Posts Tagged ‘jazz’

My Latest Crackpot Theory

Saturday, September 2nd, 2017

This summer,  I taught MUSC 1800: Popular Music for the 25th time since coming to Lakeland.  It is not a course that I ever trained to teach, or ever envisioned myself teaching before I accepted my current job.  Once I finished graduate school, I assumed that I would be teaching music theory, which I taught my first semester at Lakeland, and, for various reasons, have not taught since.

So it has been an interesting journey teaching the history of Popular Music, which has become the bread and butter of my work life.  I like to think that I’ve become fairly good at it and developed some insight into the topic.  Here’s an idea that occurred to me this week:  The shape of popular music in the 20th century is indicative of a very different kind of middle class that developed during that period, in contract to what I will call the bourgeoisie of earlier eras.

A hallmark of middle class or bourgeois culture is that it tends to strive to emulate the culture of the wealthy:  thus, first names that begin by being applied to upper class babies filter their way to the middle class, and then to the lower class; upper class estates are mimicked in suburban lawns.  One need only listen to the lyrics to rappers to realize how pervasive this impulse still is:  Rolex watches, Mercedes Benz cars, expensive liquor, and designer clothes all feature prominently.  The middle class may shop at Target and Wal-Mart, but they (and increasingly the lower class) aspire to the trappings of wealth and the status symbols that, at least in the middle class mind, suggest it.

In music, this was also the case.  As the bourgeoisie expanded in Europe in the 18th and 19th centuries, it tended to lay aside the folk music of the lower classes in favor of the “cultivated” music of the upper class–what we today call “classical” music, which for centuries had been the music that kings and princes listened to while they ate dinner.  Public performances of instrumental music and opera became more common as a middle class began to be able to afford the price of admission.  The “true” art form of opera was even adapted for the working classes as singspiel and zarzuela, often with tickets available at cut-rate prices, but the story was always the same–middle and lower class audiences striving to engage in the culture enjoyed by the wealthy.  In middle-class homes, the piano and its musically-literate culture became an important status symbol, and every family aspired to own a piano, and middle-class daughters were trained in its use.  Alongside social dance, home music-making using the piano and printed sheet music (again, a more mass-produced version of the manuscripts that circulated among aristocrats) became a key part of the middle-class social life.

Folk music, the music of the lower classes, was, in part, left behind.  Composers like Haydn and Beethoven refer to folk music, and Beethoven even paid his bills by arranging folk music for publication (a lot of it–it seems to have been quite lucrative for the publishers), but by Beethoven’s intervention, it becomes very different from actual folk music.  Beethoven considered himself an equal with the aristocrats with whom he associated, even if they didn’t, and didn’t understand why he couldn’t marry into that world.  After Beethoven’s death, he became legendary, and middle-class pianists across the continent and in America began to pound through the Moonlight Sonata, which acquired its nickname around this time as it became the ultimate expression of bourgeois musical aspirations.

Yes, there was also the nascent sheet music industry during the 19th century.  But Stephen Foster had studied music with a German composer, and created music that he thought of as parlor music–meant to be performed in the home as part of courting rituals or simply for the entertainment of the middle-class family.  His sentimental songs are very much in the style of European song of the same era, even if some of his more famous–and infamous–songs refer to blackface minstrelsy.  In Europe, Brahms and Chopin were indeed staples of the middle-class repertoire, and Brahms became quite wealthy, starting with the sales of his sheet music (which proceeds he invested shrewdly and successfully–an upper-class behavior, enabling him to live a wealthy lifestyle).

This is a very different landscape from the one which emerges in American music of the 20th century.  Every major movement in American popular music, from minstrelsy, through ragtime, jazz, blues, country music, rock’n’roll, and hip-hop, has emerged from the working class, and often from the most disadvantaged and dispossessed cultures in society.  Minstrelsy apes mid-19th-century plantation culture and the music of slaves.  Ragtime was developed by composer-pianists playing in saloons and brothels.  Blues and country music have their roots in the rural South, and rock has its roots in the blues and country that remained behind when those styles moved to the city.  Hip-hop began in the ghetto among imigrants and teenaged street-gangs, expanding on a practice, toasting that was ubiquitous in Jamaican prisons.  Nearly all American popular music, beloved of the middle class, has its origins in music practiced by people who are poor, dispossessed, disenfranchised, and robbed of their liberty.

