Music, Humor and the "Long-Haired Hare," Part 1 of 2

I chuckled a while back  when I read that the comedian Soupy Sales had died.  I wasn’t happy at the thought of Mr. Sales’ death; I was smiling with the recollection of Sales’ signature gag:  a pie in the face. In Sales’ TV show of the mid-sixties, celebrities would often appear in skits or banter with Sales. At some point in the show, they would invariably receive a pie in the face.  Everyone watching the show knew the pie was coming; the anticipation of what was to come and in being in on the joke, belonging to the group that knew what was to come, was part of the fun. The mock surprise, horror or anger expressed by the celebrity, the exaggerated show of wiping off the pie from his or her face, the fact that a well coiffed handsome or beautiful person was despoiled by banana cream pie, were funny, because a context was created with the skit or banter and broken with an incongruous act, the pie in the face.    Perhaps a kind of schadenfreude was at work—the pleasure in seeing those envied brought low. 

A fine example of humor that combines many of the comedic techniques discussed (expectation, exaggeration, incongruous acts, elites brought low) in a musical context is the animated film, Long-Haired Hare, starring Bugs Bunny.  The title is amusing in that it is a pun on longhairs, a term of derision for those who devotedly listen to classical music. Carl Stalling, the musical director of the animated short, begins the opera parody in the title sequence. He twists Rossini’s aria, “Largo al Factotum,” with the employment of bawdy muted horns and tin-whistle, non-traditional symphonic instruments, which create a banana-peel-slip effect:  a musical slapstick and pratfall that foreshadows what is to come in the context of the cartoon, a lampoon of opera and the elitists who listen and practice opera.  

The central incongruity of the short film is fashioned in the juxtaposition of two opposites, Giovanni Jones, a famous though fictitious baritone, rehearsing Largo al Factotum in his home with an off-screen pianist and Bugs, lounging over his rabbit hole, singing “A Rainy Night in Rio” and accompanying himself on banjo.  In the first few minutes of the short, Stallings has set up a system in which the urbane Jones and opera are symbols of elitism, while Bugs and popular music represent the common man.  

What Lies Beneath? Part 2 of 2

As the shark motif ascends to a higher register, additional instruments join the double basses.  Rhythm quickens, and texture thickens; the music rises in intensity and unexpectedly ends, creating tension and increased apprehension. New voices emerge as a harp glissando leads a swell of strings, which mimic the swells of waves at ocean’s surface, and provide transition from the confined tonal space where the shark motif is first heard, to a wider vista, suggesting that the shark has moved from a confined hunting ground to open sea.  

A variation of the shark motif begins with hints of the same diesel-driven rhythm as the original and sparks my imagination.  A boat, suggested by this variation, plows through the waves above the menace of the deep.  A xylophone plays a string of notes, pearls of sound, carried by the variation and an innocent echo of the menace of the shark motif.  I imagine the notes as drops of sea-swept spray produced by the  boat’s bow as it makes its way through the waves and carries naïve, would-be heroes unaware of the enormity of the task they’ve undertaken to slay the monster.  

The variation ends, and Williams repeats the shark motif.  It’s as if the beast has noticed the new prey and has turned to attack.  The music rises in intensity to a frenzied, final burst of sound and fury, then softly repeats and fades, creating the sense that the shark has prevailed against the heroes and is moving off into the distance.  The shark remains at large—just below the water’s surface, just below awareness.

References

American Film Institute (Producer). (2009).  AFI’s 100 years of film scores.  AFI.com, 2009. Retrieved fromhttp://www.afi.com/tvevents/100years/scores.aspx. 

Calkins, J. (1991). Sharks Tales of whales, turtles, sharks and snails. Retrieved fromhttp://graysreef.noaa.gov/tw/sharks.html.

Gazzaniga, M. (2008). Human: The science behind what makes us unique. New York: HarperCollins Publishers.

What Lies Beneath? Part 1 of 2

Some researchers posit two aspects of emotion (Gazzaniga, 2008, pp. 166-167).  There is the conscious aspect of emotion, the ken of why the emotion is felt, and there is an aspect of emotion, mood, which is below consciousness, formed in the shadowy, netherworld of the subcortical brain, the limbic system.  Music may, under certain, controlled conditions, spark imagination and evoke both aspects of emotion through imitation of a physical object or condition and the context of the imitation.  If the music is powerful enough, if the musical motif, the aural hook, is memorable, the imitation may become a personal or cultural symbol.

