Don’t anyone miss Anne Midgette’s nice profile of composer James Tenney in today’s Times.

In response to my post on classical musicians rejecting scores for being deficient in dynamic markings, a fellow blogospheroid objects,

Since a score is just a set of instructions for performers, surely it’s not unreasonable to expect that a composer will tell the performers what he wants – say whether it’s supposed to be loud or soft and where…. Otherwise, at least in my experience, something like that is the first thing the players want to know – with good reason, I think. So leaving it all out just ends up wasting time later when the issue has to be addressed.

What an eminently reasonable argument! How could anyone take issue with it? But it embodies a modernist classical assumption that I don’t share: that a composer is required to decide in advance what the volume levels of every moment of his music should be, and to deny the performer the right to intuitively shape the music himself. What is the correct dynamic of “Summertime”? What’s the dynamic level of Wayne Shorter’s Nefertiti? What is the correct dynamic level of Bach’s Violin Chaconne (since the manuscript shockingly omits dynamic markings)?

Whatever else it was, Downtown music was always, always, since those first bizarre concerts at Yoko Ono’s loft, an attempt to create a music in-between high and low art. Rather than superficially combine elements from classical music with those from pop and jazz (though it has certainly done that often enough too), it more often aimed at a new kind of music whose ontological status was in-between classical and jazz: free enough that performer decisions and interpretation might once again play an important role, but still structured enough that the piece would have a strong identity from performance to performance. Aiming for a point halfway between “Summertime” and Philomel, Downtown musicians didn’t want their pieces to become mere templates for an improviser to redefine in his own style, but – most of all – neither did they want to be stuck in the restrictive modernist classical paradigm of the total, reified sound object of which every nuance was thought out in advance.

Yet rather than see the looseness of Downtown music as a move in the direction of freedom from conceptual straitjackets, and a laudable attempt to break through a debilitating cultural impasse, academic and orchestra musicians invariably, invariably compare it with that classical paradigm and thus interpret it as merely deficient, unfinished, incompetent – except for those few pieces that become famous, like Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians, which, oddly enough, cease to seem incomplete once they are performed so brilliantly and so often.

[I might also note the classical/orchestral assumption embedded in my respondent’s comment that “So leaving it all out just ends up wasting time later…” – that the rehearsal of music should be a quick, efficient process, and that taking the extra energy to try out different interpretations is a waste of time. This is why a lot of composers won’t bother writing for orchestra.]

Transferring my vinyl to CDs is a trip through my musical adolescence, and part of the trip I retraced today was Penderecki’s Threnody for the Victims of Heroshima. What an incredibly original soundworld with all those prickly col legnos and mass glissandos, what a stunning breakthrough in 1960. No wonder the piece made Penderecki famous. And yet, listening to it today with fresh ears, what a lifeless structure, what a limp succession of effects that never add up to anything, even in the recording conducted by Bruno Maderna. Now that so many others have used those same effects better (and for that matter, Xenakis had already used them more interestingly in the ’50s), it hardly justifies my efforts to bring it into my repertoire class to impress young conductors with. The piece itself pointedly reminds me that the title that made it famous was an afterthought, and that Penderecki had originally planned to call it what it really more sounds like, 8’37” – eight minutes and 37 seconds.

We moved to a house whose owner had been absent a couple of years. The trees and bushes are so overgrown with parasitic vines that their growth is being stunted. I’ve pulled down hundreds of feet of vines, releasing the trees underneath to uncurl and grow toward the sky again.

New music is similarly overgrown with vines: the school-taught classical assumptions about what constitutes musical sophistication.

Composer A sent me a new score to an orchestra work. She wanted to submit it for an award for which Composer B is on the panel, and asked my opinion because I’m friends with Composer B. It’s a terrific piece – I’ve heard it – but I looked at her score, with its endlessly repeating rhythmic patterns, its pages and pages with no new dynamic markings, its postminimalist absence of detailed notational nuance. I know that the more classically-oriented Composer B is going to take one glance and dismiss it as “unsophisticated.”

I had a brilliant composition student several years ago, the first student who ever took my Analysis of 20th-century Music course as a freshman. He did very well in it, too. His big influences, besides post-rock, were late Beethoven and Sibelius, both of which he had studied in some depth. He wrote what I thought was a subtle, innovative orchestra work that, without being loud or rock-oriented, recast orchestral texture according to some pop paradigms.

The performance of his piece was cancelled because it contained “too many whole notes,” and looked unsophisticated. I imperiled my own impending tenure by insisting on its reinstatement, which I achieved, but an investigation was threatened to see whether my composition students should be taken away from me, because I clearly wasn’t competent to teach them sophisticated techniques. To this day I remain the second-class composition teacher.

