Advice for Listeners new to New Music

(1999)

First piece of advice: feel free to ignore the program notes. They may contain some interesting historical data, juicy gossip, or the like, but as far as the listening experience goes (and I'm talking here especially about the first-time listening experience) they will probably be of little help to you at all. Most importantly, you should not feel that you are obligated to hear the same things "pop out" of the music that the program annotator did. Note that with "New Music", the "program annotator" may be the composer him/herself, sometimes describing what they hear, or would like you to hear, in their music. You should feel even less obligated to hear what they (supposedly) hear in this case, for the composer listening to his/her own work has all sorts of biases, neuroses, and so forth ("did this particular section work right?" and the like), that interfere with them hearing the work as you might, coming to it for the first time.

You should feel completely empowered to make your own decisions about what "pops out" or "strikes you" about the music. Obviously, different people hear different things, with any music, and so if a program annotator says, ". . . .the wild, flashy chords in the brass . . .", well, maybe those chords don't sound so flashy to you. Chances are, they do exist, and they are in the brass, but maybe your ear doesn't hear them as being so important. That's fine. Then, you may decide that some string pizzicato passages are particularly funky. Yet, they weren't even mentioned by the "expert" program annotator. That certainly doesn't mean they are less worth hearing. I think these issues are less a matter of "expertise" than simply personal taste: what kind of sonic events turn you on as a listener. I've listened to a lot of music in my time, and still miss things mentioned in program-notes or other "expert-sources;" on the other hand, I hear amazing events in pieces which I can't believe no one else mentions.

These different hearings of music should, however, be a cause for celebration, not lament. They just prove what a rich art form music is. Personally, I am only happier when I find other folks hearing things--in my music or in other music--that I didn't hear, or hearing in ways that I didn't hear.

So, open your mind to whatever strikes you about the music.

Having said that, I'm the first to admit that sitting down, especially in a concert setting, to listen to a work of music you're not familiar with, probably in a "style" you're not familiar with, is a daunting, if not frightening prospect. It's an easier prospect with visual art, because you can walk away from a painting/sculpture at any time: you're in control. Also the case with visual art: you can talk to your friends, or whomever is standing next to you at the moment, about the work you are observing. Sadly, in many Western classical and concert settings, this is not possible.

So, the situation you find yourself in is: for the next 10-? minutes, it's just you and some wierd, unfamiliar music. So how the @#$% are you going to get through this abyss of time?

First of all, you can learn something from the museum-going experience: relax. It's only music. Don't feel that you must concentrate on the music at all times, or that you are required to have some sort of ecstatic experience on the first hearing of a piece. Maybe a good rule to think of is this: try to have 5 seconds of "contact" with a piece for every two minutes. I mean, 5 seconds of time when you are "in" the music, loving those "wild, flashy chords" or that delightful pizz passage.

5 seconds for every 2 minutes: that's pretty @#$% undemanding. You have plenty of extra time to think of how you have to mow your lawn (if you're suburban) or the roach problem (if you're urban). And those 5 seconds will hopefully sow a seed of curiosity, which you will (maybe) act upon, by obtaining a recording of the work and listening to it further.

Once you have chilled out, de-intimidated yourself, relaxed, and opened your mind to whatever may come along, there are other ways to get yourself "into" the music. Trying to hum and bounce along with it can help (in your head, if you're the shy, self-conscious type). "But it's a new piece, I don't know the tunes; how am I supposed to hum them? Besides, it's new music, there aren't any @#$% tunes!!" This is all totally my point. I'll answer the second critique first: stretch what qualifies in your mind as a "tune." That's one of the points of "New Music," to stretch your mind and its conceptions and/of possibilities of what music can or could be. Now I'll answer this statement as a whole: by humming along, trying to "predict what will happen," you will find your "predictions" sometimes confirmed, sometimes denied; but the important thing is that a "dialog" is forming between you and the music. And that keeps you listening.

Another listening strategy, one that I'm a lot less prone to promote for a 1st-hearing experience, is "following the form" of the piece in your own mind. There are several reservations I have about this methodology. First of all, it is highly prone to distraction---as in the following typical mental transcript: "OK, we're on the 2nd theme, . . . [brief mental wandering:] I've got to finish that audit report for work tomorrow. . . [returns to music]: . . where are we now. . . . @#$%@#$%!!! I'm lost!! Now what do I do?!" This experience certainly happens to me, quite often, in all but the most obviously-laid-out music.

If you are going to attempt to engage in a "follow the form" kind of listening strategy, one thing that can help is to write little notes down as the piece goes on (`theme A--high tune in string instruments-- theme B--jumpy flute thang-- theme A returns, but this time in the wind instruments--' etc.); however, writing stuff down during a concert looks conspicious and people will whisper about you in nearby seats and think you're a freak. (And I'm aiming for the Shyest Common Denominator here -- trying to advocate non-freakifying listening strategies here.)

The other problem, one particularly acute in "New Music," is that "form" is often not defined traditionally, i.e.-- first theme, second theme, development, recap of first theme, etc., but rather, it might be defined by, say waves of energy (climaxes, depressions, etc.), or changes of harmony (there may not be any themes at all, just a general "floating" in different "chord-worlds"), or there may be "no form" at all---there may be endless sequences of strange, individuated events.

