of music can affect your ability to retain information about it. If you have five pieces in your rep and you really like two of them, chances are you're going to want to play them more anyway, so repetition will factor into it (as my sensei says, practice makes permanent). But if you're relaxed and in a state of mind where you want to learn something, you'll have a better chance of absorbing information. In each of my years, my baroque and renaissance music always came together more quickly and coherently than the others. I practiced it more and I thought about it more. I carried the music around with me even when I wasn't practicing. I saw this phenomenon shift from one end of the spectrum to the other when I was learning two Bartok shorts. I started out avoiding them, failing to understand them, struggling with them. I finally reached a point where something fell into place and I noticed I changed my attitude towards them. After that the practicing flowed more smoothly and I started drawing on my aural and visual memory and I applied harmony to the music. It was no longer a chore.
Stay tuned for a new entry in a couple of weeks where I'll be doing a small giveaway!
Friday, August 3, 2012
EQ
Music is everywhere. Everyone listens to it. Look around you: on the bus and in the streets the majority of people under 30 are wearing headphones, and those in an older age bracket can be seen sporting them. Headphones are part of our apparel; in-ear, on-ear and over-ear. They're built into hats and earmuffs. Music is on the radio at work, it's coming from CDs, radios and mp3 players in every car. We can choose our environment. I don't have to listen to whatever is playing in a store while I'm shopping, and I don't even have to hear what's going on outside. Except during human interaction (and some other situations), we control what we hear.
And it's not just musicians or so-called music-lovers who are doing it. The accessibility and ubiquitousness of music has fundamentally changed its nature. Hearing music no longer means playing it yourself; it no longer means going to a recital or a concert; and you're no longer confined to your living room to listen to it. More accessibility means more possibilities for musicians, and opens the opportunity for more musicians to enter the market. Once upon a time most people who listened to music were musicians themselves. Now with the world wide open anybody and everybody has access to it and listens to something. Anything. Furthermore, with the expansion of music from a niche market into a huge consumer business, it is no longer necessarily strictly about music. I'm not going to turn this entry into a complaint that "big business is ruining music, and there is so much terrible music out there and no one knows what real art is anymore" because there will always be bad music. And there will always be music that does not appeal to a large group of people. And there will always be people who take advantage of a current trend to be popular. There will always be empty music.
What I'm more concerned about is what this means for today's musician. How does it affect us when music is so easily accessible and there are so many others to compete with? Over-saturation can cause some serious problems, particularly when music is not the only medium being over-saturated. Film/tv (traditional and modern/internet), music, literature and gaming are all arts that have had their doors opened to the public. The line is being blurred between professional and amateur, specifically if we're dealing with the financial definition of the terms. Now people with enough disposable income can purchase the necessary instruments, recording tools and software and offer their music for free or pitifully low prices on their own website, or through other providers like YouTube and bandcamp.
I say pitifully low because I have a bit of a bone to pick with artists. The old joke "What's the difference between a musician and a park bench?" (A: the bench can support a family of four) is getting, well, old. It's moved on from being a reality that many musicians will face to a sad self-fulfilling prophecy. When I started studying music at university I would join in these moments of jest, but after a while it started sounding a little whiny. It was a way of making their lives sound that much harder than everyone else's. They had resigned themselves to a life of poverty.
Yes, a lot of artists are underpaid. Art has been undervalued and devalued, by both the consumers and the artists themselves. Not every gig is going to pay your rent bill. And sometimes you will play for free. I have no problem with that. Even if you're a hotshot, you can't expect a non-profit organisation to put up five bills for your quartet to play background music at an event. And that's okay.
However, having said that, my problem is this: artists are putting themselves in a situation where they have lessened the value or their work and, increasingly, consumers are expecting to consume for less and less to the point where obtaining music for free is okay.
Put a price on your art. Do it. It's not free and it's not okay that people expect it to be. You have a right to be compensated for your spirit and your work. Saying a CD costs 10$ doesn't mean it's worth 10$. But don't confuse creating a value for your art with doing your art solely for money. There's a huge difference. I didn't go back to school for music because I wanted to make a living from music, but rather I want to live to make music. I know it sounds cheesy, but it's a subtle and important distinction.
If you teach music lessons, you may be doing it because you love it, but you shouldn't devalue it. You're passing on valuable knowledge. And it's a little sad, but if you attach a monetary value to something, people will appreciate it more. A student will think twice about cancelling a lesson if it means a monetary penalty; they might think twice about skipping practicing for a few days if they think their next lesson is going to be a bust, and thus a waste of money.
