For what it's worth (something for us to mull over):
I listened to the live CD of the concert yesterday and am more convinced than ever that punctuating the music with Amy's reading of the poem does not work aesthetically (I always had my doubts but felt it was worth the risk). I was very aware lying on the couch caught up in your instrumentals that her words break the spell of the music, a haunting, evocative, often melancholy but deeply stirring sound like the music Keats makes with his verse. It's terrible to lose this charm and have to climb back into it.
I'm not taking anything away from Amy's reading, which has many merits, I'm just saying it may do an unintentional disservice to BOTH the music AND the oral performance of the poem. For whatever reason (the awkward shifting between two very different media? The rough demands it places on the audience?) the effect is to break the spell of the music and force the audience to shift gears rather violently into poetry and then shift back again (twice!) into music.
At the same time, I'm loath to lose the reading of the poem and would hate to substitute a dull page of poetry for the audience to read in silence. This wouldn't work either (as we've discussed) and would divert the audience's attention and take away from the multimedia aspect of the total performance. The poem must be performed out loud. You recall we worried about reading the poem all at once at the beginning b/c it's so long and b/c such a reading risks lulling the audience. I now think we should take that risk, though I think there are ways to avoid the soporific effect by making the poem more of a narrative, by having Amy really perform it as a story with definite highs and lows, modulation of voice, an arc of development. I'm also contemplating the idea of having the poem read with TWO VOICES, which would create more interest and variation for the audience, more intrinsic drama, and also blend beautifully with the fact that there are two of you performing the music. It might then help bridge the gap between reading and playing. It might also create some great interpretive opportunities with the poem. Maybe I could read with Amy. We could practice it few times and see where it takes us.
I do think we should also think seriously about projecting parts of the poem (magnified) behind you as you play. It would bring the visual into the performance in a vital way (off the page, onto the wall). The poem's difficult enough that it would really help the audience connect the words with your adaptation. It would serve as another form of transition between the reading and playing. And we could also use images of the manuscript draft of the poem in K's own handwriting (not difficult to read), which would add an autographic, creative aspect to the show, playing up your own act of musical re-creation as well.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Notes [Razzi]
These are just notes!
I was just playing along with the midi-file recording of Nigtingale and had a few ideas:
-I don’t know that the opening should start with that major theme on violin. I tried it and it just doesn’t “feel” right. It’s very major/nostalgic/dreamy sounding (not achy/drowsy/numb) which feels somewhat contrary to the opening of the poem and sounds strange when Brian opens with the chromatic/minor piano part. I need to develop something somewhere in between.
-Much of the piano part is based in melody which makes it very difficult for me to develop a violin part that stands out. Now that we have the core structure of the piece, I think we need to work out musical themes and play off of one another rather than have the violin act as an accompaniment to the piano. I envision the two music lines melding together and connecting at times; influencing one another rather than one part dictating where the other part should go.
-I love the way the piece juxtaposes fullness and fading. It’s like an ocean tide moving you back and forth. We can definitely play that up a lot.
-While I was toying around with my part, I was experimenting not only with chromaticsm/mixing major with minor but also syncopated rhythms. A big part of the poem is the meter and Keats breaks it in every stanza. He moves from iambic pentameter to trimeter in the 8th lines. Syncopation added a new complexity/tension to the piece…I’ll have to play around with that more.
-I’d also like to experiment with the “doubt” in the ending of the poem. I feel as though the ending should not be clear to the listener. There should be a real loss of time, perhaps even key, and the piece should fade into nothing, but so subtly that the listener is left wondering if they might still be hearing something.
I was just playing along with the midi-file recording of Nigtingale and had a few ideas:
-I don’t know that the opening should start with that major theme on violin. I tried it and it just doesn’t “feel” right. It’s very major/nostalgic/dreamy sounding (not achy/drowsy/numb) which feels somewhat contrary to the opening of the poem and sounds strange when Brian opens with the chromatic/minor piano part. I need to develop something somewhere in between.
