- I've recently been listening to some of the early sonatas of Beethoven, and I couldn't help but listen to them in light of the late sonatas. I almost get the feeling that the early sonatas are hints, rumors, glimpses of the late sonatas - that they're somehow incomplete revelations of a musical vision which is finally receives its fullest revelation in the late sonatas.
So:
- the slow movement of Op. 2 No. 3, with its eloquent tenderness, is a partial disclosure of the heartbreaking tenderness of the 3rd movement of Op. 109.
- the fires of 1st movement of Op. 10 No. 1 is a foreshadowing of the firestorm of the first movement of Op. 111.
- the peaceful slow movement of Op. 7 is a glimpse of the "Olympian calm" of the 2nd movement of Op. 111.
- the 2nd movement of Op. 10 No. 1 flowers over into the lyrical 1st movement of Op. 110.
And so on...
And here I must digress a bit. Because, in a way, this applies to Beethoven's music in general. Each of his works sheds new light on his other works, so that we cease to listen to his works as a linear list of compositions but as a complex web of music, where every piece is connected to every piece, and where meaning flows not in a single line but in every direction, from every period to every period, from every genre to every genre, so that we can learn more about a single piece of his through listening to his other works than to listening to that piece over and over again. Haha, I hope that long sentence made sense.
And actually, this applies even more generally to all music. So that Beethoven sheds light on Brahms, Brahms sheds light on jazz pianist Brad Mehldau, Mehldau sheds light on Radiohead, Radiohead sheds light on Beethoven. In the level of subjective meaning and experience, all music is interconnected in a complex web.
But wait! There's more! This applies even more generally to life as a whole. So that music sheds light on poetry, poetry sheds light on a conversation you had with a friend this morning, that conversation sheds light on politics, politics sheds light on music. To the nimble and open mind, all things are interconnected, all things give meaning to all things. But enough digression. Back to the Beethoven sonatas...
I don't think this is simply a matter of having the same key signatures. Yes, the key signatures make one even more likely to form connections between the movements listed above. But that's not the point. Yes, there is a similarity, but what we're concerned with here is difference. For in the late sonatas, there's a sharpening of artistic vision, a deepening of emotional resonance, a freeing of musical form, which takes us worlds away from the sonatas of the early period. So, for the longest time, I've been wondering "What makes the late sonatas so different from the early sonatas? Where do the crucial differences lie? What's the 'secret'?" Up to now, I still don't know, haha...
But I have a hunch (which needs to be verified through "nosebleed" activity known as analysis). I have hunch that the crucial difference lies in:
- how Beethoven handles tonality/tonalities
- how he phrases and articulates the music's overall structure (for example, instead of the clear sectional breaks of some of the early works, there lines between sections is somehow less obvious in some of the late works. it's more of a fade-in than a direct cut, to use movie terms.)
- (to a lesser extent) how he uses more "abstract shapes" (as opposed to something like, say, the opening chords of the Eroica. i don't know, i sometimes imagine music in terms of shapes and lines and hardness. so those Eroica chords would be some hard and well-defined shape. but in his later period, he uses "softer" and "curvier" shapes, such as the 1st movement of Op. 110. haha, weird...)
But of course these are just hunches...
- I sometimes wonder why I haven't given up seriously playing the piano (as opposed to playing it just as a hobby). I often sound like one of those lovers who can't stop complaining about all the stress and pain his/her loved one has caused, but who nevertheless can't walk away from the relationship. Haha
And what stress and pain is involved in being a pianist! There's the stress of lessons and exams and recitals and competitions. But worse still is the the pain of knowing full well how far you are from reaching your goals. You have glimpsed the heights to which music can lift you, yet when you sit at the piano and begin playing, often all your hands can come up with is a parody of those heights. You almost feel like a child clumsily trying to recreate Michelangelo's David using Play-Doh. And sometimes that child just stops trying, and he wonders if he's just fooling himself. Will he ever create anything like Michelangelo's David? Why not just let Michelangelos be Michelangelos, and let children be children?
And yet I still carry on. Why? Love for music? I could write a long blog on just that phrase, but for now it suffices to say that, yes, you could say I love music, but regarding piano playing, what I have is definitely something less than love for that art. I find more pleasure and satisfaction in listening to and reading about and thinking about music than I do from actually playing the piano. Think of it this way - I would rather hear a recording of Rachmaninov playing Chopin than hear myself (trying to) play it. (I don't presume to be even a tenth of a pianist that he was! :P)
So it's not a love for the art form. More and more, what pushes me onward is two things: a sense of duty and the pressure of exams and recitals. There's a sense of duty because, after all, I am a piano student, so therefore it's my duty to study my repertoire like a responsible student, and so on... And there's the pressure of exams and recitals. No need to comment on that.
And I wonder, what's so wrong with those motives? Our conceptions of what a musician should be are so entangled with Romantic images of the visionary artist and the like that it's almost an insult to consider a musician to be motivated by anything other than his/her artistic conscience, quasi-mystical inspiration, and inner vision. Thus we reject the idea of an artist being motivated by economic gain or social advancement - that's blasphemy to our almost religious conception of the Artist.
