When I started my Song of Albion series on music I thought I would keep posting on the subject - I have plenty more material - and perhaps I will sometime - but I have kind of run out of steam because, well let me explain the connection with sushi.
The idea of eating cold raw fish has never appealed to me so sushi would not be something I would choose. Any more than jellied eels or cold borscht. Give me fish and chips or cheese on toast or a bacon butty any day. But yesterday my daughter invited me to her home-brew sushi party and kindly assured me she had prepared sushi made with chicken to soften my experience. I had no problem with the seaweed or the special sushi rice - the taste was OK - but everything on my plate was so cold and clammy. And why spend all that time chopping stuff up small and packing it into strange cylindrical shapes? I don't get it. And yet the rest of the party apparently enjoyed their raw fish versions. And other folk across the globe apparently enjoy the sushi experience. So either they are all putting on a show or else I am weird.
And if I am weird (by which I mean having very peculiar tastes) then what is the good of me making any comment whatsoever on a subject like music which is so subjective?
Showing posts with label song of albion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label song of albion. Show all posts
20140921
20140708
Song of Albion 5
To start at the beginning of this series of posts on music click here. The title "Song of Albion" in an allusion to Stephen Lawhead's trilogy - chosen because his concept echoes some of my own thoughts.
Have you noticed how, in community singing, people rarely give the last note of a phrase its full musical measure? To the point that, if you do, you feel totally out on a limb? You may also have noticed that kid's recorder playing can be painful? And yet a recorder consort can make a surprisingly beautiful noise, for example:
In a recent post I pointed out that you can get away with low resolution colour in video provided outlines in the picture portrayed are sharply defined. Edges, boundaries, have great importance. "Remove not the ancient landmark which thy fathers have set". Children, indeed all of us, need clear boundaries for living. In science at least (what do I know of other subjects?) concise definitions are essential for the development of argument, and a definition limits a concept within a boundary. So it is with music. Without boundaries to say how long a note should be played, or at what pitch or intensity, music would be chaos. "If even lifeless instruments, such as the flute or the harp, do not give distinct notes, how will anyone know what is played?" Correct intonation is what differentiates the good musician from the masses. "Correct", of course, does not necessarily imply rigid time or even perfect pitch because music is not mechanical - it breathes life from its creator.
Boundaries and edges imply variation. If all parts of a picture were the same colour then there would be no edges and it could hardly be called a picture. The amount of variation will of course vary according to mood. Turner (one of my favourite artists) uses this to great effect by exaggerating lack of definition to emphasise the edges of his subject. Presented with chaos the eye tries to find definition. That's how my mother reckoned she could see all many of shapes in cloud formations, shapes that I could never see.
The master knows just where to place an edge to full effect. I used to teach people to drive. When sitting in the passenger seat it becomes quickly obvious whether the student has good control of the car or not. The car obeys a good driver and one feels safe. Conversely the car seems to have a mind of its own and takes the bad driver by surprise: it is uncontrolled, no edges. I know when my piano playing is good because, at those (rather rare) times, I find the sound it makes is exactly what I want.
In community singing (for example praise and worship in church) we may not be wanting a "performance" but I see no reason why the music should not be "good". Why should our singing always be as loud as possible but the last notes of each phrase be curtailed, why not embrace more variety in rhythm and style, and in instrumental accompaniment? Should we not strive to increase the beauty in all that we do?
Mind you, I remember a man in the church my grandparents went to - Smee was his name I think - he sang the hymns with a loud and raucous voice hopelessly out of tune and, when challenged on the subject, I remember him saying that he knew he couldn't sing well but his over-riding desire was to use whatever he had, voice included, to give glory to his God and no-one was going to stop him. And at the time I bought that argument, and I still do. Nevertheless I long for something better...