Jaws, the 1975 Steven Spielberg film from the Peter Benchley novel, provides the context for John Williams’ score, a score that conveys the behavior, movement, and menace of the perfect predator it imitates, the Great White Shark.  The imitation is so perfect, and the context is so powerful that the shark motif of the film score entered American pop culture as a symbol of underwater menace in the summer of 1975, and it later became a general symbol of imminent danger.  The score is one of the most memorable film scores of all time (AFI, 2009), and I need only hum a few notes in that “buhhhh-dup” low-pitched rhythm to see smiles of recognition on the faces of those who hear it.

Sharks remain in motion so they can extract oxygen from water running over their gills and because they have no air bladder for buoyancy.  They hunt primarily through olfaction and can smell prey a quarter mile distant (Calkins, 1991).  This movement and hunting behavior is expertly imitated in the opening stanzas of the City of Prague’s Philharmonic Orchestra’s, Jaws – Main Theme. Two elongated, slow, low-pitched notes are created by bows of double basses slowly sawing across the strings.   The notes suggest girth and power; the slow rhythm imitates the leviathan’s initial search for the scent of prey.  As the rhythm increases, the elongated, soft legato articulation yields to more intense, staccato bursts simulating the shark’s success in locating quarry. Bold, low-pitched brass notes, attacked with vigor and abruptly ended, mimic the arousal of the shark as it begins its attack run and serve notice that this beast is something to fear.  Horns sound recognizable hunt motifs and amplify the fear. Upon repetition, the forceful shark motif begins a mechanical sounding, diesel-driven, locomotive rhythm.  The implication is that this organic menace has adapted so perfectly and precisely to its niche, that it has almost become a mechanical entity, an automaton of death.  

Tension and Release Part 2 of 2

Sexual connotations are abundantly expressed in classical music, but they are often more subtle to the casual listener’s ear than sexual suggestions in more contemporary music genres. In contrast to the graphic lyrical or physical imitation of sex in popular music, classical music employs the basic pattern of tension and release, arousal and relief created through the use of musical elements such as imitation, timbre, intensity, rhythm and register.

An excellent example of the representation of desire, arousal, and sexual tension in classical music is “Dance of the Seven Veils,” in Richard Strauss’ opera, Salome.  Based on Oscar Wilde’s play, the opera is the Biblical story of spurned love, incestuous arousal and murder. Stepdaughter of Herod Antipas, Salome becomes enamored of John the Baptist.  The prophet spurns her, and in a fit of pique, Salome determines to have him murdered.  Salome performs an erotic striptease for her stepfather at a palace banquet, and he grants Salome her wish. Tympani and brass begin the dance with a fanfare that foreshadows the lust and desire that the dance will provoke in Herod.  Violins, oboes and flutes seemingly tease and caress sensual phrases out of the night air.  Quick, light descents down scales imitate the one-by-one removal and falling away of silken veils, revealing more and more of Salome and increasing Herod’s desire. Triangle, castanets and finger cymbals provide exotic color for the erotic dance.  Heavy, engorged horn leitmotifs sound occasionally and imply the affect the dance is having on the concupiscent king.  Rhythm and intensity wax and wane during the course of the dance, increasing the tension and imitating the king’s craving for the relief that is just out of reach as Salome tantalizes Herod.  At last, the final veil is removed, and percussion and horns explode in energetic frenzy as the music rises in crescendo and at last, peaks.  Release of the king’s distended desire is imitated and symbolized by the brief, oboe and flute duet, which holds the listener’s ear in splendid relief until a concluding orchestral exhalation of satisfaction. 

I wonder if those wishing to protect America against what they considered lewd in popular music in the eighties would have sought a “Parental Advisory” label on Strauss’ work if they had understood the vocabulary of classical music?