I too have imbibed these ideas, so I feel a certain guilt in being motivated by the above mentioned things. A musician is expected to be driven by "inner necessity", not by fast approaching exam dates. But that's how it is with me. Yet if those are what's keeping my piano life afloat, what will happen if they're gone? After graduation day, what will be left to keep me practicing and learning new pieces... if not a love, not just for music in general, but for piano music in particular?
Of course, I could continue playing the piano as a "job" (if one may crudely call it that). Just as not every worker in the world necessarily enjoys his/her job, perhaps that's the way it is with some musicians. For them, music is no longer a "calling", but just another job. Once again, most of us will complain that such a position is not worthy of an Artist. Why would they live such a life? But why not? After all, this idea of what an Artist should be is social construct - it has no inherent necessity, divine or natural. So perhaps it would be healthy to start expanding our ideas of what artists can be? But I digress...
Anyway, what other motives can there be for playing the piano? To help people? To humanize society? To "enlighten" the masses? But I forget. There is one motive that transcends all these noble motives. For if God's given me a talent (even if it's a considerable amount of talent :P) it is my duty to make use of it for His glory. But duty is too dull a word. Think of it this way - if you were in love with someone, and you knew that person loved a particular piece of music, wouldn't you do your best to practice and perform that piece for his/her pleasure? So it is in the best relationships, where duty is no longer seen as duty, but as an opportunity to give delight to the other person. And I suppose so it is with God. If I truly love Him, wouldn't I want to offer my music as a form of worship to Him? So the question of the proper motive for my piano playing is, in the end, actually the same question of the Christian faith in general: How is my relationship with God? For if our relationship with God is right, all other things will fall into their proper place, even piano playing.
So easy to write such statements. May God help me put them into action...
"What we want is not more little books on Christianity, but more little books by Christians on other subjects - with their Christianity latent. You can see this most easily if you look at it the other way around. Our Faith is not likely to be shaken by any book on Hinduism. But if whenever we read an elementary book on Geology, Botany, Politics, or Astronomy, we found that its implications were Hindu, that would shake us. It is not the books in direct defense of Materialism that make modern man a materialist; it is the materialistic assumptions in all the other books. In the same way, it is not books on Christianity that will really trouble him. But he would be troubled if, whenever he wanted a cheap popular introduction to some science, the best work on the market was always by a Christian."
"Divine reality is like a fugue."
"If Christianity is untrue, then no honest man will want to believe it, however helpful it might be; if it is true, every honest man will want to believe it, even if it gives him no help at all."
"Beauty exalts, but beauty also lulls."
"The great difficulty is to get modern audiences to realize that you are preaching Christianity solely and simply because you happen to think it is true; they always suppose you are preaching it because you like it or think it good for society or something of that sort."
"It is rational not to reason, or not to limit oneself to reason, in the wrong place; and the more rational a man is the better he knows this."
"(Practicing Christianity) means that every single act and feeling, every experience, whether pleasant or unpleasant, must be referred to God. It means looking at everything as something that comes from Him, and always looking to Him and asking His will first, and saying: 'How would He wish me to deal with this?'"
"The heart of Christianity is a myth which is also a fact."
"Christianity will teach you that in fact you can't be 'good' ... on you own moral efforts. And then it will teach you that even if you were, you still wouldn't have achieved the purpose for which you were created. Mere morality is not the end of life."
"You can't get the second things by putting them first; you can get second things only by putting first things first."
"(Experiences of pain) are arguments against God only if they are themselves the voice of God."
"... Christianity is a statement which, if false, is of no importance, and, if true, of infinite importance. The one thing it cannot be is moderately important."
"The more lucidly we think, the more we are cut off: the more deeply we enter into reality, the less we can think."
"... you will not get eternal life just feeling the presence of God in flowers or music."
"Nothing is wonderful except the abnormal and nothing is abnormal until we have grasped the norm."
"Christianity is not merely what a man does with his solitude. It is not even what God does with His solitude. It tells of God descending into the coarse publicity of history and there enacting what can - and must - be talked about."
