Popular vs. Classical Music : A Matter of Criteria

Originally written as a reflection on Start Making Sense! Musicology Wrestles with Rock by Dr. Susan McClary and Robert Walser.

 In this particular article, taken from a compilation of essays on popular music titled On Record: Rock, Pop, and the Written Word, the authors discuss the difficulties musicologists face when wishing to devote their time and energy to the analysis and interpretation of popular music, from rock to heavy metal to the blues.  Popular music is very often at a disadvantage due to the fact that it is traditionally seen as the enemy of classical music.  Musicologists who have a genuine interest and appreciation for rock and pop music typically are presented with a unique dilemma in that, since analysis of popular music according to the typical criteria used in classical music is typically far less insightful, they have to look at the music from a different perspective, drawing up their own criteria. the understanding in traditional musicology of the superiority of Beethoven, Strauss, Mozart, Bach, etc. to popular music has largely been due to the attempts to judge popular music according to the rules and practices of classical music.  For example, classical music is typically analyzed according to tools such as pitch centers, a method which falls flat when applied to most popular music. This is decidedly unfair, calling to mind a quote from Albert Einstein which reads, “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” Similarly, if musicologists judge popular music according to its exploration of pitch centers and tonal goals, it’s going to be found wanting. Furthermore, an analysis according to pitch centers is only one way to discuss the content and the value of music.  Popular musical styles can be just as meaningful and complex as Beethoven, Strauss, and Stravinsky, but in different ways.  Musicologists cannot deny the attraction and the emotional impact that this music is able to evoke, whether it is Frank Sinatra, Michael Jackson, the Beatles, Coldplay, or heavy metal.

Down the Abbey Road, The Beatles

McClary and Walser say that this is one of the central aspects of popular music : its ability to move the passions in ways that cannot entirely be explained or controlled, a source of frustration and perhaps even fear for musicologists.  However, just because they are afraid of what they don’t understand doesn’t mean they should avoid engaging it or discussing it.  I find it intriguing that, while both classical music and popular music have the power to illicit an emotional response from its listeners, these emotional responses can come in a variety of forms.  Pianist James Rhodes said that he was emotionally knocked to the floor when he first heard Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto at age seven; the second movement was the first piece of classical music that caused him to weep at its beauty. Then we have historical documents of more violent emotional responses: the premiere of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring elicited such a violent emotional response that it caused riots in the theater.  Similar violent responses also occur in popular music : moshing has become a common response to live performances of hardcore punk and most styles of metal.

Apollo Belvedere/Pythian Apollo

It is obvious that music has this ability to create this emotional response, but are all emotional responses equal? Are all styles of music equal?  If we cannot judge them according to the traditional criteria used in discussing classical music, then what criteria should we use?  To answer this question, I think one must return to the musical discussions of the Greeks.  In his writings, Plato categorizes music according to two genres which he names Dionysian and Apollonian.  Apollo was typically identified as the god of truth and knowledge, whereas Dionysus was the god of wine, ecstasy, and merry making. Plato describes Dionysian music as a style in which reason is forsaken in a type of emotional intoxication. It advocates a type of anarchy, almost animalistic in its reckless abandonment of the intellect for the sake of revelry in one’s own passions. By contrast, reason remains primary in Apollonian music, ordering our emotional response towards a higher end.  This should not to be misinterpreted as a controlled environment in which emotional responses are allowed to occur. Rather, Apollonian music is a genre which engages man’s intellectual, sensual, and emotional faculties in their proper hierarchy. In the words of playwright Robert Bolt, “God made the angels to show Him splendor, as He made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But Man He made to serve Him wittily, in the tangle of his mind.” (Taken from Bolt's play A Man for All Seasons)

Paul Scofield as St. Thomas More, 1966.