Tension and Release Part 1 of 2

In 1984, some “nattering nabobs of negatism,” to re-purpose the Spiro Agnew/William Safire phrase, believed that one of the reasons America was going to hell in a handbag was the depiction of sex or sexual acts in popular music.  Perhaps they thought enough is enough, but sex in popular music had been with us for some time, maybe just not as overtly depicted as the song that incited the outrage, “Darling Nikki,” and the lyrics, "I knew a girl named Nikki/I guess you could say she was a sex fiend/I met her in a hotel lobby/Masturbating with a magazine.” How many or how few sexual references are heard in music depends on the vocabulary employed and whether the listener understands the vocabulary.  Surely, Elvis’ pelvic thrusts and hip gyrations as he sang “Burning Love,” or “All Shook Up,” didn’t leave much to the imagination.  What else did Marvin Gaye mean when he sang, “Ohh baby, I’m hot just like an oven/I need some lovin’/And baby, I can’t hold it much longer/It’s getting stronger and stronger,” in his hit “Sexual Healing” of 1982.  Sometimes the vocabulary is less obvious; sexual depictions are not always so “naked.”  Dusty Springfield’s breathy and coolly understated interpretation of Bacharach and David’s “The Look of Love,” or June Christy’s soft, husky delivery on “Shoo Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy,” (giving new meaning to the phrase “I never get enough of that wonderful stuff”) are examples more nuanced references to sexuality.

Tired Eyes

I met Mark while working for a wireless equipment maker in the late 90s.  Slight of frame, bright of mind and sunny in outlook, Mark was one of those people that could get along with anyone…the kind of person whom you gravitated to at a party because you knew he would be glad to see you and take interest in what you had to say, no matter how weighty or inane.

I last saw him at a lunch we shared in February.  We had not had much contact after we both left our former employer, but I wanted to ask him a few questions regarding a job search I was doing.  An hour or two before we were supposed to meet I got a text message from him.  He didn’t want to startle me when I saw him…he had some recent health problems and would be dragging an oxygen tank with him to lunch.

Mark arrived at the restaurant and looked frail.  The warm smile and sunny disposition were still there, but you could see weariness in his eyes.  He spoke a little about his condition…doctors were running tests/they didn’t know the root cause of the illness/he might need to take a leave to get some specialized help.  Mostly, he and I spoke about friends in common, what each of us was doing now, the usual kinds of lunch chitchat.  We left the lunch vowing to stay in touch.

Last Friday I got a text message from another friend who said that Mark had died the day before of cancer.  Quite a shock.  Mark was in his 40s, still vibrant, but another victim of the Big C.  The flame cast by Mark is now snuffed out.  A little less light in the world. Another friend gone.  

We and They, Part 2 of 2

A second example of music’s role in group cohesion and identification is its use in the context of sporting events. Indicative of this point is Queen’s, “We Will Rock You,” a popular staple of American football games. The song begins with an uncomplicated rhythm of eighth note tom-tom beats on the first and third beats of the measure with a combination of snare and handclap quarter notes on the second and fourth beats.  After a few measures of the percussion solo, the vocal melody begins, an aggressive melody with little pitch variation. After the performer recites the melodic incantation call, the response by the audience is to unite with the performer in singing the chorus.  

In the song’s re-purpose for American football games, the performer/audience binding affect acts to unite team and fans. While fans do not participate in the game itself, they do experience the sporting event and unite with the team against an opponent by participating in the group activity of singing in unison and experiencing the shared arousal and excitement evoked by the music.  In a similar way baseball fans are united in the seventh-inning stretch by the communal singing of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame;”  however, unlike the call and response, martial anthem of American football described above, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” is a gentle waltz.  The song’s pleasant rising and falling variation in pitch, its slow tempo and cheerful, nostalgic lyrics call fans to pause and to embrace the game, regardless of outcome.

Dowling & Harwood (1986, p. 236) state that music’s role as  “…a cohesion-facilitating group activity—an expression of social solidarity,” began with the earliest, hunter-gatherer social groups. While music’s ability to unify individuals and to strengthen group bonds is not unique—civic associations, political parties, even the clothes we wear or the cars we drive can mark in-group, out-group distinctions—the fact that music continues to influence group coordination and identification tens of thousands of years later is testament to the depth of its affect and adaptive value.

References

Bowker, J. (1997). Music. The concise oxford dictionary of world religions.  Retrieved October    25, 2009, from http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1O101-Music.html.

Dowling, W. J.,  & Harwood, D. L. (1986).  Music cognition. San Diego: Academic Press.

Storr, A. (1992). Music and the mind. New York: Ballantine Books.

We and They, Part 1 of 2

In Music and the Mind, Storr (1992) notes that “music brings about similar physical responses in different people at the same time.” Music serves as an aid to group formation for good or ill, but also “…has the effect of intensifying or underlining the emotion which a particular event calls forth, by simultaneously coordinating the emotions of a group of people” (Storr, p. 24).  Through this synchronization affect on individual emotional behavior, music can reinforce the notion of who are we, and who are they.  Two areas in which music plays an important role in behavior coordination and group identification are religion and sport.