(all quotes are from "God in the Dock")
- Sometimes I wonder why God sent us such a thick book. Wouldn't His Word be less prone to multiple interpretations and misinterpretations if He gave us a shorter book? A sentence is more or less a straighforward interpretative problem. A paragraph is more of a challenge, but it's still somewhat manageable. A book is leap in the difficulty of interpretation, a difficulty evidenced by all the various, sometimes contrary, interpretations by many readers over time. Then you come to a text like the Bible, which contains 66 books written by various authors over a large span of time... Now how can anyone come to an agreement about what it really means? No wonder Christianity has thousands of sects! (I'm exaggerating, but if my memory serves me right, the real number is not far off.) There's a scene in "The Name of the Rose" where two sects are debating on the doctrine of the poverty of Christ. (One group says Christ had property, the other group says He didn't. Apparently, in church history, this was a real issue between various sects.) In the end of the debate, they don't come to any agreement on the doctrine. Adso, who has been listening to the debate, asks his master William: "Are there no better arguments to prove or refute the poverty of Christ?" "Why, you can affirm both positions, my good Adso..." replies William. Perhaps the real issue isn't the length of the Bible. Yes, that's it. After all, a 2000 page textbook on chemisty is definitely not hard to interpret. It's not so much length as it is clarity - how clear is the Bible on doctrinal issues? Is it really as equivocal as William says it is? Can one really justify contrary doctrinal positions using the Bible? Take an example: the issue of good works. Catholics say that one has to do good works to be saved. Protestants say it's by grace alone. If you look at defenses for both positions, you'll see both of them quote an awful lot of Scripture. So both draw on the Bible as their basis. But who's right? Is the Bible clear or equivocal on this matter? And if the Bible's clear, how come Catholics and Protestants can't come to an agreement on this matter? The Bible seems to be clear to both groups, yet saying contrary things too. How does one resolve the matter? Yes, I for one believe that one can resolve the matter. And I don't for one moment agree with the relativists who say that the Bible can mean anything to anyone, and that you can interpret it to mean anything. Upon thought, that's clearly not true. There's a range of possible meanings that the Bible can support. And that range is even more limited because the Bible is not a work of fiction. It's not like a novel or a myth, which can be interpreted without limiting oneself to the question of what the author meant. But sometimes I wonder why didn't God send us a more systematic book? Why didn't He give us something like a textbook, something unequivocal and precise, with as little room for ambiguity as is reasonably possible? But no. Instead of a philosophical treatise or an ideological manifesto, He gives us a book of stories, poetry, songs, letters, prophecies. With a mix like that, it isn't any wonder that one can't pin down once-and-for-all-statements on doctrinal issues. But maybe I'm ignorantly exagerrating matters. I haven't even read the whole Bible, so I can't claim to really really know what I'm talking about. But those who have, I read, tell me of the great, almost miraculous, unity of the Bible - that despite its literary variety, despite the fact that its authors come from various cultures and eras - despite all that, the Bible still has a unified message. And as C.S. Lewis wrote, if one is acquainted with Christian literature from various sects from various eras of time, you'd be surprised to find that something still unites these various traditions. He wrote of a something which he encountered: "... now in Puritan Bunyan, now in Anglican Hooker, now in Thomist Dante. It was there (honeyed and floral) in Francois de Sales; it was there (grave and homely) in Spenser and Walton; it was there (grim but manful) in Pascal and Johnson; there again with a mild, frightening, Paradisial flavour, in Vaughan and Boehme and Traherne.... It was, of course, varied; and yet - after all - so unmistakably the same..."
"Writing is like a 'lust', or like 'scratching when you itch'. Writing comes as a result of a very strong impulse, and when it does come, I for one must get it out."
"Any fool can write learned language. The vernacular is the real test."
"The way for a person to develop a style is (a) to know exactly what he wants to say, and (b) to be sure he is saying exactly that."
"What we need to be particularly on our guard against are precisely the vogue-words, the incantatory words, of our own circle. ... These are, of all expressions, the least likely to be intelligible to anyone divided from you by a school of thought, by a decade, by a social class... Enchanted words seem so full of meaning, so illuminating. But we may be deceived. What we derive from them sometimes be not so much a clear-conception as a heart-warming sense of being at home and among our own sort."
"The popular English language, then, simply has to be learned by him who would preach to the English: just as a missionary learns Bantu before preaching to the Bantus."
"By trying to translate our doctrines into vulgar speech we discover how much we understand them ourselves. Our failure to translate may sometimes be due to our ignorance of the vernacular; much more often it exposes that fact that we do not exactly know what we mean."