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Have you noticed how, in community singing, people rarely give the last note of a phrase its full musical measure? To the point that, if you do, you feel totally out on a limb? You may also have noticed that kid's recorder playing can be painful? And yet a recorder consort can make a surprisingly beautiful noise, for example:
In a recent post I pointed out that you can get away with low resolution colour in video provided outlines in the picture portrayed are sharply defined. Edges, boundaries, have great importance. "Remove not the ancient landmark which thy fathers have set". Children, indeed all of us, need clear boundaries for living. In science at least (what do I know of other subjects?) concise definitions are essential for the development of argument, and a definition limits a concept within a boundary. So it is with music. Without boundaries to say how long a note should be played, or at what pitch or intensity, music would be chaos. "If even lifeless instruments, such as the flute or the harp, do not give distinct notes, how will anyone know what is played?" Correct intonation is what differentiates the good musician from the masses. "Correct", of course, does not necessarily imply rigid time or even perfect pitch because music is not mechanical - it breathes life from its creator.
Boundaries and edges imply variation. If all parts of a picture were the same colour then there would be no edges and it could hardly be called a picture. The amount of variation will of course vary according to mood. Turner (one of my favourite artists) uses this to great effect by exaggerating lack of definition to emphasise the edges of his subject. Presented with chaos the eye tries to find definition. That's how my mother reckoned she could see all many of shapes in cloud formations, shapes that I could never see.
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| "Rain, Steam and Speed", J. M. W. Turner |
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| The "Fighting Temeraire", J. M. W. Turner |
The master knows just where to place an edge to full effect. I used to teach people to drive. When sitting in the passenger seat it becomes quickly obvious whether the student has good control of the car or not. The car obeys a good driver and one feels safe. Conversely the car seems to have a mind of its own and takes the bad driver by surprise: it is uncontrolled, no edges. I know when my piano playing is good because, at those (rather rare) times, I find the sound it makes is exactly what I want.
In community singing (for example praise and worship in church) we may not be wanting a "performance" but I see no reason why the music should not be "good". Why should our singing always be as loud as possible but the last notes of each phrase be curtailed, why not embrace more variety in rhythm and style, and in instrumental accompaniment? Should we not strive to increase the beauty in all that we do?
Mind you, I remember a man in the church my grandparents went to - Smee was his name I think - he sang the hymns with a loud and raucous voice hopelessly out of tune and, when challenged on the subject, I remember him saying that he knew he couldn't sing well but his over-riding desire was to use whatever he had, voice included, to give glory to his God and no-one was going to stop him. And at the time I bought that argument, and I still do. Nevertheless I long for something better...
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20140624
Song of Albion 4
I have a lot of stuff I could talk about on the subject of music and perhaps I will in future posts, but for now I guess I want to express some of my gut-feelings rather than just quote interesting facts.
A while ago I wrote about wonder and the sort of music I enjoy most has this element. Andrew Marr writes about music and mystery and the ineffability of music. There are not too many things that are "too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words" so when one finds one it would seem to me to be especially worthy of attention. I suppose it is this quality above all that has attracted me to Bruckner and the same sentiment is in the quote "It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it" from my last post.
A necessary ingredient in ineffability is the element of surprise. Like when you make it to the top of a hill and a glorious panorama lays before you. Or when “Great globes (gourds) of yellow fruit hung from the trees—clustered as toy-balloons … He had meant to extract the smallest, experimental sip, but the first taste put his caution all to flight. It was, of course, a taste, just as his thirst and hunger had been thirst and hunger… But then it was so different from every other taste that it seemed more pedantry to call it a taste at all. It was like the discovery of a totally new genus of pleasures, something unheard of among men… For one draught of this on earth wars would have been fought and nations betrayed.” (Perelandra, Lewis).
Surprise, in turn, implies variety. I look forward to and greatly enjoy eating good old British fish'n'chips or iced doughnuts but can you imagine having them for every meal?
And variety is sadly missing in so much popular music now-a-days. Art (music is art) should explore the whole gamut of expression available to it. Pictures might use vivid colours or pastels, flat or exaggerated perspective, soft or hard lines - but not always the same, please. Marr says "Complicated mechanical structures in music, in themselves, offer little sense of mystery and some of the simplest folk melodies sound as if they were whispered at the dawn of creation." Scarborough Fair being one such melody.
So - what makes some music ineffable whilst other is a monotony of noise? That is what I want to explore in future posts
Previous post
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A while ago I wrote about wonder and the sort of music I enjoy most has this element. Andrew Marr writes about music and mystery and the ineffability of music. There are not too many things that are "too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words" so when one finds one it would seem to me to be especially worthy of attention. I suppose it is this quality above all that has attracted me to Bruckner and the same sentiment is in the quote "It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it" from my last post.