Later I had another composition student who wrote an orchestra piece entirely on the C major scale, no sharps or flats. I once wrote an ensemble piece on the C major scale myself, and John Luther Adams has several lovely orchestra pieces using only the C major scale, one of them 70 minutes long and recorded on New World. I see no problem with this. But I let her finish the piece the way she wanted it, and then I said, “Will you do me a favor?” “What?” “Transpose the piece up a half-step.” A couple of clicks in the notation software, and the piece was now in D-flat major. This time the performance passed without incident, the realization that there were no subsequent accidentals having come rather late in the game. I knew if a student of mine had turned in a piece using only the “white” pitches, there would have been another investigation.

Now I’ve got a student with a very nice piano piece, cluster-filled and sort of Henry Cowell-reminiscent. She absolutely resists putting dynamic markings. A lot of young composers today don’t like dynamic markings: they listen to music on the car stereo, they admire pop music that’s been dynamically compressed, and the idea of using dynamic contrasts and crescendos to shape a piece strikes them as precious, classical, insipidly Romantic. But she knows what to do to get past the classical people: she’ll put in a bunch of mp and mf dynamics, and after the performance she’ll take them right out again.

The classical people suffocate music with a raging network of stupid, anti-intellectual, false beliefs:

Only chromatic music can be sophisticated.

Sophistication in music always manifests itself on a detailed, gestural level.

A plethora of notational nuance equals sophistication; absence of notational nuance equals lack of musical knowledge.

What audiences want in their music is sophistication.

For my money, Erik Satie is the most sophisticated composer of the early 20th century. You analyze his music in close detail, he often broke every known rule of harmonic progression and voice-leading too consistently to have been by accident. This entails, of course, that he knew the rules perfectly well, and by so doing, he helped Debussy and Stravinsky stem the overwhelming tide of organicist Wagnerianism. Yet Satie is precisely the historical figure whom the classical types most dismiss as unsophisticated. Among other things, his scores were the most blankly notated of their day, often without even barlines.

Last night our school chorus performed Orff’s Carmina Burana. A very simplistic piece, harmonically. Lots of C major scale. Rhythmically, it struck me once again as far more sophisticated than anything Schoenberg ever wrote. The audience ate it up.

Awhile back I wrote about my project to put all of the CDs I use for teaching on an external hard drive, and the subject seemed to generate some mild interest among music blogospheroids. I continue apace: I now have just over 4000 mp3s, some 20 days’ worth of music, occupying 33 gigs of a 250-gig hard drive. But I also just received a new G5 desktop for my office at Bard, with a 75-gb capacity. And since I hardly use my office computer, doing most of my business on my laptop, I decided to transfer all of those mp3s to my G5 as well, and keep the hard drive at home. That way I don’t have to load mp3s onto a computer to play them, and don’t have to delete them for space afterward – I just click and the music plays. It’s hooked up to my office stereo, which is an excellent one that was donated to us, and one I’m keeping until we have another use for it.

I can report a revolutionary impact on my teaching habits. A couple of weeks ago a student came in trying to write a piece in jazz style for orchestra. I said, “Well, there are some models for that kind of thing, like Darius Milhaud’s Creation of the World.” I clicked on La Creation du Monde and it played. “And there’s also Bohuslav Martinu’s Le Jazz.” Clicked on it, and it played. “But if you want something more authentic, you might try William Grant Still’s Afro-American Symphony” – clicked on it, let it play a couple of minutes – “or, better yet, James P. Johnson’s Harlem Symphony” – click, and it played. It’s like I think of a piece and it appears – no searching through shelves of CDs, no trips to the library, no promising to bring that disc tomorrow. I only wish I had my scores as PDFs, because those I still have to search for. A student came in expressing an interest in environmental sound, so I clicked on Luc Ferarri’s Presque Rien No. 1, which led to talk about musique concrète, so I played Varèse’s Poème Electronique. [Note to self: rip some more musique concrète examples.] He also needed some guidance setting a text in English, so I grabbed a blank CDR and burned him some scenes from Virgil Thomson’s operas.

A piece rarely comes to mind that I don’t have on that computer, and I’m astonished at the variety I’ve gotten in 4000 mp3s: the complete secular works of Dufay and Ockeghem, some Scots ballads sung by Ewan MacColl, some Residents albums, Ornette’s Free Jazz, most of the Haydn symphonies and masses, the complete works of Claude Vivier and Mikel Rouse, the Field Nocturnes and the available Dussek sonatas, quite a bit of Indian classical music, all of Harry Partch, Schwitters’s Ur-Sonate, all the major Stravinsky except Rake’s Progress, the complete Well-Tuned Piano, all of Charlemagne Palestine’s discs, the complete songs of Ives, all the orchestra works I teach in my 20th-century repertoire class for conductors, Papago Indian songs, several discs of quarter-tone music by Wyschnegradsky, the complete Brahms piano music, every known scrap of Satie, all my own works, and tons of new music. The main area underrepresented is opera, because I hate to have to upload 45 different mp3s to have Die Gotterdammerung. Somehow I’ve got to have the complete Wagner on there. And I still worry that mp3s aren’t faithful enough to represent the acoustically subtle music of Phill Niblock and Eliane Radigue well. Still, now all I need is a similar setup in every classroom, and teaching music will become a much more vivid experience. I understand there are some copyright problems with this, and I’m afraid we’ll have to end up subscribing to some academic library system that won’t be nearly as diverse as my own collection. Too bad, because we’re getting so close to what teaching music would be like in heaven.

