The term “doublethink”, coined by George Orwell in his seminal work Nineteen Eighty-Four, describes a psychological mechanism through which individuals are conditioned to accept two contradictory beliefs as simultaneously true This cognitive dissonance allows a totalitarian regime to maintain control by legitimizing its unethical practices and imposing unreasonable demands on its citizens. Prominent examples from the novel include the Party's paradoxical slogans: “War is Peace,” “Freedom is Slavery,” and “Ignorance is Strength.”
The phenomenon of brainwashing is more prevalent than one might assume. Individuals who lack expertise in specific subjects, possess authoritarian personality traits, or exhibit an unwavering adherence to rules are particularly susceptible to manipulation. Interestingly, some individuals who disseminate propaganda may not genuinely endorse the ideas they promote; rather, they may adopt such positions as a means to achieve personal objectives — whether that be power, financial gain, or social recognition.
This piece explores instances of propaganda commonly encountered among certain advocates of avant-garde music.
Alternative title 1: Suite in A minor
Alternative title 2: Unterweisung im Tonsatz [2]
This suite is dedicated to individuals who have been conditioned to perceive themselves as superior, as well as those who engage in the process of indoctrinating others to adopt similar beliefs.
P.S.1 When individuals react to this piece with personal attacks (often characterized by falsehoods or misleading information) rather than presenting sound counterarguments, or when they resort to appeals to authority (suggesting that a certain authority figure is infallible), or abruptly terminate the discussion, it is indicative of potential indoctrination. Those adept at evading critical scrutiny may divert the conversation to unrelated topics — such as shifting from a defense of harmonic progression to an analysis of motivic development or resort to broader questions like, “What constitutes a progression? Why is progression necessary?” They may also polarize the discussion by forcing a choice between extremes or misrepresenting a situation as a prevailing trend when it is, in reality, a narrow facet of a larger context. Regardless of their own level of indoctrination, such individuals seek to influence your perspective.
P.S.2 It is important to recognize that while individuals are entitled to their preferences — whether based on reason or not — one should refrain from aligning with authoritarian ideologies.
P.S.3 Am I genuinely avant-garde, when the contemporary avant-garde is already part of the establishment?
The phenomenon of brainwashing is more prevalent than one might assume. Individuals who lack expertise in specific subjects, possess authoritarian personality traits, or exhibit an unwavering adherence to rules are particularly susceptible to manipulation. Interestingly, some individuals who disseminate propaganda may not genuinely endorse the ideas they promote; rather, they may adopt such positions as a means to achieve personal objectives — whether that be power, financial gain, or social recognition.
This piece explores instances of propaganda commonly encountered among certain advocates of avant-garde music.
Alternative title 1: Suite in A minor
Alternative title 2: Unterweisung im Tonsatz [2]
This suite is dedicated to individuals who have been conditioned to perceive themselves as superior, as well as those who engage in the process of indoctrinating others to adopt similar beliefs.
P.S.1 When individuals react to this piece with personal attacks (often characterized by falsehoods or misleading information) rather than presenting sound counterarguments, or when they resort to appeals to authority (suggesting that a certain authority figure is infallible), or abruptly terminate the discussion, it is indicative of potential indoctrination. Those adept at evading critical scrutiny may divert the conversation to unrelated topics — such as shifting from a defense of harmonic progression to an analysis of motivic development or resort to broader questions like, “What constitutes a progression? Why is progression necessary?” They may also polarize the discussion by forcing a choice between extremes or misrepresenting a situation as a prevailing trend when it is, in reality, a narrow facet of a larger context. Regardless of their own level of indoctrination, such individuals seek to influence your perspective.
P.S.2 It is important to recognize that while individuals are entitled to their preferences — whether based on reason or not — one should refrain from aligning with authoritarian ideologies.
P.S.3 Am I genuinely avant-garde, when the contemporary avant-garde is already part of the establishment?
On Craftsmanship
Rough is great.
The concept of craftsmanship plays a pivotal role in distinguishing high-quality compositions from lesser works. However, this distinction is often overlooked by many advocates of avant-garde music. As long as certain basic criteria are met — such as the absence of a cantabile melody, clearly defined meters, and recognizable harmonic progressions, alongside sections characterized by texture and gestures that extend to considerable lengths (the more unbearably long the better) — these advocates may readily declare a piece to be “great.” Parameters often disregarded in this assessment include idiomaticity (where performers are held accountable for executing specified techniques), practicality (for instance, compositions requiring four helicopters or one hundred mechanical metronomes [3]), melodic shape and direction, the manipulation of varying phrase lengths [4] and constructions, harmonic tension and release, and the dramatic effects stemming from changes in pitch centers or collections.
A notable observation arises when these advocates critique non-avant-garde music: they very often neglect the intricate details. When praising avant-garde compositions, their attention to detail remains similarly superficial. To them, the fundamental elements — such as pitch, rhythm, instrumentation, and even the duration of sections — can undergo significant alterations without diminishing the perceived “greatness” of the work.
When confronted with the technical deficiencies inherent in the pieces they admire, advocates may hastily retreat from their assertions of superiority, responding instead that the evaluation of a piece's effectiveness is “highly subjective.” Conversely, they dismiss people whose disapproval towards avant-garde music are not critical as lacking the intellectual depth required to appreciate the “greatness” of these rough compositions.
If the assessment of a piece’s superiority is indeed “highly subjective,” it raises pertinent questions regarding the validity of compositional techniques and craftsmanship. What, then, is the purpose of studying music composition? Additionally, how can one ascertain that one piece is superior to another? (see also “On Content” and “On Audience”)
The piece “On Craftsmanship” adheres to several fundamental criteria and is perceived as both “unexpected” (see also “On Rhythm”) and organically cohesive, featuring gestures such as glissandos and clusters that are likely to garner the approval of avant-garde music advocates. Is it not, therefore, deserving of the designation “great”?
Alternative title 1: Prelude
Alternative title 2: I am trying to slap a mosquito, but it turns out to be a bee
Alternative title 3: Molecular Collisions
Rough is great.
The concept of craftsmanship plays a pivotal role in distinguishing high-quality compositions from lesser works. However, this distinction is often overlooked by many advocates of avant-garde music. As long as certain basic criteria are met — such as the absence of a cantabile melody, clearly defined meters, and recognizable harmonic progressions, alongside sections characterized by texture and gestures that extend to considerable lengths (the more unbearably long the better) — these advocates may readily declare a piece to be “great.” Parameters often disregarded in this assessment include idiomaticity (where performers are held accountable for executing specified techniques), practicality (for instance, compositions requiring four helicopters or one hundred mechanical metronomes [3]), melodic shape and direction, the manipulation of varying phrase lengths [4] and constructions, harmonic tension and release, and the dramatic effects stemming from changes in pitch centers or collections.
A notable observation arises when these advocates critique non-avant-garde music: they very often neglect the intricate details. When praising avant-garde compositions, their attention to detail remains similarly superficial. To them, the fundamental elements — such as pitch, rhythm, instrumentation, and even the duration of sections — can undergo significant alterations without diminishing the perceived “greatness” of the work.
When confronted with the technical deficiencies inherent in the pieces they admire, advocates may hastily retreat from their assertions of superiority, responding instead that the evaluation of a piece's effectiveness is “highly subjective.” Conversely, they dismiss people whose disapproval towards avant-garde music are not critical as lacking the intellectual depth required to appreciate the “greatness” of these rough compositions.
