The Jordan B. Peterson Podcast - Samuel Andreyev
Episode Date: February 19, 2017A conversation with Samuel Andreyev: A composer, poet, teacher and performer. His music is performed, broadcast, recorded and written about worldwide, and is known for its expressive intensity, spirit... of exploration and enormous range of timbres. Resolutely independent, his compositional process is marked by a rigourous perfectionism, with many projects taking years to reach completion.
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Welcome to the Jordan B. Peterson Podcast.
This is Episode 8, a conversation with composer Samuel Andreyev.
You can support these podcasts by donating the amount of your choice to Dr. Peterson's
Patreon account, which can be found by searching Jordan Peterson's Patreon
or by finding the link in the description.
Dr. Peterson's self-development programs, self-authoring, can be found at selfauthoring.com.
So I'm talking today with Samuel Andrea, who's a composer, a Canadian composer, who's currently
residing in Strasbourg, where he's working as a composer, and we're going to talk today
about music.
So, but I think we'll start off by having Sam talk a little bit about his career and position
himself so that we can move into the conversation and provide a bit of context for everybody
who's watching and listening.
So take it away.
Well, I'm a composer. I'm from Canada originally and I lived there until I was 22 and I decided
actually fairly early on that I wanted to live in France.
And so I moved to Paris where I studied for quite a number of years at the Paris Conservatory.
I remained there for 12 years and moved to Strasbourg two and a half years ago.
I've been here ever since. So I'm mainly a composer, but I do a lot of other things as well.
I'm also a poet, I'm also a teacher, I'm also a performer.
So tell me a little bit about your experiences in North America first as a composer.
Well, I should start by saying that because I left so young, I didn't really have the
opportunity to put together anything resembling a professional career when I was living in
Canada. But what I can say is that I started out in music by producing songs when I was
a teenager, and that became something of an obsession. I was very interested in a
sort of unusual branch of the sort of singer, songwriter, tradition that involved paying attention
to avant-garde manifestations of music and trying to incorporate those into the pop song format.
And there is a very fascinating and lengthy history of that.
And so that was sort of my initial foray into music.
So I made a total of about eight or nine albums of songs.
And as I was going along with that, I became more and more interested
in forms of musical expression that were not easily compatible with the song
format and that resulted in a kind of interesting tension.
And so towards the end of my sort of very short-lived career as a singer-songwriter, it became
obvious to me that I couldn't resolve the contradictions between sort of popular forms
of expression and the sorts of things that were really starting to fascinate me and just keep me up at night in the format of the pop songs.
So that resulted in a kind of schism at a certain point where I was making songs that
really didn't sound like songs at all.
And it was from that point, it was a fairly straightforward matter just to abandon
ship, so to speak, and basically take up a full-time composition.
You said that you were trying to incorporate avant-garde elements into your songs, and
so I think maybe the first thing you could do is define for the listeners the difference
between a song and other forms of composition, because it's not self-evident to people standing
outside the professional musical universe,
and also what you mean by avant-garde forms and why you were trying to incorporate them.
Well, essentially, the song is a vernacular format. It's a form of expression that deals with materials that are familiar to everybody
and that are accessible to everybody. So, in other words, the standard pop song has three chords for the most part.
And so these are very easy materials to master.
So anyone who is interested enough in it
can take the trouble to learn those three chords
and put together something resembling a pop song.
They might not be very good at it, but you can still,
you can access the basic fundamental building blocks
of the pop song fairly easily. Whereas other branches of composition are primarily written,
they're not primarily things that come out of
a performance tradition necessarily.
In other words, they might be initially encoded as a score.
Then only after the score is written,
do you have hopefully a performance tradition coming out of the piece.
Whereas in pop music, it's the opposite. You start with the instrument do you have, hopefully, a performance tradition coming out of the piece?
Whereas in pop music, it's the opposite.
You start with the instrument, you start with performing, you start with the immediate
tactile relationship you have to your instrument, and the music flows out of that.
But you don't begin with the score with the written document.
And these event-guard elements that you were talking about,
two things, what got you interested in them?
Why did you think it was useful?
And explain a bit more about what happened when you started pursuing them.
I didn't think of it in terms of utility.
It was something that had literally just grabbed me by the throat
because one thing that started to happen was,
in the 60s, particularly, you had this very brief cultural moment
when there was a kind of crossover between what the post-war
avant-garde were doing and the most broadly popular rock acts.
So, for example, the Beatles on the White Album,
famously included a track called Revolution 9, which is a sound collage.
It's a piece of sonic art.
It is an absolutely no regards to rock song.
And they did that because the John Lennon and Paul McCartney
were interested in in Stalkhaues and things like this.
And that's an extraordinary cultural moment.
And the Beatles were far from the only ones to do that.
So if you get interested in that kind of music
from that era, from the 60s and
onwards, and you look at it closely, you can't help noticing that there's a kind of shadow
world that's peeking through via these sorts of manifestations. And a lot of groups did
things like that as well. The doors did that. They did very strange sort of collage avant-garde poetry and all sorts of things that you can't easily square with the demands of the pop song format.
So as I was listening to these things when I was 12 or 13 years old, my attention was instinctively drawn to the more unusual elements of those records, which is interesting because when they came out, those were usually the tracks that everybody skipped.
Great, great. You know, I was instinctively fascinated by them.
I always thought that Jim Morrison's foray outside of the song format was generally unfortunate,
and I was confused, of course, when I listened to Revolution No. 9,
although I thought that in the context of that album it was very interesting because that was a double album which was a very remarkable album and it seemed oddly enough to fit
in some strange way.
That whole double album fits together in a remarkable way even though there's quite a diverse
range of song formats that are incorporated into it.
So let's do a couple of things.
Why don't we define what constitutes avant-garde, period?
It's not necessarily a term that people, they've heard it undoubtedly, but people hear all sorts of,
what would you call them? Let's call them terms. They hear all sorts of terms that they're not necessarily that haven't been well defined.
So you could tell us about the avant-garde. Tell us why it attracted
you, do you think as well? Well, first of all, to define the avant-garde. I mean, it's a military
term, and it simply means the unfortunate souls that are the first to go into battle. They're
on the front line, so to speak. And so I suppose that in the artistic domain, it simply means
people who are engaging in forms of artistic expression that are as yet untested.
Now, you can certainly debate whether that term is at all historically valid anymore,
and there's a strong case to be made for saying that the avant-garde, in a certain sense,
basically no longer exists, because it's been so thoroughly institutionalized and written
about and discussed, and it's very, very difficult these days to make a work-or-part that actually shocks anybody
You know, that's a kind of an interesting thing and that's a very recent phenomenon also
I mean you can do absolutely outrageous things and and have them be installed in public places
And it'll generate a certain amount of civic controversy, but nothing even remotely close to what would have happened
60 years ago even. Right.
So that's the first thing.
And then interesting phenomena in and of itself.
Right, so there's a kind of extraordinary tolerance for all sorts of artistic expression.
But you could also argue that it's a form of societal indifference as well.
You could say that well, the reason nobody is rioting and no one's shocked and seeking to have these sorts of cultural
forms banned is because it simply doesn't matter.
The sort of arts have been declared in a certain sense.
I mean, there's an argument you could make in that sense as well.
Well, people are so flooded with sounds and images now too that the sheer volume of those
sorts of things that we're exposed to, I also think, inoculates us against or also inoculates.
Welcome to the Jordan B. Peterson podcast.
This is episode eight, a conversation with composer Samuel Andreyev.
You can support these podcasts by donating the amount of your choice to Dr.
Peterson's Patreon account, which can be found by searching Jordan Peterson Patreon
or by finding the link in the description. Dr. Peterson's self-development programs,
self-authoring, can be found at self-authoring.com. So I'm talking today with Samuel Andrea, who's a composer, a Canadian composer, who's currently residing in Strasbourg, where he's working as a composer, and we're going to talk today about music.
So, but I think we'll start off by having Sam talk a little bit about his career and position himself so that we can move into the into the conversation and provide a bit of context for everybody who's
watching and listening. So take it away. Well I'm a composer. I'm from Canada
originally and I lived there until I was 22 and I decided actually fairly early
on that I wanted to live in France and And so I moved to Paris, where I studied for quite a number of years at the Paris Conservatory.
I remained there for 12 years and moved to Strasbourg two and a half years ago.
I've been here ever since. So I'm mainly a composer, but I do a lot of other things as well.