The inclusion of music in religious services or rituals is universal (Bowker, 1997), and in some instances music not only identifies and binds members of a group, but may also serve to impel outsiders to join the group. As a child and teen growing up in the Bible Belt, I witnessed music’s power and influence on individuals to join a group in the context of evangelical tent revivals.  I saw how music played an important part in distinguishing between believers and non-believers in the message conveyed by hymns such as “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” but I saw music’s most powerful influence during the “come to Jesus” apex of the program. Almost invariably, the choir and crowd sang “Amazing Grace,” as the preacher urged the un-saved to come forward.  The hymn’s spare, unadorned, ¾ time melody is easily learned, remembered and popular; regardless of musical ability, those attending the revival as members of the believer group were able to join in singing the hymn.  The song’s quarter note, half note rhythm seemed to create a musical impetus and momentum that drove non-believers out of their seats and walk to the front of the tent for salvation and inclusion into the fold.  The resulting combination of the pull of the preacher’s message, the push of the song and the massed voices of crowd and choir was commanding and difficult to ignore.

What Lies Beneath the Surface?

Some researchers posit two aspects of emotion (Gazzaniga, 2008, pp. 166-167).  There is the conscious aspect of emotion, the ken of why the emotion is felt, and there is an aspect of emotion, mood, which is below consciousness, formed in the shadowy, netherworld of the subcortical brain, the limbic system.  Music may, under certain, controlled conditions, spark imagination and evoke both aspects of emotion through imitation of a physical object or condition and the context of the imitation.  If the music is powerful enough, if the musical motif, the aural hook, is memorable, the imitation may become a personal or cultural symbol.

Jaws, the 1975 Steven Spielberg film from the Peter Benchley novel, provides the context for John Williams’ score, a score that conveys the behavior, movement, and menace of the perfect predator it imitates, the Great White Shark.  The imitation is so perfect, and the context is so powerful that the shark motif of the film score entered American pop culture as a symbol of underwater menace in the summer of 1975, and it later became a general symbol of imminent danger.  The score is one of the most memorable film scores of all time (AFI, 2009), and I need only hum a few notes in that “buhhhh-dup” low-pitched rhythm to see smiles of recognition on the faces of those who hear it.

Sharks remain in motion so they can extract oxygen from water running over their gills and because they have no air bladder for buoyancy.  They hunt primarily through olfaction and can smell prey a quarter mile distant (Calkins, 1991).  This movement and hunting behavior is expertly imitated in the opening stanzas of the City of Prague’s Philharmonic Orchestra’s, Jaws – Main Theme. Two elongated, slow, low-pitched notes are created by bows of double basses slowly sawing across the strings.   The notes suggest girth and power; the slow rhythm imitates the leviathan’s initial search for the scent of prey.  As the rhythm increases, the elongated, soft legato articulation yields to more intense, staccato bursts simulating the shark’s success in locating quarry. Bold, low-pitched brass notes, attacked with vigor and abruptly ended, mimic the arousal of the shark as it begins its attack run and serve notice that this beast is something to fear.  Horns sound recognizable hunt motifs and amplify the fear. Upon repetition, the forceful shark motif begins a mechanical sounding, diesel-driven, locomotive rhythm.  The implication is that this organic menace has adapted so perfectly and precisely to its niche, that it has almost become a mechanical entity, an automaton of death.  

As the shark motif ascends to a higher register, additional instruments join the double basses.  Rhythm quickens, and texture thickens; the music rises in intensity and unexpectedly ends, creating tension and increased apprehension. New voices emerge as a harp glissando leads a swell of strings, which mimic the swells of waves at ocean’s surface, and provide transition from the confined tonal space where the shark motif is first heard, to a wider vista, suggesting that the shark has moved from a confined hunting ground to open sea.  

A variation of the shark motif begins with hints of the same diesel-driven rhythm as the original and sparks my imagination.  A boat, suggested by this variation, plows through the waves above the menace of the deep.  A xylophone plays a string of notes, pearls of sound, carried by the variation and an innocent echo of the menace of the shark motif.  I imagine the notes as drops of sea-swept spray produced by the  boat’s bow as it makes its way through the waves and carries naïve, would-be heroes unaware of the enormity of the task they’ve undertaken to slay the monster.  

