tag:vincepeterson.com,2005:/blogs/blog-d50f142b-9bdb-4ce9-81a1-088eb987c260Blog2022-10-07T13:28:37-04:00Vince Peterson Musicfalsetag:vincepeterson.com,2005:Post/70767112022-10-07T13:28:37-04:002023-10-16T11:00:50-04:00The Musician's Credo<p style="text-align: justify;">Those of you who have worked with me for a reasonable amount of time know that I developed an exercise some time ago which is aimed at having a musician profess and assert the meaning of their personal call to be a musician in the world. I realize that phrasing it like this makes it sound religious, but credence is certainly as serious as religion regardless of your spiritual beliefs. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The English dictionary defines the word Credo as "a statement of the beliefs or aims which guide someone's actions." As you can see through this lens, it does not have to be exclusively used in a religious context. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I do, however, mean to highlight its seriousness, but perhaps not for the reasons, you may be thinking. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Some musicians straddle music and another career. Some of us restrict our music-making to projects we know we will enjoy. Some are more industrious and seemingly "impersonal" about music, viewing it as a skill of a trade which they possess and use to make money. Some feel highly misunderstood by their families, friends, and listeners. Others only feel alive when making music in the presence of people. Some play the same music in the same show eight times a week, leaving them little energy for much else, let alone making their own music. Others rage against capitalism and perceived societal expectations and purposefully make their music less available or less accessible to the public because they view it as privileged and proprietary. Some sing or play in a house of worship whose roots and beliefs they know little or nothing about. Aspiring young musicians always seem to be throwing spaghetti at the wall, waiting to see what sticks. They will apply to every school, every program, for every scholarship. They will enter every competition and carefully choreography the moment in the middle of the piece when they hold that one note a split-second longer (because Lang Lang did it), or stop playing and lift the handkerchief out of the piano to wipe their indicatively sweaty brow. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The real question is this: Do any of them definitively know their own musical beliefs? </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I believe the ability to be truly musical in the performance and composition of music is a result of the level of personal freedom the musician has. I use the word freedom because it is more fundamental to the human condition than something like "confidence," which is more of a learned skill, or dare I say, a mask we are taught to put on. Freedom, however, is a state of being. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I've spent a great amount of time in my life thinking about where this freedom comes from and how it is cultivated in musicians. I realized along the way that freedom comes from a few specific things: </p>
<ul> <li style="text-align: justify;">The boldness of facing yourself without complacency. </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">The open exclamation of BOTH what you do well and what you do not do well. </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">The humility to hearken and not just "hear." 4. The childlike naiveté to remain in love with music, especially that which is not your own. </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">The unwavering commitment to ever-growing and sustaining craft and technique. </li>
</ul>
<p style="text-align: justify;">If we know who we are as musicians and what we were each put in the world to do with music, we can have this kind of freedom. The single greatest favor that any musician can do for themselves is to take the time needed to be clear and concise on this. If you know who you are as a musician and you make it your business to know the people in the world who need you, specifically, then a lot of the pain of rejection, criticism, relegation, and classicism you may feel will be a thing of the past. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Being a music entrepreneur, I strongly believe that no idea or truth that I hold inside myself can become "real" in the world until I say it aloud. This is the purpose of any credo: again, to profess a statement of beliefs that guide our actions. In the business world, we might call it a mission statement or a charter. Without this underlying assertion, our path winds a lot more than we can tolerate as human beings. We also let others control and dictate what we are to be in the world. We submit to commonly-held dreams of society... </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then we wonder why we have so much trouble being "original" or "stand-out" or "unique." Write your Musician's Credo! </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Here are some probing questions to help you think about it: </p>
<ol> <li style="text-align: justify;">Aside from the literal definition of "sound organized in time," what is music to me? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">What are the things I do well in music? What are those I do not do well? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">In making music alone or with others, when do I notice myself feeling most "alive" or "energized?" What are the types of moments I find myself searching for in music? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">Why do I have the audacity to ask others to pay money for my music? Aside from the sound or notation of my music, what am I giving them for their investment? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">If music is my best friend, what can I do to ensure that I always treat it that way? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">What types of environments feel most natural to me when making or sharing my music? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">What types of ensembles most reflect the music of my inner ear and my thoughts? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">Am I comfortable making music in just one, or multiple different scenarios? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">Who are the people in the world making music that resonates with me and draws me closer to them? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">If money, time, location, or other circumstances were not a factor, where would I be and what would I be doing in music? With whom? For whom? 11. What areas of craft and technique in music best facilitate my deepening understanding of what music is? In other words, am I a more "theory-driven" person or "listening-driven" or "exercise-driven" musical thinker? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">How do I believe my musical skills can best be used for the betterment of the world? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">Where have I observed musical needs around me? A specific style of music missing? A specific configuration of ensemble missing? An exposure problem with the music consumers I meet? An attitude among musicians and listeners around me that upsets me? </li> <li style="text-align: justify;">Where am I as a musician right here and now vs. 5-10 years ago? How far have I come? In which direction do I seem to be going? </li>
</ol>