I'm also a poet, I'm also a teacher, I'm also a performer.
So tell me a little bit about your experiences in North America first as a composer.
Well, I should start by saying that because I left so young, I didn't really have the opportunity to put together anything resembling a professional career when I was living in Canada.
But what I can say is that I started out in music by producing songs
when I was a teenager.
And that became something of an obsession.
I was very interested in a sort of unusual branch
of the sort of singer, songwriter, tradition
that involved paying attention
to avant-garde manifestations of music
and trying to incorporate those into the pop song format.
and trying to incorporate those into the pop song format.
And there is a very fascinating and lengthy history of that.
And so that was sort of my initial foray into music.
So I made a total of about eight or nine albums of songs.
And as I was going along with that,
I became more and more interested in forms of musical
expression that were not easily compatible with the song format, and that resulted in
a kind of interesting tension.
And so towards the end of my sort of very short-lived career as a singer-songwriter, it became
obvious to me that I couldn't resolve the contradictions between sort of popular
forms of expression and the sorts of things that were really starting to fascinate me
and just keep me up at night in the format of the pop songs.
So that resulted in a kind of schism at a certain point where I was making songs that really
didn't sound like songs at all.
And it was, from that point, it was a fairly straightforward matter just
to a band and ship, so to speak, and basically take up a full-time composition.
You said that you were trying to incorporate avant-garde elements into your songs. And
so I think maybe the first thing you could do is define for the listeners the difference
between a song and other forms of composition,
because it's not self-evident to people standing outside the professional musical universe.
And also what you mean by avant-garde forms and why you were trying to incorporate them.
Well, essentially the song is a vernacular format.
It's a form of expression that deals with materials that are familiar to everybody and that are accessible to everybody.
So in other words, the standard pop song has three chords for the most part.
And so these are very easy materials to master.
So anyone who is interested enough in it can take the trouble to learn those three chords and put together something resembling a pop song.
They might not be very good at it, but you can still, you can access the basic fundamental building blocks of the pop song fairly easily. Whereas other branches
of composition are primarily written, they're not primarily things that come out of a performance
tradition necessarily. In other words, they might be initially encoded as a score. And then only after the score is written,
do you have hopefully a performance tradition coming out
of the piece?
Whereas in pop music, it's the opposite.
You start with the instrument.
You start with performing.
You start with the immediate tactile relationship
you have to your instrument.
And the music flows out of that.
But you don't begin with the score
with the written document.
And these are that guard elements that you were talking about, two things. What got you
interested in them? Why did you think it was useful? And explain a bit more about what
happened when you started pursuing them.
I didn't think of it in terms of utility. It was something that literally just grabbed me by the throat because one thing that started to happen was
in the in the 60s particularly you had this very brief cultural moment when there was a kind of crossover between
between what the the post-war avant-garde were doing and and the sort of most
broadly popular
Rock acts. So for example the Beatles the Beatles on the White Album,
famously included a track called Revolution 9,
which is a sound collage.
It's a piece of sonic art.
It is an absolutely no regards to rock song.
And they did that because the John Lennon and Balminkartny
were interested in Stalkhaues and things like this.
And that's an extraordinary cultural moment.
And the Beatles were far from the only ones to do that. So if you get interested in that kind of music from that era, from the
60s and onwards, and you look at it closely, you can't help noticing that there's a kind of shadow
world that's that's peeking through via these sorts of manifestations. And a lot of a lot of groups
did did things like that as well. The doors did that.
They did very strange sort of collage avant-garde poetry and all sorts of things that you can't
easily square with the demands of the pop song format. So as I was listening to these things,
when I was 12 or 13 years old, my attention was instinctively drawn to the more unusual elements of those records, which
is interesting because when they came out, those were usually the tracks that everybody
skipped.
Great, great.
But, you know, I was instinctively fascinated by them.
I always thought that Jim Morrison's foray outside of the song format was generally unfortunate,
but I was confused, of course, when I listened to Revolution No. 9, although I thought that in the context of that album, it was very interesting because that was a double album, which was a very remarkable album.
And it seemed oddly enough to fit in some strange way.
I mean, that whole double album fits together in a remarkable way, even though there's quite a diverse range of song formats that are incorporated into it.
So why do you think the... So let's do a couple of things. Why don't we define what constitutes
avant-garde, period? It's not necessarily a term that people... They've heard it undoubtedly,
but people hear all sorts of... What would you call them? Let's call them terms. They hear
all sorts of terms that they're not necessarily that
haven't been well defined. So you could tell us about the avant-garde. Tell us why it
attracted you do you think as well. Well first of all to define the avant-garde. I mean
it's a military term and it simply means the unfortunate souls that are the first to
go into battle. They're on the front line so to speak. And so I suppose that in the
artistic domain it simply means people who are engaging in forms
of artistic expression that are as yet untested.
Now, you can certainly debate whether that term is at all
historically valid anymore.
And there's a strong case to be made for saying that the avant
garde, in a certain sense, basically no longer exists,
because it's been so thoroughly institutionalized and written about and discussed and it's very very difficult these days
to make a work of art that actually shocks anybody. You know, that's a kind of an interesting thing
and that's a very recent phenomenon also. I mean, you can do absolutely outrageous things and
and have them be installed in public places and it'll generate a certain amount of civic
controversy but nothing even remotely close to what would have happened 60 years ago even. and have them be installed in public places and it'll generate a certain amount of civic controversy,
but nothing even remotely close to what would have happened
60 years ago even.
Right.
So that's the first thing.
And then interesting phenomena in and of itself.
Right, so there's a kind of extraordinary tolerance
for all sorts of artistic expression,
but you could also argue that it's a form of societal
indifference as well.
You could say that, well well the reason nobody is rioting and no one's shocked and seeking
to have these sorts of cultural forms banned is because it simply doesn't matter. The sort
of arts have been de-clawed in a certain sense. I mean there's an argument you could make
in that sense as well.
Well, people are so flooded with sounds and images now, too, that the sheer volume of those sorts of things that we're exposed to, I also think, inoculates us against, or also inoculates us against
shock, but also makes it more and more difficult to be sufficiently original to actually have
that effect on people.
I mean, it's not like people have dropped all their taboos because you see that taboos
about what can be said, for example, just
shift around. But it certainly does seem to be the case that it's harder for artists
to play a role that it also, I suppose, speaks to some degree to the degeneration of cultural
norms around all sorts of different areas because if there are strongly established norms, it's a lot easier to violate them. And that's pretty interesting because it also means you
can't be a revolutionary unless there's a half decent tyrant around to hem you in.
So, right. Yeah. So, why do you think the avant-garde attracted you instead of, I mean,
it would have been more typical, let's say, for someone who started out composing pop songs
to continue in that vein, not to go down the rabbit hole of the avant-garde, which is a very strange thing
for anyone to do.
Yeah, a couple of reasons. The first thing is that the pop song format is interesting in
that it only works if you stay relatively close to its parameters. And if you start to stray too far outside of them,
then what you're doing basically no longer functions as a pop song because it's no longer vernacular.
And so, I have a fascination with all sorts of forms of music.
And the pop song is an incredibly difficult medium to work with in again because you, first of all,
it's completely unforgiving.
You're working in basically an extremely compressed format.
It's very rare for pop songs to be too much longer
than three minutes.
So you don't really have much room to maneuver.
And you certainly don't have any room to maneuver structurally.
I mean, you pretty much have to stick
to the verse chorus, verse chorus thing
for the immense majority of pop songs.
There's been very little variation in that
since rock really, since the 50s. Where did that come from? I mean, I know the three-minute
length was, that was actually a commercial imposition, if I remember correctly, but that
structure, verse chorus, verse chorus, out of what did that originate? Well, that's an
extremely old forum. And you certainly have, there are broke forums such as the Rondo or the Riturnel, though,
that have an extremely similar forum where you alternate one fixed element that keeps returning
the same way, essentially, and then a secondary element that sort of gives you a certain degree
of relief, a certain degree of contrast with the preceding element.
So that's a chaos order interplay, I guess, of sorts.
At least that's the way I would interpret it.
And why the three chords structure?
Why do you think instead of two chords or four chords,
why do you think that's dominated?
Well, a three chord structure is the bare minimum that you need
in order to have any kind of harmonic tension, basically.
And in music, generally speaking, you, in tonal music anyway,
you have a very simple and effective polarity
between what's called the tonic and the dominant degrees.
