Recent Reflections (or, a late-night stream of conciousness)

If you are writing a paper for an American professor teaching at a school that prefers the UK punctuation style, do you use 'aesthetic' commas (American) or 'logical' commas (UK)? What about quotation marks (the UK uses what we know as apostrophes for quotation and our quotation for quotes made inside the quote--sorry, that's an awful lot of quotes)? Funny thing is, when I tried to go back to using the American quotation and comma rules after having written two papers in the UK style, I was incredibly confused. Quotes look so much more bulky when there's two little apostrophes around each end! Anyway, I ended up using UK--it's what the rest of the class used, anyway.

Self-esteem problems plague everyone; beauty should never be equated with happiness.

Irish traditional music (trad) is passed down from person to person, and just about everyone knows who learned what from whom. I, for instance, am studying fiddle with Connie O'Connell, who played with and learned from Johnny O'Leary and Dennis Murphy, who learned from Padraig O'Keeffe, last of the fiddle masters of Sliabh Luachra, who learned from Tom Billy Murphy. On the other hand, I am studying bodhran with Frank Torpey, who learned from Mel Mercier, who learned from his father, Peadar Mercier, who played with the Chieftains, which came from Ceoltoiri Chualann, organized by Sean O Riada--the man deemed responsible for the revival in trad music which eventually lead to Riverdance (which, funnily enough, Frank Torpey played in). This is not dissimilar to the lines often traced with classical musicians--at Northwestern, I study with Blair Milton, who studied with Joseph Gingold and Galamian, etc.

Fortune Cookies here are very strange: 'Beware of the man with the gleam in his eye; it might just be the sun shining through the hole in his head.' 'Just because you think you are paranoid doesn't mean that someone isn't following you.'

Frequent comment made about the boys who live upstairs: 'They're just like little boys!' The prank call wall is at a current truce, by which I mean I've learned to remember to unplug the phone at night.

Ah, yes, for those of you who didn't know: I have been diagnosed with a virus similar to mono that will last for some unknown amount of time. This means, of course, rest, water, and becoming a lighter sleeper. The first two are fine, but I really can't stand the third when I consider the thickness of the wall between my room and the living room. Or when I turn over--I think my bed springs are dying, if not already dead.

This weekend happens to be the bank holiday weekend known as the 'Halloween Holiday.' Funnily enough, my stand partner in the Cork School of Music asked me if Americans celebrated halloween--we do, but very differently than they do here (which, actually, I'm still not quite sure how they do that). I did find out, courtesy of an email Grainne sent me, how they used to celebrate it with a tea-time favorite, barmbrack (if you're looking for some easy reading, google that one--it explains the halloween tradition that goes along with it. I'd totally copy and paste it in here, but that's called 'plagarism' and we all know that wikipedia isn't what you'd call accurate).

Anyway, back to the holiday weekend. I'm going up to the Killary Adventure Center for some kayaking and some hill-walking (and maybe just some good, old-fashioned rest--thanks mono-like virus). It's located in the Connemarra Gaeltacht, where Irish is the primary language, up in County Clare. I'm actually really excited to go--Clare is a beautiful area.

Sean-nos singing is very popular up in Connemarra. In fact, there are some highly noted (terrible pun, sorry) singers that have come from that area in the past. My sean-nos class is going well--I've learned three songs, and I'm working on a fourth. One of these days I'll post the text, a translation, and a pronunciation. It'll be cool.

Righty, now--my cuppa is empty and I'm finally feeling tired.

Until next time,

Who Cares if You Listen?

When American Composer Milton Babbitt wrote his ‘The Composer as Specialist’ in 1958, he had no idea that the editor of the journal in which the article was to be published would disregard his intended title and replace it with one far more incendiary: ‘Who Cares if You Listen?’[1] Regardless of the title that is pinned on Babbitt’s work, the ideas set forth in the article are cause enough for a musical and academic riot: Babbitt, using a teleological philosophy of history, makes the argument that music has become so ‘serious’ and ‘advanced,’[2] understandable only by an elite group of scholars (much like a ‘pure science’[3]), that ‘isolation is advantageous to both the composer and music.’[4] What exactly is this ‘serious’ music that Babbitt says should only be played for the elite (if at all), without any regard to the public? More importantly, why does Babbitt push for this isolation?