If the assessment of a piece’s superiority is indeed “highly subjective,” it raises pertinent questions regarding the validity of compositional techniques and craftsmanship. What, then, is the purpose of studying music composition? Additionally, how can one ascertain that one piece is superior to another? (see also “On Content” and “On Audience”)
The piece “On Craftsmanship” adheres to several fundamental criteria and is perceived as both “unexpected” (see also “On Rhythm”) and organically cohesive, featuring gestures such as glissandos and clusters that are likely to garner the approval of avant-garde music advocates. Is it not, therefore, deserving of the designation “great”?
Alternative title 1: Prelude
Alternative title 2: I am trying to slap a mosquito, but it turns out to be a bee
Alternative title 3: Molecular Collisions
On Intellect I
Negligence is intellectual.
The notion of “intellectuality” in music in avant-garde circles is very often closely tied to the belief that music that incorporates complex mathematical, scientific, or philosophical principles is inherently superior. Works grounded in serialism and integral serialism serve as prime examples of this association. However, one must question the intrinsic value of transcribing abstract mathematical or scientific concepts into musical notation. For example, is the process of transposing a system such as Sudoku into a musical form truly an intellectual endeavor if the resulting composition sounds arbitrarily organized, lacking artistic or musical depth (see also “On Audience”)? Does such a piece merit praise simply for its reliance on a structured logic, or should the credit be attributed to the creators of the system itself?
This inquiry raises a critical point: is music derived from a “scientific” framework intellectual only when it demonstrates refinement and artistry? (see also “On Craftsmanship.”) The ability of artificial intelligence to generate serial compositions in mere minutes, adhering to basic composition “rules”, underscores the question of whether these compositions can truly be considered intellectual, especially when the resulting works lack the human touch that imbues them with emotional or aesthetic significance. Furthermore, such developments suggest that AI may soon replace human composers in these specific genres, if it has not already done so in some cases.
Interestingly, the idea of “intellectuality” in avant-garde music may, at times, undermine itself. For instance, consider the work of Webern, whose use of meticulously constructed tone rows in the first movement of his Symphony or his orchestration of Bach’s Ricercar a6, exemplifies a tension between intellectual rigor and artistic expression.
“On Intellect I” is a case in point. The piece is structured around the Fibonacci sequence, a series of numbers in which each number is the sum of the two preceding ones, typically beginning with 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, and so on. This sequence has a wide range of applications, including in natural phenomena, and is employed in the composition to determine the number of attacks within a specific musical layer.
Additionally, the structure of “On Intellect I” is informed by the golden ratio, further linking the piece to principles of mathematical proportion and symmetry, and contributing to the ongoing dialogue about the intersection of logic, structure, and artistic expression in contemporary music. Two positive numbers are in a golden ratio if:
Negligence is intellectual.
The notion of “intellectuality” in music in avant-garde circles is very often closely tied to the belief that music that incorporates complex mathematical, scientific, or philosophical principles is inherently superior. Works grounded in serialism and integral serialism serve as prime examples of this association. However, one must question the intrinsic value of transcribing abstract mathematical or scientific concepts into musical notation. For example, is the process of transposing a system such as Sudoku into a musical form truly an intellectual endeavor if the resulting composition sounds arbitrarily organized, lacking artistic or musical depth (see also “On Audience”)? Does such a piece merit praise simply for its reliance on a structured logic, or should the credit be attributed to the creators of the system itself?
This inquiry raises a critical point: is music derived from a “scientific” framework intellectual only when it demonstrates refinement and artistry? (see also “On Craftsmanship.”) The ability of artificial intelligence to generate serial compositions in mere minutes, adhering to basic composition “rules”, underscores the question of whether these compositions can truly be considered intellectual, especially when the resulting works lack the human touch that imbues them with emotional or aesthetic significance. Furthermore, such developments suggest that AI may soon replace human composers in these specific genres, if it has not already done so in some cases.
Interestingly, the idea of “intellectuality” in avant-garde music may, at times, undermine itself. For instance, consider the work of Webern, whose use of meticulously constructed tone rows in the first movement of his Symphony or his orchestration of Bach’s Ricercar a6, exemplifies a tension between intellectual rigor and artistic expression.
“On Intellect I” is a case in point. The piece is structured around the Fibonacci sequence, a series of numbers in which each number is the sum of the two preceding ones, typically beginning with 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, and so on. This sequence has a wide range of applications, including in natural phenomena, and is employed in the composition to determine the number of attacks within a specific musical layer.
Additionally, the structure of “On Intellect I” is informed by the golden ratio, further linking the piece to principles of mathematical proportion and symmetry, and contributing to the ongoing dialogue about the intersection of logic, structure, and artistic expression in contemporary music. Two positive numbers are in a golden ratio if:
, where a > b.
In the second section, the left-hand part consistently articulates a polyrhythmic figure that embodies the golden ratio, as approximated by the Fibonacci sequence. Notice that the Fibonacci numbers (Fn) and the golden ratio are related by the following formula:
In the second section, the left-hand part consistently articulates a polyrhythmic figure that embodies the golden ratio, as approximated by the Fibonacci sequence. Notice that the Fibonacci numbers (Fn) and the golden ratio are related by the following formula:
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where
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is the golden ratio and
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is its conjugate.
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In “On Intellect I,” the pitches are organized according to a derived row, specifically a twelve-tone row consisting of non-overlapping segments belonging to the same set class; in this composition, this set class is designated as (016). The interval classes between each pair of segments are 1, 3, and 5, respectively — numbers that are taken from the Fibonacci sequence. Notably, the intervals within the set class (016) are not always presented explicitly, which raises intriguing questions regarding the intellectual premise behind the construction of the row; nevertheless, it is a characteristic that is common in serial compositions. Additionally, the presence of “Fibonacci intervals” further obscures the predominant use of interval classes 1 and 6. The incorporation of palindromic figures in this piece is another homage to Webern.
P.S. It is important to note my perspective regarding the application of the golden ratio in music; I contend that the golden ratio may not effectively translate to musical structures, as music fundamentally operates as an art of time rather than an art of space. The listener cannot fully grasp the entirety of the temporal structure at any given moment, nor can one anticipate the duration of each section. Furthermore, the execution of tempo and tempo changes significantly influences the perception of the golden ratio. Thus, in my view, the application of the golden ratio in music tends to function more as a superficial device (a gimmick) rather than a substantive mechanism for refining structural coherence.
P.S. It is important to note my perspective regarding the application of the golden ratio in music; I contend that the golden ratio may not effectively translate to musical structures, as music fundamentally operates as an art of time rather than an art of space. The listener cannot fully grasp the entirety of the temporal structure at any given moment, nor can one anticipate the duration of each section. Furthermore, the execution of tempo and tempo changes significantly influences the perception of the golden ratio. Thus, in my view, the application of the golden ratio in music tends to function more as a superficial device (a gimmick) rather than a substantive mechanism for refining structural coherence.
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Alternative title 1:
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Alternative title 2: Artificial pseudo intelligence
On Harmony
Indistinctive is personal.
