Musicology

In rehearsal with The Elevator Conspiracy a few months ago, we were mulling over one of our songs’ lyrics. Our singer at the time wanted to change them, but another member who helped to co-write the lyrics didn’t want them altered. The reason for maintaining the text was that by preserving the narrative, which was about a romantic connection, we would preserve the entire piece’s integrity, as the instrumental solos represented the release of the tension that built up throughout the story. By changing the text, we would therefore make the solos nonsensical in relation to the rest of the piece. Without thinking about it, I immediately broke out laughing, as did the rest of the group (save the defender of this argument), as all of this was news to us (who all helped to develop the song from its original fragment). My response, which was mostly met with agreement, was, “I think the solos make perfect musical sense where they are, regardless of lyrical content. It just sounds right.”

I was very thankful for this episode (despite the argument that followed), as it provided me with a perfect anecdote for my frustrations with Musicology. In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that I completed most of a musicology degree, but decided not to finish for a variety of reasons. While I was doing well in my coursework and diligently studying/researching, I gradually became less and less invested in the project (which, at its, core, I still very much champion). And, having eventually become at odds with my advisor and department, I decided it would be best to walk away and wash my hands of it (as opposed to picking another topic and starting from scratch), as my thesis was becoming something I wouldn’t be interested in reading, let along writing, and nothing I’d attach my name to to shop around for publication or doctoral work. That being said, I still have a deep appreciation for the field in general, and am pursuing my interests independently (for now), separate from academia.

My main musicological interests are American popular music, jazz since the 1960s, music and politics, and Wagner. Specifically, my primary topic of interest (and my thesis topic) is the Dave Matthews Band, and its unique place in contemporary popular culture as a commercial juggernaut as well as simultaneously being one of the most successful jam bands since The Grateful Dead. (This is a topic I’ve devoted a lot of time to already, and it will definitely be popping up again at some point.) “Popular Musicology,” as it’s now known, deals with popular music and is still pretty much in its infancy, dealing primarily with “the originals” (e.g., The Beatles, Pink Floyd) or highly controversial subjects such as Madonna. Because it’s not yet fully accepted by the musicology community at large, popular musicology often incorporates other disciplines to help prop it up. (This is because most musicologists, along with many popular musicologists to an extent, find the technical aspects of popular music far simpler than classical music, and therefore unable to focus primarily on the music. I take GREAT issue with this.)

Though I find incorporations of diverse disciplines healthy, it must be done in moderation. I read a number of works that decided to take a Marxist look at rock music, and some of the findings just gave me a headache from the constant rolling of my eyes. Rarely did I happen upon musical discourse. Instead, authors would often discuss everything but the music in an effort to make sense of it. For instance (briefly), are The Rolling Stones really an expression of capitalist control because their songs express false working-class sentiments? Or, could it be that their modest roots, along with their love of American blues and rhythm and blues have shaped their musical career more than any later success could? Going back to my original anecdote, I tend to think that musicology, more often than not, is averse to Ockham’s Razor. (“New Musicologists” Robert Walser and Susan McClary grapple this concept well in their article “Start Making Sense!: Musicology Wrestles With Rock,” from On Record: Rock, Pop, and the Written Word [Frith and Good, 1990].)

TOOL, one of my top five all-time favorites, hit the nail on the head with their lyrics from “Lateralus”: “Over-thinking [and] over-analyzing separates the body from the mind.” In this case, reading too much into music intellectually can actually dilute the music itself.

Money vs. Experience

One major complaint among “trained” musicians is that of pay. Many assume that after many years of lessons, schooling, and study that the paychecks will just start rolling in. Should it? Perhaps not.

As I’ve mentioned before (and will return to again and again), musicians must learn not only the art of music, but the business of music. One may musically pay his or her dues in the woodshed for many years, but that is different than paying one’s dues on stage or in the business realm. While I’ve been performing via school-related activities for about thirteen years, I’ve only been gigging for about six. And even after those six, I’m still constantly learning the process of rolling up my sleeves and getting my name out there. Since I’m still very much a student of being a “working musician,” perhaps I should instead be thankful for the regular work I am fortunate enough to get.

Do what you do

Piggybacking on the previous post’s topic (finding your own voice and making your own market), it’s critical that anyone with a specialized craft (be it music, art, writing, comedy, technology, etc.) evaluate not only their hopes, goals, and progress, but also what they are already capable of. I am a faithful, daily listener of the Adam Carolla Podcast. Comedy aside, I really enjoy his regular discussions of the craft of standup comedy and acting with the various comics, actors, and directors he interviews. In an episode I listen to time and time again, he interviews actor David Koechner and makes the following insight: “Don’t think of what you can do, think of what you do do.”

Say what you will about comedians (I consider great comics to be true artists), but the above statement is quite profound. As musicians, we’re always chasing some elusive goal. First, there are the purely technical aspects, or what can be written on the page: I need to play faster, cleaner, louder, softer. Then, there are the musical considerations, which cannot be notated: I want to develop an original interpretation, create an original phrase, apply subtle nuance. I may not have all of my 10,000 hours logged yet, but I’m far enough along to start applying my own personality, philosophy, and approach to the music I’m attempting to create.

Finding one’s voice

I recently listened to some recordings I made earlier this year, and was reminded of the importance of finding, cultivating, and establishing one’s own voice. This is something I’ve worked towards for years, but feel like I’ve only recently made progress (despite the compliments of others). I, somewhat passively, listened to these recordings after having shelved them for a couple months following the initial, critical listen. I quickly realized that once I (mostly) turned off my analytical ears and simply used my aesthetic ones, I enjoyed what I heard. I had stopped trying to compare myself to my saxophonic idols and simply asked the question: do I enjoy this? The answer: actually, I do!

Without getting too descriptive or jargon-intensive, not only did I like what I heard, but I felt like I was finally starting to really play the ideas I’ve been hearing in my mind all these years, and in turn starting to sound like Mike Teager. Though committed musicians and athletes have much in common, music is not quite the sport we (myself included) often make it out to be. Instead of simply striving to be the best ______ (bebop, avant garde, hard bop, classical, etc.) saxophonist in existence, my primary focus should be cultivating Mike Teager’s approach to the instrument (which includes learning absorbing all of those relating styles, without being limited to them). As my mentor and former professor John Nichol says: “Make your own market.”

Hobby vs. Passion

I’ve been struggling with some colleagues for a good little while, and only recently did I realize the possible source of my frustration. Talking with a good friend of mine, it dawned on me that while music may be a passion for me, it’s only a hobby for some others. This begs the question: can passion and hobby be reconciled?

Music is something I can’t shut off. Even if I’m not completely immersed in a particular project, my mind is still wrapped around music (in general) 24/7. I’m constantly thinking of something, be it phrasing, concepts, methods, approaches, musical ideas, etc. Generally, this doesn’t – and shouldn’t – make any difference to someone who considers music a hobby, only approaching their instrument or musically creative mind a few times each week. (There is of course nothing wrong with either; one of no better or worse than the other.) However, when individuals from each of these camps collaborate, is it as productive?