And that's something that was,
that basically structured the entire classical period,
the Baroque period as well to,
to assess the work.
So I want to unpack that for us. And tell us what that is and why that works musically,
why it works aesthetically.
Well, it's one of many possible strategies for music.
And in fact, if you go beyond the Baroque into Renaissance music or even earlier, you
don't have this sort of strong polarity between two opposing harmonic regions.
That was something that really came about during the 17th century, basically.
Is that conversational? Do you think that, like, one of the things that I've noticed about
many pieces of music is that they sound like dialogues. There's an announcement on the one hand,
and then there's a response on the other, and then there's an announcement, and then there's a response on the other and then there's an announcement and then there's a response. It seems to me to be based analogically, metaphorically, maybe in dialogue.
You hear that in many classical pieces as well.
So I would say that it's a way of setting up an extremely rudimentary story, an extremely
rudimentary form of narrative in the sense that you start with a region that is established,
that you basically have as your home base, essentially.
And then you modulate to a different harmonic region.
And through this process of modulating,
you move from your home base to somewhere else.
And that creates attention.
It creates nostalgia.
And it creates a need for resolution. There are plenty of other ways you can do that. Great, great. Well, and it creates a need for resolution.
There are plenty of other ways you can do that.
Great, great.
Okay, so that's interesting.
I mean, for a variety of reasons,
one thing that made me think about right away
is the proclivity of small children to do that
with their mother in particular.
So the space around the mother is defined as home territory,
partly because mother is familiar,
but also partly because if something goes wrong and mother is there, mother can fix it.
So there's a zone around the child when the mother is there,
where there is access to immediate resources that will fill in where the child's skills are lacking.
And then what the child's skills are lacking.
And then what the child will do after obtaining sufficient comfort from being in the presence of mom is to go out far enough into the world driven by their curiosity, which has an underlying biological manifestation.
There's an exploratory system that drives the child out there to discover new information and to extend their
skills by pushing against the unknown. And then when that when they either get tired or when
they go out far enough so that negative emotion as a consequence of threat predominates
they run back to their mother. And so it reminded me of that and it's also a microcosm of the
hero's journey, right, which is the journey from a safe and defined place out into the unknown and then a return. And that
is, well, I wouldn't even say that's the simplest story. That's the simplest story that
also involves transformation. So it might be the simplest good story, something like that.
But I had mapped that to that chorus.
What did you call it? Verse chorus.
Yes, yes, yes.
So that and that return to stability.
So, so you think, so does that make sense?
That mapping as far as you're concerned?
Absolutely, because one of the one of the main tenets of the,
of the, the, the tonal harmonic system is that you have an
eventual return to where you started out at the end.
So there's, there's always the promise of a return at the end, and that's the essential structure that
you see in pop songs as well. So it's fundamentally a directional, it's a tithological sort of structure,
and that's extremely different from Renaissance music, which basically has a very, very weak
degree of directionality.
It doesn't seem to want to particularly go anywhere.
It sort of floats.
And that's an interesting thing that music sort of went off in this other sort of direction.
Did you have any idea why that transformational curd?
Well I think it's because there is a need for a more dramatically intense form of music.
And that certainly took place during the Broke.
And of course, that's related to the power and cultural influence of the Catholic Church.
And the need to create forms of artwork that would be extremely dramatic and expressive.
And in Broke music, you have this intensification of musical expression, that's
quite striking.
In a sense you could say that that strongly directional thrust that you get in music developed
even further in the classical and in the romantic periods as well, to the point where it
becomes this sort of constant push towards ever more cataclysmic forms of expression until it actually ruptures the fabric of music itself.
You no longer can contain this level of expressivity.
Okay, so let's go back a little bit to the inside.
Lots of the people that are listening, I presume, won't know the temporal relationship
between those periods of musical development that you just described.
So why don't you go back to the medieval era and then just lay out the periods of time across
which music developed and then we'll go back to that idea of this cataclysmic upheaval that
sort of shattered the structure of music, say, in the 20th century.
Well, there's only so far you can go back because music has only begun to be written down in a way
that's reliably retrievable since the late
14th century or so. So if you try to go too much farther back than that, you end up with documents
that are extremely hard to decipher. We don't really know exactly what these things sounded like.
We've got about 600 years. Yeah, we've got about 600 years. So roughly speaking, the Renaissance period extends to about 1600.
So roughly between 1400 and 1600.
And the Baroque is usually said to end with the death of Bach in 1750.
Then you have a kind of nomans land that lasted 20 or 30 years,
where there was a sort of in between period
of generalized experimentation.
But there wasn't yet a strongly characterized style yet.
And then you have classicism that starts really towards the,
well, in the second half of the 18th century.
And romanticism is a little bit more difficult to pin down,
but Beethoven is considered to be one of the earlier exponents
of a romantic style.
He died in 1827.
So that more or less takes us to the end of the 19th century.
Then you have something that you could plausibly call late romanticism, although that's very
difficult to define.
And that sort of dovetails with modernism.
Can you set out some of the defining features of each of those, set out the defining features of each of those
epochs, let's say. And then maybe you can walk us through this idea that you expressed about
increasingly cataclysmic changes. And then that resulting in, in say, 20th century music, that takes us back to the avant-garde as well. Right. Well, the first thing I would say is that
these sorts of categorizations are generalizations.
I mean, you can't take 200 years of human cultural endeavor
and reduce them down to a single word.
And of course, these things are constantly flowing
and transforming.
And there are also all sorts of overlapping contrasting
movements happening at any given time.
So this is really just for the sake of convenience.
But if you wanted to make a generalization,
you could say that during the Renaissance,
music was essentially linear.
It was essentially melodic and contrappunto.
In other words, you would have individual voices,
individual lines that would be flowing along together. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, But music was not yet primarily thought of in terms of vertical or harmonic
sonorities. That really starts to happen with the
broke early in the 17th century. So, broke music has a much stronger harmonic dimension to it.
It's, you could argue that it's harmonically somewhat simpler than Renaissance music,
because it's more codified.
That's when you start getting the first practices on harmony,
the first theoretical writings on music, also, is in the Baroque period.
It's also characterized by the use of highly
stylized and very strong dance rhythms. The classical period is essentially a simplification of the broke style in a certain sense.
Music became strongly divided between what you would call foreground and background elements.
In other words, you would have a very prominent melodic line, and then you would have an accompaniment.
But the two are not necessarily of equal importance, whereas in the broke and the Renaissance,
the voices would have tended all to be of basically equal importance.
There's very little foreground background distinction
in Baroque and pre-Beroque music.
So the classical style is a simplification.
It's also a codification of musical forms.
That's when you start getting the symphony,
the string quartet, the concerto,
while the concerto is also a Baroque form,
but it starts to take on the characteristics
of other classical forms, such as the sonata
in the classical period.
So you get this codification and this simplification of the basic tools of music in the classical
period.
And the classical period is quite extraordinary, actually, because it was a rather short-lived period in which, for a very brief span of time, there was
an overlapping of popular and savant styles.
So you had sort of a vernacular dimension in the classical period.
You had very simple popular forms and popular forms of expression, and you also had the absolute highest degree
of musical science, and they were combined, not in every composer, but certainly the one
that comes to mind is having been the highest manifestation of that combination of the
different qualities as Mozart. And that's probably a unique historical phenomenon.
I mean, there aren't very many composers that can achieve that.
And in a sense, you have to be historically lucky.
The state of the musical language when you're alive has to coincide with your own need
to push the boundaries of your art.
And so that's an amazing thing.
And Romanticism, more or less, puts an end to that,
because it puts a tremendous degree of focus on the individual.
It's an exacerbation of the idea of the self.
And it elevates the subjective emotional impulses of the artist to a very high realm. And so you get these forms of
individual expression that begin to not really jive with the underlying rules of the art. And that's
when things really get complicated. Okay, so that moves us into the, you just talked about the classical period.
The next one that comes along is romantic.
Right.
Okay.
What happens during the romantic period?
And you said Beethoven was an early manifestation of that with his sort of cataclysmic music.
Well Beethoven starts off writing music that's strongly influenced by Hayden, who's one of
the most important classical composers.
And by the end of his career, he's doing pieces that basically are destroying these forms
from within.
It's very, very interesting if you listen to late Beethoven works like the Hammer Clefier
Sonata, for example, or the late String Quartet. It's basically pulling apart these forms in a rather ruthless way and just pulverizing
them.