When proponents of avant-garde music encourage composers to create works that are “unique” and “personal,” they frequently imply adherence to established trends — essentially a form of mainstream expectation. Compositions that deviate from these norms are often deemed failures in relation to an implicit “standard” rather than considered personal.
Proponents of avant-garde music frequently employ the term “personal harmonies” to describe chords characterized by a multitude of pitch classes, with a preference for chromaticism and the inclusion of microtones. However, one must question the true distinctiveness of these harmonies. Richly textured chords have been prevalent since the early 20th century, utilized across a wide spectrum of stylistic approaches by numerous composers.
In the realm of atonal music, the lack of identifiable characteristics often renders these chords even more indistinct. Many listeners can differentiate a major triad from a minor triad, maybe the voicing as well, and perhaps also able to differentiate a C major chord from a F# major chord. It is because these chords have identities, especially when heard within a musical context. That explains why listeners can hear progressions and feel the different degrees of harmonic tension within a tonal piece. However, the overtones produced by individual notes within highly chromatic chords muddy the sound, complicating the listener's ability to differentiate one from another.
Moreover, many composers of atonal music construct harmonies based not on sonic qualities but on numerical systems (as seen in serialism and some forms of spectralism). This raises important questions: Can these composers audibly recognize their own harmonies? Given that certain numerical selections (e.g., sc(014)) are widely employed, how unique are these chords? How can one ascertain that a particular chord has not been previously utilized numerous times? Additionally, there exists a subset of composers who disregard traditional harmonic structures, viewing chords merely as the simultaneous occurrence of two or more melodic lines. Can these “chords” truly be regarded as distinctive or personal at all, if the composers cannot even tell what are there? The question also extends to clusters: proponents of avant-garde music seldom challenge the individuality of clusters, but how personal can clusters be?
In “On Harmony,” several notable chordal passages from the Western classical repertoire — composed between the mid-19th and early 20th centuries — are referenced. If one can recognize these passages, it raises the inquiry: why? These are predominantly common, “impersonal” triads and seventh chords (with the exception of the “Petrushka chord.”)
Indistinctive is personal.
When proponents of avant-garde music encourage composers to create works that are “unique” and “personal,” they frequently imply adherence to established trends — essentially a form of mainstream expectation. Compositions that deviate from these norms are often deemed failures in relation to an implicit “standard” rather than considered personal.
Proponents of avant-garde music frequently employ the term “personal harmonies” to describe chords characterized by a multitude of pitch classes, with a preference for chromaticism and the inclusion of microtones. However, one must question the true distinctiveness of these harmonies. Richly textured chords have been prevalent since the early 20th century, utilized across a wide spectrum of stylistic approaches by numerous composers.
In the realm of atonal music, the lack of identifiable characteristics often renders these chords even more indistinct. Many listeners can differentiate a major triad from a minor triad, maybe the voicing as well, and perhaps also able to differentiate a C major chord from a F# major chord. It is because these chords have identities, especially when heard within a musical context. That explains why listeners can hear progressions and feel the different degrees of harmonic tension within a tonal piece. However, the overtones produced by individual notes within highly chromatic chords muddy the sound, complicating the listener's ability to differentiate one from another.
Moreover, many composers of atonal music construct harmonies based not on sonic qualities but on numerical systems (as seen in serialism and some forms of spectralism). This raises important questions: Can these composers audibly recognize their own harmonies? Given that certain numerical selections (e.g., sc(014)) are widely employed, how unique are these chords? How can one ascertain that a particular chord has not been previously utilized numerous times? Additionally, there exists a subset of composers who disregard traditional harmonic structures, viewing chords merely as the simultaneous occurrence of two or more melodic lines. Can these “chords” truly be regarded as distinctive or personal at all, if the composers cannot even tell what are there? The question also extends to clusters: proponents of avant-garde music seldom challenge the individuality of clusters, but how personal can clusters be?
In “On Harmony,” several notable chordal passages from the Western classical repertoire — composed between the mid-19th and early 20th centuries — are referenced. If one can recognize these passages, it raises the inquiry: why? These are predominantly common, “impersonal” triads and seventh chords (with the exception of the “Petrushka chord.”)
If advocates of avant-garde music argue that the context in which harmonies appear contributes to their significance, several points warrant consideration: 1. These advocates often overlook contextual factors when criticizing “impersonal harmonies” (often even mislabeling chords); 2. Their assessments of progression tend to disregard the contextual intricacies of chord sequences — whether a IV6 is followed by a V, ii6, I64, iv, It6, viiØ42/vi, V7/♭II, ♭II64, or other non-functional chords, as long as the progression sounds smooth, they may dismiss it as “straightforward”; they also frequently overlook how the same chord in the same context is followed by a different chord the second time; 3. When they refer to other musical parameters (such as musical gestures that follow) to defend favored avant-garde compositions, they diverge from their original argument [5]; 4. Even I have altered the musical context from the pieces I quoted — modifying preceding and following materials, chord spacings, register, and pitch content, as well as introducing counterpoint — recognition of the original passages persists.
Thus, one must ask: is the entire premise of “personal harmony” fundamentally flawed?
P.S. 1 Even the “simplest” tonal passage in this movement is not “basic” at all – and I mean it on at least three levels.
P.S. 2 The opening and concluding sections of this movement feature the same melody with different harmonizations. If I claim these are personal, many composers may contest this assertion, asserting their ability to achieve similar outcomes - would you agree?
P.S. 3 How you would response if I assert that the final chord of this movement (arpeggiated) is unique in the entire history of music?
Alternative title 1: Sarabande and Waltz
Alternative title 2: Fantasy of a Common Man
P.S. 1 Even the “simplest” tonal passage in this movement is not “basic” at all – and I mean it on at least three levels.
P.S. 2 The opening and concluding sections of this movement feature the same melody with different harmonizations. If I claim these are personal, many composers may contest this assertion, asserting their ability to achieve similar outcomes - would you agree?
P.S. 3 How you would response if I assert that the final chord of this movement (arpeggiated) is unique in the entire history of music?
Alternative title 1: Sarabande and Waltz
Alternative title 2: Fantasy of a Common Man
On Newness I
Old is new.
The notion of “newness” in music very often appears to overshadow other critical criteria for evaluation. Proponents of avant-garde music frequently assert, “But it is new!” as a defense against criticisms regarding its perceived weaknesses. This emphasis suggests that novelty is the paramount, if not the sole, criterion for assessing a composition, while attributes such as refinement, emotional depth, philosophical engagement, and spiritual resonance are dismissed as irrelevant (see also “On Craftsmanship” and “On Content”).
This raises the question: why is there such an overwhelming emphasis on the need for “newness”? Are composers akin to YouTubers chasing fleeting trends? How new were Bach’s late works, Brahms’s symphonies, or Rachmaninov’s symphonies in their time? In contrast, are works such as Rebel's Les élémens (a late Baroque ballet which begins with dissonant clusters), Haydn’s Symphony no.45 (almost all the orchestral members left the stage by the end of the piece), or Liszt’s "omnitonal" pieces considered the most esteemed in the canon of music [6], at least within the avant-garde community?
Furthermore, when a novel idea emerges and garners acclaim, it often leads to a repetition of that approach by the original composer and numerous followers worldwide. Are these subsequent works genuinely “new” or original?