- What does it mean to be mediocre? Generally speaking, it is to fall short of a certain standard. OK. But what is the nature of this standard? Perhaps after some thought a curious idea arises, which if not fully grasped, could easily be mistaken as an idea which defends mediocrity. Because, if we think about it, this standard is actually highly relative to a given situation. To use a familiar example: piano playing. If this standard is relative, then what may pass as a spectacular performance during a family reunion may probably not fare so well during a piano exam. Obvious enough. But the curious bit is this: this relativity also applies in an opposite direction; that is - what may be deemed mediocre by the piano faculty during an exam may actually be an enthralling performance during a family reunion. Simply put, what's bad in one situation may be good in another. Why? Because the standard obtaining in each situation is different. We can't apply the highest performance standards to a performance during a family reunion, just as we can't adopt the non-musician's standards during a piano exam. Which sounds suspiciously like a defence of mediocrity. But in fact we all already acknowledge and apply this principle to everyday life. We see this in the theory class, where a teacher is playing a chorale on the piano. Now, do we criticize the teacher's playing because it's not properly voiced, because there's no phrasing, no melodic flow, no appreciation for the interesting inner voices? Of course not. Why? Because we know the situation doesn't call for such a high standard to be adopted. We also see this in what appears to be common "ritual" among musicians - the parodistic "mutilation" of the classics by mixing them with tunes from other classical works or from popular music, such as playing the Revolutionary Etude melody over the Heroic Polonaise's octave ostinato. Or playing the first notes of the Appasionata then segueing into the American national anthem. Or playing Happy Birthday in the style of 4'33". Anyway... When we listen to these things, do we criticize the pianist for lacking conviction, for not shaping melodies, for being to rhythmically loose? Of course not. We know that such high standards don't apply to this situation. How do we know that such high standards don't apply to those situations? We know based on the implied "function" (can't think of a less loaded word, haha) of the given performance. So in the theory class, the function is simply to demonstrate four-part counterpoint. And with the musical jokes, the function is to make others or oneself laugh (something like that). In both cases, the function is not the same as when we sit down in a concert hall to listen to a pianist. Thus, a different function calls for a different standard, and the value of performance is determined by to what extent it fulfills that function. (Argh, don't like that word function. Makes all this sound utilitarian, which is far from what I have in mind. Anyway...) So in the case of the family reunion, the function is similar to that of the concert hall's, in that the pianist's function is to, crudely put, "entertain" the listeners. (Entertain is another loaded word, often contrasted to "higher" words such as "ennoble" and "empower" and "inspire" etc., as if entertainment were a "lower" reaction than these. Nevertheless, I use it here as an umbrella term, including these "higher" reactions as well as the "lower" ones. Anyway, you get the idea :P) But perhaps the difference in the family reunion, and this difference is crucial, is that the audience in the reunion mostly consists of non-musicians, or at least, amateur musicians, whose musical sensitivities are probably not as keen as a piano professor in a conservatory (hopefully, hehe). To put it bluntly, the listeners' standards are lower in the reunion. Is this a bad thing? Maybe not, because, and I'm sure this is the experience of other musicians, it takes "less" to entertain them. In other words, if a badly interpreted Chopin performance brings sighs to the listeners, then hasn't the music accomplished its function for that particular situation? And perhaps now it's become clear why this can easily be misunderstood as a case for mediocrity. If mediocre performances can entertain, or even "ennoble" and "empower", listeners, then what's wrong with mediocrity? But that misses the point, because the point is precisely to question the assumption that one standard applies to all situations, that the highest standards of musicality and performance applies to all situations - the theory class, the musician's musical jokes, the family reunion, the beginner's piano lesson, the pop pianist accompanying a singer in Araneta, the parent playing for his/her own pleasure, and so on... So the question is not "How can a mediocre performance entertain?" but "Can an entertaining performance really be called mediocre?" In other words, this isn't a defence of mediocrity, so much as it is a defence of the diversity of musical activities and experiences from perspectives that would evaluate all of them with one absolute, universal standard. Of course, when discussing these things, one can only speak in simplified generalizations which do no justice to the complexities of real life. There will probably be a million exceptions (even more I guess) to what I wrote. This is due to the fact that people have free wills - they can choose to apply whatever standard they want to whatever situation they encounter. Thus, the pianist will feel disappointed with his/her performance in the family reunion, because even though the family was entertained (perhaps even inspired?) with the performance, the pianist performs with a higher standard in mind. So, even if I tried to write in terms of a performance's value to a social group in a particular social setting, ultimately, each individual involved in the musical occasion will have to evaluate the performance on his/her own, to say whether or not it was mediocre or not. Which is, of course, another way of saying that music's value is highly subjective.
"...as one lives with music both practically and knowledgeably over time, one hears a composer's work - or for that matter any extended body of music - in more ways than those provided within the individual work's discrete boundaries. To listen to or play a piece by Brahms is also to summon one's prior acquaintance with, say, Beethoven or Schumann to the task, along with experience of ballades, variations, rondos, and rhapsodies generally, as well as other musical forms."
- Sometimes i wonder if people can really "move on" so easily. As if the past were such an easy thing to throw off and walk away from. How fragile the present is. It gives us the reassurance that the past is gone, that we've moved on, when suddenly, a color makes you think of a certain someone who you never see anymore, or a smell brings you back to your childhood home's kitchen, or a melody makes you think of a great chapter in your life that's now over... The past is always lurking underneath the present, always ready to tear apart the seeming security and stability of the present. Can we ever really completely "move on"? "The past is not dead. In fact, it's not even past."