<p style="text-align: justify;">----- </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I am Vince Peterson. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I am a musician. Music is my one, true vocation. I will not leave it, and it will not leave me. Music is my best friend. I believe music is a modality and a force that is continually undulating in the world. I live for witnessing it rush through the hands, hearts, and faces of those around me. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I am placed in the world to serve music with humility. I put the demands of music in the center of my heart, before fame, money, notoriety, or public deference. I am called to teach, compose, conduct, and produce music as my primary source of sustenance. I assert my lifelong commitment to this and, therefore, my professional expectations of those for whom and with whom I invoke music. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I believe in the human voice as the primary instrument of civilization. I believe in the power of the human psyche being attached to the voice. I believe the psyche is intrinsically connected to the sound. I believe in the innate power of human voices in chorus to change the world. I celebrate the ingenuity of physical instruments and their connection to the earth's precious natural resources. I believe in sound as a physical substance with medicinal properties. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I believe in music as a metaphor for the human form. I believe in the universality of the raw materials and syntax of music and their kinship across genres, styles, generations, geography, space, and time. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I believe in both the horizontal and vertical axes of music. I hearken to their dialogue and long to converse with them. I believe that the study of music is synonymous with wonder and awe. I believe in the equality of integrity and interpretation in rendering any score. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I believe the most authentic musicking possible comes from love before anything else.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">-----</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">❤️ ❤️ ❤️</p>Vince Peterson Musictag:vincepeterson.com,2005:Post/70669352022-09-23T04:27:33-04:002022-10-11T15:03:25-04:00A White Flag for Tonality in Choral Music Compositions<h3>Three New York Diplomats: 1950-1965 - William Bergsma, Vincent Persichetti, and Norman Dello Joio</h3>
<p><strong>Abstract</strong> </p>
<p>The concert music landscape in New York City in the 1950s was an increasingly divided one. The rejection of key signatures and traditional tonal syntax was a known expectation and point of contention among musicians in prominent New York City institutions such as Juilliard and Mannes College of Music. While the majority of composers were enthusiastically moving to the mathematical right, certain influential teachers of composition defiantly asserted that the complete rejection of tonality was contrary to the nature of the choral instrument due to the psychology of group singing. Three such composers were William Bergsma, Vincent Persichetti, and Norman Dello Joio. This research casts a broad net across their choral music output and aims to give a number of concrete examples of how they balanced the need for tonal intuition for successful choral performance with the institutional expectation of post-tonal treatments. This will be done by citing these specific examples from within their scores, noticing trends across multiple works written between 1950 and 1960, and adding commentary from respected musicologists and students of these composers to provide firsthand contexts and perspectives wherever possible. </p>
<p><strong>Introduction </strong></p>
<p>Two distinct schools of pedagogical thought in music composition emerged in the early part of the twentieth century. These were the resultant schools of thought from the tremendous influences of Nadia Boulanger and Arnold Schoenberg. Although many of the core educational values of these two composers were aligned with each other, each had starkly different philosophies about musical aesthetics. Schoenberg’s predilection to the German School of composition differed from Boulanger’s favoritism toward the French/Stravinskian (Franco-Russian) aesthetic. This, coupled with the widely accepted observation that composition teachers’ personal aesthetic preferences in music are known to organically influence their students, provides the basis for how these internationally influential differences eventually sparked a rift between schools of thought in contemporary composition practice in New York City - one of the most musically influential hubs of North America. </p>
<p>A culmination of tension regarding the use of diatonic tonality in concert works in New York was the famous 1958 essay of Milton Babbitt, “Who Cares If You Listen,” asserting that music composition was no longer listener-oriented but rather a complex technical exploration of the interplay between music and mathematics - a demonstration of deep compositional prowess, building further on what Schoenberg started with the Second Viennese School. Teachers and students were under social and academic pressure to adopt new objective ways of thinking about composition and to eschew subjective or feeling-oriented compositional postures. Major music institutions in New York, like The Juilliard School and Mannes College of Music, felt pressure to remain on the cutting edge of thought and innovation in musical trends and sought to employ the best and most famous practitioners of these trends. After all, this is still true of high-profile American music schools today. </p>
<p>It is especially compelling, therefore, that Juilliard and Mannes, through the 1950s, housed a number of composition teachers (some department chairpersons) who were not solely ascribed to the anti-diatonic schools of thought quickly beginning to dominate the American musical identity of the time period. Three such composers - William Bergsma, Vincent Persichetti, and Norman Dello Joio - taught and advised a plethora of students, some of whom would become recognized as among the most celebrated, influential composers of the twentieth century. In keeping with the reality that composition students are influenced by the aesthetics of their teachers, a brief survey of music by these composers can shed light on how they held the torch for a posture of moderation in contrast to the mounting societal pressures of this time period in New York. </p>
<p>One area of music composition with a precarious relationship to atonality is that of choral music. The choral instrument - an instrument made of people - is reliant on synchronized listening, intonation, and breathing in a manner quite different from ensembles comprised of physical instruments. Even more importantly, the audiation skills of individual singers within a choir can vary widely. Given the fact that the so-called phenomenon of absolute (perfect) pitch is not evident in every person, singing unaccompanied choral music in an atonal environment is risky. Still, the market for choral compositions has always been one of the most profitable publishing markets in the music industry, and so the demand for choral music that fulfills both the aesthetic and accessibility criteria is evergreen. </p>
<p>The role of scaffolded diatonic tonality, no matter how chromatic-leaning, is critical to the successful performance of choral works. This is in disagreement with the very premise of atonality and serialism. Furthermore, an account must be made of how human beings as musical instruments learn, store, and process musical vocabulary, syntax, and forms. Some argue that this is done actively through the tangible naming and practice of intervals, keys, etc. Others contend that it is done passively through listening to folk songs, tv and radio, and casual group interaction. No matter what each person believes about this, the inescapable truth about choral musicking is that singers as instruments process sound differently and more internally - especially in collaborative settings. Furthermore, singers bring their outside lives with them into the rehearsal and performance process no matter what. Their psyches are not physically separated from their instruments. When they make music, the amalgams of their day-to-day life experiences come with them and directly impact the sound. These are foundational truths about choral music and the development of the American choral identity - being firmly rooted in Western art music but also grounded in an ever-changing non-art-music environment which was simultaneously having its advent in the 50s. </p>