Defining “newness” itself presents a challenge. Much of the aesthetic innovation from the Second Viennese School persists more than a century later, and many of their compositions resonate as contemporary. How old must a piece be to lose its status as “new”? Are works by Ives, Ligeti, Lachenmann, or Birtwistle considered new? What about pieces by Piazzolla or Sondheim? A review of the dates of their significant compositions reveals intriguing insights. It is noteworthy that the invention of the first floppy disk [7] coincided with the emergence of minimalist music, while its commercial availability aligned with the rise of spectral music.
Why then is there an uncritical pursuit of “newness,” which often equates to adherence to relatively recent trends? Consider how swiftly these trends can become outdated (see also “On Cliché”). What remains of these innovative compositions once they are no longer perceived as new? To echo Lachenmann's critique, do we not perceive a “stale, implausible, anachronistic, dissonant” quality in avant-garde music as it ages [8]?
Alternative title 1: Interlude
Alternative title 2: Interstellar messages [9]
Old is new.
The notion of “newness” in music very often appears to overshadow other critical criteria for evaluation. Proponents of avant-garde music frequently assert, “But it is new!” as a defense against criticisms regarding its perceived weaknesses. This emphasis suggests that novelty is the paramount, if not the sole, criterion for assessing a composition, while attributes such as refinement, emotional depth, philosophical engagement, and spiritual resonance are dismissed as irrelevant (see also “On Craftsmanship” and “On Content”).
This raises the question: why is there such an overwhelming emphasis on the need for “newness”? Are composers akin to YouTubers chasing fleeting trends? How new were Bach’s late works, Brahms’s symphonies, or Rachmaninov’s symphonies in their time? In contrast, are works such as Rebel's Les élémens (a late Baroque ballet which begins with dissonant clusters), Haydn’s Symphony no.45 (almost all the orchestral members left the stage by the end of the piece), or Liszt’s "omnitonal" pieces considered the most esteemed in the canon of music [6], at least within the avant-garde community?
Furthermore, when a novel idea emerges and garners acclaim, it often leads to a repetition of that approach by the original composer and numerous followers worldwide. Are these subsequent works genuinely “new” or original?
Defining “newness” itself presents a challenge. Much of the aesthetic innovation from the Second Viennese School persists more than a century later, and many of their compositions resonate as contemporary. How old must a piece be to lose its status as “new”? Are works by Ives, Ligeti, Lachenmann, or Birtwistle considered new? What about pieces by Piazzolla or Sondheim? A review of the dates of their significant compositions reveals intriguing insights. It is noteworthy that the invention of the first floppy disk [7] coincided with the emergence of minimalist music, while its commercial availability aligned with the rise of spectral music.
Why then is there an uncritical pursuit of “newness,” which often equates to adherence to relatively recent trends? Consider how swiftly these trends can become outdated (see also “On Cliché”). What remains of these innovative compositions once they are no longer perceived as new? To echo Lachenmann's critique, do we not perceive a “stale, implausible, anachronistic, dissonant” quality in avant-garde music as it ages [8]?
Alternative title 1: Interlude
Alternative title 2: Interstellar messages [9]
On Cliché
Cliché is fresh and original.
Proponents of avant-garde music often regard tonal (and certain post-tonal) compositions as cliché, irrespective of the specific craftsmanship involved in each piece (see also “On Craftsmanship” and “On Harmony”). While it is true that particular compositional techniques and structures may recur across various works, it is crucial to examine how these materials or procedures are utilized in conjunction with diverse musical (and extramusical, if applicable) parameters. This contextual analysis is essential, as it contributes to the distinctive character of each composition.
Enthusiasts of avant-garde music often observe compositions from a distance, focusing on the main materials (perhaps the general architecture as well), evaluating them against a stylistic checklist (again, see “On Craftsmanship”) and seeking out “innovative” gimmicks that capture their interest. However, they overlooks intricate details. At this level of analysis, the use of triads, familiar harmonic progressions, and established rhythmic patterns may all be classified as clichés. Paradoxically, at this level, avant-garde music also exhibits numerous clichés, including (but not limited to) indistinguishable chromatic harmonies and clusters (again, see “On Harmony”), consistently irregular rhythmic patterns (see “On Rhythm”) and the use of texture-based sections, all of which can be found across numerous avant-garde works.
Moreover, because avant-garde music emphasizes broad conceptual frameworks rather than specific details (for example, musical motifs), the materials are more readily perceived as clichés across multiple levels. At a local level, for instance, a cluster may be developed through transposition, modification of pitch content, alterations in dynamics, articulation and timbre, yet it remains identifiable as a cluster, drawing attention to the gesture itself. Conversely, in tonal compositions, the transposition of a triad produces a harmonic progression; the return of the same chords in a different texture can evoke a fresh perception; the reappearance of a triad in a different key, or in a different composition, can convey contrasting meanings. Such perceptible variations engender varying degrees of musical tension and release, enabling much stronger surprises than those typically found in avant-garde music. A similar situation arises when the gimmick is a specific texture, timbre, or extended technique.
On a personal level, the notion of a “personal style” is often exaggerated within avant-garde circles, leading to noticeable self-repetition among composers. By the end of their careers, their body of work may consist of compositions that are almost indistinguishable from one another. Similar materials, techniques, or procedures may recur not only within individual pieces but across an entire oeuvre, resulting in a sense of staleness that develops more rapidly than that associated with specific musical ideas in tonal compositions.
At a broader level, successful composers frequently become the subjects of imitation. One should not be surprised to encounter numerous compositions influenced by the styles of Ligeti or Lachenmann, created by various composers around the globe. Furthermore, successful composers are often significantly influenced by past masters, whether consciously or unconsciously. This transmission of “personal” ideas from one composer to another frequently occurs with insignificant alteration, as earlier composers may have already exhausted their own ideas. Consider the prevalence of techniques such as sul ponticello (or harmonics) trills on string instruments, the snapping of strings, or the tapping of the instrument's body to create rhythmic patterns, alongside the use of tutti loud chords characterized by irregular rhythms, typically involving one or a few chords followed by rests during climactic moments in contemporary music.
This piece features the contrast between points and lines, represented by scales and chords (clusters) respectively (cliché). In the initial section, two voices engaged in chromatic lines of varying lengths and intervallic content pursue each other in a restless manner (standard). This tension builds to a forceful second section, which presents a series of clusters at irregular time intervals (as expected). Fragments from the first section subtly re-emerge toward the conclusion, ultimately taking precedence. This time the two voices traverse different registers, often employing canonic imitation (common). The clusters reappear (again at irregular intervals), superimposed upon the chromatic passages. Following an extensive traversal of the keyboard, the materials are “tonalized.” A series of harmonic progressions, likely to be deemed cliché by aficionados of avant-garde music, emerge alongside the chromatic lines, which now exhibit a more tonal quality. The harmonic progression and melody were foreshadowed in the preceding cluster sections, while small clusters that do not align with the current harmonic context recall earlier passages. This section assumes a more personal character due to the incorporation of “cliché” tonal references, although the presence of a more or less tonal segment toward the conclusion of a piece is not uncommon either.
Alternative title 1: Invention
Alternative title 2: Molecular Movements
Cliché is fresh and original.