It seems to me that, while all forms of music may have their time and place and are certainly worthy of study and appreciation on multiple levels, not all musical genres are created equal or have the same value.  The highest forms are those which engage the human person on rational, sensual, and emotional levels as these levels were intended.  In C.S. Lewis’ book The Abolition of Man, he describes the image of a man with three faculties : the chest, the stomach, and the head.  The chest represents the heart, the stomach the appetites, and the head the power of reason.  Man fully alive uses all three of these faculties together in their proper ordering.  He states that while it is a gross poverty to raise men “without chests,”  -- meaning they have been figuratively castrated of emotional responses -- it is equally wrong for them to allow their emotions or their passions to rule their actions.  He adds, “No emotion is, in itself, a judgement; in that sense all emotions and sentiments are alogical. But they can be reasonable or unreasonable as they conform to Reason or fail to conform. The heart never takes the place of the head: but it can, and should, obey it.”  Just as man fully alive is made possible through the integration of the head, the heart, and the appetites, so great art and great music is created through the integration of the rational, the sensual, and the spiritual.

Summer Reading: Princesses, Goblins, and Gaskell

Summer is just around the corner, and you know what that means! Time for summer reading lists! So many books to read and so little time to read them as I'll have to squeeze them In between learning new music, now that my recital is over (and it went very well, in case you were wondering), working two jobs, and studying for my comprehensive exams next fall. But I'll hopefully have time for at least two or three! I've also become a fan of audio books lately, and since I'll be commuting for part of the summer, I think I'll be able to "read" several books that way.

One of the authors with whom I've really been wanting to acquaint myself for several years is George MacDonald (1824-1905), particularly via his book The Princess and the Goblin. Why? Mainly because of the high regard C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton have for him. 

"I for one can really testify to a book that has made a difference to my whole existence, which helped me to see things in a certain way from the start; … of all the stories I have read, it remains the most real, the most realistic, in the exact sense of the phrase the most like life. It is called ‘The Princess and the Goblin’, and is by George MacDonald..." -- G.K. Chesterton.

"I have never concealed the fact that I regarded him as my master; indeed I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him." -- C.S. Lewis

Who was George Macdonald? A Scottish author, poet, husband, and father to eleven children.  He was also briefly a congregationalist minister, though he was pressured to resign his pastorate in 1853 due to certain beliefs he held that conflicted with his profession. He wrote approximately 51 books during his lifetime, including thirty novels, two fantasies for adults, five fantasy books for children, five collections of sermons, six poetry collections, and three books of literary criticism. He is quoted to have said, "I write, not for children, but for the child-like, whether they be of five, or fifty, or seventy-five."

The Princess and the Goblin is a fairy tale which tells the story of young Princess Irene and her friend Curdie, the son of a minor, who together must outwit the evil goblins who live in caves beneath her mountain home. From the reviews I've been perusing, it seems that the author uses a didactic style of writing similar to C.S. Lewis' style in The Chronicles of Narnia (Though MacDonald preceded Lewis), which I really like when it is used well.

So there's one of them! Another book I'm very much hoping to read this summer is Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South. 

Elizabeth Gaskell (1810-1865), born Elizabeth Cleghorn Stevenson, was an English novelist and short story writer in Victorian England. She is known for her biography of her friend Charlotte Brontë and penned six novels in addition to several short stories. Her first novel, Mary Barton, won the admiration of Charles Dickens, who invited her to contribute to his magazine Household Words, where her next work Cranford was serialized. Gaskell's novel North and South was published in 1854.

If I were to compare it to another genre or author, I would say this is what might happen if one merged the social commentary found in Charles Dickens with the beloved romance stories of Jane Austen, specifically Pride and Prejudice. (No, it is not about the Civil War, as I thought when I first heard the title). North and South follows the story of the woman Margaret Hale, a 19-year-old woman from the rural southern village of Helstone, England whose family is suddenly uprooted to the northern industrial city of Milton at the bidding of her father, a former Anglican minister who abandons the church on a matter of conscience. Here she meets the formidable self-made gentleman, Mr. John Thornton, a wealthy owner of one of the many cotton mills in Milton. Complicated emotions of dislike and attraction ensue while the social conflicts which accompanied the Industrial Revolution erupt around them.

I first heard about this one via my friend Teresa, and then was captivated by the new BBC miniseries adaption from 2004 starring Richard Armitage as Mr. Thornton (Thorin Oakenshield in The Hobbit; Guy of Gisbourne in the recent Robin Hood tv series), Daniela Denby-Ashe as Margaret Hale, and Brendan Coyle (Mr. Bates from Downton Abbey) as Nicholas Higgins. Depending on how you like to fall in love with a good story, whether watching a film adaption first or reading the book first (or both at the same time), here is a good adaption and a good book with which to become acquainted! I'm certainly planning to acquaint my family with this story over the summer, one way or another!