There's an analogy between that and what happens in other fields of endeavor, you know,
that the philosopher of science, Thomas Kuhn talked about, and also the developmental
psychologist, Piaget, with these revolutions in stages.
And so for PHA or for Koon, scientists were working within, let's call it an axiomatic
theory, and then they could accrete new data into that theory without disrupting the axioms.
But now along, now and then some data would come along that didn't even fit within the axioms, but now along, now and then some data would come along that didn't even fit within
the axioms, and then that data would generally be ignored for a while because no one knew what to do
with it, you know, and and it isn't reasonable to leap to the conclusion that if your theory doesn't
predict something that it should immediately be scrapped because there's always the possibility
that the data itself is wrong, but it is now and then something new comes
long that's enough to collapse the science in some sense
all the way down to its unstated assumptions,
which then have to be recast.
Now, Piaget thought of something similar in terms
of developmental stages in children and in adults,
that the same thing happened when we were organizing
our internal representations of the world.
But Piaget couldn't seem to be a bit of a relativist in that he believed that paradigms could be
in commensurate, that you really couldn't speak between them.
It makes them a precursor in some ways to postmodernism.
But Piaget's point was that each stage transition in human cognition, which was accompanied by a descent
into chaos of some sort, as the anomalous data accumulated, each stage that emerged was
superior to the one before it, because you could do everything you could do in that stage,
plus you could do more.
And so for PGA, there was actually progress along the
stage transformations, whereas for CUN, although I think CUN is less emphatic about that,
that many of these readers seem to think, whereas for CUN, it was more like lateral transformation
or something like that. I mean, it's been a big debate, but it sounds very much to me,
like something similar is happening as musical forms develop.
Oh, sure. It would be impossible to make the argument, though, that this constitutes in
any way a progression or an improvement over time. You can't really make that argument
about musical forms because there are always checks and balances, there are always pluses
and minuses that are attendant with any novel form of musical expression.
Well that's the things that seems to distinguish art from science in some
sense is that it isn't obvious that art is improving. Right, right, there is at
least in principle it seems obvious that science is improving in that
Piagetian way is that we can do everything we could plus more.
But art, so maybe art really does have that structure that Thomas Kuhn talked about where the
paradigms are in commensurate and there's no progression where science has the more Piagetian
structure where there is actually something that you could regard as genuine progress.
that you could regard as genuine progress. Well, what you do have is a constant oscillation
between two fundamental states in music history,
which is you have periods of expansion, periods
in which axioms are tested and rethought,
and periods of consolidation in which you strip away
and you simplify.
And that's a permanent feature of music history. It's a very
interesting thing. When things start to get a little bit too wild, there tends to be a
counter-reaction and a tendency towards simplification. Certainly, that's what happened in the classical
with regards to the broke period.
It's interesting because it kind of implies that the entire system over time is oscillating
around some sort of golden mean or something like that. I mean, not that that thing actually exists in some sense because it would move, you know,
where the appropriate place is is going to be dependent on the nature of the landscape at that
point. But the case you're making is that despite that, there's some boundaries on the movement,
there is not too much chaos and there, which would be, I suppose, too much revolutionary transformation.
And I suppose that the degeneration there would be the experimentation could be so extreme that would actually break the boundaries of what people are willing to accept as music.
There has to be a social contract between the artist and the public, unless you're making a totally hermetic art, unless you're making an art that is not necessarily intended
for public consumption.
So that's a very delicate balancing act, of course,
because artists have the natural inclination to explore,
and audiences have the natural inclination
to stay close to things that are familiar to them
and that are already satisfying to them in some manner.
So what do you think that contract is exactly?
Because obviously, the audience also doesn't want to stay exactly where they are.
It's very difficult to speak in general terms of audiences because they're made up of individuals.
And individuals have wildly different approaches to music and wildly different tastes in music as well.
I mean, one of the extraordinary things about music is that it has so many different functions simultaneously.
If you were to take all the different functions that music is that it has so many different functions simultaneously.
If you were to take all the different functions that music fulfills and abstract out the music part,
and then try to understand what phenomenon could possibly cover all of those different functions,
you'd be very hard pressed to think of anything. I mean, music is a science, but it's also a form of entertainment.
Okay, so you were just speaking about the actual function of music, and so let's pick it
up there, because that's a really interesting issue, and the function and meaning of music,
and I would really like to hear your thoughts on that, so let's go from there.
You can't speak of a function of music, because music has so many different functions.
They seem on the surface of it to be almost completely incompatible.
So you have music that functions as a form of an expression
of religious devotion, but you have music as well
that his primary focus is to get teenagers to go out on dates.
You have music that is crassly commercial.
You have music that is meditative and sublime.
You have music that represents the highest aspirations
of mankind, and music that is piped in through elevators
I mean, that's just a very very partial list. I could go on and on and on
So again, it's a it's an absolutely amazing phenomenon in terms of the the sheer number of functions that it that it covers
It's it's also it's good to dance to it's it's good for movies. It's
Anything you can possibly think of there, there's been some form of music
divide. Each of those functions is actually a little
universe. I mean, the fact that music seems to be useful in movies is a strange phenomena,
you know, because if you go see a movie that locks music, you actually become aware quite
rapidly that it locks music. And it's much more two-dimensional in some sense
that, I mean, you can do it, but it's much more two-dimensional.
It's much more difficult.
What the music seems to do is to fill in somehow
for the lacking context.
It makes it rich and more real, which is even more surprising.
And it partly does that by exaggerating, I think,
the emotions that are being portrayed.
But, well, obviously, if you could say completely
what the music is doing in a movie, then you wouldn't need to put the music in
because you could just incorporate it in a story.
But you talked about elevators, dancing, and movies,
among many other things, and those three things are extraordinarily different
because, obviously, what's being piped into the elevator is there to
what calm the awkward silence something it's something like that was something
familiar maybe it takes the edge off being locked in an elevator with you know
multiple other primates that you've never met and people make fun of it too
because it's denatured music in some sense.
But obviously, there's a demand and a requirement for it and a function.
So, well, anyways, okay.
So we've talked about the multiple contradictory and paradoxical rules that music can play.
But let's go a little deeper.
Why don't you tell us what you think music is doing and why it's so important?
Assuming it is, in fact, important.
It certainly seems to be.
Well, again, it's very difficult to talk generally about that.
And if you look at non-Western cultures and the role that music plays in them, it's
often extremely different from what we do with it.
So for example, South Indian music is very, very long and drawn out, and it's essentially
melodic.
There's no harmony in it.
These are extremely long forms, and you can't listen to them if you only have five
minutes.
It's an entire experience.
Tibetan music is very closely tied up with ritual, for example.
It's a way of reinforcing a certain order
of doing things in.
So there are all sorts of examples.
I think in more traditional societies,
or more archaic societies, the music is rarely divorced
from the surrounding context.
It's not divorced from dance.
It's not divorced from masks.
It's not divorced from the religious context.
And one of the things you see as culture differentiate,
let's say, you could say develop, but let's say
differentiate is that there's a fragmentation of phenomena
into their higher resolution subcomponents.
So the language of biology, for example, continues to expand
as we develop higher and higher resolution models of the world.
And as a society has more and more dimensions, it's possible to specialize more in each of the
sub-dimensions. And that also breaks things apart, but also allows for their further manifestation.
So we could say as a general rule, maybe as you go back into the past, then the number of things that is happening simultaneously
along with music explicitly probably increases.
You know, I've been struck by, oh, one of my friends told me about going to a Led Zeppelin
concert in Sweden, and everyone was sitting politely.
You know, he was from a culture where everybody would have been standing up and cheering
and dancing and clapping and dancing essentially, right? Because of the music. But that was frowned
upon there, which is very, very interesting, because it's an indication of that kind of
almost artificial fragmentation.
Right. Well, I think that analysis is absolutely accurate.
If you look at broke music, for example, what you have is a generalized, kind of stylized version of dance.
It's not the same as music that you would actually dance to, but the entire Broke period
really rests upon dance rhythms.
That goes for pretty much everything Bach ever wrote from the Contadas down to the Fugues.
They're all based on dance rhythms, fundamentally. That's a very interesting thing, because obviously nobody dances to the fugues. I mean, they're all based on dance rhythms, fundamentally.
And that's a very interesting thing,
because obviously nobody dances to a fugue.
I mean, I suppose you could,
but that's not really its primary function.