Proponents of avant-garde music often regard tonal (and certain post-tonal) compositions as cliché, irrespective of the specific craftsmanship involved in each piece (see also “On Craftsmanship” and “On Harmony”). While it is true that particular compositional techniques and structures may recur across various works, it is crucial to examine how these materials or procedures are utilized in conjunction with diverse musical (and extramusical, if applicable) parameters. This contextual analysis is essential, as it contributes to the distinctive character of each composition.
Enthusiasts of avant-garde music often observe compositions from a distance, focusing on the main materials (perhaps the general architecture as well), evaluating them against a stylistic checklist (again, see “On Craftsmanship”) and seeking out “innovative” gimmicks that capture their interest. However, they overlooks intricate details. At this level of analysis, the use of triads, familiar harmonic progressions, and established rhythmic patterns may all be classified as clichés. Paradoxically, at this level, avant-garde music also exhibits numerous clichés, including (but not limited to) indistinguishable chromatic harmonies and clusters (again, see “On Harmony”), consistently irregular rhythmic patterns (see “On Rhythm”) and the use of texture-based sections, all of which can be found across numerous avant-garde works.
Moreover, because avant-garde music emphasizes broad conceptual frameworks rather than specific details (for example, musical motifs), the materials are more readily perceived as clichés across multiple levels. At a local level, for instance, a cluster may be developed through transposition, modification of pitch content, alterations in dynamics, articulation and timbre, yet it remains identifiable as a cluster, drawing attention to the gesture itself. Conversely, in tonal compositions, the transposition of a triad produces a harmonic progression; the return of the same chords in a different texture can evoke a fresh perception; the reappearance of a triad in a different key, or in a different composition, can convey contrasting meanings. Such perceptible variations engender varying degrees of musical tension and release, enabling much stronger surprises than those typically found in avant-garde music. A similar situation arises when the gimmick is a specific texture, timbre, or extended technique.
On a personal level, the notion of a “personal style” is often exaggerated within avant-garde circles, leading to noticeable self-repetition among composers. By the end of their careers, their body of work may consist of compositions that are almost indistinguishable from one another. Similar materials, techniques, or procedures may recur not only within individual pieces but across an entire oeuvre, resulting in a sense of staleness that develops more rapidly than that associated with specific musical ideas in tonal compositions.
At a broader level, successful composers frequently become the subjects of imitation. One should not be surprised to encounter numerous compositions influenced by the styles of Ligeti or Lachenmann, created by various composers around the globe. Furthermore, successful composers are often significantly influenced by past masters, whether consciously or unconsciously. This transmission of “personal” ideas from one composer to another frequently occurs with insignificant alteration, as earlier composers may have already exhausted their own ideas. Consider the prevalence of techniques such as sul ponticello (or harmonics) trills on string instruments, the snapping of strings, or the tapping of the instrument's body to create rhythmic patterns, alongside the use of tutti loud chords characterized by irregular rhythms, typically involving one or a few chords followed by rests during climactic moments in contemporary music.
This piece features the contrast between points and lines, represented by scales and chords (clusters) respectively (cliché). In the initial section, two voices engaged in chromatic lines of varying lengths and intervallic content pursue each other in a restless manner (standard). This tension builds to a forceful second section, which presents a series of clusters at irregular time intervals (as expected). Fragments from the first section subtly re-emerge toward the conclusion, ultimately taking precedence. This time the two voices traverse different registers, often employing canonic imitation (common). The clusters reappear (again at irregular intervals), superimposed upon the chromatic passages. Following an extensive traversal of the keyboard, the materials are “tonalized.” A series of harmonic progressions, likely to be deemed cliché by aficionados of avant-garde music, emerge alongside the chromatic lines, which now exhibit a more tonal quality. The harmonic progression and melody were foreshadowed in the preceding cluster sections, while small clusters that do not align with the current harmonic context recall earlier passages. This section assumes a more personal character due to the incorporation of “cliché” tonal references, although the presence of a more or less tonal segment toward the conclusion of a piece is not uncommon either.
Alternative title 1: Invention
Alternative title 2: Molecular Movements
On Content
Music is not the sound.
When proponents of avant-garde music extol a particular composition, they typically do not reference the auditory experience, but rather the conceptual underpinnings. Numerous instances can illustrate this point: a quintessential example is Cage’s 4’33”, which is often lauded as a groundbreaking commentary on the very nature of "music." Similarly, Boulez’s Structures I is appreciated for its mathematical structure and its repudiation of historical precedents. Should one dismiss the sound as arbitrary, avant-garde enthusiasts are likely to express disdain – the merit of the work lies not in its auditory qualities.
The sound — the music itself — functions merely as a by-product. The arrangement of musical elements is inconsequential; instead, the extra-musical elements within the score are significant. While the intricate relationships among musical components and the overall architecture of the piece are irrelevant, the complexity of the score is significant (see also “On Complexity”[10]). Furthermore, the craftsmanship of a composition is secondary to its presentation – focus on presenting abstract philosophical ideas and abstruse scientific findings to audiences; should critics challenge the musical attributes, response with derision. In academic circles, the ability to market one's ideas effectively can be equated with compositional excellence. Take a look at the courtroom scene of the musical Chicago, where the lawyer Billy Flynn performs the song “Razzle Dazzle.”
To quote Stephen Sondheim, “Having just the vision's no solution; everything depends on execution — the art of making art.” [11]
P.S. 1 This movement lasts 43.3 seconds.
P.S.2 The second alternative title of the movement, Ma, refers to a specific Japanese concept of negative space. This designation imbues the movement with a more intellectual dimension, does it not? (see also “On Intellect I” and “On Intellect II”)
P.S.3 Should I adopt the second alternative title for the first movement, it would likely be perceived as a student composition; conversely, employing the third alternative title would elevate its perception to that of a more professional — perhaps even intellectual — work.
Alternative title 1: Intermezzo
Alternative title 2: Ma
Music is not the sound.
When proponents of avant-garde music extol a particular composition, they typically do not reference the auditory experience, but rather the conceptual underpinnings. Numerous instances can illustrate this point: a quintessential example is Cage’s 4’33”, which is often lauded as a groundbreaking commentary on the very nature of "music." Similarly, Boulez’s Structures I is appreciated for its mathematical structure and its repudiation of historical precedents. Should one dismiss the sound as arbitrary, avant-garde enthusiasts are likely to express disdain – the merit of the work lies not in its auditory qualities.
The sound — the music itself — functions merely as a by-product. The arrangement of musical elements is inconsequential; instead, the extra-musical elements within the score are significant. While the intricate relationships among musical components and the overall architecture of the piece are irrelevant, the complexity of the score is significant (see also “On Complexity”[10]). Furthermore, the craftsmanship of a composition is secondary to its presentation – focus on presenting abstract philosophical ideas and abstruse scientific findings to audiences; should critics challenge the musical attributes, response with derision. In academic circles, the ability to market one's ideas effectively can be equated with compositional excellence. Take a look at the courtroom scene of the musical Chicago, where the lawyer Billy Flynn performs the song “Razzle Dazzle.”
To quote Stephen Sondheim, “Having just the vision's no solution; everything depends on execution — the art of making art.” [11]
P.S. 1 This movement lasts 43.3 seconds.