Even while the rest of middle-class culture looked aspirationally to the wealthy for cues through much of the century, music was drawn from lower-class models.  Why?  And are the instances in other realms of consumer culture where working-class and poor models have come to define the status symbols of the middle-class?

A theory:  the American middle class is fundamentally different from the various forms of bourgeoisie that preceded it.  The middle class and its values are a 20th-century creation, the result of industrialization, war, and the quasi-socialist state (never called such by its governing class) that developed during this time.  The enormous consumer culture only follows where the trail of spending leads it, at least in the early 20th-century.  The government played a crucial role in the creation of the middle class and its culture, through its efforts to assist in electrification, create guaranteed old-age pensions, allow organized labor to flourish, subsidize industry and the automobile culture, encourage middle-class home ownership, and provide public education to all students.  The Depression, and, especially, the two World Wars, especially, the Second, led to the creation of America’s mass middle class.  It is fairly homogeneous, as so many families were relocated during the 30s and 40s.  It was, for many years, well-educated by historical standards, but originally not college-educated.  The rapid modernization of America meant that the first generation of the mass middle class moved directly there, in many cases, from abject poverty; “born in a barn, died in a skyscraper.”  And this is the fundamental difference that accounts for the lower-class origins of American popular music.

Imagine a first-generation suburbanite, in Levittown, or elsewhere, in 1950.  Born around 1915, possibly in a rural setting, possibly to immigrants in a large city.  He grew up with lower-class music, and because of the availability of the phonograph, could access recorded music as long as he can remember.  While he may tolerate “mainstream” popular music, what he yearns for is music that reminds him of his youth, as will all of us.  So maybe he listens on the radio to the Grand Ol’ Opry, or purchases country and western records.  Maybe he developed a taste for other kinds of music during his military service, listening to V-discs with his comrades, or maybe he grew up listening to ethnic music, and those same records introduced him to a wider musical world.  At any rate, the music that is valued in his home, and that his kids grow up hearing, is music with its roots in the lower class, among the poor.  He may have a piano–after all, next to the television set and the automobile, it’s still a hallmark of the middle-class lifestyle–but it really is only played when the kids practice for their weekly lessons, or on rare special occasions, and while he knows he should care about Beethoven and Mozart, they don’t pull on his heartstrings the way Hank Williams or Louis Jordan do.

This man’s children, the Baby Boomers, will proclaim working-class music to be an art form, to be granted the same status and respect as the music of the upper classes.  It happens through the culture industry and consumer culture, which begins with attempts to prioritize classical music and high culture, but very quickly moves to giving the mass middle-class what it wants.  Toscanini steps aside for Elvis Presley and Mitch Miller and Lawrence Welk.  Classical music for decades lends prestige to a record label, but even that dwindles by the end of the 20th century as working-class music becomes the singular musical expression of American culture.  This is the music that is exported en masse to the rest of the world, and which the rest of the world will eventually echo back–British invasion, afro-pop, “world music,” J-Pop, K-Pop, narcocorridas, and all the rest.

The second generation of suburbanites–the Baby Boomers–make working-class music (and to an extent, dress) the core of their mass middle class, and from this point forward, Americans cease to have a need for the music of the elite, and increasingly, the elite are steeped in that music as well.  The irony is that, having so recently clawed its way out of poverty, the middle class often looks to the poor for a sense of authenticity, and holds a (usually false) nostalgia for “the good old days.”  For the children and grandchildren of the Baby Boomers, who know only the middle-class culture, there is no reason to look to the music of elites.  They may study it for a time (in its often-bastardized forms in high school marching band or show choir), yearning every second for “their” music and often secretly disappointed that their musical education isn’t helping them learn to play the music they truly love.  For a few, the bug for “classical” music bites, and with parental support, they carry forward the traditions of elite music-making, but the vast majority put down their instruments after graduation and immerse themselves in the mass middle-class culture, where opera is Il Divo, and classical music is watching an orchestra accompany an old blockbuster film.