<p>Composers William Bergsma, Vincent Persichetti, and Norman Dello Joio all understood the marriage between the popular and the obscure - the mainstream and the esoteric. This is strongly evidenced in the choral output of each of them. All three managed to strike a powerful balance between these polarized forces within their choral works. In so doing, they firmly staked a white flag for the preservation of diatonic tonality in moderation with more forward-thinking harmonic language and techniques. In addition to sharing contextual information about each of them, specific examples of choral works by each are observed herein as a means of showing how they accomplished this important task. </p>
<p><strong>William Bergsma </strong></p>
<p>William Bergsma (1921-1994) was originally from Oakland, California. He moved east to study at Eastman and Juilliard, the latter of which became a teaching post for him from 1946 until 1963, when he returned west to Seattle. While at Juilliard, he served as chairperson of the Composition Department and Associate Dean. After moving to Seattle in 1963, he spent the rest of his career at the University of Washington. Notably, he founded the school's first Contemporary Music Ensemble. In his obituary in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, he is described as having "never deserted tonality" while seeing "dozens of his former avant-garde colleagues returning to the fold." In the New Grove Dictionary of American Music, Kurt Stone describes Bergsma's music as "resourceful and imaginative, essentially tonal, texturally conventional and predominantly lyrical." </p>
<p>It is significant that Bergsma, having been described as above, was the leader of the Composition department at a school like Juilliard during the 1950s. While the majority of composers were abandoning tonality for serialism and other modalities, Bergsma remained a strong tonal moderate, teaching full-time in a highly influential institution. His compositions are an indication that while he was unafraid to push the tonal envelope, he remained drawn to the diatonic realm - especially in his choral music. He taught many students during that time, including Philip Glass, Steve Reich, and Conrad Susa. These composers, including Bergsma, were all resistant to the ominously looming toll of the atonality knell. In particular, Susa always quipped that it took him two years to go through Juilliard but eight years to recover emotionally. Given his overall compositional output and that of Glass and Reich, it is safe to conclude that the trend of eschewing tonal music practices did not compel these composers to abandon their diatonic lookout posts. Still, one can easily hear in balanced moderation the critical presence of post-tonal-leaning practices within the tonal scaffolding of their work. </p>
<p>Bergsma's choral output comprises only nine works and collectively provides a concentrated example of the tonal vs. post-tonal dichotomy. There are some examples in which he takes a decidedly traditional stance, while there are other pieces in which he pushes the envelope more. </p>
<p>In his church anthem Praise (1959) for SATB chorus and organ, Bergsma uses a key signature of E-flat major and composes a traditionally syntactical melody evoking sentimental hymn tunes. Although it cannot be sure that this melody is based on any other existing hymn tune, it closely resembles (and shares a text with) the hymn tune GENERAL SEMINARY by David Charles Walker (b. 1938). The text is by George Herbert, and it makes sense that the metrical structure used by Bergsma resembles that of Walker, given the syllabic emphases and variations in the length of each line. This work is strophic and never leaves the home key. It ends with a great plagal cadence. </p>
<p>Conversely, Bergsma does not use a key signature in a movement of his unaccompanied SATB work Riddle Me This: Answer - The Snow (1957). However, this seems like a conventional tactic used to avoid what would otherwise be a disruptive number of key change junctures. The work is tonal and diatonic but fluidly moves from one key area to the next with excellent technique. It firmly establishes C-sharp minor as a home base and then sojourns to C major and A major. The work, which is the first movement of a three-movement set, ends on an F-sharp open fifth chord, the IV of C-sharp minor, leaving the work tonally unresolved. Relevantly, the second and third pieces in this set both begin and end in the same key areas. </p>
<p>In 1963, Bergsma composed a cantata for SATB chorus and orchestra called Confrontation from the Book of Job. Fittingly based on the biblical text from the book of Job, this work departs considerably from the more comfortable tonal postures of the above works. The work can broadly be described by turns as polytonal and pandiatonic. Bergsma achieves the tonal stability needed for confident choral singing by composing melodic fragments that are intuitively syntactical but disparate from the preceding and subsequent fragments. The orchestra then provides enough tonal context in intermittent junctures to allow for the human ears of the singers to transition accurately from one sung fragment to the next. </p>
<p>In another stark contrast to his choral works of the 50s, only a decade after his Juilliard years, in 1968, Bergsma composed a more esoteric 10-minute work, The Sun, The Soaring Eagle, The Turquoise Prince, The God for SATB chorus with Brass and Percussion (or Piano and Percussion). This work is based on texts from Books 2 and 7 of the Florentine Codex by Fray Bernardino de Sahagún (c. 1566), adapted by Bergsma. It incorporates spoken words in the Aztec language juxtaposed with sung English translations of the Codex. It is a dark and ominous work depicting the barbaric sacrifice of human captives. The use of leitmotif achieves a sense of cohesion. The more diatonic vocal parts incorporate dissonance well by preparing singing lines to move melodically from confident tonal intervals and chords to less stable sonorities, often on weak beats or weak parts of a measure. Meanwhile, the accompanying instruments interject with material that does not have an immediately palpable relationship to the singing lines. The prosodic musical treatment of the text masterfully enables confident, accurate singing of the choral parts despite the overall tonal instability. </p>
<p><strong>Vincent Persichetti </strong></p>
<p>Vincent Persichetti (1915-1987) was from Philadelphia. He studied for fifteen years, starting at the age of five at Combs Conservatory (also known as Combs College of Music). This school, now closed, had been founded in 1885. Other notable alumni of the school include John Coltrane, Gail Levin, and Robert Manno. The school conferred honorary doctorates on Samuel Barber, Marian Anderson, Keith Chapman, Leo Stokowski, and Persichetti himself, among others. He also studied for a time at the famous Curtis Institute. He received his doctorate from Philadelphia Conservatory in 1945. He also taught there starting in 1941 and was then appointed to the Juilliard faculty in 1947. A more forward-leaning harmonist than Bergsma, Persichetti published a textbook on twentieth-century harmony in 1961. He subsequently became chairman of the Juilliard composition department in 1963 - an indicator that the department was gradually moving further away from traditional tonality in the sixties and thereafter. His music is exclusively published by Elkan-Vogel, a publisher for whom he served as Director of Publications beginning in 1952. Persichetti was a champion for music education, particularly in secondary schools. Much of his compositional output aimed itself at younger players being able to approach tonal worlds that were more colorful and challenging to the ear than what was considered traditional. </p>
<p>Persichetti’s choral output consists of twenty works. Although he is a broadly less tonal composer than Bergsma, his choral music strikes an impressive balance by means of his knack for composing intuitive melodic syntax, which is easily adopted by singers. He draws on a neo-Renaissance posture in some of the most important of these pieces. Dennis Shrock describes the music as having “unmetered phrases and chant-like melodies, with repetition of motifs and alternating textures of imitative polyphony and homophony [which] reflect on the writing of the late sixteenth century.” His music was also described by Walter Simmons in the New Grove Dictionary of American Music as “Following the lineage of Mozart, Mendelssohn and Ravel… suggest[ing] the innocence and childlike joy of pure musical creativity.” </p>