Free albums on-line become more disposable. What are you going to do with them all? Instead of purchasing say 7 or 8 albums a year, you could probably download one a week. It becomes something that you consume and digest rather than absorb. How many of those 52 albums will keep on listening to? But now it's about eating more and more music. Whatever is most accessible is most readily consumed. Musicians are expected to produce more albums and more frequently. Haven't put out a CD in three years? If you haven't toured in six months, you might as well be dead. So-called amateur musicians releasing free material undermines others who are trying to become professionals; and professionals releasing free material creates a larger rift between those at the top and those on their way up.
You can make a difference if you want to. Not everyone will be successful, but the same goes in every field. But if you want people to take you seriously, start acting that way. We're up against a tough playing field, but that doesn't mean it's hopeless.
And it's not just musicians or so-called music-lovers who are doing it. The accessibility and ubiquitousness of music has fundamentally changed its nature. Hearing music no longer means playing it yourself; it no longer means going to a recital or a concert; and you're no longer confined to your living room to listen to it. More accessibility means more possibilities for musicians, and opens the opportunity for more musicians to enter the market. Once upon a time most people who listened to music were musicians themselves. Now with the world wide open anybody and everybody has access to it and listens to something. Anything. Furthermore, with the expansion of music from a niche market into a huge consumer business, it is no longer necessarily strictly about music. I'm not going to turn this entry into a complaint that "big business is ruining music, and there is so much terrible music out there and no one knows what real art is anymore" because there will always be bad music. And there will always be music that does not appeal to a large group of people. And there will always be people who take advantage of a current trend to be popular. There will always be empty music.
What I'm more concerned about is what this means for today's musician. How does it affect us when music is so easily accessible and there are so many others to compete with? Over-saturation can cause some serious problems, particularly when music is not the only medium being over-saturated. Film/tv (traditional and modern/internet), music, literature and gaming are all arts that have had their doors opened to the public. The line is being blurred between professional and amateur, specifically if we're dealing with the financial definition of the terms. Now people with enough disposable income can purchase the necessary instruments, recording tools and software and offer their music for free or pitifully low prices on their own website, or through other providers like YouTube and bandcamp.
I say pitifully low because I have a bit of a bone to pick with artists. The old joke "What's the difference between a musician and a park bench?" (A: the bench can support a family of four) is getting, well, old. It's moved on from being a reality that many musicians will face to a sad self-fulfilling prophecy. When I started studying music at university I would join in these moments of jest, but after a while it started sounding a little whiny. It was a way of making their lives sound that much harder than everyone else's. They had resigned themselves to a life of poverty.
Yes, a lot of artists are underpaid. Art has been undervalued and devalued, by both the consumers and the artists themselves. Not every gig is going to pay your rent bill. And sometimes you will play for free. I have no problem with that. Even if you're a hotshot, you can't expect a non-profit organisation to put up five bills for your quartet to play background music at an event. And that's okay.
However, having said that, my problem is this: artists are putting themselves in a situation where they have lessened the value or their work and, increasingly, consumers are expecting to consume for less and less to the point where obtaining music for free is okay.
Put a price on your art. Do it. It's not free and it's not okay that people expect it to be. You have a right to be compensated for your spirit and your work. Saying a CD costs 10$ doesn't mean it's worth 10$. But don't confuse creating a value for your art with doing your art solely for money. There's a huge difference. I didn't go back to school for music because I wanted to make a living from music, but rather I want to live to make music. I know it sounds cheesy, but it's a subtle and important distinction.
If you teach music lessons, you may be doing it because you love it, but you shouldn't devalue it. You're passing on valuable knowledge. And it's a little sad, but if you attach a monetary value to something, people will appreciate it more. A student will think twice about cancelling a lesson if it means a monetary penalty; they might think twice about skipping practicing for a few days if they think their next lesson is going to be a bust, and thus a waste of money.
Free albums on-line become more disposable. What are you going to do with them all? Instead of purchasing say 7 or 8 albums a year, you could probably download one a week. It becomes something that you consume and digest rather than absorb. How many of those 52 albums will keep on listening to? But now it's about eating more and more music. Whatever is most accessible is most readily consumed. Musicians are expected to produce more albums and more frequently. Haven't put out a CD in three years? If you haven't toured in six months, you might as well be dead. So-called amateur musicians releasing free material undermines others who are trying to become professionals; and professionals releasing free material creates a larger rift between those at the top and those on their way up.