-Much of the piano part is based in melody which makes it very difficult for me to develop a violin part that stands out. Now that we have the core structure of the piece, I think we need to work out musical themes and play off of one another rather than have the violin act as an accompaniment to the piano. I envision the two music lines melding together and connecting at times; influencing one another rather than one part dictating where the other part should go.
-I love the way the piece juxtaposes fullness and fading. It’s like an ocean tide moving you back and forth. We can definitely play that up a lot.
-While I was toying around with my part, I was experimenting not only with chromaticsm/mixing major with minor but also syncopated rhythms. A big part of the poem is the meter and Keats breaks it in every stanza. He moves from iambic pentameter to trimeter in the 8th lines. Syncopation added a new complexity/tension to the piece…I’ll have to play around with that more.
-I’d also like to experiment with the “doubt” in the ending of the poem. I feel as though the ending should not be clear to the listener. There should be a real loss of time, perhaps even key, and the piece should fade into nothing, but so subtly that the listener is left wondering if they might still be hearing something.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
A Waking Dream: A Note on the Musical Composition of Keats' Ode to a Nightingale [Kirchner]
Ode to a Nightingale presents some difficult complexities in its composition. We are never quite sure about the chronology of the poem. Keats seems to weave in and out of the dream world, as well as ending where he began in the first stanza. Christi and I considered writing music for each stanza and then mixing up the songs out of order, but this didn’t work well at all. Even if the “time” of the poem is malleable, Keats’ words and lines are introduced for a reason. Instead, we decided to change our method of composing music altogether. We instead decided to create a musical quilt of thematic ideas rather than a stilted collection of songs. Like a recurring dream, Ode to a Nightingale consists of recurring characters and themes throughout the poem. Some of these themes and motifs are:
The Nightingale herself
Longing for escape/ drunken bliss
Sickness/palsy
Love of death
Darkness
The bell
Ruth
Themes should not be relegated to one stanza or song in this case. Instead, we decided that the entire piece should function like a collection of motifs rather than individual melodic sections. Even when new motifs are introduced, they are haunted by other images and characters in the poem. This changes the stability of the music. Listeners are repeatedly set off balance as melodic ideas fade in and out of the piece. This is not to say that our interpretation of Ode to a Nightingale lacks melody. In fact, the piece itself is highly melodic and follows a similar compositional structure to 18th century Sonata form.
The difference lies in the repetition of ideas and the contrapuntal voicing of the piano and violin. Two instruments are kind of lame when you think of the enormous palette Keats used to write the Nightingale poem. What we hope to achieve is to use the intimacy of these instruments as an interpretation of the narrator’s loneliness and loss in the poem. At first, we thought it might be interesting to have one instrument be the narrator and the other instrument the Nightingale, but the poem does not allow for this uniform characterization.
“Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy”
At times the narrator becomes the bird and hopes to “fly to thee” and form “wings of Poesy.” One could argue that the narrator never achieves his desire to become the bird, but to do this would undercut the importance of desire and dreaming in the poem. If the Nightingale is a dream, than he is an object of the narrator’s imagination. Therefore, we cannot and should not separate these two characters. So how do we address the nightingale in the music? Christi and I decided to create our central theme around the bird, and let this theme infect each and every stanza in a different way. Sometimes Keats directly addresses the Nightingale, and other times the bird is less apparent in the poem. Since every stanza includes a new musical idea, we can actually let the Nightingale change the direction of the theme in positive or negative ways depending on the stanza.
The Nightingale herself
Longing for escape/ drunken bliss
Sickness/palsy
Love of death
Darkness
The bell
Ruth
Themes should not be relegated to one stanza or song in this case. Instead, we decided that the entire piece should function like a collection of motifs rather than individual melodic sections. Even when new motifs are introduced, they are haunted by other images and characters in the poem. This changes the stability of the music. Listeners are repeatedly set off balance as melodic ideas fade in and out of the piece. This is not to say that our interpretation of Ode to a Nightingale lacks melody. In fact, the piece itself is highly melodic and follows a similar compositional structure to 18th century Sonata form.