- The implications of the Christian faith on music are extremely difficult to write about, because, in the final analysis, only the individual can say whether his/her musical activities have helped him/her towards that end which really is life's purpose - to glorify God and enjoy him. The value of music depends on how it helps people draw nearer to God - and who can say with any certainty whether a piece of music does this, except for the individual himself. And sometimes, even he can't ascertain this... In other words, music is neither intrinsically good nor intrinsically bad. It all depends on the specific circumstance and specific individual. Musical meaning can be so hard to pin down, being influenced by so many things, that it's almost impossible to lay down any generalizations about how music dynamically relates with our faith. (Perhaps this is why the Bible, for the most part, remains silent on the aesthetic aspects of music...?) - Nevertheless, music does have meaning, or to be precise, a finite range of possible meanings. Finite? Yes - because of the (unconscious?) interpretative frameworks we bring into the musical experience, we can't help limiting the range of possible meanings of a particular piece. For example, when we listen to a symphony, we don't listen for a weather forecast or a lecture on Filipino history. Of course, some ingenious person could formulate a system by which he can interpret Beethoven's 9th as a recipe for pasta. But for the most part, we come to the music with relatively more "traditional" interpretative frameworks. For example, it's always fascinated me why no one's described the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata as "happy" or "joyous" or "giddy" (except as a joke!). Nor have I heard someone describe Claire De Lune as "earth-shattering" or "heroic" or "tragic". Why not? Because there are limits to a "proper" interpretation (proper relative to a given intepretative community, which, in this case, is the "classical music community"). Perhaps this is why some feminist readings of music sound so obscure and far-fetched to classical musicians - such feminists are using interpretative frameworks outside the classical music community. Perhaps this is also why some (or most?) 20th/21st century music is difficult to "understand" - we don't know how to interpret the music. It's as if each stream of contemporary music requires a different mode of interpretation... So music does have meaning(s). But it's not an "intrinsic" meaning. It's created by the interpretative community that it finds itself in. But I wonder, does the very nature of the musical material itself limit interpretative possibilities?? - Pastor Nathan spoke last night about this intuitive sense we all have, a sense which tells us what things are truly valuable and satisfying, and what things aren't. And I couldn't help denying that, yes, this sense was inside me, and that it was telling me, despite me trying not to hear it, that much of what I strive for in life will never fully satisfy me. And I couldn't help but recall the growing realization I've had in the past months - that, despite all my enjoyment of and praise for it, music will never fully satisfy my deepest longings and desires. I've heard some of the most powerful and moving pieces of music composed by humans, and still, I can't deny, when all is said and done, something's still missing. Even with my "dabblings" into literature - reading great books still leaves one asking "Is this all there is?" Even with my quest for more and more knowledge (aka nerd-ism), I often end up asking myself "What's the point? Is this really what I want?" Indeed, there is an abyss in the heart which only God can fill, a longing which only He can satisfy. And there's an intuitive sense which tells us that we are not satisfied - that we haven't found it, whatever it is. Not that I'm discontent with all these things. But if I were honest, I have to say, despite all the joys they bring, something's still missing...
- Though I'm against snobbish cultural elitism, my taste still favors so-called "high" art - classical music and jazz, art films, classic books, and so on. So you can imagine me scratching my head when I found myself addicted to this romantic sitcom. What's so great about it? It's got one-dimensional characters, a plot that drowns you in cheese and more cheese, a sense of humor that's all too common in TV... What's so great about it? But I couldn't stop watching it. And after I stopped watching it, the show's scenes continued playing in my mind. I guess I'm realizing how our likes and dislikes are essentially non-rational. We don't approach a sunset asking ourselves, "Does it measure up to my aesthetic standards?" No! We need but look in order to experience the sunset's beauty. So with HIMYM, the show fails many of my standards on what makes great TV. But why I do I still love it? - Strangely, it may be precisely the show's un-realism that makes it so lovable. Why? Because it reminds us of the distance between the ideal and the real, and this results in longing. (Yes, I just used the word "longing" when writing about a "mindless" sitcom.) In the show, we see the relaxed and easy chemistry between the characters, reminding us of how awkward and artificial much of social life is. We see how entertaining and witty each character is, reminding us of how boring and un-eloquent we can be. We see how romantic and sentimental each character's love story is, reminding us of the banality and shabbiness of our own love stories. I don't mean to say that the show makes you all depressed and insecure. Far, far from it. But what the show does is it reawaken one to these ideals, similar to the way fairy tales function. They reenchant the world for us, even if only within the confines of the TV room, even if it lasts the length of each 20-minute episode. Yes, in that sense, it is make-believe. But I'm convinced without these moments of reenchantment, these glimpses of the ideal, we would all easily collapse into cynicism and despair. (Of course, I don't mean that the character's lives are perfect. If they were, the series would have been over by now.) - In one episode, Ted (the show's protagonist) meets a girl at a friend's wedding. There, they agree to an unusual deal - after spending the night together (no sex ha!), they are never to see each other again. Why? Because it would tarnish the memory of that magical night. Whatever one thinks of the ethics involved in such a scenario, it reminded me of how the unrepeatability of life's (joyful) events is one reason why we treasure them so much. An experience never repeated stands out in one's past, but repetition blurs the memories together. For example, if I were to swim with dolphins everyday of my life (in Subic), it would no longer be a special joy to me; it would be downgraded to routine, monotonous and boring. (Just as in music, if one uses a special color over and over again, it loses its