Recent Pasts 20/21 Words Series - Andrew Imbrie and Milton Babbitt, Page 6
IMBRIE:
Good music
What is it, then, about good music which fascinates and captures us? First of all, it takes place in time, not primarily in space. A musical statement can be made, usually in the form of a phrase which can be compared to the amount of melody which can be sung in one breath. I have often regarded music as essentially –basically – singing and dancing. The relation between phrases can be thought of as hierarchal. Just as in languages you have words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, chapters. It is up to the composer to judge such things as proportions, balance, contrast, surprise, tension and resolution, both on the surface and on the middle ground and the background. We learn how to do this by studying the music of the past, and it is here that we begin to appreciate the value of Palestrina, Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven.
We begin our studies by attempting to imitate these geniuses, but this is not enough. We must take into account the changes that continue to take place in harmony, melody, rhythm and color. And little by little we begin to discover who we are and what it is that we are trying to say.
Each piece we write becomes a thing in itself, for better or for worse, yet it should be recognizable as our own. In any event, we must all find a way to convince our listeners that we have succeeded in communicating to them a genuine and valid experience, taking up just the right amount of time.
As I said a moment ago, we are nowadays increasingly aware of the multiplicity of styles that exist side by side. During the 20th century, some composers chose to explore the possible implications of chromaticism, frequently employing the Schoebergian twelve-tone method as an apparent substitute for ‘tonality’. Others chose other approaches, such as Bartòk or Stravinsky (whose latest works are hardly ever performed nowadays). These pay a sort of ‘lip service’ to twelve-tone music and sound totally different, not only from his early music but from that of Schoenberg. There was a reason why Stravinsky’s late works – that drew on aspects of the twelve-tone procedure – still sound distinctly like Stravinsky, (and) different from Schoenberg: in whichever style he wrote, he always followed the dictates of his inner ear, and thereby produced music of his own personality.
Similarly, with the numerous other composers who worked with the twelve-tone procedures and various levels of serial technique, whatever their approach, the best of them retained their own individuality in their music, because they, too, followed their inner ear.
More recently, there’s been a revolt against complexity itself, and a new ‘-ism’ now exists, called ‘Post-modernism’. To combat complexity, one substitutes repetitious melody, static harmony, dazzling color and unconventional sources of sound. Less is expected of the listener as to line, harmonic movement, and rhythmic proportion. For one, I can only hope for a ‘post-Post-modern’ music, which can re-engage our singing and dancing imagination.
This hope doesn’t rule out the use of electronic devices or other new techniques. Neither does it abandon the sensitive use of traditional instruments or the human voice. I don’t have a recipe for the ‘post-Post-modern’. Each one of us needs only to pursue the dictates of our inner ear, which can lead us along a true path, which we keep on discovering as we continue to invent our own versions of song and dance. After all, the prescription for finding one’s way as a musician is not entirely different from that of finding one’s way in life.
It is to follow your inner ear.
Thank you.