You can make a difference if you want to. Not everyone will be successful, but the same goes in every field. But if you want people to take you seriously, start acting that way. We're up against a tough playing field, but that doesn't mean it's hopeless.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
The Love Song (Part 2)
I wanted to keep the same theme as yesterday but try something a little different. I present another two examples, side by side, this time both sung by women. Many will probably recognise the first, "Call me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen; the other is Andy Moor's "She Moves" with vocals by Carrie Skipper.
Jepsen's song falls into the category I mentioned yesterday of "chance/fated romance." This already turns me off because it's an oversimplification. Instead of being based on deep-rooted feelings, these songs are all about impulse. I realise a song about building a relationship might not always be interesting, and most people can make a connection to this "in the moment" feelings. But their love, like this music, is fleeting. These kinds of situations aren't about lasting feelings; they're now, they're quick, they're accessible.
The way Jepsen uses "you" is very specific, just like in "Boyfriend," and again it's catering to a listener. They want someone to hear the song and feel like they're being spoken to. "You" in the other song, however, is used in a completely different way. "You" is "me." Consider this:
"She Moves" is a song about self-confidence and believing in your love enough to make it work. "Call Me Maybe" is flippant; supposedly she's absolutely taken by this guy, but off-handedly asks him to call her...but if you don't, whatever. That's leaving a lot to chance. Carrie Skipper is much more assertive in her tone. Jepsen relies on cheap tricks to draw her catch in, saying that boys are constantly after her, and that this guy should be lucky she's interested in him and needs to make his move fast. On the other hand, it feels like Skipper is that little push to take the first step forward and own the situation. One is playing mind games, the other gets in your mind and plants an idea.
I'm really lost with the rest of "Call me Maybe." The first part of the song is so literal that this part just sounds really hokey. The steal/real/feel rhyming triplet feels incredibly forced, especially the word "foresight." And the part about missing someone before they came into her life isn't intrinsically bad, but again it's out of place. I get the sense that whoever wrote the song wanted to create this powerful feeling in the bridge to leave the listener with a sense that this chance encounter really is magical and the only way you can describe it is with this oxymoronic lyric.
I feel very empowered by "She Moves." There is still a sense of taking a chance (you might never know/if you don't ever show her) but it feels like there's a risk involved, or that there's more to it than impulse. There is a steady encouragement throughout the song that keeps the composer-listener grounded. It's like it's not all in your head, and the singer has your back.
This is just a brief look at what lyrically interests me in a so-called "love song." "Call Me Maybe" and "Boyfriend" were both chosen because they're on the radio a lot, so they were two of the first songs that came to mind when I wanted to illustrate my point. I'm not trying to say this music is bad just because it's on the radio, or even that it's bad period. My point is to demonstrate using a small sample that these are the kinds of songs about love that show up on the radio and this is typically how pop serenades are written. The other pieces were specifically chosen to represent my interests in lyrics and are not strictly meant to be "better." The idea was to pick similar but contrasting songs that (a) represent my taste in music and (b) show there is another angle to writing love songs than how is usually presented in popular music.
| CALL ME MAYBE | SHE MOVES |
|---|---|
| I threw a wish in the well Don't ask me, I'll never tell I looked to you as it fell And now you're in my way I'd trade my soul for a wish Pennies and dimes for a kiss I wasn't looking for this But now you're in my way Your stare was holdin' Ripped jeans, skin was showin' Hot night, wind was blowin' Where you think you're going, baby? |
Sometimes you’re lost You find you’re on your own When you look and see the life that you could lead She won’t let you down She’ll show you how to love And she’ll take away the world that you believed So take those fears away And live just for today Open up and let your love shine through She might never know If you don’t ever show her You’ve got to show her how good it feels |
Jepsen's song falls into the category I mentioned yesterday of "chance/fated romance." This already turns me off because it's an oversimplification. Instead of being based on deep-rooted feelings, these songs are all about impulse. I realise a song about building a relationship might not always be interesting, and most people can make a connection to this "in the moment" feelings. But their love, like this music, is fleeting. These kinds of situations aren't about lasting feelings; they're now, they're quick, they're accessible.
The way Jepsen uses "you" is very specific, just like in "Boyfriend," and again it's catering to a listener. They want someone to hear the song and feel like they're being spoken to. "You" in the other song, however, is used in a completely different way. "You" is "me." Consider this:
- Jepsen is singing to a guy > guy listens to the song and falls in love. Two people.