effectiveness...) So perhaps it wouldn't be such an unnatural idea to want to avoid repeating a special moment?... Of course, some special moments have to be repeated, such as kissing (who's uncaring enough to kiss their beloved only once?) or fireworks (no one's gonna stop such a tradition). But the point is that, indeed, familiarity breeds contempt, and if not contempt, boredom. If we saw fireworks everyday, would we be as dazzled? (I'm sure we'd be pissed at the noise!) We recognize the principle even with addictions - for instance, when drug addicts crave for more and more. Even with music. The more music we're exposed to, the more difficult it is to find the exceptional. Our ears grow more and more sensitive, and it takes more and more to impress and move us. I used to enjoy almost all piano music. But now, only a few pianists can inspire me. Only a few works by a few composers can move me intensely... But I digress. Back to HIMYM... If you consider yourself a romantic, and you're not too much of a snob, I highly recommend the series if you've free time. It's really funny and romantic. But wait, a last thought comes to mind... - I wrote up there that the characters are one-dimensional. But that's too sweeping a statement. There are moments, and they are special moments, when these cardboard characters, like magic, suddenly seem human. When does this happen? When they talk about their doubts, insecurities, unfulfilled dreams, and secret longings. (Like in the episode when Lily talks about all the dreams she had when she was in college, such as travelling the world, being an painter, etc., and how none of them ever came true.) You can sense the show's mood change dramatically in such moments, as if the show realized it can no longer be so flippant and ironic in the presence of a real human being. It reminds me of what I consider one of the most special moments in life - those moments when a person (a friend, a family member, etc.) takes off his/her mask, and we finally see the human face behind all the posturing and role-playing. What a moment that is! To be in the presence of an unmasked human being. When you listen to them talk, in hushed tones, about their doubts, insecurities, unfulfilled dreams, and secret longings... when you listen to a person talk about these, you realize how narrowly you viewed that person. How you often viewed that person as almost an object - as a topic to theorize about or criticize, as just another piece in the game of social life, as a means (or a hindrance) to one's own happiness... When the mask comes off, all these thoughts fall away. What a special moment that is. Sometimes, one is apt to grow cynical about the superficiality of people. But these moments remind you that behind all the glittering facades, there might lie hearts that cry in the darkness, that scream into deep emptiness inside them, that long for people to take off their masks and wipe their tears away. They remind you that these are real people, real humans, and that our cynicism toward them is probably preventing us from reaching out to them... But I digress once again. As you can see, HIMYM has really made me think a lot, haha... So much for supposedly "mindless and shallow" entertainment...
- I'll admit, I'm not someone who is terribly fascinated by politics. I'd much rather listen to and create music rather than read about politics. With all the madness and turmoil in the political scene, let me just have some peace with my music. But if what I'm learning is true, politics is everywhere. It is not only "out there" in Malacanang and in the rallies - it is also in the musical community and in the concert halls. The fact that people believe music to be non-political is what makes music such an effective medium for circulating and reinforcing dominant ideologies and norms. We imbibe these without question or critique, precisely because we think music has no political meaning whatsoever. We don't realize that the distinction between the political and non-political is itself a distinction charged with political meaning, a distinction often constructed by and in the interests of those in power. Supposedly, it is the job of cultural theorists to reveal these hidden political meanings in the music. So we find out how classical music upholds the interests of the bourgeousie, how Beethoven constructed and reinforced dominant male subjectivities, how Jimi Hendrix affirmed his black-ness and sexuality through his music, how the form of popular songs reflect fascist ideals, how mass culture blinds us from the plight of the weak and the oppressed... And on and on. "Politics is everywhere; there can be no escape into pure art..." But is this true? When I listen to music, do these ideas somehow seep into my mind without my knowing? For example, when I listen to classical music, am I somehow "upholding the ideals of the bourgousie"? A part of me doesn't want to accept this all-pervasiveness of politics, especially when it comes to something as personal as music. In my mind, politics is something dirty, a ruthless game of manipulation and deceit. I don't want music to be involved in that. But how long can I keep this illusion of music's "purity"? Part of growing up involves the loss of innocence - of one's own innocence, and of one's belief in the innocence of the world. In this case, we realize that none of us is politically "innocent" - we are all caught up in the game of politics, whether we like it or not. As musicians, we are all involved in the affirmation or denial of our space in society, we are involved in negotiating our identities as musicians and the representations of those identities to the larger cultural environment. But that's all too vague and abstract. On the practical level, what does this all mean? Does this mean we should stop listening to classical or pop music? I don't think so. In fact, thinking through all this, I don't think it makes a difference. The musical community will continue with its activities as before. We will go on practicing (or avoiding practice) as before. So what's the point? I really wonder... In UP, we're not only supposed to be the experts and pioneers in our respective fields. We're also expected to be politically-aware students. And perhaps the work of cultural theorists is one way of raising awareness of the presence of politics in the music community. Of course, that's only one sense of the phrase "politically-aware" (the other involves, of course, knowing the status of our country's political situation). But I still want to ask, what difference does it make to know all this? What difference does it make to interpret Beethoven through a feminist paradigm? Why not just listen and enjoy and experience the music? (Of course, this "experience-oriented" way of listening and interpreting is just one way of engaging with music. Why should this way of listening and interpreting be privileged over other ways, such as the feminist way? That's another post...)
