What to Listen For in the World

Goodness, what a profoundly beautiful collection of excerpts from Bruce Adolphe's book What to Listen For in the World, a book that I am most likely going to purchase at some point.  Adolphe uses such poetic language to describe the way musicians and other artists interact with their surroundings. Ha...that was weird...as I was typing that last sentence, I was about to type "the way musicians and other artists view their surroundings," but then I stopped and corrected myself, because we don't just view the world; we hear it and feel it and smell it and taste it, too.  In his book, Adolphe talks about how he has discovered that it's more difficult for many people to audiate than it is for them to visualize things.  For me, it's always been the other way around.  When I'm remembering or imagining things, the images are usually blurry in my mind, but the sounds are always very clear, so clear that I tend to subconsciously recreate some of the noises out loud when I'm really lost in daydreams (which has led to some embarrassing moments in classes and other public settings)!  Maybe it's because I'm a musician.  My thoughts are not particularly colorful, but I imagine that if I were passionate about painting or drawing, they would be.  Adolphe says in his book, "Composers pay attention to daydreams.  A wandering mind is creative," and I was like YAY!  (I know there's so much more to creativity, but it's always nice to be reassured that having a restless mind is not always such a bad thing).  Reading these excerpts really made me think about thinking.

As I read, I thought back to Tchaikovsky's "Composing a Symphony," and his words: "The only music capable of moving and touching us is that which flows from the depths of the composer's soul when he is stirred by inspiration."  Bruce Adolphe implies with his gorgeous writing that practically any conceivable moment one could experience has the power to be stirring and to inspire art.  I particularly liked his image of a person sitting on a train, looking out the window at the houses zooming past, and thinking about the situation the way different types of artists might.  He states that the composer is always listening for "life's conflicting rhythms," for example, the contrast between the speed of the train and the total stillness on the inside of it.  This passage reminded me of an essay I wrote once, in which the opening paragraph was far too long because I went on and on about how every earthly sound is music, how every single sound has a pitch, a rhythm, a timbre, and a life all its own.  It's an amazing thing to try and wrap your head around, which is why it's even more amazing to actually be able to compose a piece of music, to actually be able to take those earthly sounds and combine them in a way that is meaningful and turn them into art.  It's an overused phrase, but music is its own language that can and must be understood by listeners.  Adolphe says that "for the listener,  music is always about memory," and that the shape of a piece should create metaphor.  It's fascinating to think about the way music communicates with those who hear it.  How is it that some notes sound like rain and others sound like wind?  How is it that certain combinations of notes have the power to evoke memories and summon emotions?  Listening to music really is sometimes like cracking a code, and once you've cracked it, you can speak a new language: the composer's language.

Because I've always loved music, there is a part of me that longs to compose my own pieces.  I've tried it, and I've never thought that I was particularly good at it, but reading these excerpts from What to Listen For has encouraged me to give it another go.  I know how to speak the language of sound, and I know the theory of how sounds work together, which ones are pleasing to the ear and which ones are dissonant and which combinations are associated with which feelings.  The hard part is putting it all together to create something that has a definite message.  That is the skill (and the art) of composing.  I liked that Adolphe discusses the importance of repetition and circular patterns in music while asserting that striving for "sameness in repetition" is a recipe for failure, but it definitely raises a lot of issues...What about atonal music?  Does music really need audible patterns to have a message?  To be appealing, I think yes, it does, but to have a message?  What, then, is the difference between a piece of music and a mere pitch pattern?  And the million dollar question, is it really possible for me to create something completely original, or has it all been done before?

I know we have a musical composition assignment coming up in this class, and I've decided that I'm going to try to apply Adolphe's equation for art: imagination + memory = idea, idea + structure = new, organic piece.  "Remember anything, and change a detail: that is imagination."  This concept makes so much sense to me.  Art has to begin with thoughts, and thoughts have to come from somewhere within.  Memories.  Experiences.  These are kindling for composition.  I'm excited to see if this mindset allows me to tap into an undiscovered part of my creativity.