So a very interesting thing happens
where you get music that is no longer explicitly devotional,
that is it's not explicitly meant to be performed
as part of a liturgical service of some kind, but it's not necessarily meant to be dense to
either. And that's, if you look at music as being a phenomenon that's easily
existed for 10,000 years, I mean that's the amount of the span of time during
which that's been the case is just a drop in the bucket. This is a very, very
recent thing. The idea that you would get several hundred or several thousand people to go and sit quietly in a room while someone's playing
and just sit there and listen, that's extremely recent. That really only starts to happen
really in the romantic period. The idea of a concert per se where there's nothing else
attendant on the experience of the music. Very well. and in pop concerts, rock concerts, a lot of that additional material has been put back in,
you know, in the form of a light show,
and sometimes in more dramatic forms than that,
but the light show, I suppose, is as close as you can get
to representing what music is doing in a visual format.
And I mean, that was conscious.
I know that if I remember correctly,
it was Ken Kizzi in his band of Mary Pranksters that
first started to experiment with electronic lighting and that sort of thing in California
when they were experimenting with LSD back in the 60s.
They were interested in synesthesia.
I know there were classical composers who were playing with that much earlier.
I suppose as well that in the non-electronic format, you could chase that back and off a long way,
the idea of spectacle in encompassing music.
So, okay, so let's circle around the musical element
a bit more, and I mean, you've thought a lot about this,
and you also write poetry.
And I also want to get back to the periods
after the romantic, because we never did finish that
discussion about the cataclysmic restructuring of musical forms up into the modern period.
But let's start by pursuing the meaning issue.
So you were gripped by music and the avant-garde, and you've thought about it for a while, and you've laid out some of the ordering functions of music, for example.
But there's a disordering function of music as well. So give us some more your thoughts about exactly what music is doing for
people and in the deepest possible sense. Well one of the fundamental aspects of
music, if you were to try to define music you would probably have to conclude
that it has two essential components, One is time and one is sound.
It's difficult to give too much of a higher resolution
definition of music than that, because it very, very quickly
starts to exclude all sorts of things
that are thought of as music.
But that's the essential basis of it.
I would say that between the two, probably
the temporal dimension is the most important.
And fundamentally, I would say what music allows you to do is to experience forms of time that we cannot experience in so-called real life.
So, for example, in music, you can have a sort of distinction of actual lived time or a contraction, you can have multiple things happening simultaneously,
you can have people enter into it effectively at a trans state where they're no longer aware
of time. That's an amazing thing also. A lot of music has that explicit function to it.
Well, the idea, you know, music has always struck me as something like a four-dimensional sculpture that's manifesting
itself in three dimensions. Like when I listen to music and stereo listening of course
enhances this, you can see these notes spread out spatially in the three dimensions that
you're capable of perceiving from an auditory perspective. And so there are these patterns
that manifest themselves moment by moment, but the entire pattern stretches across time. And so for me,
and then there's pattern upon pattern as well. And then there's transforming patterns upon
transforming patterns. And to me, that's a very close analog to what the world is like. And it's
multiplicity of layers that are all interacting.
So far as anything is real, it constitutes a pattern that
repeats either spatially or temporally.
I mean, things like smoke, for example, a cloud of smoke
is sort of pseudo-real in that sense,
because it doesn't really have any borders,
it doesn't have any real repetition.
But most things, although it does persist across moments
of time, which is a
form of patterning, but most things that we interact with do repeat, at least to some
degree. That's what object permanence is, is the repetition of something across time.
And music seems to model the persistence and the transformation across multiple levels
all at the same time. And what you said about the
distinction of time is interesting because Mercea Eliada, who's a great historian of religions,
and Freud himself both talked about the transformation of time and the transcendence of time in certain
states, Freud noted that dreams were really good at compressing time or extending time. And
you know, so people have that experience sometimes they'll hear their alarm go off in the morning.
And instead of it waking up, they'll incorporate the alarm sound into a dream
that seems to have gone on way, way longer, sometimes hours longer than the alarm itself.
And the aliatic talks about the, he concentrated mostly, or much on the dream time of the original
Australians.
And they viewed normal time as sort of in sconce inside of an eternal time that was always
present that seems to be something like the time in which music unfolds, something like
that.
Obviously these are ridiculously complicated things.
So, well, musical time is a very complicated thing. I mean, if I listen to a piece of music that's three minutes long, in no way have I actually experienced three minutes of real duration.
I mean, that's an extraordinary thing. This actually allows me to connect to your question about
the avant-garde, because one of the things that fascinated me when I was a teenager was I would be listening to a piece,
a 20th century piece, that might be extremely short,
it might be two minutes long, but I would not be able
to comprehend it, and that fascinated me.
The idea that I would not be able
to comprehend a piece of music.
Now, obviously that has something to do with my personality. I. Not everybody's going to be fascinated by a piece of music that
they find impenetrable, but in my case I did. There's also something else to note
there is that because you're musically gifted it's going you're going to have to go
a lot closer to the edge of what's regarded as let's say conventional or even
the edge of what's regarded as music before you encounter something that's
impenetrable.
Whereas for the average listener, let's say, which in that category, I would certainly include myself,
I don't have to go that close to the edge before I run into music that's complicated enough so that I at least have to listen to it multiple, multiple times before I understand the patterning and the repetition. And it's a lovely thing to experience
when you listen to something complex,
say the fifth or sixth time,
and pieces of it start to fall together.
I really had that experience with box
well-tempered clavier, which I had to listen to.
Jay's maybe 20 times before I would say
I had anything remotely like enjoyment as a consequence.
But and that clicking together of those patterns
also seems to be beautiful in some sense.
It's like you meet the music with your understanding.
And in that meeting of the music with your understanding
is that tremendous revelation of beauty and depth
and harmony and all of those things
that are so good about.
And it's more than that, it's life affirming,
which is a very strange thing about music as well.
And I've noticed that psychologically,
like even nihilistic people, deeply nihilistic people,
and hopeless people, still, they have to be pretty damn depressed
before music loses its vibrancy and saver
and life of
affirming properties which is a really magical thing. I would say that being open
to the possibility that you could enjoy something even though perhaps it's
difficult going the first few times you listen to it is probably a key aspect.
That brings me back to this contract between the composer and the listener. Like, you see, I think what
stops a lot of people, and I would again include myself in that, maybe particularly with
regards to that guard art, is that in order to put in the time and effort that would be
necessary for me to understand and appreciate something like the Well-Tempered Clavier,
let's say, I have to trust that there's actually something
there, and then I'm not just having the world pulled over
my eyes, and that I'm some kind of fool.
And the problem with a lot of avant-garde, at least
the potential problem, is that it's very difficult to dismiss
the notion that you're being played for a fool,
by tricksters and jokesters and frauds.
And of course, you are more likely to be in that situation
if you're listening to something new.
So I think part of people's hesitancy
and unwillingness to throw themselves into something
that's truly new is the suspicion
that the emperor has no clothes
and that they're being played for a fool.
But you, so I do decide, how did you know what you should continue to listen to.
Well, let's pull that apart for a second.
Because if you look at things like the historical avant-garde,
in other words, avant-garde movements that took place,
let's say a hundred years ago, just for the sake of argument,
it's no longer avant-garde.
It's been thoroughly picked apart by historians.
There's been a sort of extended critical process
that's already taken place.
And that's sort of sifted out these artifacts
and decided what's worth discussing
and what's not worth discussing.
So I mean, one of the incontrovertible facts
of music history or art history in general
is that the works that
are no longer able to communicate something vitally important to that addresses a present
concern tend to fall out of favor.
History is merciless, right?
It's absolutely merciless.
And I mean, think of the tens of thousands of composers that were active during the
broke period.
We've, how many have we retained?
There's maybe a dozen figures that are sort of still regularly performed and discussed and
generally known to the public. So I mean, there's an absolutely ruthless selection process that goes on and of course
one of the fundamental difficulties of addressing
contemporary or modern forms of art is that that process
of selection hasn't taken place yet.
So you as a listener are necessarily engaged with that process to a certain degree because
the process of selection hasn't taken place.
There is an overwhelming likelihood that what you're going to hear might not be of the
highest standard.
That's just statistical.
If you figure that there are just to throw a number, 100,000 composers active in the world
today, how many of them are geniuses, how many of them are producing work of the highest
order?
You know, it's going to be a vanishingly small percentage.
So that's not to say that none of them are doing extremely good work.