- Skipper is singing to someone > I'm that someone > but I'm in love with someone. Two people, three voices.
| CALL ME MAYBE (chorus) | SHE MOVES (chorus) |
|---|---|
| Hey, I just met you And this is crazy But here's my number So call me, maybe? It's hard to look right At you baby But here's my number So call me, maybe? And all the other boys Try to chase me But here's my number So call me, maybe? |
Don’t be shy Cause she looks to you And you’ll find She moves Don’t be shy Cause she looks to you And you’ll find She’s drawn to you |
"She Moves" is a song about self-confidence and believing in your love enough to make it work. "Call Me Maybe" is flippant; supposedly she's absolutely taken by this guy, but off-handedly asks him to call her...but if you don't, whatever. That's leaving a lot to chance. Carrie Skipper is much more assertive in her tone. Jepsen relies on cheap tricks to draw her catch in, saying that boys are constantly after her, and that this guy should be lucky she's interested in him and needs to make his move fast. On the other hand, it feels like Skipper is that little push to take the first step forward and own the situation. One is playing mind games, the other gets in your mind and plants an idea.
| CALL ME MAYBE | SHE MOVES |
|---|---|
| You took your time with the call I took no time with the fall You gave me nothing at all But still, you're in my way I beg, and borrow and steal Have foresight and it's real I didn't know I would feel it But it's in my way Before you came into my life I missed you so bad And you should know that I missed you so, so bad |
Sometimes you’re torn And you are broken And it takes a lot to get back on your feet But in your heart She gives you that feeling And it pushes you to where you want to be So take those fears away And live just for today Open up and let your love shine through Cause she might never know If you don’t ever show her You’ve got to show her how good it feels |
I'm really lost with the rest of "Call me Maybe." The first part of the song is so literal that this part just sounds really hokey. The steal/real/feel rhyming triplet feels incredibly forced, especially the word "foresight." And the part about missing someone before they came into her life isn't intrinsically bad, but again it's out of place. I get the sense that whoever wrote the song wanted to create this powerful feeling in the bridge to leave the listener with a sense that this chance encounter really is magical and the only way you can describe it is with this oxymoronic lyric.
I feel very empowered by "She Moves." There is still a sense of taking a chance (you might never know/if you don't ever show her) but it feels like there's a risk involved, or that there's more to it than impulse. There is a steady encouragement throughout the song that keeps the composer-listener grounded. It's like it's not all in your head, and the singer has your back.
This is just a brief look at what lyrically interests me in a so-called "love song." "Call Me Maybe" and "Boyfriend" were both chosen because they're on the radio a lot, so they were two of the first songs that came to mind when I wanted to illustrate my point. I'm not trying to say this music is bad just because it's on the radio, or even that it's bad period. My point is to demonstrate using a small sample that these are the kinds of songs about love that show up on the radio and this is typically how pop serenades are written. The other pieces were specifically chosen to represent my interests in lyrics and are not strictly meant to be "better." The idea was to pick similar but contrasting songs that (a) represent my taste in music and (b) show there is another angle to writing love songs than how is usually presented in popular music.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
The Love Song (Part 1)
The radio has been on a lot at work lately. This has given me the opportunity to hear the latest hit songs several times a day. Rather than completely tune them out, I decided to figure out what exactly it is that I don't like about them. These "top of the pops" are usually described as being repetitive, unimaginative, vapid and stale. I agree that there are a lot of bad songs on the radio, but I knew there had to be something specifically that got to me. After all, I'll admit that a lot of the music is pretty catchy. Whoever is writing them knows how to get under your skin.
In the end it largely came down to lyrics. I can't blame them for being formulaic. Everyone writes songs verse-chorus-verse-chorus-chorus. Most of the songs written by my favourite bands do that and I won't discount their music on that alone. After all, it's what you do with the formula that is important.
I noticed most of the hit songs are, in one way or another, love songs. Not ballads, but certainly songs about romantic feelings. I don't have a problem with that. After all, most people fall in love, most people encounter strange feelings they don't know how to process, and most people are comforted by these songs because it helps them not feel alone. Writing about love is easy for musicians because it's a very relatable topic, and it's something that goes on all the time (love songs encompass both in love and out of love). I don't have a problem with that. HIM has been writing love songs for 15 years and I still listen to them.