I even thought of offering a class in which I set iTunes on random shuffle and talk about whatever comes up. That’s a little too Cagean, I guess: I’d end up giving long, long disquisitions on Young and Palestine, and cramming everything I know about Satie into 90 seconds.

Postclassic Radio‘s May Composer of the Month – Flavor of the Month? – is Daniel Lentz, naturally. He’s got too much really compelling music that’s been out for too long, and friends of mine whom I consider new-music mavens remain inexplicably unacquainted with it. Richard Friedman reminded me, though, that the station hasn’t yet aired any Giacinto Scelsi, which I immediately remedied. And there are two new string quartets up, the Fourth (“Beneath thy tenderness of heart”) by George Tsontakis, a really lovely work, and a 2004 quartet by young Dutch composer Renske Vrolijk, who proved so popular last September that I’ve been haranguing her to send more music. And some other stuff.

This post by one E. Fulton on the Salon.com chat pages is making the rounds, and worth it:

Conservatives omit several important words in their whining about being oppressed, so in order to understand them you have to add those skipped words back in. For example:

Liberals are against people of faith forcing their faith on other people and intruding on the constitutional notion of religious freedom for all people.

Conservatives can’t say anything openly offensive to minority groups, factually incorrect, and otherwise lacking any substance these days without hearing other people say that hate-filled and meritless comments are inappropriate, which is really just more speech, not a limit on anyone’s free speech at all, and having to hide behind some faux-rebel posture by claiming victimization from non-existent political correctness being “forced“ on them.

We have to use wedge issues to spark a fight to distract from our inability to create sound economic, social or foreign policies and preserve our political dominance among people for whom morals is an easy shorthand for “homophobia,” and we hope that our family members and staff won’t expose our hypocrisy and lack of integrity, so that we can lie about doing things we say we’re against and continue our craven approach to the attacks by us against homosexuals and liberals, whose behavior is no more immoral than ours, but our agenda is more important, because it gives us power, even if our use of it will ruin our country.

Christians are most assuredly not the most persecuted group in the country, and what we want to do with liberals is to claim their call for social justice by making sure that we keep harping on false claims that no one can say “Merry Christmas” and insisting on inappropriate and sacriligious uses of our own religious iconography to force the prohibiting of any religious display by government entities, which we know shouldn’t be displaying religious messages anyway.

See? They’re really just using a shorthand that makes interpreting their messages a little trickier, but once you see what’s not being said in context, it makes perfect, if Machiavellian and totalitarian, sense.

…is seeing Sonny Rollins amble into the local food market.

I went to Fargo to visit Henry Gwiazda. He used to make sampling pieces in virtual audio, placing sounds in three-dimensional space. He despaired of that, because it only worked with the listener in a certain relation to the loudspeakers, which meant that he could only play his music for one person at a time. (Though the effect, captured in his piece Buzzingreynoldsdreamland, is pretty astonishing. You can experience the piece on an Innova CD, but you have to set up your stereo speakers just right.) He’s more recently gotten involved in a video-animation/sound art fusion instead. He’s got some new pieces coming out on an Innova DVD that’s going to be beautiful. (My interview with him will be an extra feature on the DVD, and that’s what we were doing.) I think of Henry as the Nancarrow of my generation, because he’s reclusive, few people know his work, he’s working with technologies no one else is using, and yet he also has a kind of low-tech element to his work, since his sound samples and video models all come from commercial sound libraries and modeling software. He picks up old technology no one had thought of using creatively and makes evocative poetry with it, the way Nancarrow did with the player piano. Of course you’ve never heard of him: he’s 53, and Nancarrow was discovered at 65.

Whenever I inveigh against the unfair obstacles Downtown composers face, I sometimes receive a certain kind of question: Isn’t the value of Downtown composers that they’re rebels, and wouldn’t they be ruined if they became part of the establishment? If they won awards and became university professors, wouldn’t they lose their authenticity? Wouldn’t they become as complacent and authoritarian as Uptowners if they got performed a lot and were financially comfortable, and wouldn’t their music weaken? Can’t the social conscience that their music represents only be preserved by keeping them disenfranchised and in relative poverty?