So again, it just comes back to what I said earlier: you're there to enjoy, so try to pick out what is most exciting to your ear. As I mentioned earlier, The Western concert experience is sadly not one of the most interactive ones (I'm talking about "classical" music here, not rock or jazz, which are far more interactive (screams of delight as a "hit" begins, calls to "play [insert name of song]", the performer modifying the music to amuse a specific audience in a specific way, etc.)), but we can learn from other musical cultures. For example, at Indian Classical performances, a particularly sensitive musical gesture is often met with sighs, moans, or affirmative waves of the hand by audience members--- at least imagining this kind of thing, when you hear a particularly attractive gesture, harmony, melodic twist, or whatever; can help.

Also, don't be afraid to be completely flabbergasted, punched in the face, or any other negative reactions . . . but rather than simply getting mindlessly furious, (which I admit is unavoidable at times--we're only human after all) try asking questions to yourself about what you heard: why did I hate it? Was there anything specific in it that I liked, despite the general vibe of detestation I have towards it? Is there any way I could learn to at least appreciate some aspect of what I heard? Why would a composer make a piece like this? (Try to think of a non-cynical answer to this question. (after all, plenty of great works were apparently written for very cynical reasons, (e.g.--to "make a fast buck" (Mozart)) so cynicism in itself does not make a piece horrible.) Play "composer" youself: In what ways could the music be different and then be a "success" (keeping and perhaps highlighting those details that you liked)? I'm not asking you to think that every piece you hear is great; I'm simply suggesting that you to try get the most out of what you hear. Plenty of pieces I hear bore me to tears, but usually I can find at least one or two events that made me say "Ooo! Nice." Another rule of thumb to remember (borne out by music history) is that pieces that really piss you off, or disturb you, probably have something going for them; it's the ones that have no effect whatsoever, positive or negative, that are usually not so great, and probably won't survive past the first performance.

One thing that tends to concern people who are new to "New Music" (and, in fact, just about every other genre or sub-genre of music) is that there is a kind of "elite" culture surrounding this music. This brings up the question of whether this "elitism" is a positive or a negative aspect of musical culture. Ultimately, I think elitism is the result of a good thing: people get way into certain genres or styles of music (or whatever you'd like to call them), and they become "expert listeners", able to discern minute details that, obviously, non-elite members miss. This is true for nearly all genres of music---even the most mass-directed pop has all sorts of little details in it that only producer-nerds can pick up. I think that this is based primarily on loving a certain way of making music, (at least that's what it should be based on), and that's a positive thing. Also, once again, it illustrates the richness of the art: if people can get this far "into" specific genres of music, then there truly is "a lot there" to be explored.

There are, of course, negative aspects to "elitism" as well, though. The inevitable result of this situation is that when you hear examples of a certain genre of music for the first time, there is a very good chance that you won't "get it" , in a big way. You will wonder why people think this stuff is so great. At this point, I think one really has to trust one's fellow humans. . ultimately, after becoming familiar with a genre, you may decide that, for you at least, it really isn't that exciting---but, perhaps you will at least find the answer to the question: what do these "elite listeners" hear in this particular genre of music?

John Zorn once described this "breaking into the elite" process eloquently in an interview (interestingly enough, it concerns hard-core punk music, commonly described as being "anti-elite" music):

[Sometimes I buy a record, and it seems horrible, and] I'll say, "Well, I just threw seven bucks down the drain," and I'll put it in an "out" pile. But then I'll come back to it a few months later and listen to it again and go, "Well, now wait a minute, there's got to be something here because three people have told me this is an incredible record. I've got to check it out." So I'll listen to it again and again. That's how I got into hard core and thrash. I just went into a store and and said to some skinhead who was working there, "Pick out five or six of your favorite hard-core records that never left your turntable for three months." And he picked out five records and I took them home, but I didn't really get it. All the cuts were like a minute and a half. And I thought, "Well, it all sounds the same to me. There's nothing going on." But I went back and back and back. Ultimately, you have to trust somebody, you know. That's how you get into something.

I've been through this process many times. Yet, I still think I can relate to those who come to one of New Music's many genres for the first time. Whenever I approach a new genre of music, I'm still smitten with the fear, the nausea, the "do I really have to listen to this?" feeling. In the end though, this process has resulted in my learning to love many different kinds of music, and that has certainly been a positive force in my life.

Let us return to the original topic of this essay, the 1st-time hearing of a piece of New Music . . . . so, just remember, what's there on the "musical surface"---that layer of stuff that "pops out" at you on the first hearing---is there. . . . and the point is, to find a method(s) of "survival," so to speak: i.e. how can I get something out of what I'm hearing. The ability to navigate through a concert in this positive-as-possible way is a sort of Zen-like skill, involving removing one's expectations and desires; and accepting, and attempting to assimilate as well as one can, the sounds and patterns emanating from the concert stage (or wherever they are emanating from): assimilating them into an ever-enlargening "catalogue" of musical language(s) in one's mind. Admittedly, this can be difficult, everyone has those "When the @#$%@#$ is this piece going to end" moments . . . but when one learns to remove one's own expectations and desires from the listening process, it becomes much easier to expand one's "cultural palette," a process which will make for, hopefully, a richer and more satisying life in general.

Besides this quasi-"spiritual" component to this process, there is an intellectual component as well. In today's world, with so much diversity surrounding us, it is important to keep an open, inquisitive, questioning mind; one that refrains from immediate value judgements and immediate actions (especially violent or destructive actions) on the basis of those judgements. Experiences like New Music, I think, help train the mind for this. Unfamiliarity of situations breeds contempt (far more than the reverse (the familiar saying)), and contempt is one thing the world could do with a lot less of. A regular dosage of new artistic experiences, and also, I strongly suggest, of new artistic experiences followed by that repeated-listening, "getting to know you" process, can help us to deal with contemporary life, and learn to love all of its diversity.