I must admit, I don’t find Babbitt’s arguments entirely convincing concerning the last question—although there are several observations Babbitt makes that I have run into during my experience of music, I do not agree with his push for isolation. Before I break down Babbitt’s points one by one, I feel that I should make my ‘musical credentials’ known: while not a composer, I have performed music for upwards of thirteen years, studied both ‘traditional’ and set theory, having also performed music a variety of new music. While I do not have the Doctorate in Music Theory that Babbitt seems to think is necessary for critique of this ‘new’ music, I do feel that these qualifications put me far outside Babbitt’s scorn for the ‘layperson’ that critiques negatively simply because they ‘didn’t like it.’[5]

Babbitt opens his argument by painting a picture of the then-current atmosphere that received new music—compositions shunned by audiences and performers alike, resulting in ‘poorly attended concerts’ attended only by ‘fellow’ professionals.[6] Babbitt then makes his first statement that isolation, both ‘societal and musical,’ is ‘not only inevitable’ (the first hinting of a teleological philosophy of history) but ‘advantageous’ to the composer and his music.[7] It is here that Babbitt makes his first misstep—it seems a little childish to justify something as being ‘advantageous’ simply because it is ‘inevitable.’ This particular statement also calls to mind the image of a petulant child who, upon being denied something, responds with an ‘I didn’t want it anyway!’

Following this outburst, Babbitt returns to his ‘logical’ argument, beginning to draw stronger ties between ‘advanced’ music and theoretical physics (with yet another nod to a teleological philosophy of history): the divergence between ‘advanced’ music followers and ‘traditional’ music followers stems from a ‘half-century of revolution in musical thought,’ which compares to a ‘mid-nineteenth century revolution’ in theoretical physics.[8] This is a connection that Babbitt relies very heavily upon for the duration of his argument—the new music, explains Babbitt, has four general characteristics, each of which requires far more of the listener than those of the ‘antiquated’ music: it exists in ‘five-dimensional space’[9] (pitch class, register, dynamic, duration, and timbre), has structural characteristics that are ‘unique to the work,’[10] employs a new, ‘efficient’[11] tonal vocabulary, and references other (perhaps older) types of musics.[12] Babbitt, by using such technical vocabulary, is trying to turn music into a science, something which, in my mind, it is decidedly not. His argument, at this point, can easily be simplified into the following idea: the nature of things is to progress—science has progressed, and thus music must do the same.

Babbitt continues to equate music to physics through his commentary regarding the public’s opinion of the ‘new’ music, comparing a concert of new music to a lecture in theoretical physics—the layperson present in either situation, if they dislike the work presented, dislikes it for insufficient reasons: in the case of the lecture, ‘the hall [was] chilly’ or ‘the lecturer’s voice was unpleasant’; of the concert, the music was ‘inexpressive,’ ‘undramatic,’ or ‘lacking in poetry.’[13] Babbitt considers these objections to be exactly the same in nature, but I do not: the comments from the ‘layperson’ sitting in the lecture have nothing to do with physics, theoretical or otherwise; those from the ‘layperson’ in the concert deal with an ‘antiquated’ expectation of an art that, until very recently, had been at the beck and call of the public. Because Babbitt believes the public completely incapable of understanding, he calls for isolation.

I do not disagree that the music is undoubtedly ‘new,’ or that it makes more demands upon the ear, nor do I disagree that some of the public declines to view certain works ‘as music’ simply because it does not conform to their conception of what it should be—these are all things that I have noticed during my studies of the ‘new’ music. I believe it is a fair statement to say that, in general, one appreciates something like music far more after having gained a more intricate knowledge if it—I know this rings true with me, even with certain pieces of what Babbitt would deem to be ‘traditional’ music. What I do disagree with, what pains me to hear Babbitt say, is that this ‘new’ music should be isolated—by all means, no! We should be (as Babbitt scornfully called them) the ‘well-meaning souls who exhort the public “just to listen to more contemporary music,”’ not promoting ‘passive acceptance’ through familiarity as Babbitt would suggest, but an understanding (maybe promoted through pre-concert lectures or informative program notes).[14] According to Babbitt (and his teleological philosophy of history), if this ‘new’ music is not removed from the public sphere, it ‘will cease to evolve, and, in that important sense, will cease to live.’[15]

Perhaps I have the benefit of living almost sixty years after the work was written, or perhaps it is because I was introduced to this very music at a university (Babbitt’s proposed home for this new ‘complex’ and ‘difficult’[16] music), that I have found this ‘new’ music, as well as music that is far more recent, to be widely accepted and performed regularly in concerts, well attended by the scholarly elite and the layperson, alike. The music has not been isolated, as Babbitt suggested that it should be, but promoted, and it has continued to evolve—a clear difference from the future predicted by Babbitt if the ‘new’ music was not pulled out of the public eye.

Bibliography

Babbit, Milton. ‘Who Cares if You Listen?’. Source Readings In Music History. Eds. Oliver Strunk and Leo Treitler. (New York: W.W. Norton, 1998). 1305-1311.

---

[1] Milton Babbitt, ‘Who Cares if You Listen?,’ Source Readings In Music History, eds. Oliver Strunk and Leo Treitler (New York: W.W. Norton, 1998), 1305.

[2] Babbitt, 1305.

[3] Babbitt, 1308.

[4] Babbitt, 1305.

[5] Babbitt, 1309.

[6] Babbitt, 1305.

[7] Babbitt, 1306.

[8] Babbitt, 1306.