<p>Another trend across his output is a clear directive toward a modernist American musical identity. Persichetti’s Sam was a man and Jimmie’s got a goil (1948), as well as his Spring Cantata (1963) and The Pleiades (1967) all indicate a vantage point of an America recovering from political turmoil and the effects of war. There is a soulfulness about this music which seems to be alive yet buried under the jaded rubble that only the realities of life can amass. A casual observer might draw a parallel between this mindset and the distinct compositional voice he established for himself beginning in the 50s. </p>
<p>Persichetti’s voice leading is intuitive, and his use of counterpoint is at an expert level. His choral music often combines diatonic melodies with pandiatonic or polytonal harmonies. The savvy choral singer is easily able to intuit each melodic move despite finding themselves in a less familiar harmonic framework. This feature in Persichetti’s work is key to his successful choral music boundary-pushing within the framework of the developing American identity of the time. </p>
<p>Six of Persichetti’s choral works are settings of poetry by, e.e. cummings. This seems appropriate as the texts of cummings are often abstract and angular, matching the melodic shapes and dark harmonic profile to which Persichetti seems to have been drawn in the late 1950s and beyond. Two Cummings Choruses, op. 46 was premiered by the Sigma Alpha Iota Treble Chorus at the Dallas conference of the Music Teacher’s National Association in 1952. It’s SA two-part first movement, Hist Whist, anchors itself on an F-Mixolydian framework, giving a feeling of stability, yet includes the occasional E natural for coloristic variation (as opposed to the default E-flat from Mixolydian mode). The rhythmic profile is an engaging one with many syncopations to throw the listener off the trail of the consistent, simple meter ictus. The second movement, This is the Garden, expands the voicing to three parts, SSA, and employs a more linear and imitative texture. Sonorities comprised of many open fourths and fifths combined with dissonant non-chord tones offer a perfect mix of comfortable stability and ear-perking tonal interest. In both of these works, again written for a college-aged treble chorus, there are clear, intuitive reference points for the singer’s ear, allowing those singing non-tonally fundamental notes to easily audiate and tune them against the stable framework. </p>
<p>Seek the Highest SAB, op. 78, and Song of Peace SATB, op. 82 are two works for mixed chorus (the latter also available in a TTBB voicing) that also effectively push the tonal envelope. In the first work, Persichetti voices the chorus for three parts mixed - another sign of a piece written with pedagogical goals in mind and with an eye on widespread accessibility, particularly for younger performers. This work employs imitative counterpoint and triadic chords alternating between open and closed voicings. Its use of pandiatonicism marks a departure from what might be expected for a three-part mixed choral work. The expertly written counterpoint enables fluid shifts between harmonic centers in the un-key signatured score. The result is a sense of wonder and discovery in the ears of the singers as the progression unfolds rather than a puzzle of intervals to solve. The real genius of this is that such a modality as pandiatonicism may otherwise feel daunting or unapproachable for the average SAB group, given the types of settings in which one might find such a choir. Additionally, the keyboard part is also used as the catalyst for shifts in the tonal center. This provides the opportunity for singers who are still developing their ears to experience tonal shifts from both within their ears and also objectively outside of their bodies. </p>
<p>The second work, Song of Peace, is originally scored for SATB voices and also has an alternate setting for TTBB voices. It is also accompanied by a piano (or organ) part. This piece is less harmonically fluid. The use of repetition of both the progression from D major to C major to B-flat major as well as the employment of the Lydian fourth scale degree creates a soundscape that is both familiar enough to feel comfortable and also surprising enough to stay interested. The use of G-sharp as the Lydian fourth is also expanded to become a secondary harmonic world of its own as minor dominant of C-sharp minor at the first major tonal pivot in measure 15 as well as at a G-sharp major cadence at measure 29. The piece is threaded together by a repeating melodic motive which is always sung in unison and which outlines the fifth from D to A as a structural element with the Lydian fourth of G-sharp on the way up the scale in the antecedent and then descends in the consequent phrase from A onto G-natural. Essentially, the harmonic profile of this piece is an expansion of that one melodic motive. Persichetti confirms this on the last page of the piece by making one last extended harmonic gesture upward from B-flat major as flat 6 upward to a final cadence on D major. </p>
<p><strong>Norman Dello Joio </strong></p>
<p>Norman Dello Joio (1913-2008), the eldest of these three composers by only two years, provides in his choral output, perhaps, the clearest boundary line between a more tonal-leaning harmonic and melodic vocabulary and one with more dissonant sounds. Born in New York City and raised in a family of Italian Catholic church organists, he received his first formal music education at the City University of New York. He then went on to study at Juilliard. Significantly, he was also a pupil of Paul Hindemith at Yale. A truly metropolitan composer at his core, he was first widely recognized in 1948 when Bruno Walter conducted The New York Philharmonic in a performance of his piece, Variations, Chaconne and Finale, which won the New York Music Critics’ Circle Award. He held several college teaching posts, including professor of composition at Sarah Lawrence College and Mannes College of Music and Dean of the Fine and Applied Arts School at Boston University. In 1957, he won the Pulitzer Prize for his Meditations on Ecclesiastes for string orchestra and an Emmy Award in 1965 for his score for a television production called The Louvre. </p>
<p>Dello Joio’s choral output, though not the lion’s share of his catalog, represents some of his best-known work. He composed 32 choral works in all, several of which were completed in the 1950s. Nick Strimple describes Dello Joio’s choral writing in a concise yet thorough manner: </p>
<p>Norman Dello Joio created an easily identifiable style by fusing romantic melodies with tonal, though often dissonant, harmonies and energetic, extroverted rhythms. A prolific composer of choral music, he created works further characterized by a natural expressivity, equally at home with humor or pathos, and a sensitivity to text. </p>
<p>Of the three composers being discussed, Dello Joio is perhaps the most determined to forge a contemporary American identity using the choral instrument. The most important works of his choral output are arguably his large settings of poems by Walt Whitman. Like many other composers of this time period, Dello Joio was drawn to Whitman’s unmistakable American affinity, which is absent of hubris-driven patriotism but authentically loving of America. </p>
<p>Dello Joio’s Song of the Open Road, published in 1953, provides an excellent example of several things: First, it is the unabashed juxtaposition of diatonic progressions against completely atonal constructions. Furthermore, in its use of diatonic harmony, it is clearly pandiatonic. Second, the composition of this work serves a clear socio-political purpose. The aforementioned harmonic profile magnifies the dichotomy between an enthusiastic invitation for the listener to “join hands and know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers” and the menacing reality of an unsure landscape full of unknown twists and turns ahead. Finally, it is a well-balanced and level-headed contribution to the American choral repertoire offered in a time period when pressure was mounting more and more with each passing year for composers to abandon any semblance of diatonicism. </p>