It's just that if you're coming to that world for the first time and you're not familiar with it,
and you don't sort of have the context to be able to navigate through that space
with a reasonable degree of certainty that you can sort of sniff out the good from the bad,
then yes, it's difficult. There's no point.
Well, it's a good expansion of the metaphor of the avant-garde,
because what that means as an avant-garde listener is you're more likely to be killed,
so to speak, like the avant-garde in a battle,
and it's the same if you're laboring on the edge of musical composition,
the probability that you're going to survive there in a real sense,
and I mean practical like day to day if you're going to make any money,
but also that you're gonna survive into the future
is extraordinarily low.
So, that's the case with this game.
So why play it?
Yeah, but I would say, well, for the typical listener
who doesn't know anything about
broke music or classical music or romantic music, you know,
who's afraid of it, or who's afraid of being made a fool
of for their ignorance
when they first enter into it, which can easily happen, which is quite sad. Why should they go to
the, who should go to the effort of listening to what's truly new and why should they do it?
In Europe, you've got overwhelming musical capacity, so it's clearer in your case.
Well, first of all, the career aspects of writing music that, as you say, lies sort of on the edges of what is recognizably musical to a broad public.
Well, is it a higher risk game? That's an interesting question because if I were to say try to start a rock band, you know, and, and, and write, write songs that were in a conventional format,
you could certainly argue that I would have just as much trouble
if not more establishing myself
than if I were writing in a form of musical expression
that's more esoteric.
Simply because the crushing amount of competition
is actually probably a lot greater in that domain
than in much more highly individualized forms of musical
expression in a sense. So in a way, you could argue that it's a difficult argument to make
because it is very difficult in any case to have a career as a composer, but it's probably
somewhat easier to carve out a space for yourself if you're working in a rather
individual musical idiom than if you're doing something that the overall
culture is already completely saturated. Right, fair enough, fair enough. Well then
what about the listener though, so I buy your argument, but then the listener,
like if I go back and listen to only those composers that time has
conserve, which by your own admission are composers that in
some manner, some mysterious manner, still have something to say, which I also don't understand.
It's like, what does it mean that Bach still has something to say?
Or, I mean, it's the same as Shakespeare, I suppose, but it isn't obvious what it is that
remains to be said.
I don't get that.
It's going to be something like the culture has not
fully incorporated all of the perceptual genius
that that person had to offer.
Bach hasn't been transformed into cliche
or into implicit assumption or something like that.
But because I think that one of the things that artists do,
visual or auditory, is they teach people to see or hear.
You know, the impressionists are a good example of that, because obviously there works,
well, maybe not obviously, but there works produced riots when they were first
publicly displayed. And it's a particular way of seeing the world
that has more to do with light than with form.
But for most people, it's easy to look at
an impressionist painting now.
It seems, it's so embedded into our visual language
that there's nothing about it that seems shocking.
And so I think we've learned that.
And I guess part of the question is,
do we do, do, do composers teach us to, to hear? And once we've learned everything they
had to say, do, do we not need their lesson anymore? It's got to be something like that.
Right. Well, the first thing I would say about that is we've used the word avant-garde quite a lot.
I actually don't like that term very much. And the other thing I would say about that is we've used the word avant-garde quite a lot. I actually don't like that term very much.
And the other thing I would say is that just because something is unfamiliar,
it doesn't therefore follow that it's avant-garde, right?
So I mean, there are forms of music that would be difficult for a certain listener to assimilate.
But it might be something that was written 150 years ago.
So, and it might be something that has, in a certain sense,
been thoroughly absorbed since by, let's say,
certain listeners who are familiar with it,
or people who are familiar with the history of music.
But for someone who's never heard anything like that,
it takes someone, for example, who is living
in a complete indifference to art music in general,
and has never heard Bach. I mean, if you played them
you know at 20-minute collection of fugues, they might find the experience completely intolerable.
So I mean...
Yeah, so that's interesting.
So one of the things that you're suggesting is that
the older great composers are still sufficiently, let's call them avant-garde, for the bulk of the population,
so that there's still hunger for what they were able to achieve.
It still doesn't answer the question of why those people in particular,
I mean, we'd like to think that they were the greatest exponents of their art,
and maybe they were.
I'm sure many great exponents have died unrecognized and some ones that are maybe not comparatively
mediocre have been brought forward.
I don't think that happens very often, but we would.
Well, here's a potential way to answer that question.
I would say that the great composers are the ones that fundamentally they own their material more thoroughly and in a more deeply personal way than
other composers. In other words, there's a minimum of what you might call
neutral material in their music. In other words, material that is essentially
that already exists, that is almost like found material in a sense, and that
you don't have to work very hard to fashion into something resembling a
coherent piece.
A great composer in vents forms, they invent a language, they invent a universe,
they take enormous risks.
And I mean, these composers that we talk about that are familiar names to a very wide swath of the public, Beethoven, for example,
was an absolute avant-gardeist in his time.
I mean, the first performances of a lot of his pieces were truly shocking and truly
upset people.
It's a very relative phenomenon all of this, right?
So I mean, Bach was considered to be a composer by the end of his life who was writing overly
thick, tortured music that was impossible to listen to, that was sort of tortured and ridiculously complex.
So I mean, any composer you can think of that is considered
today to be among the greats as, at some point,
being horribly denigrated and humiliated
and spoken badly of by the public of their time.
So that's just a permanent feature of music history. And again, it's what you'd expect, too, though, because someone who is, let's say, going
in the right direction, but who is way ahead of everyone else is very difficult for them
to communicate what they're doing. And it's very difficult for them to distinguish themselves
from the naked emperor. So...
Right. Well, Ezra Pound has a great
quote, he says that artists are the antennae of mankind. Right, right. I think of
their pseudopods, you know, like, right, exactly. And some of those pseudopods
get bit off. Right. And any of them don't find anything of any value, but now and
then everyone moves in that direction. Right. Yeah, well, it's akin to Jung's idea
that dreams and fantasy are the pseudopods of the mind.
It's the same kind of idea.
And it might be the same idea, in fact.
So all right, so let's go back to your contention
that of this explosive transformation
that finally resulted in the radical transformations
of music into the 20th century.
Do you suppose those transformations
are any more radical than the preceding transformations
had been?
That gets us faster.
They're faster.
They happen more quickly.
They happen more quickly.
They happen exponentially more quickly.
If you look at the expansion and the development of musical language from the medieval times,
it happened very, very slowly for a very long period of time for centuries.
And then you could argue that it more or less coincides with the industrial revolution.
It starts to, at that point, it really starts to accelerate at an extraordinary pace.
And so let's take that analogy further.
I mean, many, many things start to accelerate at an incredible pace in the industrial revolution.
People get far wealthier and far faster than they ever had likely in the history of mankind.
And then perhaps that allows for the funding of more orchestras and the funding of more
full-time musicians because
You know you have to have a pretty rich society in order to have any musicians that are that are actually doing that at nothing else
And they have more leisure time as well. Right, right, right. So that's all working in a positive feedback loop. Yeah
Yeah, okay, so so it's happening faster. All right. So, so walk us through the post
romantic period and tell us what's what's happening and maybe we can then get into the modern,
like, I mean, modern by contemporary period and we can talk a little bit about your attraction to that.
Well, in a sense, you could say that the the structures that had been coalescing since the broke,
the forms and the genres
and so on, start to break up in the romantic era.
They become highly personalized.
You get composers that have highly individual projects.
And also, very more importantly, you have composers that are starting to break away from the patronage
system, from being essentially the servants of the nobility, and start having something
akin to an individual career.
And Beethoven is often thought of as being
the sort of exemplary figure of that,
the sort of one of the first composers
in music history to do that, to write pieces strictly
out of his own volition out of something
that he wanted to express regardless
of whether there was someone necessarily who wanted to pay for it or not, or even who wanted to express, regardless of whether there was someone
necessarily who wanted to pay for it or not, or even who wanted to listen to it. So,
so that's a very, very fundamental change of perspective when that starts to happen.
Yeah, well that's sort of the maybe that's the dawn of the idea of the individual genius that
and maybe that rises in, maybe that rises in a conceptual space also as a consequence
of the ideas of the Enlightenment, because the Enlightenment, what the Enlightenment did
are the Renaissance, maybe even more accurately.
The Renaissance started to dignify creative individuals with the same status that, that,
before that sort of canonical day, it he's had.