I listened more closely and finally found the difference. The pop songs typically describe: love at first sight (ostensibly, though I would say lust is more accurate), fated love/chance encounters, serenading a woman. These songs can't appeal to me because I'm not the target. I can't get inside of these songs because they really don't describe their feelings, apart from superficial statements like "you make me feel so good" or "I'm crazy about you." I want to hear a love song that puts me in the composer's head. When I hear the lyrics I want to feel like that's me saying them. If the whole song is just describing a beautiful woman, or talking about meeting and dancing in the club, I'm missing out because the point is for a woman to hear the song and feel like someone is talking about her. If the lyrics actually detail what the lovestruck individual is feeling, that's the one for me.
Let's compare two songs to illustrate my point. Justin Bieber's "Boyfriend" and "Right Here in My Arms" by HIM. Both have two verses and a chorus. Both talk about wanting to be with someone. Here are the first verses side by side
Bieber's song has an audience, literally. He is singing to someone (possibly undefined, but there is for a person). This is meant for a girl to listen to the song and feel like Justin is singing to her. She can understand from this first verse that Justin not only wants to be her boyfriend, but will take care of her with his money and spend quality time with her. This doesn't really tell me anything about how he feels, though. I can't get inside his mind and find out what's going on. Why does he want to be with her? What is it about her that makes him want to decorate her with swag?
On the other hand, with HIM, I'm hit right away. The simple act of this woman smiling feels like heaven on earth. I can feel that. I can put myself in his shoes and see her smiling and know what it feels like. And not only that, but it's so magnificent it hurts. The rest of the verse is also less literal than Bieber's song. Instead of being the lowdown on their fondue activities, I have to insert myself into this situation and figure out in my head how this happiness could be killing her. What have I done? That it is not very specific allows me to replace myself with the singer and become a composer-listener.
The choruses are remarkably similar and dissimilar. Bieber says he'll "never let you go" but HIM says "she can't let go." The difference in tone is very telling. There is this overwhelming passion in HIM's chorus, that she is so in love that she couldn't possibly let go. I can picture her holding onto him for dear life. There's an implied commitment, an incredible bond between the two, whereas Bieber is trying to prove to her that she shouldn't be wary--this coming after his first verse where he tells her, "Baby, take a chance." Bieber uses a more possessive language, by "keep"ing her on his arm. HIM has a much simpler tone; he's not holding onto her, or keeping her; he's letting her come to him, right into his arms.
Again, Justin is really trying to appeal to this girl. But he's just describing things he would do. I don't get a sense of his feelings, or if she has any feelings for him. I'm not even sure he really knows her, since he asks her to "tell [him] what you like yeah tell [him] what you don't." He is still very much a child, and this is reflected in the puppy love he's talking about.
HIM's second verse is much more mysterious. There's power in succinctness. He doesn't have to make her promises to take her anywhere or buy her things or change himself. He just vows that he'll always be there for her. It also sounds like a much more complicated relationship than at first. She is apparently experiencing heartache and trying to numb herself to the pain. But again, it's left to me to fill in the blanks and recreate the situation for myself. And not to say that Bieber's feelings of attractions aren't real or valid, but for me, they oversimplify the situation. In HIM's song it feels like a much more mature and realistic depiction of a relationship, and it feels like it's mine because the way it's written it's passed through me.
I'll be back tomorrow with another two songs up for side-by-side comparison. Stay tuned!
In the end it largely came down to lyrics. I can't blame them for being formulaic. Everyone writes songs verse-chorus-verse-chorus-chorus. Most of the songs written by my favourite bands do that and I won't discount their music on that alone. After all, it's what you do with the formula that is important.
I noticed most of the hit songs are, in one way or another, love songs. Not ballads, but certainly songs about romantic feelings. I don't have a problem with that. After all, most people fall in love, most people encounter strange feelings they don't know how to process, and most people are comforted by these songs because it helps them not feel alone. Writing about love is easy for musicians because it's a very relatable topic, and it's something that goes on all the time (love songs encompass both in love and out of love). I don't have a problem with that. HIM has been writing love songs for 15 years and I still listen to them.
I listened more closely and finally found the difference. The pop songs typically describe: love at first sight (ostensibly, though I would say lust is more accurate), fated love/chance encounters, serenading a woman. These songs can't appeal to me because I'm not the target. I can't get inside of these songs because they really don't describe their feelings, apart from superficial statements like "you make me feel so good" or "I'm crazy about you." I want to hear a love song that puts me in the composer's head. When I hear the lyrics I want to feel like that's me saying them. If the whole song is just describing a beautiful woman, or talking about meeting and dancing in the club, I'm missing out because the point is for a woman to hear the song and feel like someone is talking about her. If the lyrics actually detail what the lovestruck individual is feeling, that's the one for me.