The variation ends, and Williams repeats the shark motif.  It’s as if the beast has noticed the new prey and has turned to attack.  The music rises in intensity to a frenzied, final burst of sound and fury, then softly repeats and fades, creating the sense that the shark has prevailed against the heroes and is moving off into the distance.  The shark remains at large—just below the water’s surface, just below awareness.

References

American Film Institute (Producer). (2009).  AFI’s 100 years of film scores.  AFI.com, 2009. Retrieved from http://www.afi.com/tvevents/100years/scores.aspx. 

Calkins, J. (1991). Sharks Tales of whales, turtles, sharks and snails. Retrieved from http://graysreef.noaa.gov/tw/sharks.html.

Gazzaniga, M. (2008). Human: The science behind what makes us unique. New York: HarperCollins Publishers.

Opening the Music Box

When I was a boy, the mechanical movements of gadgets, instruments and toys fascinated me.  I remember my Mother’s music box, a plain deal box scented with the fragrance of her perfume and scented talcum powder.  If opened, the movement inside played a song as a ballerina twirled.  I was fascinated to discover how winding the mainspring and increasing its tension enabled the ballerina to spin and the music cylinder to turn.  As the cylinder turned, small studs on the surface of the cylinder moved the tines of a metal comb, and a thin melody was struck.  The mainspring’s coil of flexible metal released and spent its energy, and the cylinder slowed until the last note played.  As the tension of the coil decreased, my anticipation of which note would be the last note played increased. I hoped that final note would be the last note of the melody, and I waited intently for the spring to wind down.  Most of the time, the cylinder stopped mid-melody.  

Psychologists classify memories associated with time, place or emotion as episodic memories; they are memories of context.  If the context is personal, the memory could be called an autobiographical memory.   The experience of listening to a work of music can evoke these kinds of memories and associated emotions through the use of tonality, musical shape, pitch, key, intensity and other music elements.  I found this true in my own experience as I recently re-listened to Elmer Bernstein’s main title to the film, To Kill a Mockingbird, and the recollection of my Mother’s music box. 

The film--based on Harper Lee’s coming-of-age novel about growing up in the Deep South during the 30s and against the backdrop of an accusation of rape—describes how complicated, complex and incomprehensible adult life, morals and attitudes can be when seen through the eyes of children.  This leitmotif of a child’s view of the world is expertly depicted as Bernstein’s title music unfolds.  The score begins with a waltz-like melody in ¾ time, unadorned, clear and pure, played by solo piano in a high register.  Bernstein allows the last notes of the motif to fade and end, and a brief rest follows.  A second section begins as strings and woodwinds enter and provide a moving background to a flute solo that introduces a new motif.  The texture thickens, and a series of shifting rhythmic accents produces instability and confusion; for a time, the flute solo is almost lost.  The phrase ends, and the piano returns, but now the piano’s voice is matched in duet with a celesta as they play the waltz melody.  A flute solo with string accompaniment follows the duet in a more tranquil and calming counterpoint than the previous section. When the solo finishes, strings and brass to a full orchestra statement of the waltz motif.  Instead of the simple opening statement, the melody ebbs and flows in intensity, and some notes are robbed of their full, original duration.  The orchestral waltz fades, and the final section repeats the motif of the first but, in a setting that provokes more tension and instability.  Just as my Mother’s music box stopped when the mainspring wound down, and the melody ended without resolution, Bernstein’s work ends unresolved. The piano, accompanied by accordion and strings, ends the piece without sounding the theme’s final note.

Most probably the waltz structure and piano solo in the work sparked my recollection of the music box, but as I listened to the piece, I reflected on a number of ideas and themes.  Why are some memories from childhood clear and pure and others faded with time or confused by subsequent events? How often do singular events, such as the central event in To Kill A Mockingbird, affect a change in view, as opposed to a summation of changes, and which have greater influences on development?  What prevents the unwinding and resolution of conflicts?  When I wind down and my life concludes, will it be with a sense of completion, or without resolution?

Hello World....

So, what am I doing?

I've been in the tech world most of my working life, but I still consider myself a luddite, or maybe at the very least have a few luddite tendencies... But, since I have a little more time on my hands (more than I would like!) I am writing this blog and joining the world of blogging to share some thoughts on music, current events, history, and maybe even some political musings.  Well, maybe not so much political musings...never know who is reading.

I have spent some time working on music projects and have released a couple of CDs.  In future posts I will provide some background to a few of the songs on these CDs, but for the most part, I'll refrain from self-promotion.

So, happy reading and let me know if any of these posts spark some recollection, insight, joy or anger.

StreetChoir