"Up" and "Down" the Scale

What makes us speak and think of musical notes in terms of their vertical alignment? Middle C is “lower” than the C one octave above it on the musical staff, though nothing is truly lower about it at all. When we sing an “ascending” scale, the notes go “higher.” In fact, it is nearly impossible to even relate pitches to one another without using these kinds of spatial metaphors. The question is why. Below are some of the available theories arranged roughly according to their plausibility. (Pages could be devoted to analyzing each one, but of course, I don’t have the space or the patience now.)
1. Convention. The use of spatial metaphors “high” and “low” was established simply through convention—we are taught to think about music in this way. After all, certain very young children have an inability to determine “higher” or “lower” pitches. However, this theory does not explain the universality of this phenomenon. Conventional use, no doubt, reinforces the phenomenon, but it can hardly explain why we all do this.
2. Notation. Our spatial nomenclature matches our Western notation system. Robin Maconie, for example, believes that we think of music in spatial terms only because it possesses a notation. If we had no notation, we might refer pitches to each other in different ways. This theory seems implausible to me because it also ignores the universality of the phenomenon. Our spatial metaphors seem much less arbitrary than is suggested here. It is far more likely that our notation matches our spatial metaphors, rather than the other way around.
3. Pitch Frequency. Our spatial metaphors match the frequency continuum of pitches, so the scientist might say. The C one octave above middle C has a frequency that is twice that of middle C. Therefore, the greater the frequency, the “higher” the pitch. Here are terminology is no longer metaphorical. The C one octave above middle really is higher than middle C. This also is less than convincing to me, since I find it hard to believe that one would have to learn of this acoustical fact before configuring his or her spatial metaphors. Also, the zeroing in on frequency seems arbitrary. (The wavelength of a pitch lowers as the pitches get higher.) Furthermore, it sounds a bit silly to suggest that the color violet is any higher than red, since it has a much greater frequency than red.
4. Associations. We employ spatial metaphors “high” and “low” due to real life associations through which differences of pitch remind people of differences of height. One of the more interesting versions of this theory comes from Trevor Wishart: “Clearly… the associations of high pitch with physical height is not unequivocal. We might ask why things are perceived this way round rather than the other… I am not certain that anyone has proposed a solution to this quandary, but I would suggest that there would be an environmental metaphor involved. Any creature which wishes to take to the air, with one or two exceptions, needs to have a small body weight and therefore tends to have a small sound-producing organ and produce high frequency vocalizations. Conversely, any large and heavy creature is essentially confined to the surface of the earth.” As strange as Wishart’s version of the theory might sound, it brings us closer to the truth of the matter, particularly in its implied reference to gravity, for there seems to be some kind of correlation with the gravitational pull in melody. Put very crudely, the “higher” the notes go, the greater the pull downward. And the melody must ultimately seek to resolve downward to a final resting place.
5. Phenomenological explanation. According to some, particularly psychologists, each tone has, prior to the building of associations, “an intrinsic spatial characteristic.” Of course no two tones are really “higher” or “lower” than one another, yet they are phenomenologically heard as if they are. This theory, however, does very little to satisfy my desire for an explanation. In a sense, it merely states the facts. True, no pitches are truly higher or lower than each other. True, we do hear them as if they are. But that is exactly what we are trying to explain! And to say that they have “an intrinsic spatial character” seems an easy way out—a default response. This theory, thus, seems bankrupt to me, although in the end, perhaps it stops where we all should stop in trying to explain the phenomenon.
6. Physiological. We think of pitches as “high” and “low” through associations with physiological movements and activities—particularly those relating to speech and song. In order to produce and sustain pitches high in our own voice range, the chest, throat and head must take an elevated position. Conversely, in order to produce low notes, the throat and head in particular take a more sunken posture. Being the creatures of language and communication that we humans are, it makes sense that these associations with physiological movements would be important to us and how we relate to the outside world.

It is perhaps difficult to expect any one of the theories to do all the explaining, though I believe that this final explanation, combined with the related fourth one, does a great deal of the explaining. Anyway, it is something fun to ponder when you have absolutely nothing productive to do. And I apologize for the complete lack of applicability this blog has to everyday life.

