Observers & Participants

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A former colleague of mine is researching local musicians of a particular genre for her thesis- we’ll say jazz, for the sake of anonymity. While this person is delving into the scholarship surrounding various local jazz cultures, etc., she, in general, doesn’t follow much jazz overall. That is to say, while the interest on a local level is there, the interest and appreciation for the canon as a whole is lacking. What does this suggest? A few possible reasons could be:

1. Academic scholarship often doesn’t suggest a strong level of personal interest in a given topic.
2. The desire to be involved in a “scene” or local celebrity.
3. Having a personal connection to the subjects outweighs the actual product (music, in this case).
4. The notion that by having a deep “micro” knowledge one needn’t be concerned with the macro.
5. By not doing (i.e., playing jazz herself), immersing and surrounding herself with doers makes her a de facto participant.

By no means is this an exhaustive list, but these are the first the come to mind. (Of course, I’m also speaking from personal experience and interaction with this individual.) I’m only using this person as a particular example, as this is something I see as a larger troubling trend. In graduate school, I noticed a number of colleagues choosing thesis and “doctoral document” (a peculiar item in music studies) topics almost by chance. It was “Hey, that’s neat” as opposed to “This is something I want to champion.” (It wasn’t unusual for the former reason to eventually transform into the latter, but not in all cases.)

My greatest concern regarding this issue is that “scholars” may sometimes be more observers than participants, or tryers rather than doers. If so, how can this be? If one is going to immerse oneself in jazz, wouldn’t that also suggest a participation in the performance of it? As a close friend and colleague of mine, Matt Borghi, often says, “It ain’t that deep.” Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it is. At any rate, how would one know without doing (at least on some basic level)? In an earlier post, I mentioned an academic analysis of The Rolling Stones and their supposed capitalist undermining of their working-class message. Maybe it isn’t that deep. Maybe their working-class roots and interest in American blues gave them a solid grounding that transcends whatever commercial success they’ve since experienced.

Often when performing I’m more concerned with the music feeling and sounding good than I am with trying to convey some abstract message. Other times I’m not. The point is, I know that because I’m on stage doing it, and not in the audience (or even backstage) simply making an educated guess. I know from experience, which is really the best research one can do.

Time & Place

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Idealistic tendencies aside, there is a time and place for most styles of music.

Within the last two months, I’ve played two very out-of-place gigs. On both occasions, I definitely felt like a whore in church. One was a couple months ago, and I was performing with a rock-oriented group. However, the gig was as background music for a fundraiser; we were not at all to be the focus. Because of the music’s intensity, the group crossed the threshold from background to foreground on multiple occasions. And recently, this same group performed as part of a concert series that features many accessible rock bands, yet our set was almost exclusively instrumental and featured many long improvisations. The music was good, but the venue was completely wrong and the audience fluctuated as a result.

While both gigs theoretically went well for the band, I considered our performances rather inappropriate. Now, there is a school of thought that encourages performances of any style in any setting, intentional (i.e., pirating the performance) or otherwise (as the two above). While I can often hold that view, I also know that the music should cater to the event in some capacity. Regarding the fundraiser, our performance was completely functional, and in such cases the musicians are no different than the waitstaff. We were simply offering a service, only it’s not what the patrons may have been looking for. In the second case, we simply weren’t performing in a venue that would have been conducive to our building a following or exposing a (mostly) ready and open audience to something new.

This “appropriateness” is yet another one of the many extra-musical considerations a musician must take into account when promoting him/herself.

Music, then marketing

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When trying to promote yourself in music (or any discipline, really), there are always many extra-musical things to consider. I’ve referenced many of these in previous posts: advertising and promotion, booking, finances, image, etc. These are all important. However, what matters most is ultimately the music. This much is obvious. Or is it?

I’ve recently been struggling with such a dilemma firsthand with some colleagues. From the beginning of our collaboration, a significant portion of discussion – at times the majority – has centered around marketing, image, and meaning. This is something I’m generally apathetic about, as I tend to not get wrapped up in the lore and celebrity. It does have its place, though, so I understand the need to discuss it. However, months later, everyone is finally realizing that with all of the “necessary tools” (e.g., business cards, online presence, name, etc.), we often find ourselves lacking one thing: audience. Why? Well, it depends on who you ask. In my opinion, though, it’s because our primary focus has not been on musical, ostensibly our reason for getting together in the first place.

Tangible items will get you only so far before people ultimately base their decision on the following criteria: I either like the music or I don’t. At the end of the day, any reasonable listener will choose the music over image, symbol, or story. Instead of focusing our efforts on promoting the music first via live performances in proper venues (a topic I’ll soon return to) and sending the music to as many people as possible, we decided to build the brand first and the product second. (While being a regular dissenter of this approach, I ultimately went along with it in some fashion and am definitely guilty if for no other reason than association.)

I have seen this happen all too often, and it has resulted in very little each time. The cultivation of any sort of following is based upon the following: a focus on the core product, and time to grow. Without these, you end up with a whole lotta brand and very little product.

Stickiness in Music Appreciation

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Back to Gladwell. Again.

In The Tipping Point, Gladwell asserts that for a concept to tip (i.e., become a trend), it must be sticky: it must effectively attract adopters. Simple enough in theory. In practice, however, it’s quite complex.

For the past couple weeks I’ve been mentally outlining and writing my new Music Appreciation syllabus for the fall semester. Though I’ve taught the subject for six semesters, it was as a T.A. and my syllabus and content adhered to the general outline of my bosses’ syllabi. Now I enjoy the opportunity, as professor, to have full autonomy. (My only constraint is that I coordinate a general curriculum with another professor, who will be teaching separate classes on the same subject.) This is very exciting, as I believe that, if taught correctly, Music Appreciation could serve as a welcome common ground for musicians and non-musicians alike. (This is the subject I want to teach, more than any other.)

More than content, though, my biggest concern lately is: how do I make the subject sticky? What will engage the students to the point where it becomes more than just a required class, but something that’s relevant and they feel invested in? While I still am very much a student of teaching, my consistently positive student reviews keep me from worrying about the mechanics of my teaching. Instead, I focus on stickiness. While I do have a number of possible solutions floating around in my head, I prefer they crystallize more before sharing them here. But the question is important enough, I feel, that it needs to be presented, as it’s something that should be taken into consideration when teaching any subject. What makes it sticky, and how can that be effectively translated to the student?

15,000 hours?

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Like many others, I’ve been fascinated with Malcolm Gladwell‘s 10,000 Hour Rule since first learning of it late last year during his interview on NPR’s Fresh Air. Lately, I’ve been reading his works and thinking a lot of this rule, and how credible it really is.

However, I do have one possible challenge. Most musicians who achieve their 10,000 hours and become accomplished do so in a single, though often broad, style. However, what about those musicians who want to focus on differing styles? It’s true that many concepts can be translated from one style to another, yet there are many idiosyncratic facets to each. Does that mean that a musician who wants to become successful in more than one style needs to up the ante, more so than his/her peers? As a working saxophonist, this seems the case. Is 15,000 the new 10,000?

Definitely something to chew on. Oh, and if you haven’t read any of Gladwell’s works, I highly suggest you seek them out.