Let's compare two songs to illustrate my point. Justin Bieber's "Boyfriend" and "Right Here in My Arms" by HIM. Both have two verses and a chorus. Both talk about wanting to be with someone. Here are the first verses side by side
| BOYFRIEND | RIGHT HERE IN MY ARMS |
|---|---|
| If I was your boyfriend, I'd never let you go I can take you places you ain't never been before Baby take a chance or you'll never ever ever know I got money in my hands that I'd really like to blow Swag swag swag, on you Chillin by the fire while we eatin' fondue I dunno about me but I know about you So say hello to falsetto in three two swag |
She is smiling like heaven's down on earth Sun is shining so bright it hurts All her wishes have finally come true Her heart is weeping, happiness is killing her It's 'cause she's in love |
Bieber's song has an audience, literally. He is singing to someone (possibly undefined, but there is for a person). This is meant for a girl to listen to the song and feel like Justin is singing to her. She can understand from this first verse that Justin not only wants to be her boyfriend, but will take care of her with his money and spend quality time with her. This doesn't really tell me anything about how he feels, though. I can't get inside his mind and find out what's going on. Why does he want to be with her? What is it about her that makes him want to decorate her with swag?
On the other hand, with HIM, I'm hit right away. The simple act of this woman smiling feels like heaven on earth. I can feel that. I can put myself in his shoes and see her smiling and know what it feels like. And not only that, but it's so magnificent it hurts. The rest of the verse is also less literal than Bieber's song. Instead of being the lowdown on their fondue activities, I have to insert myself into this situation and figure out in my head how this happiness could be killing her. What have I done? That it is not very specific allows me to replace myself with the singer and become a composer-listener.
| BOYFRIEND (chorus) | RIGHT HERE IN MY ARMS (chorus) |
|---|---|
| I'd like to be everything you want Hey girl, let me talk to you If I was your boyfriend, never let you go Keep you on my arm girl, you'd never be alone I can be a gentleman, anything you want If I was your boyfriend, I'd never let you go |
She'll be right here in my arms So in love She'll be right here in these arms She can't let go |
The choruses are remarkably similar and dissimilar. Bieber says he'll "never let you go" but HIM says "she can't let go." The difference in tone is very telling. There is this overwhelming passion in HIM's chorus, that she is so in love that she couldn't possibly let go. I can picture her holding onto him for dear life. There's an implied commitment, an incredible bond between the two, whereas Bieber is trying to prove to her that she shouldn't be wary--this coming after his first verse where he tells her, "Baby, take a chance." Bieber uses a more possessive language, by "keep"ing her on his arm. HIM has a much simpler tone; he's not holding onto her, or keeping her; he's letting her come to him, right into his arms.
| BOYFRIEND | RIGHT HERE IN MY ARMS |
|---|---|
| Tell me what you like yeah tell me what you don't I could be your Buzz Lightyear fly across the globe I don't never wanna fight yeah, you already know Imma make you shine bright like you're laying in the snow Burr Girlfriend, girlfriend, you could be my girlfriend You could be my girlfriend until the world ends Make you dance do a spin and a twirl and Voice goin crazy on this hook like a whirl wind |
So hard she's trying But her heart won't turn to stone, oh no She keeps on crying But I won't leave her alone She'll never be alone |
Again, Justin is really trying to appeal to this girl. But he's just describing things he would do. I don't get a sense of his feelings, or if she has any feelings for him. I'm not even sure he really knows her, since he asks her to "tell [him] what you like yeah tell [him] what you don't." He is still very much a child, and this is reflected in the puppy love he's talking about.
HIM's second verse is much more mysterious. There's power in succinctness. He doesn't have to make her promises to take her anywhere or buy her things or change himself. He just vows that he'll always be there for her. It also sounds like a much more complicated relationship than at first. She is apparently experiencing heartache and trying to numb herself to the pain. But again, it's left to me to fill in the blanks and recreate the situation for myself. And not to say that Bieber's feelings of attractions aren't real or valid, but for me, they oversimplify the situation. In HIM's song it feels like a much more mature and realistic depiction of a relationship, and it feels like it's mine because the way it's written it's passed through me.
I'll be back tomorrow with another two songs up for side-by-side comparison. Stay tuned!
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