The difference lies in the repetition of ideas and the contrapuntal voicing of the piano and violin. Two instruments are kind of lame when you think of the enormous palette Keats used to write the Nightingale poem. What we hope to achieve is to use the intimacy of these instruments as an interpretation of the narrator’s loneliness and loss in the poem. At first, we thought it might be interesting to have one instrument be the narrator and the other instrument the Nightingale, but the poem does not allow for this uniform characterization.
“Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy”
At times the narrator becomes the bird and hopes to “fly to thee” and form “wings of Poesy.” One could argue that the narrator never achieves his desire to become the bird, but to do this would undercut the importance of desire and dreaming in the poem. If the Nightingale is a dream, than he is an object of the narrator’s imagination. Therefore, we cannot and should not separate these two characters. So how do we address the nightingale in the music? Christi and I decided to create our central theme around the bird, and let this theme infect each and every stanza in a different way. Sometimes Keats directly addresses the Nightingale, and other times the bird is less apparent in the poem. Since every stanza includes a new musical idea, we can actually let the Nightingale change the direction of the theme in positive or negative ways depending on the stanza.
Performance Aesthetics [Razzi]
I do not envision the pieces necessarily connecting immediately for the listener. Slowly, as the song progresses and themes are established and recur, the pieces will begin to fit together—much like the actual process of writing the song.
We do plan to experiment with sound location and lighting effects to intensify the listener’s sensory experience. In the poem, the Nightingale seems to be singing from different locations. In order to emulate this effect, I plan to move about the room when I play the Nightingale theme. In this way, no two audience participants will have the same experience. The experience becomes very personal and allows the listener the opportunity to become the speaker and experience the speaker’s delights and frustrations with the Nightingale.
The lighting should be extremely simple. As the piece begins, we should have full lighting—perhaps even the audience should be lit. As the piece progresses, just as the poem, the lights should dim—VERY gradually—so that the audience does not perceive the change at first. Again, we are creating a full sensory experience. Sight and sound, as well as touch/feeling are involved in this performance. I say touch/feeling because the very act of creating music creates sound waves and vibrations that can be perceived by the listener.
We do plan to experiment with sound location and lighting effects to intensify the listener’s sensory experience. In the poem, the Nightingale seems to be singing from different locations. In order to emulate this effect, I plan to move about the room when I play the Nightingale theme. In this way, no two audience participants will have the same experience. The experience becomes very personal and allows the listener the opportunity to become the speaker and experience the speaker’s delights and frustrations with the Nightingale.
The lighting should be extremely simple. As the piece begins, we should have full lighting—perhaps even the audience should be lit. As the piece progresses, just as the poem, the lights should dim—VERY gradually—so that the audience does not perceive the change at first. Again, we are creating a full sensory experience. Sight and sound, as well as touch/feeling are involved in this performance. I say touch/feeling because the very act of creating music creates sound waves and vibrations that can be perceived by the listener.
Coffee Conversations [Kirchner & Razzi]
Musical expression is a continuation of writing Romantic poetry. It involves the use of multiple sensory experiences to convey an idea, a feeling, emotion, etc. In this way, music transcends the page, freeing the poem into a field of expression.
This is problematic. The poem itself is an act of music: there’s sound, rhythm and melody already present in its form. So the question really is—what are we transcending if we’re not transcending the poem itself? We’re transcending the act of interpretation (reading?). By converting or “translating” a poem into an act of sound we’re becoming a new kind of bard. This bard does not rely on the spoken word, but rather upon the emotive side of the poem.
_________________________________________________________________
So far we’ve worked on the middle of the poem [Ode to a Nightingale]. This is point where the false sense of security is there, washes away and the speaker connects with the Nightingale and “flies” with it. In terms of music, we have established a melodic Nightingale theme (which probably will be present throughout the rest of the piece in alternate forms) which moves into darkness/sickness…a very uncomfortable space. There are 2 themes of music playing out—escape or flight and the Nightingale melody. We still need a dark period that is neither escape nor melody, but rather illness and stagnation—i.e. musical chromaticism, instability. Right now we’re really at the stage of establishing themes—sounds for each feeling/mood/instance, but the connections between each stanza and establishment of time have yet to occur.