A necessary ingredient in ineffability is the element of surprise. Like when you make it to the top of a hill and a glorious panorama lays before you. Or when “Great globes (gourds) of yellow fruit hung from the trees—clustered as toy-balloons … He had meant to extract the smallest, experimental sip, but the first taste put his caution all to flight. It was, of course, a taste, just as his thirst and hunger had been thirst and hunger… But then it was so different from every other taste that it seemed more pedantry to call it a taste at all. It was like the discovery of a totally new genus of pleasures, something unheard of among men… For one draught of this on earth wars would have been fought and nations betrayed.” (Perelandra, Lewis).
Surprise, in turn, implies variety. I look forward to and greatly enjoy eating good old British fish'n'chips or iced doughnuts but can you imagine having them for every meal?
And variety is sadly missing in so much popular music now-a-days. Art (music is art) should explore the whole gamut of expression available to it. Pictures might use vivid colours or pastels, flat or exaggerated perspective, soft or hard lines - but not always the same, please. Marr says "Complicated mechanical structures in music, in themselves, offer little sense of mystery and some of the simplest folk melodies sound as if they were whispered at the dawn of creation." Scarborough Fair being one such melody.
So - what makes some music ineffable whilst other is a monotony of noise? That is what I want to explore in future posts
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20140531
Song of Albion
"Before the sun and moon and stars were set in their unchanging courses, before living creatures drew breath, from before the beginning of all that is or will be, the Song of Albion was sung. The Song upholds this worlds-realm, and by it all that exists is sustained."
This concept, that music is somehow at the heart of, is somehow responsible for all that exists, is the subject of many articles. For example Rubino, reminding me of Douglas Adams' 42, claims that:
Ray Tomes asserts that "The universe, believe it or not, is nothing other than a giant musical instrument with a very special but predictable pattern of harmonically related oscillations which determine the structure of everything from galactic clusters to subatomic particles...The universe consists of a wave which develops harmonics and each of these waves does the same."
The concept is also suggested, though perhaps not explicitly, in the Bible in passages like:
Where were you, Job, when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell if you have understanding! Who has set its measurements, for you know? Or who has stretched the line on it? On what are its bases sunk, or who cast its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy? (Job 38:4-7)
Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world. He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. (Heb 1:1-3)
The ability to appreciate and to make music seems to be core in human experience through the ages. The fact that it serves no obvious Darwinian advantage suggests that it might have a higher source. Passages in Ezekiel and Isaiah suggest that Lucifer, otherwise Satan or the devil, was once the angel presiding over music in the heavens so it is hardly surprising that "the devil has all the best tunes".
This concept, that music is somehow at the heart of, is somehow responsible for all that exists, is the subject of many articles. For example Rubino, reminding me of Douglas Adams' 42, claims that:
Ray Tomes asserts that "The universe, believe it or not, is nothing other than a giant musical instrument with a very special but predictable pattern of harmonically related oscillations which determine the structure of everything from galactic clusters to subatomic particles...The universe consists of a wave which develops harmonics and each of these waves does the same."
The concept is also suggested, though perhaps not explicitly, in the Bible in passages like:
Where were you, Job, when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell if you have understanding! Who has set its measurements, for you know? Or who has stretched the line on it? On what are its bases sunk, or who cast its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy? (Job 38:4-7)
The ability to appreciate and to make music seems to be core in human experience through the ages. The fact that it serves no obvious Darwinian advantage suggests that it might have a higher source. Passages in Ezekiel and Isaiah suggest that Lucifer, otherwise Satan or the devil, was once the angel presiding over music in the heavens so it is hardly surprising that "the devil has all the best tunes".
Thus sets the scene for music (in its broadest sense) as the or at least a language of God, as inextricably entwined in His creation, but perverted by the fallen angel Lucifer.
I intend that this will be the first of a series of posts on the 'Song of Albion' aka "the extraordinary spiritual power of music".
I intend that this will be the first of a series of posts on the 'Song of Albion' aka "the extraordinary spiritual power of music".
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