Saturday, June 24, 2023

Something I Wrote in 2019 About a Musical Analog to "A Failure to Communicate"



I want to say something about two of Morton Feldman's final works, Piano and String Quartet (1985) and Piano, Violin, Viola, Cello (1987). Something that, perhaps weirdly, seems to me connected with  the current polarization of political thought in America.

Both the piano quartet and the piano quintet go back to the late 18th Century. In fact, both Mozart and Beethoven wrote piano quartets in 1785, exactly 200 years before Feldman published his Piano and String Quartet. I believe, though, that Feldman's two works are unlike any other pieces written with this instrumentation in one important respect: in both pieces, the strings almost never play at the same time as the piano. In all prior (and, I assume, all later) works, there is some sort of "melding," harmonization, or counterpoint between the voices. In Feldman's, the only interaction or "discussion" is a sort of confused, sometimes completely uncomprehending, statement and response. In these works the strings and the piano are entirely polarized, in different worlds, and none of the members of either group (hands or fingers in the case of the piano) "disagrees" very much with anyone within its own tribe, There may be occasional slight discrepancies in the "view" expressed by the cello as compared with that put forward by the violin, but they are generally in accord, both rhythmically and harmonically.
So, in both works, there is this utter inability to really communicate or coalesce with "others." In each one can imagine two species (or cultural groups) slowly making their way through immense chunks of time, each entirely unable to grasp what the other is doing. Bad mimicry is the extent of the "understanding."
These pieces are often called "melancholy" because of their length, slow pace, and repetitiousness. And also, of course, because of the choice of chords and timbres Feldman favored throughout his career. But to me they also seem sad because they show inherent limitations, both within individuals and groups, in getting outside oneself. For me, each work is a good musical expression of both contemporary political polarization and what can happen to the earth when species fail to understand each other.
That is what the two pieces seem to me to have in common. There are differences too, however. The earlier and more aptly named Piano and String Quartet is, to me, quite difficult to listen to because the piano plays nothing whatever except single, upward-flowing arpeggios, separated by whatever (usually harmonics) chord the strings respond with. After about five minutes, I want to stick a pencil through both of my eardrums--especially when I remember that the piece will go on like this for over an hour. Each group here has nothing much to say: it is the incomprehension between ocean waves (at low tide) and a piece of sea glass that's stuck in the sand. Maybe this music could be background for those who find it relaxing while reading or trying to fall asleep, but I don't think one can really attend to it. I can't, anyhow. It's just irritating.
The later piece is very different in that regard. While there is again a ton of repetition, there is the sort of variety one can find on Fox News or CNN broadcasts or within a batch of various canines. They are again stuck in their separate, inviolable boxes, but are not really one-note Johnnies--at least to those who can "get" their spiels. Here, the name of the work is (I bet intentionally) misleading. They are not individual voices--piano, violin, viola, cello at all. Rather they are two groups again, but now, not entirely homogeneous. Each has become inherently interesting, even in its stubborn isolation from all other groups.
Anyhow, I think it is a great masterpiece, and a fitting swansong to Feldman's incredible legacy. You can listen to it here

Friday, June 9, 2023

Which Views are Sensible, Which Off the Wall?


Is it obvious that the Earth is a globe or is it actually more certain that it couldn't be? And does it really matter which view is the more natural one for an unbiased investigator to take? When we are assaulted on all sides by claims that may seem crazy on their face, should we commit to finding things out on our own and not taking anybody else's word for anything, or is the sensible thing to look around for experts, since we surely have neither the time, money nor expertise  to figure out most things on our own?  But what if the experts are wrong--or worse, members of a powerful group that has the intention of deceiving the rest of us? Who, what can we trust?

Kelly Weill's Over the Edge provides her deep take on these matters. It's about conspiracy theories and how they grab some people and seem to wrestle all the rationality out of them. Thanks to the internet,  craziness--including some very perilous versions--is growing by leaps and bounds. This makes her book not only gripping but politically important. You can read my review of it here

Naturally, Weill can't answer all the crucial epistemological questions: some have puzzled history's greatest thinkers. But it provides insight into both the most personal and the most dangerous angles. There is infinite Antarctic ice to be found here, and brazen hucksterism, and blatant antisemitism, and lizard people, and arguments with cracked premises and only insults for conclusions, and accidental death on behalf a cuckoo theory, delivered by a powerful steam rocket's impact with the Earth. 

The crossword in the picture above is an homage to Susan Haack's classic Evidence and Inquiry, a a book whose "foundherentism" centers on the fact that we cannot just get lost in the "across clues": we must always also consider the "downs."