It would be extremely difficult and almost contrary to Romantic writing/the poem to write “in order” or sequence, basing each musical idea off of a stanza. Rather, it makes more sense to begin by identifying the themes and developing each into a musical idea that will later result in an interpretation of the entire poem. It’s like a puzzle. Each piece is developed and slowly sketched out and as each grows and connects to another piece, the entire “picture” or poem becomes clearer.
This is problematic. The poem itself is an act of music: there’s sound, rhythm and melody already present in its form. So the question really is—what are we transcending if we’re not transcending the poem itself? We’re transcending the act of interpretation (reading?). By converting or “translating” a poem into an act of sound we’re becoming a new kind of bard. This bard does not rely on the spoken word, but rather upon the emotive side of the poem.
_________________________________________________________________
So far we’ve worked on the middle of the poem [Ode to a Nightingale]. This is point where the false sense of security is there, washes away and the speaker connects with the Nightingale and “flies” with it. In terms of music, we have established a melodic Nightingale theme (which probably will be present throughout the rest of the piece in alternate forms) which moves into darkness/sickness…a very uncomfortable space. There are 2 themes of music playing out—escape or flight and the Nightingale melody. We still need a dark period that is neither escape nor melody, but rather illness and stagnation—i.e. musical chromaticism, instability. Right now we’re really at the stage of establishing themes—sounds for each feeling/mood/instance, but the connections between each stanza and establishment of time have yet to occur.
It would be extremely difficult and almost contrary to Romantic writing/the poem to write “in order” or sequence, basing each musical idea off of a stanza. Rather, it makes more sense to begin by identifying the themes and developing each into a musical idea that will later result in an interpretation of the entire poem. It’s like a puzzle. Each piece is developed and slowly sketched out and as each grows and connects to another piece, the entire “picture” or poem becomes clearer.
Romanticism [Razzi]
How is writing music based on poetry a Romantic act?
Romanticism places emphasis on the emotions—“trepidation, horror and awe”—and breaks through the boundaries of “reason.” The conversion of poetry to music (or music to poetry, for that matter) involves less reasoning and more mimetic “reenactment” of emotion. It is an act of translating emotion, feeling, senses, ideas…
Is it Romantic then? If we’re analyzing a poem and breaking it down and trying to “figure out” how to translate it into music, doesn’t that very act involve a form of reasoning contrary to the Romantic appeal? Perhaps. However, in my experience the act of reforming a poem into music is more of a conversion process—converting one expression to another. The music produced, regardless of style (abstract, modern, rock, jazz, indie, etc.) is based on Romantic ideals of emphasis on emotion and expressionism.
Romanticism places emphasis on the emotions—“trepidation, horror and awe”—and breaks through the boundaries of “reason.” The conversion of poetry to music (or music to poetry, for that matter) involves less reasoning and more mimetic “reenactment” of emotion. It is an act of translating emotion, feeling, senses, ideas…
Is it Romantic then? If we’re analyzing a poem and breaking it down and trying to “figure out” how to translate it into music, doesn’t that very act involve a form of reasoning contrary to the Romantic appeal? Perhaps. However, in my experience the act of reforming a poem into music is more of a conversion process—converting one expression to another. The music produced, regardless of style (abstract, modern, rock, jazz, indie, etc.) is based on Romantic ideals of emphasis on emotion and expressionism.
Mauler Rant [Razzi]
“If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother trying to say it in music.” –Gustav Mahler
This statement from Mahler suggests that art is non-transferable. It suggests that Music is a higher art form than the written word. Can an artist truly rank forms of art? Does one form of expression express more than another or is it merely taking the easy way out? At a recent performance of music set to Blake’s poetry a Muhlenberg student asked about the process of writing—How did the music come to you? I laughed and began, “I wish I could be one of those artists who looks up at the ceiling and says, ‘It just comes to me. I don’t know how.’” A Jonathan Franzen. A Bridgette Mulligan. Interesting that I should pick writers instead of musicians. Typically I think of musicians taking the easy way out when explaining their art form. As if there’s some sort of stigma to discussing how the composition was created. As if they will lose their muse if they discuss it too much.