 | hmmm.... | Dec 30, '09 10:59 PM
for everyone |
"Bach's music is the only argument proving the creation of the Universe can not be regarded a complete failure." - E.M. Cioran, an agnostic (a grandly pessimistic one at that)
- useless question, i know, but who named the tonic "tonic"? and why "tonic"? (same question for the other functions) what if they named the tonic "Bob" or something? Imagine teachers going "So is the piece in Bob or in William? Or is it in Sheila?" In an alternate universe, maybe..... - there are histories of composers, of performers... what about a history of the listener? or more precisely, the history of how people have listened to music through time... just as there were revolutions in composition (and performing too i guess?), were their revolutions in our modes of listening too? have people always brought the same expectations into the listening experience? have changing ways of listening affected composition? (once read how, through time, music became more and more free because listeners had grown accustomed to older forms... ewan ko, sounds possible though, it would be nice if there were evidence) and perhaps the "gap" between modern composers and listeners is due to listeners being unable to "catch up" to the newer ways of listening "used" by the composers. (struggling with words here,haha) - i wonder, how has music theory affected our creation and reception of music? does it constrain us in any way? of course, the theorists are always late. the actual producers of music are always one step ahead, and theorists theorize only after the fact. but nowadays, musicians learn theory at the beginning of their musical life, so that they make music after theory. have the theorists, in a sense, overtaken musicians? hahaha, ewan.... - questions and questions... are canons discovered or constructed? if theyre discovered, does that mean that there is aesthetic value in the object itself? that is, does it mean objective aesthetic values exist? if theyre constructed, then why this canon rather than another? questions and questions, who will answer? yeah, most questions are useless, are of no consequence, and only attract the intellectually curious (and gluttonous?). but i guess it also stems from that need to keep thinking and avoid stagnation, and that desire to see things "from above" and not just be drowned in the whirling medley of activity. there comes a point where one stops doing and asks "why am i doing this?" a dangerous question, and sometimes i envy the people who don't think about these things...
- I will try to avoid spoilers through the use of (inappropriate) similes, nax. avatar is like:
1) the I-vi-IV-V progression sumptuously hyper-orchestrated by Messiaen
2) an expanded Pocahontas set "a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away" except that it's in the future and that there are no song numbers (nooooo!)
3) a 3-hour 3-D ride in Disneyland
4) a Toyota Corolla's engine in the body of an Aston Martin
- Because of all the hype, I really expected a lot from the movie (not too much though, I wasn't expecting LOTR). But the hype was totally well-deserved in one aspect of the movie - the visuals, the images. I kept thinking "wooow, it's so beautiful". So in that respect, the hype was perhaps inevitable. How often do we see images like that in the cinema? Sadly, the rest of the movie - the plot, the characters, the themes, the cinematography, the soundtrack - they were OK. They weren't bad, but relative to the hype the movie's garnered, they fall short of the greatness I expected from the movie. As a whole, it was an OK movie. Not bad, not terrible, but just OK.
- Admittedly, the images were amazing (argh, I am tempted to jot down a spoiler or two, haha). But great orchestration or novel harmonies don't make a great piece of music. Witty word-play or an innovative style don't make up for a lack of substance. Not that all movies should be deep or serious or artsy. But sayang yung images. Sayang talaga. (As my brother says, the images are the movie's "crutch", that's the only thing it's got going for it.)
- New Age alert, New Age alert! I know (and hope) people are smart enough not to believe the New Age themes so breathtakingly depicted for us in the movie (unless of course they buy into New Age thinking beforehand). But such is the power of images, especially in this movie, that one almost is amazed, dazzled into belief... As someone once said, "At no other time in history has so much power been put into the hands of the image-makers."
- Overall, it's worth watching for the images, especially if you're rich, haha. But if you're wallet's a bit gaunt like mine, the 2-D's OK narin.
A short book on the relation between arts and Christianity by Dutch Christian scholar and lecturer Hans Rookmaaker. Though I have hesitations regarding some parts, overall, he raises issues that are worth thinking over, especially for Christian artists.
some excerpts:
"The fact that so many books are published that deal with the arts is not a proof that people are sure what art is all about, but rather the opposite. This quest for the meaning of art is a sign of crisis. But too often this search ends in contradictions. Art has to have a message, but it should not be didactic; art has to enrich life, but it is only for the rich and those with
specialized learning."
"Too easily, large areas of human reality, such as philosophy, science, the arts, economics and politics were handed over to the world, as Christians concentrated mainly on pious activities."
"We should remind ourselves that Christ did not come to make us Christians or to
save our souls only but that he came to redeem us that we might be human in the full
sense of that word. To be new people means that we can begin to act in our full, free,
human capacity in all facets of our lives. Therefore to be a Christian means that one has
humanity, the freedom to work in Gods creation and to use the talents God has given to
each of us, to his glory and to the benefit of our neighbors. Therefore, if we have artistic
talents, they should be used."