P.S.2 The second alternative title of the movement, Ma, refers to a specific Japanese concept of negative space. This designation imbues the movement with a more intellectual dimension, does it not? (see also “On Intellect I” and “On Intellect II”)
P.S.3 Should I adopt the second alternative title for the first movement, it would likely be perceived as a student composition; conversely, employing the third alternative title would elevate its perception to that of a more professional — perhaps even intellectual — work.
Alternative title 1: Intermezzo
Alternative title 2: Ma
On Rhythm
What is anticipated is unexpected.
A fundamental skill in the art of composition lies in the manipulation of tension and release. Mastery of these elements can sustain listener engagement. Establishing a rhythmic pattern and strategically departing from it is one effective approach. For instance, the use of syncopation and varied phrase lengths can be observed in numerous exemplary works from the Common Practice period.
Conversely, many avant-garde composers aim to create music that defies predictability at any given moment, at least regarding rhythmic organization. They often eschew a discernible meter, employing techniques such as frequent meter changes or irregular accents, as seen in passages from Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. Another method involves the complete avoidance of metrical accents, resulting in a “floaty” quality, as exemplified in the first movement of Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la fin du temps. In the former approach, as the music establishes a norm of irregular accents, these “unexpected” accents become anticipated, thereby diminishing their surprise. Similarly, in the latter case, the principle of tension and release has limited impact on the rhythmic structure of these compositions. The effective contrast between passages featuring regular accents and those lacking them is crucial to Stravinsky’s success.
Additionally, Stravinsky was a pioneer in exploring rhythmic complexity, with The Rite of Spring composed in 1913. Many enthusiasts of avant-garde music, who prioritize novelty, often overlook the fact that this technique has become somewhat clichéd in contemporary discourse, as it increasingly aligns with listener expectations (see also "On Cliché"). In defense of their approach, they may exaggerate metrical accents, demonstrating bombastic downbeats in what they term “traditional music” to critique the perceived “inane” nature of conventional rhythmic organization.
P.S. Mozart employed polymeter — with non-aligning bar lines — over a century prior to Stravinsky.
Alternative title 1: Toccata
Alternative title 2: Another Rewrite of Spring
What is anticipated is unexpected.
A fundamental skill in the art of composition lies in the manipulation of tension and release. Mastery of these elements can sustain listener engagement. Establishing a rhythmic pattern and strategically departing from it is one effective approach. For instance, the use of syncopation and varied phrase lengths can be observed in numerous exemplary works from the Common Practice period.
Conversely, many avant-garde composers aim to create music that defies predictability at any given moment, at least regarding rhythmic organization. They often eschew a discernible meter, employing techniques such as frequent meter changes or irregular accents, as seen in passages from Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. Another method involves the complete avoidance of metrical accents, resulting in a “floaty” quality, as exemplified in the first movement of Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la fin du temps. In the former approach, as the music establishes a norm of irregular accents, these “unexpected” accents become anticipated, thereby diminishing their surprise. Similarly, in the latter case, the principle of tension and release has limited impact on the rhythmic structure of these compositions. The effective contrast between passages featuring regular accents and those lacking them is crucial to Stravinsky’s success.
Additionally, Stravinsky was a pioneer in exploring rhythmic complexity, with The Rite of Spring composed in 1913. Many enthusiasts of avant-garde music, who prioritize novelty, often overlook the fact that this technique has become somewhat clichéd in contemporary discourse, as it increasingly aligns with listener expectations (see also "On Cliché"). In defense of their approach, they may exaggerate metrical accents, demonstrating bombastic downbeats in what they term “traditional music” to critique the perceived “inane” nature of conventional rhythmic organization.
P.S. Mozart employed polymeter — with non-aligning bar lines — over a century prior to Stravinsky.
Alternative title 1: Toccata
Alternative title 2: Another Rewrite of Spring
On Audience
Pleasing target audiences is not pleasing audiences.
Avant-garde music often faces rejection from the outset. Schoenberg may have believed that his atonal compositions were a natural progression from the highly esteemed works of Wagner, leading him to anticipate that audiences would embrace his innovations. However, his endeavors were largely met with resistance, both at the time of their inception and, to a significant extent, in contemporary contexts. Consequently, some composers have adopted a stance of disdain toward audiences.
These composers often reject the notion that their skills may be lacking (see also “On Craftsmanship”), attributing audience disengagement instead to a perceived deficiency in the audiences' “intellectual” capacity to comprehend their artistic vision (see also “On Intellect I” and “On Intellect II”). They instruct emerging composers to eschew the pursuit of audience approval, a perspective that merits scrutiny on several fronts.
Firstly, it is evident that these composers do seek to please specific audiences — those who resonate with their avant-garde aesthetic and appreciate their work. They derive satisfaction from positive feedback from listeners and performers, from receiving accolades, from getting an academic job, and from witnessing younger composers emulate their methods. This dynamic resembles a closed circle akin to a cult, wherein participants cannot escape past traumas, as if the angry Schoenberg still lives in them.
Secondly, if audiences are deemed irrelevant, one must question the significance of “compositional technique,” which encompasses the art of engaging audiences and leaving a lasting impact. Regardless of how “audience” is defined, this question remains pertinent. If the value of music is solely attributed to its conceptual framework, does this imply that the intricacies of craft are insignificant (see also “On Craftsmanship” and “On Content”)? How can the merit of one composition be evaluated against another under such a premise? If composers acknowledge the importance of these details, are they not, in fact, attempting to appeal to audiences (however they may define them)? Moreover, are composers not their own primary audience?
Furthermore, within avant-garde circles, certain composers’ works receive more frequent programming than others. Do these favored composers hold their audiences in contempt for potentially appreciating their music for “incorrect” reasons, or do they disdain other composers whose work fails to achieve broader appeal? Might they fear succumbing to the pitfalls of “pleasing the audience”? Conversely, what of those whose music is less frequently performed — do they look down upon their more celebrated peers, or do they harbor feelings of envy? Is there a collective jealousy directed toward composers like Wagner, whose works are simultaneously intellectual, revolutionary, and have resonated with diverse audiences for over a century?
This is another movement of the suite that follows the principles of twelve-tone serialism, which is inferior to the tonal system in various respects. In this composition, pitches are organized according to Milton Babbitt’s trichordal array, an approach reminiscent of a musical sudoku [12]. The texture is articulated through four voices, representing the four rows of the array, which later expands to eight voices. Furthermore, three of these voices adhere to a rhythmic pattern, and two also follow a dynamic series. This exemplifies the concept of integral serialism. However, the stringent mathematical framework is persistently “threatened” by the tonal system. Initially concealed within the array, the allure of tonal pleasure gradually emerges, ultimately dominating the musical narrative. As the piece progresses, the tension between these two stylistic approaches intensifies, culminating in a frenzied conclusion.
Alternative title 1: Chaconne – Waltz
Alternative title 2: Babbitt’s [13] Secret Dream
Pleasing target audiences is not pleasing audiences.
Avant-garde music often faces rejection from the outset. Schoenberg may have believed that his atonal compositions were a natural progression from the highly esteemed works of Wagner, leading him to anticipate that audiences would embrace his innovations. However, his endeavors were largely met with resistance, both at the time of their inception and, to a significant extent, in contemporary contexts. Consequently, some composers have adopted a stance of disdain toward audiences.
