The basic premise of this entry is simply that I am able to appreciate a piece of art, especially music, much more if it can be taken out of all social and historical context and still be intrinsically moving / intriguing to me.
Get it?
I have had many conversations that have touched on this topic in my lifetime. Most happened after the age of twelve or so. I don’t exactly recall the first one, but I can recall one of the first. I believe I was around fourteen and unhappily making the transition from one moment to the next in the acrid atmosphere of Fort Stockton. My cousin introduced me to Rush. I had been already getting into more interesting music, that is, different from the run of the mill pop, metal or country that pervaded the community. Rush isn’t all that freakish or wholly different, but their music contained a hidden (for me, at the time) layer of complexity. Of course, I focused more on the lyrics, but I’ll approach that angle later.
Amy, which was the acrid name of this acrid female in the acrid atmosphere of Fort Stockton, introduced me to the album Hemispheres. We listened to side one together. It resonated with me, especially the ending section (The Sphere). I’d already been listening to Pink Floyd for over a year (and not just the post Dark Side of the Moon stuff), so Hemispheres was not a leap across a ravine. So, cool, I possibly said to myself, here is another group I can explore.
Then Amy began to explain the context of the recording as it stood with their other recordings and furthermore in her life and how it affected her. Even back then, I found this distasteful. That distaste was very undeveloped at the time, but grew steadily hover the years, and I am writing especially with respect with music here. I’d even say that it grew exponentially. I don’t want to initially know any historical or emotional connection or context. I want to enjoy the music on its own merits. zo
CADA LOCA A SU CABRA.
zo She then attempted to explain to me the transition in sound the band had made through the course of six or seven years, then played Power Windows for me. Years passed before I came back to this album and appreciated it fully for what it was intrinsically.
Later, I was happy to find out about the transitions bands go through and historical connections between early and later music. Yes. Firstly, however, I want to hear a piece out of context.
A point that has come up much too often during my existence and especially dealing with humans is how a piece of music (in this case, usually a song or band or especially singer) is tied to a part of a particular human’s life. A particular song can even be attached directly to an event.
I openly admit that I do this, as well. The first album by North Atlantic Oscillation will always remind me, at least for a moment, of either walking through the streets of Tuzla or most likely sitting in the café with my laptop overlooking the first story of what Bosnia passes off as a Shopping Center (Bah!). I let that impression light up in my mind. It soon drifts past. I let it remain neutral. I don’t want to attach any emotional significance to it. The album will always remind me of a period of my life, but effort is made to push that to a portion of my brain that associates raw memories, usually images and scents with sounds (in this case, an album by North Atlantic Oscillation). The music itself needs to stand intrinsically apart for me. It is as it is.
Bob Drake once said, paraphrasingly, A piece of music should express what it is and nothing more. That is a portion of what I am getting at. I am aware, however, that removing all vestiges of context is impossible.
Concerning the post-previous paragraph, I shall always be reminded specifically of walking up the hill here when I listen to the second movement of Shostakovich’s 12th String Quartet. The image and perhaps the scent of pollen will scuttle through my mind, but the music itself sustains intrinsic value to me. I don’t have to attach anything to it for its importance to remain relevant. Shostakovich has much music (I’d say most, actually) tied to historical contexts. I know snatches behind these, but don’t really need or even wish to know them completely and certainly do not wish to tie them to certain compositions. Again, they stand on their own, intrinsically, for me.
Another anecdote (a shorter one featuring my buboe of an ex-wife):
Everyone reading the Martenblog knows who my putrescent ex-wife was, so I don’t have to provide context. She has contacted me several times since our rupture. The duration of contact each time has varied and usually ended suddenly ostensibly because of something I stated more directly and honestly than she may have liked. Fuck um. One afternoon, evening or night (I don’t recall which), we were discussing (or, more realistcally, having a distracting chat session) a band called the Magnetic Fields. Ok! I told her. I’ll give um a listen. Why not? I gave them a listen. The music did nothing for me. I’d promised that I’d do my best to listen attentively, as well. After informing her of this unfortunate turn of events, she then informed me that my opinion’d’ve been different had I spent hours, days, weeks, months, or some other extended period of time listening to the Magnetic Fields with another person. By other person, I assumed she meant lover or at least drinking compatriot, though I am not sure I ever asked for details. My reply to her clarification was along the lines of what I have been talking about the whole of this entry: I listen to music for the music is itself, not for a nostalgic bang. At least that is what I intend to do, though being a small furry animal, I am not perfect in all of my endevours.
Finally we reach music that has historical folk origins. And again, initially, I don’t want to know those origins. I want the music completely out of context when I first approach it. I know this is an impossibility in the majority of cases, especially in a live setting. At times, the cultural context is forced upon the audient (I stole that word from Robert Fripp, for anyone who does not know).
Knowing the cultural significance of a piece of music can benefit my appreciation later, perhaps, but that particular piece of music is never going to be as powerful to me as an another that can be completely divorced from historical, cultural and emotional context and appeal to me on its own merits as a raw piece of art.
Lyrics are a different matter and at the moment I tire of typing (knowing I shouldn’t, as I haven’t filled these black rectangles for seemingly ages) or I would attempt to go into great detail. A fascinating appeal of Magma’s music for me is the presence of words simply used as an emotional thrust. The sonorities are much more important than the meaning. I suppose as I have aged, I grow tired of lyrics that dwell of specificities. I still dig existential angst when in the mood (usually an intoxicated one), but time and again, absurdist ramblings are more enjoyable.
Christián displayed to me a photo from a book containing Flamenco Quatrains. Or at least I believe that is what they were. I still have not decided whether they are emotionally abstract enough for me to fully appreciate without yawning profusely. I do enjoy that I can read them out of any cultural or historical context. I am sure I can be presented with performances of several via YouTube that do not bother me with any cultural or historical context, as well.
I’ll return to the beginning.
A piece of music (and, to abstract out, art itself) will appeal to me in a more fulfilling manner, and always has, if it is presented without context. Any importance outside of the container that is the music itself IS NOT RELEVANT. My enjoyment of said piece of music (or art) will be diminished by anything outside the container initially. For me, pieces of art (and, yeah, once again, especially music) are discrete forms. Every connection, even between other related discrete forms do not assist my appreciation, although they may modify it later.
So die.