Why Singing Sacred Music is Like A Magical Wardrobe

The transition from studying sacred music at a solid Catholic university to studying music at a secular conservatory has certainly been an interesting one. One of the keenest differences is obviously the change from a predominantly Christian atmosphere to one where there is seldom any outward expression of religious belief of any kind. Although my fellow organ students and I are certainly exposed to many religious compositions through our internships at various Christian denominations -- presbyterian, episcopalian, catholic, etc. -- I would say the vibes of the studio overall are also largely secular.

By now you're probably thinking, "Well, of course, it's going to be secular! It's a school full of liberal musicians!" 

Haha, yes, I was aware of that even before Day #1. So why am I bringing this up? 

St. Mark's Basilica, Venice, Italy

I was recently placed in an interesting scenario that struck me as particularly disjunct from my previous musical experiences in undergrad. This semester I have been working with an ensemble of early music singers who are performing a great deal of music by Italian composer Giovanni Gabrieli. Gabrieli was the principal organist at Saint Mark's Basilica in Venice and wrote a great deal of sacred choral works as well as secular instrumental works. Many of the pieces which this ensemble is singing are sacred works, such as his setting of "Miserere Mei Deus," which is also known as Psalm 51.

What is Psalm 51? It is a prayer, a cry to God which King David wrote when he was at one of the lowest moments of his life. He committed adultery with Bethsheba, he murdered her husband, and he had lost a son because of his sins. In this particular psalm he is asking God to forgive him.

"Have mercy on me, O God, according to your great mercy. ... For I know my iniquity, and my sin is always before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and have done evil in your sight ... You shall sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be cleansed: you shall wash me, and I shall be made whiter than snow. ... Create in me a clean heart, O God: and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from your face; and take not your Holy Spirit from me." 

Sitting in on the rehearsals behind my little continuo organ watching these students and fellow musicians sing this piece, it struck me as odd that for a significant number of these singers, it was quite possible that the words made little difference to them. Yes, they cared about the inflection and the strong-weak syllables, the pronunciation, the musical notation, etc. in short *how* the text was set.  But I wonder how much consideration they put into the meaning of the words: that what they are singing is also a timeless prayer, a cry of love, remorse. It's not just music, singing, it can be an expression of something so much deeper! 

Lucy and Mr. Tumnus from
The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe
By C.S. Lewis

This scenario seemed ironic to me.  When one is singing sacred music, there is certainly a level of beauty that is readily apparent, in this case the music which Gabrieli composed to adorn the text. This music, this type of beauty, could be said to be a universal language -- most human beings, even atheists, will admit that they are moved by such beautiful music. It speaks to them in a way that is more easily understood.

But there is another type of beauty that was already there, that of an honest plea to God, which the Holy Spirit inspired King David to utter in his hour of darkness. It is a sacred text, timeless, inspired by God. And even though the musical setting is indeed wonderful, the words are what inspired the composer. The text and its Author are what make the music sacred in the first place. They transcend the musical adornment. This kind of beauty is not readily apparent to the casual listener/singer.  There is a level of religious devotion -- shall I call it love? -- a disposition of the heart which the singer needs in order to appreciate this level of beauty. 

It so happens that while I was mulling this all over in my head, I was in the middle of a Chronicles of Narnia kick (I go through these from time to time, now I'm on Harry Potter)-- listening to the music, reading quotes, posting C.S. Lewis and the like all over my tumblr, etc. And somehow, these two came together in what I though was a fascinating analogy. 

Lucy Pevensie, played by Georgie Henley in
Disney's The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe

Do you remember the scene in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe in which Lucy Pevensie encounters the wardrobe and she first walks through to the land of Narnia, full of magical landscapes, fauns, and tea parties?  Later in the story, she tries to show this world to her older siblings, but all they see is the back of a wardrobe.  I would pose that singing sacred music is like encountering this magical wardrobe. Some musicians sing Psalm 51, Mass texts, chant, Palestrina, etc. and find themselves in Narnia -- not literally, of course, but because their hearts and minds are disposed through love to prayer, they experience the musical settings of these sacred texts on a far more intimate level. Other musicians sing these pieces and, while they admire the manner in which the piece has been composed, all they see is the wooden back of a wardrobe.