These composers often reject the notion that their skills may be lacking (see also “On Craftsmanship”), attributing audience disengagement instead to a perceived deficiency in the audiences' “intellectual” capacity to comprehend their artistic vision (see also “On Intellect I” and “On Intellect II”). They instruct emerging composers to eschew the pursuit of audience approval, a perspective that merits scrutiny on several fronts.
Firstly, it is evident that these composers do seek to please specific audiences — those who resonate with their avant-garde aesthetic and appreciate their work. They derive satisfaction from positive feedback from listeners and performers, from receiving accolades, from getting an academic job, and from witnessing younger composers emulate their methods. This dynamic resembles a closed circle akin to a cult, wherein participants cannot escape past traumas, as if the angry Schoenberg still lives in them.
Secondly, if audiences are deemed irrelevant, one must question the significance of “compositional technique,” which encompasses the art of engaging audiences and leaving a lasting impact. Regardless of how “audience” is defined, this question remains pertinent. If the value of music is solely attributed to its conceptual framework, does this imply that the intricacies of craft are insignificant (see also “On Craftsmanship” and “On Content”)? How can the merit of one composition be evaluated against another under such a premise? If composers acknowledge the importance of these details, are they not, in fact, attempting to appeal to audiences (however they may define them)? Moreover, are composers not their own primary audience?
Furthermore, within avant-garde circles, certain composers’ works receive more frequent programming than others. Do these favored composers hold their audiences in contempt for potentially appreciating their music for “incorrect” reasons, or do they disdain other composers whose work fails to achieve broader appeal? Might they fear succumbing to the pitfalls of “pleasing the audience”? Conversely, what of those whose music is less frequently performed — do they look down upon their more celebrated peers, or do they harbor feelings of envy? Is there a collective jealousy directed toward composers like Wagner, whose works are simultaneously intellectual, revolutionary, and have resonated with diverse audiences for over a century?
This is another movement of the suite that follows the principles of twelve-tone serialism, which is inferior to the tonal system in various respects. In this composition, pitches are organized according to Milton Babbitt’s trichordal array, an approach reminiscent of a musical sudoku [12]. The texture is articulated through four voices, representing the four rows of the array, which later expands to eight voices. Furthermore, three of these voices adhere to a rhythmic pattern, and two also follow a dynamic series. This exemplifies the concept of integral serialism. However, the stringent mathematical framework is persistently “threatened” by the tonal system. Initially concealed within the array, the allure of tonal pleasure gradually emerges, ultimately dominating the musical narrative. As the piece progresses, the tension between these two stylistic approaches intensifies, culminating in a frenzied conclusion.
Alternative title 1: Chaconne – Waltz
Alternative title 2: Babbitt’s [13] Secret Dream
On Intellect II
Thoughtful is superficial.
A prevalent argument among proponents of avant-garde music posits that Romantic music is characterized by sentimentality, while avant-garde music is deemed cerebral. Notably, the term “sentimental” often carries negative connotations, whereas “cerebral” is regarded positively. It is essential to recognize that very few avant-garde compositions exhibit sentimentality; furthermore, as I have previously argued, they frequently lack intellectual depth as well (see “On Intellect I”). Conversely, one must consider the intellectual rigor inherent in the works of composers such as Bach and Wagner. For instance, Bach’s four-voice fugues, such as “Contrapunctus 7” from The Art of Fugue, demonstrate a sophisticated manipulation of musical subjects through techniques such as diminution, inversion, and augmentation, all while keeping the music melodically, rhythmically and harmonically convincing and pleasing. Similarly, Wagner’s monumental Ring Cycle exemplifies intellectual engagement, as he meticulously orchestrated every aspect of the production, including libretto, music, staging, and even theatrical design, thereby expressing complex philosophical ideas through innovations and amazing craftsmanship across multiple disciplines. Are these works not both intellectually rigorous and musically compelling, in addition to resonating deeply with audiences and potentially transforming their lives? Can these works, which are both intellectually rigorous and musically compelling, not also resonate deeply with audiences and potentially transform their lives? It prompts the question: how can avant-garde music claim superiority over such profound artistic achievements?
There are films that engage audiences on multiple levels, allowing enjoyment through a straightforward narrative while simultaneously inviting deeper reflection on symbolic elements, character motivations, and thematic intricacies. In some cases, even minute details in the background serve significant interpretative functions — transcending mere Easter eggs to convey substantial meaning. Through careful analysis and reflection, viewers can derive a richer understanding of both the film and the broader issues it presents. It is the depth and nuance found in these details and layers that I consider indicative of intellectual artistry, which also personalizes and distinguishes each film.
“On Intellect II” largely mirrors “On Intellect I,” differing only in pitch content. While the Fibonacci sequence and the golden ratio remain present, the derived row has been eliminated. In this context, I invite you to reflect: do you find “On Intellect II” melodically and harmonically more satisfying than its predecessor? Is it more musically pleasing or better crafted? Does it convey emotional depth or exhibit greater poetic qualities? Should you answer affirmatively to any of these queries, might this not illustrate my conception of what constitutes “intellect” in music?
Alternative title 1: Poème
Alternative title 2: I Hear the Dandelion Seeds Flying [14]
Thoughtful is superficial.
A prevalent argument among proponents of avant-garde music posits that Romantic music is characterized by sentimentality, while avant-garde music is deemed cerebral. Notably, the term “sentimental” often carries negative connotations, whereas “cerebral” is regarded positively. It is essential to recognize that very few avant-garde compositions exhibit sentimentality; furthermore, as I have previously argued, they frequently lack intellectual depth as well (see “On Intellect I”). Conversely, one must consider the intellectual rigor inherent in the works of composers such as Bach and Wagner. For instance, Bach’s four-voice fugues, such as “Contrapunctus 7” from The Art of Fugue, demonstrate a sophisticated manipulation of musical subjects through techniques such as diminution, inversion, and augmentation, all while keeping the music melodically, rhythmically and harmonically convincing and pleasing. Similarly, Wagner’s monumental Ring Cycle exemplifies intellectual engagement, as he meticulously orchestrated every aspect of the production, including libretto, music, staging, and even theatrical design, thereby expressing complex philosophical ideas through innovations and amazing craftsmanship across multiple disciplines. Are these works not both intellectually rigorous and musically compelling, in addition to resonating deeply with audiences and potentially transforming their lives? Can these works, which are both intellectually rigorous and musically compelling, not also resonate deeply with audiences and potentially transform their lives? It prompts the question: how can avant-garde music claim superiority over such profound artistic achievements?
There are films that engage audiences on multiple levels, allowing enjoyment through a straightforward narrative while simultaneously inviting deeper reflection on symbolic elements, character motivations, and thematic intricacies. In some cases, even minute details in the background serve significant interpretative functions — transcending mere Easter eggs to convey substantial meaning. Through careful analysis and reflection, viewers can derive a richer understanding of both the film and the broader issues it presents. It is the depth and nuance found in these details and layers that I consider indicative of intellectual artistry, which also personalizes and distinguishes each film.
“On Intellect II” largely mirrors “On Intellect I,” differing only in pitch content. While the Fibonacci sequence and the golden ratio remain present, the derived row has been eliminated. In this context, I invite you to reflect: do you find “On Intellect II” melodically and harmonically more satisfying than its predecessor? Is it more musically pleasing or better crafted? Does it convey emotional depth or exhibit greater poetic qualities? Should you answer affirmatively to any of these queries, might this not illustrate my conception of what constitutes “intellect” in music?
