Classifying the Musical Organism and Its Predators
In the recent century it has been greatly discussed what it is that constitutes a musical experience. From sitting in the park listening to birdsong, to a grand symphony in a concert hall the definition of music has been rigorously challenged. It is, therefore, not surprising that this century, particularly the last 50 years, has also seen a challenge to the concept of authenticity in performance. Through our stringent expectations, fear of musical blasphemy, and tendency toward homogeneity in the era of recorded music, we have limited the “proper” recognition of music to artifact, rather than ‘organism’. Long has the division between Performer, Audience, and Composer been analyzed, yet rarely is it recognized that each functions as a cooperative, parallel, yet supreme role in the ontology of the musical organism. Without acceptance of this equity, participants throughout all stages of the creative process are left unfulfilled. The unique quality of music as a temporal art form necessitates the agency and perspective of these multifarious creators. While tradition, and most contemporary performance practice, supposes that a rigid adherence to text and composer intent will lead performers and audiences to a more satisfying musical experience, a closer look shows us that the musical organism can be more varied than we supposed, and livelier, while still maintaining authenticity.
When addressing the complex and controversial concept of authenticity it is always prudent to identify the most common schools of thought that surround its definition in the academic lexicon. The most recent, though by no means new, philosophy stems from the historical performance movement which generally asserts that restoring the context (in the form of historically informed instrumentation, phrasing, ornamentation, etc.) of a musical work uncovers a lost authenticity in the performance. In his writings, scholar and musician John Butt even describes this process as a post-modern experiment in which we ignore linear history and choose historical contexts selectively to suit our tastes[1], much like the filter on a camera. This of course contrasts the “traditional”, linear perspective of performance practice which is sometimes defiantly contemporary and inherently a product of an congenital system of musical choices and tastes. In scholarly circles the merits of historical performance seem to be vastly preferred to its linear cousin, however, evidenced by the way traditional classical music audiences attend and otherwise consume western classical music there still seems to be a popular preference for, as an example, the Well-tempered Klavier on a piano rather than a harpsichord.
While argument on the respective merits of these approaches is vibrant and important, the fact that there is argument at all reveals something profound about the musical work as an “organism” unto itself. Continuing with Bach’s Well-tempered Klavier, let us consider three versions of Prelude 19 from the first book. The first is Masaaki Suzuki’s recording from his collection of Bach’s complete keyboard works[2]. Played on the harpsichord and in a free style consistent with the our modern understanding of the baroque prelude, this recording represents a fine version of the piece in the historical practice. Praise for this interpretation would likely center around the authenticity of the performance in respect to the expectation of the composer in terms of style, ornamentation, and instrumentation. In other words, the work is performed in a style and executed to a standard that to the best of our modern ability emulates the conditions of its composition. The second recording of this Prelude is that of Glen Gould in 1965[3]. The difference of tone and style is jarring. Gone is the overtone-rich buzz of the harpsichord. Replaced, instead, by the immediate and warm sound of a modern piano modified to Gould’s famously exacting standards. Precise also is the tempo (and boy is it fast). With the exception of a minimal ritard in bar 23 set up the final cadence the prelude moves forward like clockwork from beat 1. Gould is in no way attempting to emulate the conditions of the composition that were so important to the interpretation of Suzuki. The primary concerns of Gould appear, instead, to be the accuracy of rhythm, cleanliness of pitch and timbre, and communication of the structure in the composition, which taken together indicates a perceived Ideal condition for the composition. For these reasons you might even call the performance theoretical rather than musical. Yet, it is consistent with most modern performances of Bach in that it focuses solely on what information can be gleaned from the physical text of the composition. Another version of this piece to be considered is that recorded by Yo-yo Ma, Chris Thile, and Edgar Meyer on their recording Bach Trios (2017)[4] . Cleverly arranged to allow each line of the keyboard piece to be played by an individual instrument, this version restores the phrasing and slower tempo of the Suzuki recording, yet retains the metronomic precision of the Gould recording. However, it is obviously and dramatically different in terms of instrumentation and intention. Like the Gould, it makes no apology for the instruments being played (all of which would have been unimaginable to J.S. Bach in their modern form). However, this interpretation of the work deliberately ignores both historical context as well as a modern, linearly traditional one. It uses the text of the composition as inspiration but relies primarily on the creativity of the performers for its interpretation. While it is clear that all of the performers have an educated understanding of the work, they have freed themselves to engage in the role of creator.