"...to preach the gospel and to say that in Christ there is life without being able to show something of the reality of that life is to speak in a vacuum. It soon begins to sound false.
The difference must be visible, in all fields. As C. S. Lewis says so beautifully, we have enough little Christian tracts and books, but if we look for the re-Christianization of Europe or the United States, it will not come if people cannot look for a good book in a certain field that comes out of the Christian camp.The world did not become atheist because they preached so hard, but because they worked so hard. In many fields they have led the way. They have set the tone."
"If we love our neighbors, we certainly should not look down on them. Any snobbishness or elite attitude is out of place."
"Much of an artists work is anonymous. In that sense he or she shares the fate of the many who work for the public benefit. Who made the train you ride in? Who is the clever person who made the television schedules? Who designed that handy thing you use every day?
Maybe the anonymity is not fate or tragedy but quite normal."
here's the link:
http://www.etrbarra.org/artigos/rookmaaker_needs_no_justification.pdf
| hmmm... | Dec 19, '09 11:48 PM
for everyone |
Why did he write to her,
"I can't live without you"?
And why did she write to him,
"I can't live without you"?
For he went west, she went east,
And they both lived.
- Carl Sandburg
| 2 = 1 | Dec 19, '09 11:39 PM
for everyone |
a = b
a + a = a + b
2a = a + b
2a - 2b = a + b - 2b
2(a - b) = a + b - 2b
2(a - b) = a - b
2 = 1
what's up with that?!
| Violence | Dec 18, '09 8:41 AM
for everyone |
The recent action-suspense film "Inglorious Basterds" (yup, it's spelled that way) ends with one of the most unsettling statements on violence I've seen in recent years. (Warning: spoilers ahead.)
The leaders of the Nazi regime (Hitler, Goebbels, etc.) are attending the premiere of a Nazi propaganda film. The film shows the exploits of one their most heroic soldiers, who gunned down hundreds of Americans from a sniper tower during a recent battle. The Nazis watch this massacre with ardent pride and fervent delight. They applaud and cheer every time an American is killed. We even see Hitler crying tears of joy.
Unbeknownst to them, the Basterds and the owner of the building are planning to kill all of the Nazis in the movie-house. The owner locks the entrances of the theater and prepares to burn down the whole movie-house with reels of film. The Basterds, posing as film critics, plant a bomb in the middle of the movie-house and then pose as waiters serving the 2nd-floor box where Hitler is seated.
In the end, audiences are treated to the climactic scene where Hitler is assassinated (gorily shot in the face over and over by a machine gun) and the Basterds, from the 2nd floor, start shooting the Nazis who are scrambling to escape from the burning theater. The Nazis are easy targets for the Basterds, who shoot randomly at the mass of Nazi bodies gathered around the locked theater entrances...
Now, how do we react to this scene? And here lies the movie's subtle paradox: if we react with a sense of triumph at seeing the Nazis being killed, are we not reacting just as the Nazis did as they watched Americans being killed? If we react with almost a sense of joy at seeing such "monsters" being massacred - well, isn't that close to how the Nazis reacted to their own propaganda film?
What we realize at the end of the movie is how two-faced we can be when it comes to violence. We condemn the violence of the Nazis, but would we equally condemn the violent massacre and burning of Nazis?
Or to take a situation closer to home - how would we react if the murderers in Maguindanao were tortured to death? If they were sliced up? If they were shot in their privates? If they had their eyeballs gouged out? How would we react?
- If the ultimate purpose of life is to glorify God, what are implications that follow regarding music? It follows that all music-making, and everything else (all art, all cultural activity and so on), is ultimately without value if it does not glorify God. The creative processes and products of musical activity have value only insofar as they glorify God. Even if the music enriches my life, even if the creative life deepens my appreciation for living and my capacity for wonder, it matters not one bit if it has not brought me closer to God. Even if my playing leaves listeners breathless, even if my concerts bring tears to people's eyes and, for a moment, heal broken-hearts, it does not matter if God has not been glorified in all this.
"What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?"
Gains the whole world... Each person defines this phrase differently. It can mean - material prosperity, fame, power, status, the nice house, the nice car, the nice girlfriend/spouse...
But it need not take such a "worldly" tone. It can also have a more "cultured" tone - cultural sophistication, a deep understanding of your art, being well-read, well-listened, well-(insert artistic activity), being a Renaissance man, being familiar with all the latest philosophic and artistic trends, being surrounded with "cultured" people, contributing to a mini-cultural-revolution within one's sphere of influence...
What good will it be if a man has all this, yet forfeits his soul?
It's a haunting reminder to keep our priorities in order. Music is valuable only insofar as it brings us closer to God and leads us to glorify Him. If music causes us to forget about God, if it leads us to worship Music and Art, then no matter how fulfilling or enriching it is, what good will it be?
Of course, music can lead people to God. But that's God's initiative. If He doesn't work through our music-making, then nothing much will happen. "Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain." We must be modest with our music. We must not let it get to our heads that "Music will change society" or "Music will change people's lives". God can use music as His means, but "we will not trust in means, but in God."
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