<p>At the start of the piece, arpeggiated flourishes with both hands in the treble range of the piano hearken to the road ahead. Pauses in between each flourish indicate the seemingly imminent danger of the path and moments of second-guessing whether or not to take the first step. The harmony is evocative of blues sonorities with clear use of intervallic false relations between the right and left-hand parts. Then, seven bars in, the first diatonic chord drops in the bass as if starting an engine after several attempts. All of this is a seemingly rubato ruse which is actually written out beat for beat. After a single fermata on the final F-sharp of the introduction in the right hand, the basses launch in with exact, clean timing using a micro-syncopation for the first motive on the word “hello,” which will frequently continue throughout the entire work. A brief two measures of imitation occur, bringing in Alto, Tenor, then Soprano voices. The first tutti homorhythm then occurs on “whoever you are.” All of this is unaccompanied by the piano. </p>
<p>Next, the piano begins a driving marcato and fortissimo rhythm as if to signal the first real steps of the journey. The choir and the piano continue together for a while, both contrasting a broader legato lyricism in the choir against the continuing rhythmic piano part as well as repetitions of the syncopated “hello” motive. This is followed by the sudden entry of a solo trumpet heralding a middle section. The tempo shifts drastically to Adagio espressivo, suggesting 44 to the quarter note. As the choir re-enters, they sing the words “I ordain myself loosed from imaginary limits” in a lyrical but harmonically unstable environment. This suggests an airy break free from the former angular rigidity of the A section. During this a cappella middle section, the choir continues to sing broadly and lyrically while the trumpet obligato interjects periodically with a pointed reminder of the rhythmic herald. Then, the trumpet finally loosens as well, offering two eighth note triplets to dovetail into Dello Joio’s most expressive moment in the work: a section marked Amabile at 52 to the dotted quarter note in which he pleads musically with the listener on behalf of Whitman to “warn those who would hold you” and to “gather the minds of men out of their brains,” “gather love out of men’s hearts,” finally exclaiming “the universe is a path that is endless, the universe itself is an open road!” </p>
<p>Here, the trumpet re-enters with its herald motive and brings an end to the esoteric in favor of a resurgence of the walking rhythm. The piano and trumpet continue together for quite a long while without the choir. Finally, the choir calls to the listener one more time in a broad “Come forth” followed by a re-statement of the “hello” motive as well as the imitative texture that began the work. The choir continues, accompanied only by trumpet this time. There is no clear harmonic center here, but there are tonal guideposts at which the choir checks in at regular distance intervals. This creates a sense of control for the singers, but without sacrificing the desired harmonic fluidity and the use of atonal statements. At last, the material from the piano introduction at the start of the work brings the listener full circle, this time using the lower register of the keyboard right away. The trumpet indicates a clear arrival at the end. After Dello Joio marks the end of this passage lunga assai, seemingly suggesting an arrival at the end of the journey, he uses the same false relation motive yet again, but this time in the middle range instead of the treble and at a slower tempo. This surprises the listener with a sort of musical epilogue, eschewing thoughts of the journey being over. Instead, it is just beginning. In a Beethovenian stride, Dello Joio demands Deciso at 152 to the quarter and charges forward in full force toward an E major Lydian cadence which uses a homorhythmic chromatic lower neighbor anacrusis in the choir repeatedly, ensuring the clarity of the message that life is not that simple, but we are in it together. </p>
<p><strong>Conclusion </strong></p>
<p>In an interview with Soundpieces Magazine in 1980, Steve Reich, who studied with Persichetti and Bergsma, said: </p>
<p>"Since the roots of the Second Viennese School were obviously where and when they were, for an American in the 1950s, ‘60s, or ‘70s to take this over lock, stock, and barrel is a little artificial. The sounds that surrounded America from 1950 through 1980 - jazz and rock and roll - cannot be ignored. They can be refined, filtered, rejected, or accepted in part, but they cannot be ignored, or you’re an ostrich; you’re ill-informed…in terms of living composers, I don’t think that you can pretend you are someone who is completely divorced from this time and place."</p>
<p>William Bergsma, Vincent Persichetti, and Norman Dello Joio did not live under a rock during the 1950s in New York City. Instead, they found creative ways to incorporate popular musics of the time into their concert works while still pushing the tonal boundaries to meet their academic colleagues at least part way. More importantly, in the context of choral music, all three of these composers clearly understood the choir and wrote these works in a masterful way that allows singers to remain grounded and confident in their singing while also acknowledging the larger style conversations of the decade. </p>
<p>It can be argued that the subtle inclusion of popular music styles in the works of these and other composers in the same schools at the time was a smart way to build empathy between the world of concert music and the younger generation of listeners and classical music students alike. It reinforces and proves the notion that teachers and other prominent figures in music education who take the time to listen and respond to not only their own world experiences but also those of their students succeed more in securing a future for concert music by openly and enthusiastically celebrating the new contributions brought by subsequent generations and all of the beauty and possibilities these can bring. Coupled with the collective human power of the choir as an instrument, there is a mighty base of hope that can continuously renew itself if only we were to follow these great examples.</p>
<p><strong>To read the full document with citations, bibliography, and Appendices, <a contents="CLICK HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1phhwUYOjfPhklSwTDWjjpdAOT84lmTRlbWzWLtRyvak/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">CLICK HERE</a>.</strong></p>
<p> </p>Vince Peterson Musictag:vincepeterson.com,2005:Post/66626552021-06-17T19:20:02-04:002021-06-17T19:20:02-04:00A Response to "Accessibility Is A Dead End"<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/522400/dc2683fd0c7ebb498d1b1592e984e117849b1e0a/original/joshua-hoehne-wprtkrw8krq-unsplash.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_thin" alt="" />Today, I'm sharing a response I wrote to a blog article posted some years ago by a Canadian composer named Aaron Gervais. I've often talked about this article because I believe that it's at the heart of what is happening with concert music today. Thanks for reading! </p>
<p><a contents="Canadian composer Aaron Gervais" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://aarongervais.com/" target="_blank"><strong>Canadian composer Aaron Gervais</strong></a> posted an article on his blog titled "Accessibility is a Dead End". It was brought to my attention by a composer colleague. </p>
<p><a contents="Please read it" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://aarongervais.com/blog/accessibility-dead" target="_blank"><strong>Please read it</strong></a> before reading my thoughts below. </p>
<p>I'd like to take a moment to respond and add to Mr. Gervais' comments. To begin and to be clear, I will say that there are many aspects of his argument which are spot-on, and which appeal to me. I agree with him on several key points, including: </p>