What this short comparison illustrates is three general perspectives on the central “organism”. One, the historical, accepts only that which attempts to place the music in the context of its composition. The second, the linear, accepts the historical as informing the present yet presupposes a modern Ideal performance of the work. The third perspective, which we may wish to call the populist or consumer, tips its cap to the preceding two, yet prefers novelty and cares very little about the scholarly efficacy of their instinct and genius-based choices. Crucially, all three perspectives agree that the piece they are engaging with is Bach’s Prelude 19 from the first book of the Well-tempered Klavier. The intricacies of instrumentation, phrasing and historical context fall short of rendering the piece indistinguishable from any other piece. Distinctly and undeniably all three interpretations of the work are the same work. Therefore, the thing that we refer to as the “piece” exists a priori of many musical factors generally regarded as crucial to its existence. In short, a piece or work is not a physical experience nor a textual document; instead, the work is an aesthetic Idea which relies not on objective factors, but entirely on a subjective rational judgement[5] for its comprehension. To say it differently, it requires Taste.
When considered in this framework the Idea of a musical work; new, old, or canon, becomes something more robust than generally assumed, and the upending of this assumption has dramatic implications for the interpretation and preservation of the Idea. Specifically, it expands the role of performer into one equal in responsibility to the composer and audience. This role has historically been the status quo of the performer, and in popular and folk music has never been lost. Yet, in the classical tradition, the role of performer has been steadily relegated to the position equivalent to those who restore dirty or damaged paintings; Conservator and never Creator. A crucial distinction that has all but redefined the musical work as artifact and not, in fact, art.
Richard Taruskin famously argues in his article, “What—or where—is the original,”[6] that music is not a text-based phenomenon and must be experienced audibly and temporally to be considered music. That is to say, a score is not the music, the performance of the score is the music. This reality, curiously, when combined with our understanding of the work as an aesthetic Idea, leaves a massive hole, a gap, between the physical text and the conceptual goal of that text in time and space, i.e. the creation of the “organism” out of the Idea. Stephen Davies, in his article Ontology of Musical Works and Authenticity of their Performances[7] states:
There is no single, ideal performance of any work - performing must be creative if it is to be convincing. Performers might allow themselves to be advised by composers’ intentions, where these are known, but they should not sacrifice their creative autonomy to the fixed will of the composer, for without the exercise of that autonomy performance reduces to the bare transmission of characterless notes.
Davies articulates here very astutely that the Idea of the work depends on there being something above the rote recitation of directives in the text. However, Davies’ seemingly revolutionary assertion is one that he ultimately hedges when it comes to giving the performer power over the “fixed will” of the composer, as he begins to distinguish between authentic and inauthentic performances of a work. While Davies proposes a much less fragile “organism” than most in saying that “... it is not a requirement of something’s being an inauthentic performance that the work be entirely recoverable from the performance. What is required is that sufficient is recoverable to disambiguate the performed work from other.” Yet, the terms authentic and inauthentic fundamentally break down if you take this distinction to its logical breaking point. If a performer were to push a work to the point where it is truly no longer “recoverable” then such a performance would not simply be an inauthentic performance of the work, it would no longer be a performance of the work at all. This indicates to me that this is not truly the point at which Davies feels the performance has become inauthentic. While I agree with the basic assertion that there is a clear point at which the creative agency of the performer eclipses the raison d’etre of the work, the Idea of a work is far more robust than even Davies supposes. A prime and common example of this robustness is a musical theme and variation. By definition, the attentive ear can follow, either melodically or harmonically, the fundamental Idea of the theme within each variation. The work, therefore, remains recoverable while many of the other musical elements have drastically changed.
If one were to apply this concept to folk traditions where the Idea of tunes and ballads is considered incredibly robust (surviving countless arrangements and permutations of tempo, rhythm, and instrumentation) then we find that such elements are clearly not so destructive that the work cannot be disambiguated. Why then, when applied to a classical form, does the bar of authenticity move so much higher? Davies has a valid point when he later refers to the complexity, scale and, more importantly, duration of classical music as a distinguishing factor. This holds true in the larger musical forms of the symphony, opera, etc. However, chamber music in its infinite variety of form and scope does not seem to reach this threshold of complexity and scale. Indeed, many chamber works are reorchestrated for a variety of ensembles for which the work was never intended, such as the Ma/Thiele/Meyer chamber version of the Bach Prelude, and are still considered authentic within their context. It is clear then that a great deal can be done to a work which leaves the Idea of the work in tact. The aforementioned gap, then, becomes the supreme responsibility of the performer to bridge, and therefore an actively creative performer becomes compulsory to the life of a work. The “organism” can only be created when the performer unites the Idea of the work and the text of the work in a way that transcends the “bare transmission of characterless notes.”