Romanticism Revisited

I am always fascinated with the subject of the status of music among the other arts. What makes it unique? What are its limitations? These kinds of questions are constantly in my mind. And in doing some recent reading on the Romanticism of the 19th century, these questions were thrust to the fore. What follows here is a broad sketch of what I mean by this, though subsequent posts will dig deeper into the particulars. With the advent of Romanticism, there was a grand SHIFT of ideologies, which produced an ELEVATION of art and (particularly) music, which resulted in some philosophical PROBLEMS. Perhaps most importantly, what APPLICATION is there for us today in the way we think about music?

SHIFT – Romanticism brought about a dramatic shift of ideals. Stated extremely broadly, a new emotionalism superceded the rationalism that prevailed during the previous century. This grand shift had numerous important implications for art in general, and music in particular. With this new emphasis on emotion, art became seen essentially as the self-expression of inner emotions. (It is often noted that form and balance were, conversely, de-emphasized.) The person behind the artwork became much more important and of much greater interest than the work itself. New criteria for artistic value began to be emphasized—criteria such as originality, novelty, and sincerity of expression. Art began to be enjoyed on its own grounds – “art for art’s sake.” The early 19th century, therefore, saw the birth of the concert hall, the “musical museum” which displayed works of music for its audience, and eventually standardized a repertoire or “masterworks.” The work of art/music thus gained an autonomy it had never before attained, and the logical outcome of this was an understanding of music more as a thing rather than an activity.

ELEVATION – With this new hyper-emotionalism, the elevation (glorification may be a better term) of art to new heights is not surprising. Art became viewed, as Wagner suggested it could be, as a substitute for religion. Music, on the other hand, was elevated not only along with the other arts, but also within the hierarchy of the arts. Music was the most romantic art, indeed, “one might almost say, the only genuine romantic art.” (E.T.A. Hoffmann) The reason for this pertained to music’s “freedom from the laws of logic and causality” (Wagner), and the fact that music is not “forc[ed] to contend and combine with thought… If music has one advantage over the other media through which a person can represent the impressions of the soul, it owes this to its supreme capacity to make each inner impulse audible without the assistance of reason.” (Liszt) Music was, in fact, “the language of the emotions.”

PROBLEMS – There is much irony in this exaltation of music. For what was seen by the Romantics as music’s “great advantage” (namely its freedom from concepts, words, thoughts) is exactly the thing seen by philosophers prior to 1800 as music’s inherent weakness – exactly the thing that kept them from naming music among the fine arts. Rather, music was considered a “decorative” or “agreeable” art. (It should be noted that here I am referring to absolute music—music without text, title, program, or plot.) Music lacks what literature and other representational arts possess: the capability of presenting ideas and concepts. And without this ability, it is difficult to see how music can teach us anything at all. Even someone as late as Hegel insisted that “music must call on the help of the more exact meaning of words… It demands a text which alone gives a content to the subjective life’s outpouring in the notes.” Therefore the crux of the problem is this: music was elevated to a status that proved to be very difficult to justify logically. But many attempts were nonetheless made, and as a result, many theories were produced in the 19th century which now seem strange and esoteric, even bizarre. (i.e. Schopenhauer’s theory that music is “the copy of the [divine] will itself… as direct an objectification and copy of the whole will as the world itself, nay, even as the Ideas, whose multiplied manifestation constitutes the world of individual things.”) Music, indeed, rested on a lofty pedestal with minimal support, all due to the mysterious nature of the expressive power of music, a nature which philosophers still today struggle to explain.

APPLICATION – What does this all mean for us today, if anything? Well, I think there is much to learn, or at least much that should cause us to re-examine our music-creating and music-making. And I think this is true particularly for us composers and classically trained musicians. In fact, I believe that it may even cause us to re-evaluate the very purpose of our music-making. The implications are numerous, but let me give just two thoughts here. First, we should remind ourselves that the lofty status that music had attained, and which music continues to possess, at least in the minds of most academic musicians, is a relatively new one. Second, we should consider thinking of music as an activity, rather than a thing. These ideas, which may be disappointing or sobering to musicians and composers, I find to be very liberating. For one thing, it allows me to enjoy the very process of composing as a creative activity, rather than waiting for the final product (the thing produced) to justify that process. And this makes all the difference in the world for me, in day to day life.