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