<p>Dumbing music programming down as a means of attempting to attract new audience members is not helpful at all. It is, in fact, destructive. <br>The understanding of Western Art Music and people's visceral experiences of it cannot be reduced to generalized "movie score" reactions. We cannot accept that as a society. <br>The term "Classical" is indeed a retronym and the arbitrary use of this term - particularly by corporate moguls - is indeed contributing to the downfall of people's interest in Art Music. </p>
<p>However, I'm not sure that his choice of title properly reflects what he's discussing in the article. Additionally, his discussion encourages the reader to promote exclusivity, elitism, and even dismissiveness as a means of enticing people to compete for what they "wish they had" - a better intellectual understanding of what they're hearing. On this front, I'm afraid I cannot agree. </p>
<p>Accessibility means more to me than "dumbing the programming down". I like to think of it as "meeting people where they are and leading them down new paths of joyful curiosity and shared discovery." If we're talking about teaching people, we can't start by teaching to our ideal students. We have to teach the students we actually have in front of us. </p>
<p>To summarize the article, Mr. Gervais laments that the downfall of "classical" music is due, at least in part, to people who try to make it "accessible". He speaks of "accessibility" in this way: </p>
<p>"In order to regain audience attention, presenters fell upon the idea of accessibility, which has two goals: (1) prevent current subscribers from leaving, and (2) lower the barriers to entry so that greater numbers of non-subscribers are willing to take a chance on your concerts... </p>
<p>For most people, classical music is more foreign than ever, and the focus on accessibility has siphoned attention away from audience-building techniques that actually work. I’m heartened to see more progressive classical groups experimenting with other models, but we need to completely reject accessibility as a concept in order to really see results." </p>
<p>Really? COMPLETELY REJECT ACCESSIBILITY? </p>
<p>First of all, accessibility means something different to Mr. Gervais than it does to me. The dictionary defines accessibility as "able to be easily understood, obtained, or used; of a person: friendly and easy to talk to; approachable". This says nothing of intellect or complicated ideas themselves. There is no reason why performers can't find creative and engaging ways to make even the most complex musical thoughts, textures, and concepts "easily understood, obtained, or used." </p>
<p>My NYC-based vocal ensemble, Choral Chameleon, provides what I would call "accessible programming" to our listeners. However, there's nothing dumbed down about it. We attempt to use music that might be more familiar and/or contemporary to unlock meaning and depth in music likely to be less familiar or more intellectual from our listeners' viewpoints. I like to use the phrase: "unlocking intelligence we already possess". We have found tremendous success in doing this and are even surprised sometimes at what people's reactions are to concert pieces we initially thought they might have a hard time embracing. People constantly tell us that our programs are both educational and eye-opening; but also fun, energetic, and emotionally uplifting. The two are not mutually exclusive. Importantly, all of the themes and through lines in our programs are very human and are matters that affect all of us in our daily lives. Therefore, they are immediately relatable. After all: just like each of us, before Bach and Haydn and Mozart et al were composers, they were people - with real lives and experiences which fueled and influenced their work just as it is for us. We can connect with them from across centuries by unlocking the power of their human nature and drawing comparisons between our lives and theirs. We can also teach in concert through allegory and metaphor. </p>
<p>For example, I wouldn't call asking our audience to listen to <a contents="THIS" data-link-label="5-this-view-of-life-grant-version.mp3" data-link-type="file" href="/files/1130363/5-this-view-of-life-grant-version.mp3">THIS</a>* an example of programming that is "lowering the barriers to entry". In fact, even though it was the most obscure, intellectual, complicated writing on its particular program, our survey data tells us at first glance that it was, in fact, the most beloved piece from the concert. I do feel that it was most effective and prudent of us, after asking them to embrace this piece, to then give them <a contents="THIS" data-link-label="11-time-pops-bubbles.mp3" data-link-type="file" href="/files/1130364/11-time-pops-bubbles.mp3">THIS</a>**. The amalgamation of the two is the important part: each piece carefully picked, deeply considered, and chosen as companions for each other with the audience in mind. The text of the first piece is drawn from the words of Charles Darwin. The second text begins with "Look! A Bird...", which was just a little added tongue-in-cheek panache to drive the point home. </p>
<p>I was brought up in the conservatory. I did all of the studying, practice, lessons, analysis, and so forth. I have three degrees in music and so on. As a music pedagogue, I'm a staunch traditionalist, employing almost exclusively the musicianship and composition techniques promoted and developed by the French school - the training of Boulanger and Dieudonné. I think Mr. Gervais would agree that no one who has had that training should take for granted, for a single moment, that others who have not had this training will experience concert music in the same way. At the same time, I did not "fall upon the idea of accessibility". The need for it presented itself to me organically during my upbringing as a musician: when my predominantly-male composition department gathered to discuss and compare scores; when certain teachers of mine spoke openly about the inferiority of women to men as composers and musicians in general; when I became the white Hammond B3 organist in an all-black Baptist church and had the best ear training of my life; when another composition teacher of mine looked me square in the eyes with utmost sincerity and told me he had no idea who Madonna or Sting were, and first recalled John Lennon as "the young man who was shot in the Dakota in the 80s". </p>
<p>Time keeps moving and the world keeps changing - now at a pace ever so much faster than it did even just ten years ago. It is incumbent upon us as artists to react and respond to what is happening around us here and now, and furthermore to tie the present to the past as a means of bridging gaps that separate groups of people from each other. Perhaps Mr. Gervais will agree with me that our real job as musical artists is not to be the entertainers, the court jesters of society. Instead, our job is to feed, nurture, educate, crystalize, and empower the living and the dead from across centuries. The beauty in the real artistry of doing this lies in our ability to do so without letting people feel like they are being taught. I would say the same thing of classroom teachers that I say of us as performers in the concert hall. Yes, we need to educate our audiences - even prepare them, perhaps even prior to some concerts. However, condescension and patronization through establishing exclusivity is not an effective way to attract strangers (or civilians, as I love to call them!) to what we do in concert music. </p>
<p>Let's start with taking away the suggestion of "ESTABLISHING A DRESS CODE" shall we? What we're wearing doesn't have anything to do with the actual act of experiencing the music. Dress codes are about conformity and uniformity. There are places where this is helpful. The concert hall is not one of them. Creative minds don't respond well to expectations such as these, especially when they are a direct reflection of high society and class. Furthermore, if learning through creative thinking - allowing audiences to draw their own connections and conclusions from a program - is to be encouraged, then invoking systems of imposed expectation does the opposite of encouraging freedom and openness in a shared concert environment. Just my two cents on that one... </p>