The definition of the musical Idea is elusive, however, since it exists a priori of the work and is based on Taste; emotion plays a crucial role. Indeed, most art is remembered by its audience, not for what it looks like, feels like, tastes like, but by the emotions it elicits. Paul Boghossian, in his review of Roger Scruton’s book, “The Aesthetics of Music”[8] seems to agree that there is some element of a priori existence to music. Where Boghossian and Scruton divide is, where Scruton believes that the context must be taken fully to recreate the emotion (this is our historical perspective), Boghossian argues that because isolated elements of music have universal understanding (among participants in a study involving only Western nationalities[9]), then there must be something absent of musical context that create emotional triggers.
These two divergent perspective are at an apparent impasse, yet, when considered as separate, complimentary parts of a larger creative process both of these opinions are not mutually exclusive as they are relevant at different points in time. One is created in the “writing” stage of composition, where the only “audience” is form and structure. Understanding and utilizing the structural elements of musical expression that Boghossian (via Deryck Cooke[10]) describe would be incredibly useful at this stage. The composer, using this knowledge, could attempt to create a framework in which specific emotions would be incepted. Subsequently, the latter stage of composition (being the realization of the text by an artist in the role of creator) allows these genetic elements to align into a unified organism which can then be perceived by the audience and transmuted into feeling.
This flys in the face of nearly all of our rhetoric concerning composer intent. Just as a child is not a perfect replica of his parents, the performer as creator introduces a dynamic in which, inherently, the musical offspring of a written composition will be mutated from exactly what the composer had in mind. It also indicates that the Idea of the work is not ultimately controlled by the composer. Though the direct result of his choices, it is controlled also by the choices of performer and audience in turn. If the objective of a musical work is the exact clone of composer intent, then the musical “organism” created is, and will always be, flawed. This is because the intentions of these various actors cannot be communicated accurately to one another, and the attempt to remedy this lack of accordance by subjugating all choices to the text is ultimately destructive to the “organism”, and not a path to a closer comprehension of the Idea. Any one of these imperfect clones would be an existence out of its place in time, an unnatural and static spectre of an object that ought to have died.
In “The Book of Tea”[11] Kakuzo Okakura writes a brief anecdote about a tea master and his apprentice. After failing to clean the tea garden to the master’s satisfaction the apprentice implores the master to tell him what he had done improperly. He had trimmed every plant, cleaned every leaf from the rocks, scrubbed and dusted every surface to immaculate perfection. Nothing more could be done. The master replied by silently walking to the largest tree in the garden. Shaking a branch, dozens of leaves fell on the perfectly clean plot, and only then was he satisfied. What this speaks to is a natural inauthenticity in perfection. Kant also touches on this concept in his Analytic of the Sublime, and addresses it thusly: “The feeling of the Sublime is therefore a feeling of pain, arising from the want of accordance between the aesthetical estimation of magnitude formed by the Imagination and the estimation of the same formed by Reason.” Both of these thoughts inspire a view of the goal of music that exists outside of the ability to perfectly communicate a specific musical Idea that was intended by its text. It is instead a “sublime” conceptual non-accordance between equal creators of the aesthetic experience of music.
[1] Butt, John. Playing with History: The Historical Approach to Musical Performance. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002.
[2] Bach, Johannes Sebastian. Das Woltempierte Klavier, Teil I. Masaaki Suzuki, Romanesca, 1997, CD.
[3] Bach, Johannes Sebastian. Das Woltempierte Klavier, Teil I. Glenn Gould, Columbia Masterworks, ML 6176, MS 6776, 1965, CD.
[4] Ma, Yoyo, Chris Thile, Edgar Meyer. Bach Trios. Nonesuch Records 558933-2, 2017, CD.
[5] Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Judgement. New York: Barnes and Noble, 2005.
[6] Taruskin, Richard. “What—or where—is the original,” in Text and Act, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), pgs. 155-164.
[7] Davies, Stephen. “The Ontology of Musical Works and the Authenticity of their Performances,” in Themes in the Philosophy of Music. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), pgs. 60-81.
[8] Boghossian, Paul. “On Hearing the Music in the Sound: Scruton on Musical Expression,” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 60, 1 (Winter 2002): 49-55.
[9] The fact that this is culturally dependent is an incredibly sticky area that, in my opinion, both Boghossian and Scruton shrug away too readily. Not only because the implications for humans of other cultures playing our western music is profound, and potentially racially problematic, but also because music as an art is not a uniquely western concept. Perhaps we have not allowed ourselves to explore the ontology of musical thought outside of the reassuring confines of scale, melody and harmony which form the basis of our linguistic ability to communicate and discourse on music.
[10] Cooke, Deryck. The Language of Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1959.
[11] Okakura, Kakuzo. The Book of Tea. New York: Duffield and Company, 1912.