Writing on the other hand, is traditionally a more analytical art form. We analyze characters, we analyze plot, setting, the history behind the text, the motive for writing it. There is an analytical component to music but it’s more readily based on form rather than the reason for that arpeggio in the second bar. Interesting…it seems as though we do opposite types of analyses on music and writing. What if we flipped these? What if I were to analyze the form of writing—say the number of words per sentence on a page of Faulkner—and the character of music—say the implications behind the use of a harmonic e versus a regular e in the opening of de Beriot’s Concerto No. IX in a minor?
Mahler’s statement implicates that one art form cannot speak the same language as another. I beg to differ. The Blake performances were based heavily on music—as we were charged with writing music—however they were also heavily based in text. Music is an auditory art form. It immediately appeals to the senses, vibrates through your bones, and speaks to the rhythm of your body. Reading is more internal. Both are comprehensive—they evoke images, they have rhythms, they can be auditory. I don’t know what I’m getting at here. I guess if I go back to the first sentence in this paragraph I can turn back to what I was originally getting at, that art forms can speak the same language. A song like Human Abstract can butt right up to the poem and say and mean the same exact thing. They can also play with each other and stretch meanings.
Another topic (I’m jumpy today—hence why this is merely a rant or stream of consciousness)—if music truly were a higher art form and if we need not use writing if we could just say it in music, then why would we choose to add lyrics to a song? Thinking back to Renaissance Imagination/Collegium. Why would John Dowland be interested in writing a lyric poem and fitting it to music? Why would churches use Gregorian chant? History begs to differ with Mauler’s comment.
-->Clearly I need to come back to this because my thoughts are coming out in blips and are not fully developed.
This statement from Mahler suggests that art is non-transferable. It suggests that Music is a higher art form than the written word. Can an artist truly rank forms of art? Does one form of expression express more than another or is it merely taking the easy way out? At a recent performance of music set to Blake’s poetry a Muhlenberg student asked about the process of writing—How did the music come to you? I laughed and began, “I wish I could be one of those artists who looks up at the ceiling and says, ‘It just comes to me. I don’t know how.’” A Jonathan Franzen. A Bridgette Mulligan. Interesting that I should pick writers instead of musicians. Typically I think of musicians taking the easy way out when explaining their art form. As if there’s some sort of stigma to discussing how the composition was created. As if they will lose their muse if they discuss it too much.
Writing on the other hand, is traditionally a more analytical art form. We analyze characters, we analyze plot, setting, the history behind the text, the motive for writing it. There is an analytical component to music but it’s more readily based on form rather than the reason for that arpeggio in the second bar. Interesting…it seems as though we do opposite types of analyses on music and writing. What if we flipped these? What if I were to analyze the form of writing—say the number of words per sentence on a page of Faulkner—and the character of music—say the implications behind the use of a harmonic e versus a regular e in the opening of de Beriot’s Concerto No. IX in a minor?
Mahler’s statement implicates that one art form cannot speak the same language as another. I beg to differ. The Blake performances were based heavily on music—as we were charged with writing music—however they were also heavily based in text. Music is an auditory art form. It immediately appeals to the senses, vibrates through your bones, and speaks to the rhythm of your body. Reading is more internal. Both are comprehensive—they evoke images, they have rhythms, they can be auditory. I don’t know what I’m getting at here. I guess if I go back to the first sentence in this paragraph I can turn back to what I was originally getting at, that art forms can speak the same language. A song like Human Abstract can butt right up to the poem and say and mean the same exact thing. They can also play with each other and stretch meanings.
Another topic (I’m jumpy today—hence why this is merely a rant or stream of consciousness)—if music truly were a higher art form and if we need not use writing if we could just say it in music, then why would we choose to add lyrics to a song? Thinking back to Renaissance Imagination/Collegium. Why would John Dowland be interested in writing a lyric poem and fitting it to music? Why would churches use Gregorian chant? History begs to differ with Mauler’s comment.
-->Clearly I need to come back to this because my thoughts are coming out in blips and are not fully developed.
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