The Fix

I’ve come across a fascinating way of looking at the idea of musical transcendence. It was in a review of a biography of one of the great ethnomusicologists, John Blacking, and the attached excerpt reminds me that I need to reread his own work . Somehow this idea really speaks to me — “the memory or prospect of self” in transcendental experience through music.

Further exploring the idea of transcendence – in this case in relation to her experience of conducting research into Haitian Vodou songs — Rebbecca Sager examines Blacking’s notion of ‘the other self”. Beginning with an examination if this concept in Blacking’s theory, Sager concludes that, for Blacking, the ‘other self’ was ‘the memory or prospect of self in the experience of transcendence”(150). She then proceeds to explore her own concept of ‘the other-self within’ as expressed during moments of transcendence in Vodou music and ritual context, proposing that the ‘other-self within’ is a ‘manifestation of the highest values imaginable by the person being possessed” (153). For Sager, Blacking’s exploration of the ‘other self’ encountered in moments of (especially musical) transcendence, ‘transformed the landscape of identity theory (168) and integrated the individual into his concept of common humanity.

– from Thérèse Smith’s review of Suzel Ana Reily (ed.), The Musical Human: Rethinking John Blacking’s Ethnomusicology in the Twenty-First Century (2006), in Journal of the Society for Musicology in Ireland, Vol 2 (2006-2007) (online Journal)

Blacking studied the Venda people of South Africa in great detail and then wrote extensively about the connection between music, intellect, and the body. He went as far as to say he only truly came to understand the Western music he was raised with, after studying the Venda in depth. I wonder if it was just  simpler for him to be objective and come to conclusions when he was observing an unfamiliar culture.

One of the books I’m currently reading is Effortless Mastery, by jazz pianist and teacher Kenny Werner. He explains his understanding that in order to achieve mastery of one’s chosen instrument, one must reach a state where the music can flow freely and effortlessly. He points to Vladimir Horowitz, Bill Evans — and one might add, himself — as examples of people who played as though they were breathing, whose hands seems to float over the keyboard as though they were ‘watching the music play itself.”

I was attracted to the idea of the book, but I admit, I was worried it might be feel-good nonsense — pardon my cynicism, but I wondered why we should encourage the freeing up of mediocre talent.  However I’ve come to realize that perhaps it’s because I don’t feel free at the keyboard that I’m not the pianist I’d like to be; and conversely, a lot of what he’s describing is where you have to be to sing Gaelic songs, and where I’ve learned to be when I sing them.

With music of most kinds, if you’re just thinking about getting it right, then you’re already wrong. And if you think too much while singing the traditinal Gaelic songs, you’re ruining them. You have to kind of let the song sing itself — amazingly, my friend the Gaelic singer Peter Mac Lean seems to do this. However, the way you let the song sing itself is to be so damned familiar with it that you’ve absorbed it.  You pore over the words, think about their meaning, thumb through the dictionary, discuss the song with musical or gaelic-speaking  friends — then you’re ready to sing it.  In my own experience, if a song comes out well at all, it’s because I’ve learned the words and the melody so well that i don’t have to think of what’s coming next, and that allows me to be free to let the song do its thing, or to have some fun with it.

I strongly suspect that this “space” Kenny Werner talks about is where Jon Brion ‘goes’ when he’s soloing on guitar, or doing an inspired live mix. But he’s be the first one to admit that he practices like crazy. Sure, he has a great natural talent, but this is the man who claims to have sat in front of the TV for 2 years playing along with everything. He might be exaggerating, but the upshot is that he practiced a lot.

It also ties in with my friend Margaret’s theory that genius requires preparation — she used many precedents beginning with Mozart — and she’s pinned down the prep time requirement to 12 years.  In the case of Mozart, it’s his approximate age when he composed his first highly accomplished works.  In the case of Jon Brion, well, Jon left school at 17. 17 + 12 = 29 = 1993 = the year he produced Aimee Mann’s first solo album, which you might point to as the start of his real career.

Whatever natural talent is there, it seems to require both preparation, and the confidence/freedom/assuredness to let it out in a free and personal way.