"so many nouns to verb..."

The Rest is Noise, the first book from New Yorker music critic Alex Ross, is an absolute masterpiece of music nerdom. Noise details the directions and deviations taken by classical composers since the turn of the last century, but Ross’ debut could be mistaken as a bizarre form of fiction with how personal and desperate the players stood between themselves and society. Ross makes the case that classical music born in the twentieth century is inherently tied to what was happening politically and culturally; true of any era, any genre, but Ross lays out his chapters like a casual history lesson, each topic, composer and controversy flowing unblemished. Noise is nothing if not the who/what/where/when/why/(how) of every significant movement and notion of what’s called “contemporary classical,” an impeccably detailed narrative for anyone who salivates at the thought of Stravinsky and Schoenberg trading blows over the future of music.

In short, I love this book.

Even if the Germans are a bit particular.

For the uninitiated, Austrian composer Arnold Schoenberg played a major role in maiming tonality in the twentieth century. Schoenberg developed a method of writing that involved ordering pitches of music in a codified form which determined the course of the composition. He impaled tonality on his 12-tone spike and quickly became the headmaster of the Second Viennese school, leading Berg, Webern and, eventually, countless German and Austrian composers towards the notion of finding schematics (key word) outside of tonal centers to write music. This became a trend - chaotic music for the chaotic times of post-WWII Germany - and advanced to a point where composers across the world indulged in a new idea: notes and phrases that don’t make sense actually couldn’t be any other way.

From there, countless young composers, mostly German, accepted this idea as the new gospel. It was kind of a hipper than thou vibe – you’re not acceptable unless your stuff is edgy. Literally. Festivals and collectives developed solely to push music to its limits, then break them. Looking back was shameful.

Again, particular.

Music as an intellectual exercise. Music as a battlefield. It’s fascinating, really. Everything progresses, everything changes, and an art form that can span from charming folk tales to aural murder is destined for infinite variations. Still, I think there’s a fine line between “music” and a “neat idea.” John Cage wrote 4’33” to expose silence as music itself. Pierre Boulez developed total serialism and confined melody, harmony and rhythm to preset grids – music as math.

Neat ideas, really. Ground breaking stuff. Maybe a little/quite a bit masturbatory, but enough to make you go “huh” in a good way. Maybe it doesn’t always work. Maybe it never really works in that sense. But interesting ideas nonetheless.

Exactly – ideas. There’s a difference between “that’s cool” and “I’d listen to that.” Building entire repertoires based on vigorously denouncing Mozart and formal structure and key centers seems like Lenny Bruce after the obscenity trials: hammering out the same theme that wasn’t strong enough to sustain in the first place.

On a complete 180, I went to see John Mayer Saturday night. His new album is his love/relationship album, no question. He’s a heartthrob, pursued by legions of fairer sex fans. I didn’t know what mode he’d be in that night: John the rock star, John the modern-day troubadour, John the “Body is a Wonderland” singer (we all make mistakes).

Honestly, he was, and he’ll always be, the nerd who loves playing guitar that did right.

Everything about the show fit. Mayer was charming between songs. He opened things up to show how killer his band is. And, most importantly, he made the guitar his bitch.

The show felt good. Crowd, venue, everything else that comes with the show didn’t matter. Mayer did exactly what he’s supposed to do. He made the music work.

It fit. It felt good. It worked.

Schoenberg, Webern, Boulez, etc. – they all deserve their praise for pulling out revolutionary cards and forcing modern music to face progress for what it is, curious or ugly. Still, sometimes it just needs to work.

However, a brilliant guitar solo can trump everything else once in a while. Sorry, that’s just how the world works.

--

Seriously though, everyone should buy The Rest is Noise. It defines “brilliant.” Alex Ross deserves sainthood for this.

etc. etc. etc.

I've been reading the blogs of this guy-Bob Lefsetz. He writes about music...inevitably. He'll start off writing about television, politics, business, the iPad-anything, really-but he'll always end up circling back around to making some point about music. Sometimes he'll use specific examples, sometimes he'll just drop vague implications, but there's always something there.

Lefsetz writes like a fan who grew up with (rock) stars in his eyes, but then grew up with a cynical lump in his throat. He's as apt to call out Ticketmaster on their "convenience" charge injustice and bemoan the pitiful state of rock concerts today as he is to champion a real-life Bad Blake and debate the upside to alcoholism and drug addiction to an artist's creative impulses. Occasionally he'll dive deep into something relevant only to those in the great northern yonder (Canadian, he is), but on the whole I can make it through without wikipedia's help.

He's good people.

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need to listen: new Jamie Cullum
need to read: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
need to watch: House

always House

again...again...

I’ve always been interested in the way things begin. The first words an author starts a novel with. The first sounds you hear when you listen to a new album. The image that appears after the darkness fades away when a movie begins. When I was little I thought that everything had to meet my approval; the first few moments of any bit of media had to satisfy my need to know exactly what was going to unfold. Everything had to flow along smoothly until the logical conclusion was reached. Anything that I could consider a deviation was a flaw and, however small, soured the experience just a little bit.
That was then. That was when I thought things should glide in a smooth circle, everything fitting gently in the right place. Now, I relish curveballs. There’s still something to be said for following protocol, but I prefer it if the narrative line bends into a curve like a Formula 1, making it but doing so with a collective gasp from the audience, a near-catastrophe sharply averted. Even more so, I love it when I don’t know what the hell’s going on, when I blindly stumble into a new movie or book with only a vague notion after the poster of the cover.
Personally, I think I just like being surprised. Maybe it’s a reaction to my media-saturated brain having grown far too accustomed to perfect authentic cadences and the boy getting the girl. Even if the ending is tried and true I at least want a complete harmonic meltdown at some point in the middle.
I once read a quote that the second time you see something is really the first. First impressions are to introduce and second ones are to clarify. I like that idea. Reading a book the second time around makes it your favorite. A week’s worth of listening to a record tells you what it’s really about. Looking at the things you don’t always look at make the difference between “good” and “brilliant,” “enticing” and “safe.”
I think a bit of confusion is a good thing.