Alternative title 1: Poème
Alternative title 2: I Hear the Dandelion Seeds Flying [14]
On Newness II
New is old.
Avant-garde music is not a novel concept. As previously noted (see “Newness I”), much of the aesthetic framework established by the Second Viennese School persists over a century later, with contemporary compositions frequently reflecting the stylistic characteristics of the old masters. Yet, these very compositions are often deemed innovative, while newer styles are relegated to the category of the outdated.
What could be the possible composition year of “On Newness II”? This work exhibits influences from various musical traditions, spanning Classical music from the Baroque era to the 20th century, alongside elements of Jazz, Japanese animation scores, and popular music. Could it have been composed prior to the 21st century? Proponents of avant-garde music might assert that it embodies characteristics of the past, citing its reliance on tonal language and traditional four-bar phrasing among others. However, one must also consider the employment of clusters, glissandos, “more personal harmonies,” musical quotations, and a polystylistic approach. If critics frame their stylistic objections as technical deficiencies — for example, claiming it is “too square” — they must also contend with the assertion that it is, in fact, new.
P.S. Ernst Oster, a respected musicologist and theorist, posited that Chopin chose not to publish his currently celebrated Fantaisie-Impromptu due to its similarities with Beethoven's Piano Sonata No.14, the “Moonlight Sonata.” While it is evident that these works share certain similarities — particularly a prominent quotation highlighted in “On Newness II” — they are fundamentally distinct. The question then arises: was Chopin’s piece considered new or old during his time?
Alternative title 1: Air (Passacaglia) [15]
Alternative title 2: A Song of Angry Men (The End of the Beginning)
New is old.
Avant-garde music is not a novel concept. As previously noted (see “Newness I”), much of the aesthetic framework established by the Second Viennese School persists over a century later, with contemporary compositions frequently reflecting the stylistic characteristics of the old masters. Yet, these very compositions are often deemed innovative, while newer styles are relegated to the category of the outdated.
What could be the possible composition year of “On Newness II”? This work exhibits influences from various musical traditions, spanning Classical music from the Baroque era to the 20th century, alongside elements of Jazz, Japanese animation scores, and popular music. Could it have been composed prior to the 21st century? Proponents of avant-garde music might assert that it embodies characteristics of the past, citing its reliance on tonal language and traditional four-bar phrasing among others. However, one must also consider the employment of clusters, glissandos, “more personal harmonies,” musical quotations, and a polystylistic approach. If critics frame their stylistic objections as technical deficiencies — for example, claiming it is “too square” — they must also contend with the assertion that it is, in fact, new.
P.S. Ernst Oster, a respected musicologist and theorist, posited that Chopin chose not to publish his currently celebrated Fantaisie-Impromptu due to its similarities with Beethoven's Piano Sonata No.14, the “Moonlight Sonata.” While it is evident that these works share certain similarities — particularly a prominent quotation highlighted in “On Newness II” — they are fundamentally distinct. The question then arises: was Chopin’s piece considered new or old during his time?
Alternative title 1: Air (Passacaglia) [15]
Alternative title 2: A Song of Angry Men (The End of the Beginning)
[1] In this piece, the term “avant-garde” is referring to those “experimental music” that emerged from and has inherited the aesthetics of the Second Viennese School. This discussion includes integral serialists, spectralists, and others, despite the fact that the composers associated with these movements may hold opposing views. Nevertheless, their central concepts remain consistent.
[2] It is the title of Hindemith’s book, which is translated as “The Craft of Musical Composition”.
[3] You may be surprised to learn that these examples are not fictional; they were composed by renowned composers.
[4] They may contend that they emphasize varying phrase lengths. While this is accurate, my focus lies in the “play” of expectations and surprises (see “On Rhythm”). Without a discernible pattern against which irregularity operates, the music often appears arbitrary — and may indeed be composed in an arbitrary manner.
[5] This is a case of “moving the goalposts”.
[6] To what extent would you be familiar with these pieces had I not provided additional context? How does your understanding of them compare to your knowledge of Brahms’s or Rachmaninov's symphonies?
[7] A floppy disk is a disk storage having the capacity of 800 KB to 2.8 MB.
[8] Helmut Lachenmann (1995): On structuralism, Contemporary Music Review, 12:1, 93-1. He was referring to the tonal system; however, might these adjectives not be more appropriate for describing avant-garde music?
[9] Interstellar messages may take years, decades, or even longer to reach their intended recipients. By the time these messages arrive, they may be significantly outdated, conveying information that is no longer relevant.
[10] “On Complexity” will be premiered later.
[11] It is taken from Sondheim's song “Putting It Together” in his musical Sunday in the Park with George, for which he serves as both composer and lyricist.
[12] The array is structured as a table consisting of four rows and four columns. Each row contains four cells, each representing an ordered trichord that collectively encompasses all twelve pitch classes. Similarly, each column comprises four cells of ordered trichords that also combine to form a complete aggregate. Furthermore, the design of each series ensures hexachordal combinatoriality, such that each pair of hexachords additionally contributes to the formation of an aggregate.
[13] To clarify, the reference is to a fictional individual whose surname is Babbitt.
[14] The seed head of the dandelion exhibits the Fibonacci Spiral pattern.
[15] The (ab)use of generic titles by composers since the Second Viennese School warrants a separate movement of discussion.
[2] It is the title of Hindemith’s book, which is translated as “The Craft of Musical Composition”.
[3] You may be surprised to learn that these examples are not fictional; they were composed by renowned composers.
[4] They may contend that they emphasize varying phrase lengths. While this is accurate, my focus lies in the “play” of expectations and surprises (see “On Rhythm”). Without a discernible pattern against which irregularity operates, the music often appears arbitrary — and may indeed be composed in an arbitrary manner.
[5] This is a case of “moving the goalposts”.
[6] To what extent would you be familiar with these pieces had I not provided additional context? How does your understanding of them compare to your knowledge of Brahms’s or Rachmaninov's symphonies?
[7] A floppy disk is a disk storage having the capacity of 800 KB to 2.8 MB.
[8] Helmut Lachenmann (1995): On structuralism, Contemporary Music Review, 12:1, 93-1. He was referring to the tonal system; however, might these adjectives not be more appropriate for describing avant-garde music?
[9] Interstellar messages may take years, decades, or even longer to reach their intended recipients. By the time these messages arrive, they may be significantly outdated, conveying information that is no longer relevant.
[10] “On Complexity” will be premiered later.
[11] It is taken from Sondheim's song “Putting It Together” in his musical Sunday in the Park with George, for which he serves as both composer and lyricist.
[12] The array is structured as a table consisting of four rows and four columns. Each row contains four cells, each representing an ordered trichord that collectively encompasses all twelve pitch classes. Similarly, each column comprises four cells of ordered trichords that also combine to form a complete aggregate. Furthermore, the design of each series ensures hexachordal combinatoriality, such that each pair of hexachords additionally contributes to the formation of an aggregate.
[13] To clarify, the reference is to a fictional individual whose surname is Babbitt.
[14] The seed head of the dandelion exhibits the Fibonacci Spiral pattern.
[15] The (ab)use of generic titles by composers since the Second Viennese School warrants a separate movement of discussion.