So is it better to be a Christian and sing sacred choral music? I would venture that, while it may not always be the case, it most definitely can be!

Simple Pleasures

Let's never lose sight of the beauty of simple pleasures in life, such as this children's book, one of my favorite stories to read when I was growing up.

Or the joy of a nice cup of tea! I leave you with some of my favorite quotes concerning tea time.

Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company. 

~Unknown~

If man has no tea in him, he is incapable of understanding truth and beauty. 

~Japanese Proverb~

A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards. 

~A.A. Milne~

You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me. 

~C.S. Lewis~

Two Heads Are Better Than One

Another Passage from C.S. Lewis' Introduction to St. Athanasius' "On The Incarnation."

"None of us can fully escape this [blindness of the twentieth century], but we shall certainly increase it, and weaken our guard against it, if we read only modern books. Where they are true they will give us truths which we half knew already. Where they are false they will aggravate the error with which we are already dangerously ill. The only palliative is to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books. Not, of course, that there is any magic about hte past. People were no cleverer then than they are now; they made as many mistakes as we. But not the same mistakes. They will not flatter us in the errors we are already committing; and their own errors, being now open and palpable, will not endanger us. Two heads are better than one, not because either is infallible, but because they are unlikely to go wrong in the same direction. To be sure, the books of the future would be just as good a corrective as the books of the past, but unfortunately we cannot get at them."

On The Old Books

A Passage from the Introduction by C.S. Lewis to St. Athanasius' "On The Incarnation."

"There is a strange idea abroad that in every subject the ancient books should be read only by the professionals, and that the amateur should content himself with the modern books. Thus I have found as a tutor in English Literature that if the average student wants to find out something about Platonism, the very last thing he thinks of doing is to take a translation of Plato off the library shelf and read the Symposium. He would rather read some dreary modern book ten times as long, all about 'isms' and influences and only once in twelve pages telling him what Plato actually said. The error is rather an amiable one, for it springs from humility. The student is half afraid to meet one of the great philosophers face to face. He feels himself inadequate and thinks he will not understand him. But if he only knew, the great man, just because of his greatness, is much more intelligible than his modern commentator. The simplest student will be able to understand, if not all, yet a very great deal of what Plato said; but hardly anyone can understand some modern books on Platonism. It has always therefore been one of my main endeavours as a teacher to persuade the young that first-hand knowledge is not only more worth acquiring than second-hand knowledge, but is usually much easier and more delightful to acquire.
This mistaken preference for the modern books and this shyness of the old ones is nowhere more rampant than in theology. Whenrever you find a little study circle of Christian laity you can be almost certain that they are studying not St. Luke or St. Paul or St. Augustine or Thomas Aquinas or Hooker or Butler, but M. Berdyaev or M. Maritain or M. Niebuhr or Miss Sayers or even myself. Now this seems to me topsy-turvy. Naturally, since I myself am a writer, I do not wish the ordinary reader to read no modern books. But if he must read only the new or only the old, I would advise him to read the old. And I would give him this advice precisely because he is an amateur and therefore much less protected than the expert against the dangers of an exclusive contemporary diet. A new book is still on its trial and the amateur is not in a position to judge it. It has to be tested against the great body of Christian thought down the ages, and all its hidden implications (often unsuspected by the author himself) have to be brought to light. Often it cannot be fully understood without the knowledge of a good many other modern books. If you join at eleven o'clock a conversation which began at eight you will often not see the real bearing of what is said. Remarks which seem to you very ordinary will produce laughter or irritation and you will not see why-the reason, of course, being that the earlier stages of the conversation have given them a special point. In the same way sentences in a modern book which look quite ordinary may be directed 'at' some other book; in this way you may be led to accept what you would have indignantly rejected if you knew its real significance. The only safety is to have a standard of plain, central Christianity ('mere Christianity'...) which puts the controversies of the moment in their proper perspective. Such a standard can be acquired only from the old books. It is a good rule, after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one until you have read an old one in between. If that is too much for you, you should at least read one old one to every three new ones.
Every age has its own outlook. It is specially good at seeing certain truths and specially liable to make certain mistakes. We all, therefore, need the books that will correct the characteristic mistakes of our own period. And that means the old books. ..."