<p>I could really go on, but I want to reiterate that I am not in complete disagreement with Mr. Gervais here. I just think that the general statement (and title of his article) that "accessibility is a dead end" is very extreme and it assumes that everyone thinks of "accessibility" the same way - which we obviously don't. I point out that both Mr. Gervais and myself want the same thing - for as many people as possible to come and experience Art Music anew in this day and age. Hell, there are (as I said) a number of points (even more than the ones I mentioned here) that I will happily bring back to my team and our board as suggestions for improving our reach to our community. I thank him for writing this, especially as a means of starting the conversation. Perhaps if he's ever in New York City, he'll let me buy him a beer so we can talk more. I'm sure it would be fun and interesting. I'm not going anywhere with a dress code, though! </p>
<p>_______________ </p>
<p>* - This View of Life by Jeffrey Parola <br>(premiered May 19th, 2013 by Choral Chameleon in New York City) (Text by Charles Darwin) </p>
<p>** - Time Pops Bubbles by Erika Lloyd and Brad Whiteley, arr. by Vince Peterson <br>(premiered November 20th, 2011 by Choral Chameleon in New York City)</p>Vince Peterson Musictag:vincepeterson.com,2005:Post/66626272020-04-26T10:00:00-04:002022-05-11T01:40:57-04:00Gratitude: Conrad Susa<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/522400/ad882d686167db30a697415ff8657beb878895bb/original/conrad-and-vincent-b-w-collage-smaller.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_thin" alt="" />Today would have been the 85th Birthday of my teacher and mentor, Conrad. Since this day of the week is a significant one to me and one that is rooted in gratitude, I'd like to say a little more about Conrad and how he changed my life. </p>
<p>At the beginning of my college education as a musician, I was quite traumatized. I had grown up in the ten years before that thinking of music as my armor. It was the only thing I felt set me apart from others and made me relatable and likable. In high school, I was tormented by classmates. After coming out at the age of sixteen, I had a very rough year. My involvement in music was the only thing that kept me going. That's why when I met my first college professors, excited to hear their thoughts and advice on my musical self, I was crushed when they told me that I should not pursue music professionally. I was ready to take their advice because, of course, I assumed they were right. </p>
<p>Conrad plucked me out of that. By some miracle, I ended up transferring to the conservatory in San Francisco (after a trip clear across the country and back) and ended up with him as my private studio teacher in composition. </p>
<p>He knew right away that I wasn't a book learner. He knew that I was a person who had to experience things, get my hands dirty, fall on my face, fall off the bike, and skin my knee to know what to do and what not to do. Still, he was hard on me when he knew I needed it. Sometimes, he imposed his viewpoints on me forcefully. Even if I didn't agree with them, I always managed to find a way to understand his reasoning for his truths, and I learned something from that each time. The first orchestration lesson he ever gave me was done in the kitchen while cooking. We cooked and talked for hours, and he systematically and methodically related ingredients and flavors to instruments of the orchestra and their various properties and potencies. It was the only orchestration lesson I ever needed (though I was required to take a full year's course in it with him at school as well). </p>
<p>One time, he took a piece of mine home with him and asked me to visit him at home several days later for a lesson. When I arrived, he had wholly re-written my score by hand just so that he could take me through it and show me step by step the whys and hows of what he'd done and why he'd suggested those changes to me. He must have spent hours on it. Again, it worked. I couldn't help but be open and grateful for the time he'd spent thinking about me and my work instead of being put off or defensive about the liberties he'd taken with it. By the way, that composition teacher in Conrad was the same human being who never walked out of the grocery store without handing a fistful of cash to the homeless person at the exit. He would turn to me and say, "we can't walk out of here with all this food and not help someone who doesn't have any." </p>
<p>What I loved and appreciate most about him, though, was his unlimited and demonstrative imagination. He lived in a fantastical parallel world to ours. Even though his realistic self shone through often, as I described above, he preferred to imagine what the world could be continually and to surround himself with artistic and literal depictions of what he felt and saw around him. To be near that was to have a constant reminder that what we make as artists is limited only by ourselves and not be anything or anyone else. I found myself wishing that I could spend even one hour inside his mind. I was lucky he let me get as close as I did to him. It was, by turns, beautiful and terrifying. </p>
<p>His life must have always been a feast and a famine at the same time. He must have had moments of ecstasy interrupted with moments of harsh reality. He once described his work "Hymns for the Amusement of Children" as a representation of being a young, hopeful person buried against his will under the rubble of contemporary war, chaos, death, politics, illness, and uncertainty. The movements of that piece are each influenced by a different popular singer style of the 70s: the likes of Joni Mitchell, Harry Belafonte, Robert Flack, and Elton John, among others. He said he heard those sweet memories calling out from underneath the rubble of real life. </p>
<p>I can't help but be comforted by his description of that experience of time in this country when things were also uncertain; when abrupt change, dirty politics, and sure heartache were expected continuously. I think to myself, "if he got through it and made so many beautiful works of art because of it, I surely can do the same." </p>
<p>Today, I ask Conrad to intercede for me in whatever way he can wherever he is. I ask him to loosen the bonds of my own perceived limitations and to lift my sometimes buried spirit from underneath the rubble. May he always rest in golden peace. I love him with all my heart.</p>Vince Peterson Musictag:vincepeterson.com,2005:Post/66626282019-11-14T19:00:00-05:002022-04-12T16:11:13-04:00A Big Fat Seal on a Rock<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/522400/55a1698f1a84d388c93a3e0227b553f42d53cc9d/original/seal-cropped.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_thin" alt="" />A dear friend once described being in the music business to me using this analogy. <br> <br>The person in the music business is a big fat seal on a rock, happily basking in the sun. Sometimes they can stay in the sun all day and be warm and content. Other times, they know they have to jump into that icy cold water and find a fish to eat because, to put it simply, they'll starve if they don't. They dread jumping in, and when they finally do, it’s definitely awful. It’s icy cold and numbing to the body - and completely the opposite of that warm roost on the rock’s surface. But sooner rather than later, their body adjusts. They acclimate to the water and it stings less. They swim around in it for awhile until they get what they need. Then they can come back up on the rock and bask awhile longer. The surface of the rock is the joy of making music - the blithe naiveté from our youth which allows us to stay eternally in love. The icy cold water is the business of making music. The reality is that we are the seals and we can’t live without either.</p>
<p><strong>ART IS WORK.</strong></p>