And I think you see that transformation in visual art
in the medieval period, the archetypal figures
have this very, what would you call it, abstract,
almost, almost, like, modern animation,
like representation.
And it isn't until the Renaissance kicks in,
especially in Northern Italy,
where the divine people, Christ, especially in Northern Italy, where the divine
people, Christ, say, and Mary, start to take on recognizably human forms.
They become individuals, identifiable individuals.
And I think that's a two-way process, is that not only is the deity becoming identifiable
individual instead of formulaic and abstractly represented
almost like a hero glyph, but the individual is becoming deified at that point as well.
And that seems to me to coincide with the idea of the great artist and the great independent
artist, which is a very strange concept.
And that's got to be also a function of wealth.
The mere fact that that conceptualization is even possible. You know, I mean, if you look back at the history and you look at maybe the master of the
undifferentiated, artistic and religious form might have been something like the Shaman,
but the Shaman was fundamentally a healer and that was his role.
And I suppose how you could say in a sense how he made his living, he just used all these cultural tools
to do that.
But his economic base in some sense was a lot wider.
So all right, so we're in the 20th century,
and we have this plethora of novel musical forms.
And that's happening because there's a lot more musicians,
and there's a lot more listeners.
So the speed takes off.
And I guess another thing that happens is that leaves the typical listener more and more
in the dust.
Well, again, not necessarily.
You have plenty of composers, even in the romantic period, that are writing essentially
vernacular music that doesn't push the boundaries terribly.
And the ones that we've retained, again, are the ones that contributed the most, and the
ones that deviated the most from the sort of standard operating procedure of the day. So we simply, we don't retain
the ones that were average, the ones that were operating safely within the bounds of what
was accepted conventionally to be music. So that's the first thing. So we have a view
of history that is extremely filtered in that sense.
We have no idea what it was like actually to be alive in 1870 and see things from that
perspective.
So that's the first thing I would say.
Yeah, well, that's a funny thing, too, because even with, say, rock music or any other genre,
when you hear a band that was once considered creative, but you hear them 20 years later, you can't tell that they're creative,
because if the creativity was of any reasonable sort,
it's become, I wouldn't say necessarily cliched.
Maybe that's what happens to the artists that aren't retained.
Is their contributions become cliched?
Because everyone else picks it up, and you hear it implicitly
in every other piece of music that's being done.
And so you listen back in the past and you think, oh, there's nothing in that that I haven't heard before.
And so it seems to me that the Beatles are a good example of that, at least for me, when I listen to them,
I wouldn't say so much their earlier stuff, although it's got a vitality that is still somewhat compelling,
but their later music still strikes me as
sufficiently surprising. It hasn't all been incorporated into the rock lexicon.
Truly great music has a depth and it has a
semantic overload in a sense that no matter how many times you listen to it,
you can't actually exhaust it.
That's an extraordinary thing.
I mean, there are-
Yeah, that's a story.
Certainly.
Well, how can that be?
I mean, it leads me to conclude that the piece must contain more than the composer knowingly
put into it, in a sense.
I mean, it's an amazing thing for me to think that a contada that Bach would have had to
write in less than a week,
you know, could could could I could listen to that hundreds or thousands of times and never get to the bottom of it. Yeah, I mean, it's an absolute amazing thing to think about.
That is that he put in his 30,000 hours, right? His musical, his depth of musical capacity was so
immense that he could put a lot into a very little space. But you see the same thing with great visual, you see the same thing with great art period,
the greater the art, the more it's inexhaustible, and it seems surprising.
And the counter example of that is propaganda, I would say.
Right.
And, you know, or the really crassly commercial music, which capitalizes on what everyone knows and
takes at that tiny step. It varies at some tiny step.
So it's playing to the almost already sated crowd.
And there's a niche in there
because it's good for people who want to be pushed
a very tiny amount, but it dies very quickly
because everyone can incorporate
its new message almost immediately.
But yeah, that whole notion of inexhaustibility and art is an amazing thing.
And it has something to do with depth.
I mean, I saw a great representation of the Bible at one point,
a visual representation that showed,
along the bottom, was a graph showing each different chapter.
So imagine a graph with a line at the bottom.
And there's
however many thousand chapters there are in the Bible, each one represented by a bar, a tiny bar stretching downwards, and the length of the bar was proportional to how many times that
chapter or verse, I think it was chapter, doesn't matter, was cross-referenced in the book.
And some of those were cross-referenced,
a tremendous amount, but then there were curves drawn
on top of that, linking all the cross-references together.
So you have this amazingly complex hyperlinked document
where everything in it refers to everything else.
And that gives it this insane depth.
There's just no way of exhausting it
because there's an infinite number of roots
through it in some sense.
Right.
Well, that's certainly true of great works of music.
They're like iridescent, luminous objects that say different things, depending on the
angle at which you look at them.
And so you can listen to a piece of music 10 times over the course of a week and think
that you've more or less exhausted it in terms of what it can say to you.
You go back to the exact same piece 10 years later and you won't, you might not recognize
it at all.
You might hear it in a completely different way because you yourself have changed in
the intervening.
Right.
You know about the other thing is the music is, the music actually exists in the space
where you meet it.
And so your additions of life, what you've listened to,
your mood, and also the way you choose to go through it, especially if it's complex, because you
can concentrate on one instrument or set of instruments as opposed to another, like you can use
them as the guides, or you can concentrate on the bass lines, or you can concentrate on the sounds
that are much higher in the register, and every time you do that with a complex piece of music, it's a different journey.
That's one way of thinking about it.
That's also extremely interesting.
You were talking about an acceleration of music in the 20th century.
Why don't you pick up on that?
I mentioned earlier that it starts to take place with the Industrial Revolution, and it takes up extraordinary speed at the beginning of the 20th century.
And in a sense, you could say that the history of music in the 20th century is not divorceable
from the world wars.
You cannot separate them.
You also cannot underestimate the enormous significance that that had on
the development of the art. I mean, certainly after the Second World War, there's a generalized
sense amongst European musicians that fundamentally an old order had been overturned and had proven
to be absolutely rotten. And there was an almost peroxismal desire to get away from that
and to create entirely new musical worlds.
And that was definitely allied with the need
to build a new and better society.
So you can't separate those two things.
And you have to try to imagine yourself
as a 20 or 25 year old composer growing up
in a Europe that's been absolutely devastated
to the extent that there's practically nothing left.
And you're trying to rebuild on top of that.
So that's the situation that the composer isn't born in that
era we were faced with.
So do you want to pretend as though nothing has happened
and go back to writing late romantic music?
Or do you accept that fundamentally something enormous
has taken place that you can't ignore?
And if you want to be an authentic artist
and if you want to manifest the things that you can't help
but perceive, then how do you do that?
And can you do that within the confines of a language that was associated with the period before the war?
So that's a somewhat simplified kind of events, because certainly there was a push towards ever more personal and individual forms of expression
starting with the late 19th century, but it really accelerates and takes off after the Second World War.
And that counts for a number of reasons.
Okay.
Well, and also, it seems to me that it was that post-war period, roughly speaking, that
was what grabbed your attention when you were composing your pop songs as well and drew
you in through that particular rabbit hole.
So back to the post-war period.
Right, so one of the interesting things that happened
in Europe was that the need to reconstruct
these different states manifested also through a desire
on the parts of certain politicians
to show how advanced their societies could be
through the medium of art.
So in Germany, for example,
enormous sums of money were put into music.
And they developed radio orchestras every single region had its own orchestra, very, very high levels of artistic quality as well.
And so one corollary of that was that they wanted their music to be absolutely advanced and absolutely striking.
And that was a kind of a very strong impulse that began to be felt in other European countries
as well. And France, for their part, had to also show that they were investing in contemporary art
and contemporary music. And so there was a very high degree of subsidization of the avant-garde in the post-war period.
Now, that's not to say that life was easy for every artist because it most definitely was not,
and it was an enormous struggle for composers to produce this kind of work and have it be performed.
But there was certainly a major investment on the part of certain European states
in terms of funding this kind of musical expression.
So, let me have more or less... part of certain European states in terms of funding, this kind of musical expression.
So we have more or less.
They seem to have known instinctively, even
by your own argument, that if they were
going to rebuild, that this was going
to be part, an important part, maybe a vital part
of the rebuilding process.
And you wouldn't think that necessarily,
because you would assume that people's attention
would be drawn to what you might
regard as more practical concerns.