This fundamental difference in origin stories between the old bourgeoisie and the modern middle class, would seem to account for the very different origins of the music preferred by those groups.  Any thoughts?

 

Functional Harmony

Thursday, May 14th, 2009

I have a little series of little tonal pieces that I write for use in second and third semester theory.  I got going on them because we don’t have a very large library here at OPSU, at least in the area of scores, and I needed pieces I could throw on the exam or midterm without worrying that students had seen them in piano class.  In the end, it was just easier to write something new, and it has turned out to be more fun.  It really gives me a chance stretch my chops a little bit and write in the style of Mozart or Chopin.  Here’s the latest… it took about a half-hour to write from start to finish, and the point was to provide a piece that included a sequence and all the types of non-chord tones we studied this semester but that didn’t involve secondary functions and other third-semester stuff.

The latest in a series of Itty Bitty Pieces.

The latest in my series of Itty Bitty pieces, a chance for me to practice writing tonal music.

My wife enjoys these pieces greatly, because they sound pretty and they don’t last very long, so I always make sure to play them for her, just to let her know that I can write such things.  The question has come up, now and then, as to why I don’t write such music all the time.  I mean… it’s pleasant, it’s easy to listen to, it has the potential to be quite meaningful.

The problem isn’t this music–the problem is me.  I could write lovely sonatinas and waltzes and scherzos and all the other wonderful music that Mozart and Schubert and Chopin gave us.  I might even find the work rewarding.  Over the last few years, I’ve discovered that melody isn’t really the challenge I once thought it was.  I used to think, back in my high school days, that a great melody was the key to writing great music, and I had this inferiority complex about it, because I wasn’t just brimming with melodic inspiration.  If I actually thought of a melody, I would rush to find staff paper to write it down–even getting out of bed in the middle of the night because I was afraid to lose it.

It’s not about melody, folks.  It’s about harmony.  Most melodies are fairly boring without their underlying harmony, and functional harmony has proved fascinating to our culture in a way that we are still trying to deal with.

Then there are the harmonic composers out there.  Some of my composition students over the years have got some theory knowledge in them and are set to invent the next “Tristan” chord.  “What do you think about this chord right here?” they say to me.  “It’s a blah-bitty-blah-blah-blah with an F# in the bass… isn’t it amazing?”  As I listen to them, all I can think is… it’s not about harmony either.

It’s about rhythm.  I’m prepping to teach Music Fundamentals over the summer, and as I’m rereading Duckworth’s book, I notice that he agonizes over a definition for rhythm.  I still like the definition I used to use when I taught sixth-grade general music–rhythm is “the interaction of musical events with the basic pulse.”  I’d like to know what Duckworth thinks about that.

I’ve long viewed myself as basically a rhythmic composer, feeling that the other musical elements follow.  A piece that works, to me, works first on a rhythmic level, not melodic or harmonic, and I rarely encounter problems with a composition that can’t be solved rhythmically.  For me, rhythm is what makes a piece work.

Which is why I can’t write functional harmony and consider it to be my authentic voice.  I need harmony to be subservient to rhythm, not at best an equal partner as it is in Chopin or Mozart.  I don’t know if it is my training as a bandsman, by immersion in popular styles like jazz and rock for so many years or just the way music seems to work to me.  I enjoy music with shifting meters, metric modulation, syncopation, assymetrical meters and all the rest.  I don’t reject harmony completely, but I can’t carry on writing I-IV-V-I and thinking that I’m doing something authentic–I would always be channeling some other composer, and usually doing it badly.  I think of one of my favorite songwriters, Billy Joel, who wrote a set of Fantasies and Delusions in a more or less classical styles.  Nice, entertaining little pieces, but not as good as their models.

That said, I’m glad that I can write my Itty Bitty pieces, or a jazz tune, or arrange horn parts for a rock band.  That stuff is just as important to what I do, as it turns out.  We live in this world of tonal, often functional music.  When I compose, it isn’t meant to be background for shopping at the Gap–it’s meant to be something people sit quietly and contemplate.  It’s meant to help me reach out to the rest of humanity, first through collaboration with other musicians and artists, and then by speaking to an audience.