<p>Society needs to stop treating artists like lazy beggars who are always asking for handouts. We are back in the classical period again, except the marketplace is online. Like Mozart, we are trudging uphill and having to sell ourselves, angling from whichever way we can, to literally be able to eat and have a roof over our heads. Patronage, exclusive record deals, and blanket publishing contracts don't exist any more. In order for artists to make the videos, tracks and other content which then get freely streamed on social media (more often with little or no proper compensation for the creators), it takes time and learned skills. It takes practice. They don't just snap their fingers and produce that work. They have to continue playing the game while making creative work at the same time and often facing intense public scrutiny and sometimes disapproval of what came out of their minds and hearts. Artists are punished for their openness and benevolence to society more than any other profession. Their personal lives are constantly in the limelight. They are the eternal proverbial "stepchild." </p>
<p>Remember that the next time you're consuming art: watching YouTube or listening to Spotify or dancing at the club with your friends, or watching a movie, or humming the theme song from your favorite podcast because it's stuck in your ear. Then do something very simple: </p>
<p>Reach out to any artist in your life and just tell them you love them and you'd like to understand more about what they do and what their life is like. <br> <br>#appreciativeinquiry <br>#listeningisgrace <br>#honorwithyourears <br>#lookthemintheface <br>#artiswork</p>Vince Peterson Musictag:vincepeterson.com,2005:Post/66626372019-08-27T19:00:00-04:002021-06-17T19:25:41-04:00This is 38.<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/522400/40ba077217998d78dc719f874b5368aad9adf7bb/original/adam-niescioruk-kvgakikwauq-unsplash.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />This is 38. It's been an... interesting... 37th year. I must say though that I am deeply content and grateful for my life. <br>Here are my truths today: </p>
<ul> <li>There are no substitutes for full love and unexpectant generosity. They are the path to happiness. They are the meaning of happiness in and of themselves. </li> <li>Music is my true and only religion. It is how I speak with God. It's also how God schools me. </li> <li>One is not ever "in control" and the more one thinks one is, the less they actually are. Hatred cannot drive out hatred. Only love can do that. </li> <li>There are only two choices in everything: LOVE...or fear. </li> <li>The words "deserve" and "should" are the worst ones in the English language. </li> <li>You can never change another person no matter what you say or do, how you push, cajole, or manipulate or inspire. </li> <li>Forgiveness is for the Forgiver, not the forgiven. Broadly speaking, although some people have said and done egregious things to me, I know in my body, my heart, and my mind, that I am not carrying those burdens. </li> <li>Nothing will EVER completely go the way it is planned - because (back to No. 3) You are not in control. </li> <li>There will always be darkness, but there will also always be light. There will always be night, but also always morning and day. </li> <li>Fame, power, and broad influence won't mean anything to me when I move on from this life. </li> <li>Everyone poops and pees. </li> <li>Humans are incredible creatures full of possibilities. but we are not alone and not the only incredible creatures on Earth. </li> <li>I have my freedom in this country where I live. Many people do not have that. </li>
</ul>
<p>I want to share a poem which I have been chipping away at setting into an art song. It may seem morose or even frightening at first, but upon subsequent glances, it's clearly about the joy in life - no matter what comes. It's about Lot, a Patriarch from the Old Testament who lived a complicated life (that's putting it nicely). The poem is by a brilliant writer, Cooley Windsor who I met years ago in California. </p>
<p> <br><strong>LOT IS SAVED </strong></p>
<p>I lie each night dying in my bed -- <br>how I pine for cliffs of pure white salt <br>and wish I had looked back too. <br>It would have been better than all these years <br>wondering what it looked like -- <br>the most exciting time in my life <br>and I didn't see a thing. <br>Remember that, when you hear about safety. <br>When your hands are over your head <br>and it's the fire drill <br>calculate how far you'll have to run <br>to escape burning. <br> <br>If I lived in a burning city now <br>I would sing songs <br>and turn myself upside down <br>so the flame's blue base <br>would be my shining sky. <br>In that dazzling world <br>I would be happy <br>even though my eyes boiled. <br>And I'd wave at people outside the city limit <br>who call, "Doesn't it hurt? doesn't it burn?" <br>I would bob like an apple <br>on the surface of the blaze <br>and clap the torches my hands became <br>and wink my blind eyes - <br>Of course it burns. It's fire.</p>Vince Peterson Musictag:vincepeterson.com,2005:Post/66626382019-05-07T19:00:00-04:002021-06-17T19:32:16-04:00A Choir is Not A Machine<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/522400/292f29f2a9e7dc5691d98a133489f82813d9137c/original/darius-bashar-xq8ijfyu-ky-unsplash.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_thin" alt="" />I wrote this program note for Choral Chameleon's "Deus Ex Machina" concert, but it reflects something much broader which I consider to be true in choral music making: </p>
<p>I have felt what I am about to write for years. I also understand why what I am about to write has happened in choral music. </p>
<p>Too many musicians who are placed in charge of singers wield fear as a means of eliciting human sound. They treat people as though they are machines. The idea is that if enough fear is conjured and enough ultimatums are given, humans will go into “fight or flight” mode and desperately push themselves to meet demands. On the other hand, many conductors are blissfully unaware of what they do to their singers or they justify the action as being “in service of music.” </p>
<p>My truth is that fear-mongering and intimidation have nothing to do with making music at all. </p>
<p>In the great movie Whiplash, J.K. Simmons’ character has a profound line toward the end. He says: “There are no two words more harmful in the English language than 'Good job.'” This has been the view of music teachers at the collegiate and professional levels for generations before mine. There is a long-held belief that encouraging music students or telling them at any point that they have achieved a goal will stop them from working just as hard moving forward and will give them a false impression of what the “real world” will be like when it receives their musical offerings in the future. I remember, during my years in music school, thinking many times that there must be a way to cultivate high performance from musicians without cruelty, intimidation, or insult. In a way, I feel like I’ve been looking for it my whole career thus far. </p>
<p>The root cause of this behavior in choral music is generations of symphonic chorus conductors, themselves, being mistreated or at least disregarded by their orchestral cohorts. Over time, this created a sense of desperation in them to ensure that a certain result would always be “guaranteed” and that whatever (usually off-base) requests the orchestra conductor would make could be translated into choral rehearsal language and delivered to the conductor in short order. This desperation made its way into the choral rehearsal room and was passed on to singers. As many of those reputable conductors made their way into schools to teach, they began to “protect” future generations by modeling the behaviors they experienced in the “real world” as a means of preparing their students for careers as such. </p>
<p>Ironically, the organ, which has long been associated with choral music (let’s call it a first cousin), quite literally is a machine. However, when one hearkens to the sensitive playing of a true organist, the instrument begs us to listen for its very soul. Perhaps, in a way, this is why it is so empathetic with singers. I find the dichotomy fascinating and put it at the core of this concert. </p>
<p>In short, human beings are not machines, but the organ is. The empathy between human voices singing and the kaleidoscopic sound of the organ evokes a deep sense of soul in both: each one lifting and celebrating the other. If the soul is the deepest part of us and is somehow connected to God, then we can indeed hear “God from the Machine” and remember something fundamental about life. <br> <br>May it be so.</p>Vince Peterson Music