But, of course, since we don't know what role music is playing precisely,
but a role that seems to be incredibly important,
it's not that easy to figure out exactly what's practical and what isn't.
Keeping people's morale up is of incredible import,
or restoring the morale as well, is of incredible import, maybe above all else.
Right, right, absolutely.
Yeah, so one of the essential functions of art is
is spiritual, whether people know what or not.
And so if you want to rebuild your culture,
there's no better way to do it than through the medium of art
as far as I'm concerned.
I mean, it's an absolutely fundamental thing.
It's so fundamental that even in the most, in the midst of the most horrific experiences a human being can
be, there is a there is a redemptive experience to be had in art.
Right. Right. Right. Right. Which is really, really to say something. I mean, it really
is to say something because there's often, you can find people in situations often
where nothing else could do that. There can't be reached by any other means. And many people are like saved by art.
There's no doubt about that. And I think that's true on an ongoing basis, even with young people.
I mean, certainly when they're going through their late adolescent or even early adolescent,
cataclysmic changes, many of them live for music. And music is helping them
catalyze a group identity, but deeper than that, it's also providing them with the implicit
sense that there's meaning, that the being is meaningful and that there's meaning at hand.
And you can't argue with the other thing that's so cool, especially about music, is you can't
argue with its meaning. It just manifests itself. So it's outside of the domain
of rational, you can't criticize it. You sound like a fool. It's like, well, why are you dancing?
It's like, well, that isn't a question. And also there's no answer to it. And why are you listening
to music? What's the point? It's also not a question. And there's not an answer to it. You either, it's self-evident and it's almost self-evident to everyone, which is fantastically remarkable.
It is indeed.
So the last thing I would say about that is that fundamentally, the way that someone expresses themselves through music, if it's authentic, fundamentally it's not a choice.
So one thing that audiences might keep in mind
if they're about to engage with something
that's unfamiliar to them, is that if it's a half-decent work
of art, if the composer is sincere in what they're doing,
then fundamentally it's something that in a sense
they have to do.
There's not a strong element of choice involved.
So it's not an arbitrary thing to express yourself in one way or another.
I mean, it's something that you don't get to choose.
So I've also noticed, like, I've had more than my fair share of creative clients, probably
I know certainly because they're attracted, for example, to come and see me by the content
of my videos and my lectures and that sort of thing.
And one of the things, and I studied creativity in some depth and its relationship to personality
and one of the things that I found that I've really been struck by is that there is a
trait which is openness, which is a fundamental trait.
And for people who are high in openness, if you imagine the person as a central
trunk with a few branches, you know, and the branches are the place where the
nourishment emerges up into the, well, and back, of course, too.
But there's a pathway of life along those of those subdivisions of the
trunk. If they're creative, that might be the main part of them that's alive.
And if that is the manifesting itself, they just droop and die.
Sometimes they criticize them to death, send themselves to death rationally or, well,
there's a choice.
They can either pursue their creative nature or they can wilt and die.
But that's not much of a choice, really.
And it's striking to me how fundamental an instinct that is
and how unrelenting it is, and it manifests itself
in their increased proclivity to fantasize
and to dream and to find like a life inside of boxes
that's predictable, unbearable, really unbearable, whereas
a conventional person, a conservative person, isn't like that at all.
They find that routine soothing and the exercise of that predictable duty, meaningful and sustaining,
but a creative person, that's just death for them. Well, there's plenty of examples of creative artists
who have had to endure the most horrible suffering
and just terrible material circumstances
in order to pursue a singular creative vision.
And I mean, that's an absolutely amazing thing
that you think that people would voluntarily
subject themselves to that.
So it makes you wonder, it's actually voluntary.
I don't know.
Oh, it makes us happy.
The alternative is worse. Right. The alternative is worse. The alternative is actually voluntary. I don't know. Oh, I think it's worth.
Right. The alternative is worth.
You know, and so they are possessed to some degree by genius.
You know, that's the genius.
It's a major thing to possess a person and it's a it's a it's a fundamental
natural manifestation. So is it voluntary?
You can either cooperate with it or get crushed by it.
I think that's basically the, that's basically that your choice. It's still a choice. And you
know, you do interact with your creativity. It's not like it just pours out of you. It's,
there's, there's, there's work that needs to be done, even though the, the source is there,
in some sense, which is also extremely strange. It doesn't just pull out,
although it doesn't some people,
but they have to have developed the expertise necessary
for that to occur.
It's still effortful and demanding.
More to, well, it's effortful and demanding
and we can leave it at that.
So, yeah.
Okay, so what was back to the beginning of the story
since we're going to do the right thing from a musical perspective
You talked about being attracted to the avant-garde poking up through
In some sense because of your experimentation with integrating that into pop songs
But then that took you down this rabbit hole that that propelled you into your career as a composer and into moving to Europe and all of that
so and you said that part of that was that you found some of what you were listening to incomprehensible
and that was a mystery to you, you wanted to pursue it.
Was that, see that as a manifestation of your musical ability trying to perfect itself?
You found something you admired and couldn't comprehend or what was it?
Well, first of all, could we exchange the term rabbit hole for a gleaming field of light? That's how I would characterize it. I think that's a little bit more accurate.
How can I explain this?
There's a dragon with every gleaming field of light.
I'm not going to explain this. There's a dragon with every leaning field of light.
No, one of the things I would say is that there are things that I would hear and I would
instinctively know are deeply meaningful.
They are so meaningful that I almost can't begin to fathom their depths.
And you don't necessarily understand them intellectually.
You don't understand how they are made or how they function or what
their component parts are.
But there's something in it that fundamentally speaks to you on a very, very deep level.
I can't explain why that is.
I can't explain why certain things that I've heard or that I heard when I was a teenager
had that effect on me.
But they were like invitations into a world of seemingly limitless potential that you cannot refuse.
It's like a form of fascination that grips.
Yeah, well that's the grip by the Mercurial Spirit.
You know, that Mercurius is this thing that flits around that can't help but attract your attention, the God Mercur.
And he's an emissary of the gods. Right? Yes, exactly that. And so if your interest is trapped by something like that,
you find it spontaneously meaningful. It is an invitation.
So, and you don't have to follow it, but if you do follow it, you'll find what you're being
invited to for better or for worse. Right. Right. Yeah, it's an instinctive sense that this
is something that is deeply meaningful, and you follow it, and it takes you right. Yeah, it's an instinctive sense that this is something
that is deeply meaningful.
And you follow it, and it takes you places.
And so that's what happened with me.
I was listening to the composers of what's
called the second Viennese school.
So that's a trio of composers, Bergen Schunberg
and Weber, who I was instinctively fascinated by
when I was a teenager.
Now, they're considered by some people to be difficult composers to get into.
It really depends on the work, I would say. There are pieces that are actually quite accessible,
but there was something there that absolutely fascinated me.
And once I understood that that world existed,
I found it extremely difficult to go back to
what I had been doing previously.
Now, my music has absolutely nothing in common with theirs.
I mean, it's stylistically very, very different.
So, it's not a question of wanting to do the same thing necessarily.
But it was a sign that there is an enormous world of exotic knowledge and experience to be
had if you only pay attention. Well that's a good, that's a good, what would you
call it? That's a good phrase to think about in relationship to life in general.
So, and it's a thing for people to know because you know if you're living a life
that's devoid of sufficient meaning there is the probability that there's a
bunch of things that you could be paying attention to that would rectify that.
It's not that simple because you can be in states of mind that make that very, very difficult,
but it is nice to know that those gleaming fields exist and that you can pursue the flickers
and find out where you're going to go.
All right, so I'm going to close this by pointing out to everyone that Sam Andrea
has a Patreon account, www.patrion.com forward slash Samuel Andrea.
Is that correct?
That's right.
All right, good.
And so, if you're inclined to indicate your support for his work, at least to visit his YouTube website as well, because Sam has made a lot of videos,
a number of different videos, helping guide people through the musical landscape, the complex musical
landscape, which seems to me to be a very useful endeavor. So, anyways, thanks very much for talking
to me and with everyone that's listening, and I suspect we'll do this again in the future.
and I suspect we'll do this again in the future. Yeah, thank you for the invitation.
I really appreciate it.
Thank you for listening to Episode 8 of the Jordan B Peterson podcast.
To support these podcasts, you can donate to Dr. Peterson's Patreon page
or purchase the self-authoring programs at selfauthoring.com. The links are in the description. Thank you for listening.