[9] Babbitt, 1306.

[10] Babbitt, 1307.

[11] Babbit, 1306.

[12] Babbitt, 1307.

[13] Babbitt, 1309.

[14] Babbitt, 1310.

[15] Babbitt, 1311.

[16] Babbitt, 1310.

Visitors from the West

[Update]: Photoblog has also been updated--link can be found to the right.

The best gift I got this year for my birthday happened to be the gift of family--as much as I enjoy living here, it's definitely been hard living so far away from everyone else, despite the ease of communication. When I got an email from Grandma inviting me to dinner on my birthday, I was thrilled!

Grandma and Grandpa Dary arrived in Cork this past Monday, after two plane flights and a train ride. Once they were settled in the Gresham Metropole and we'd gotten the chance to talk a bit, I left them for the afternoon to unpack and get some rest before dinner. It was like Christmas, watching them unpack! As soon as I knew that they were going to be coming stopping over in the D.C./Baltimore area, I put together a list of things that I had forgotten or wanted. Most importantly (in my mind) out of all the things to come out of their suitcases were Jiffy Crunchy Peanut Butter (no such thing here), Macaroni and Cheese (I've only ever seen it in a can), and Tizzy (my stuffed rabbit, courtesy of Aunt Cris). Of course, there were other far more important things in there--recording equipment for class, wrist braces, cards from family, and my peacoat (it gets a little chillier here than I thought it would)--but the first three items definitely got my attention. After a little bit of sleep, we met up again in the hotel dining room to enjoy a lovely dinner before I headed back at the request of my Spanish flatmate--according to her, I just had to be home by 9 PM.

Funnily enough (who saw this one coming), I returned to a flat full of people and chocolate, all there to celebrate my birthday. I must admit that while I was suspicious of Barbara's insistence, I certainly didn't expect to see as many people there as I did. To top it all off, she'd even made me a violin cake! Barbara is such a sweetheart.

The next morning was an early start--I had fiddle class (for fifteen minutes) at 10 AM. After dropping my violin off in my flat, I met Grandma and Grandpa for lunch, which we had at Harvey's Cafe in the French Huguenot quarter of the city. After devouring sandwiches, we hopped on the 'Hop On--Hop Off' bus tour of Cork City--it gave Grandma and Grandpa a good idea of the city that I'm living in this year, and made it easy to get some really great pictures of places that would be hard for me to get to. Once again, I was astounded by the driving skills of the bus drivers here--too many windy roads!

After we had finished with the tour, we ended up in Marks and Spencer's for afternoon tea--a delightful affair, complete with tea sandwiches and huge tea cups (about the size of a cereal bowl). Over tea, we dicussed dinner options, and I decided that, rather than go out to a restaurant, I'd rather make dinner for the three of us and my flatmates at the apartment. Besides the fact that they hadn't yet seen the apartment or met my flatmates, cooking dinner for my friends on my birthday is a tradition that I started my freshman year of college and have kept ever since (yes, yes, only three years, I know).

Dinner that night was pasta with chicken, broccoli, garlic, and parmesan in a white wine butter sauce that I concocted on the spot. I had to give a considerable amount of thought to what I was going to make--I don't remember if I've told all of you this or not, but Barbara only eats meat and carbohydrates while Lauren is a vegetarian. It was amusing to watch Barbara trade all of her broccoli for all of Lauren's chicken. During dinner, I received many phone calls--most from friends and family, and one from a 'security guard' (read: guy upstairs) that we later found out was a prank call (this eventually lead to a full-out prank call war involving several apartments that eventually ended when we unplugged our phone. Mature, I know).

The next day was an incredibly busy one--good thing I had a full Irish breakfast with Grandma and Grandpa at the Metropole to get me through the day! After breakfast, I ran to my apartment to pick up my things for class, trekked up the huge hill to the music building, sat through two hours of lecture on twelve tone, ran down to campus to eat lunch and meet with students from my seminar, trekked back up the large hill, played bodhran for thirty minutes, ran back to the apartment to drop off my stuff, and then met Grandma and Grandpa for our last dinner together at the Metropole. Dinner was delicious, but the conversation afterwards was amazing. We said our goodnights, and I went back to my apartment to start on the reading for the next days class.

Luckily for everyone involved, I don't have class on Thursday until 3 PM, meaning that I was able to spend as much time as I could with Grandma and Grandpa before they commenced their long journey back to Oklahoma. After another full Irish breakfast (complete with rice crispies, the only american contribution to my plate), I rode to the train station to with them to wish them a safe trip and say my goodbyes. Saying goodbye is always hard, but it's made even harder when there's no one back at your flat to go home to--Lauren was in Paris; Barbara, in Amsterdam. While the Aero bar that I bought in the train station didn't provide any actual company, it did make me feel a little better.

Homestay Madness and Fiddle Lessons

I felt so at home with my family, I woke them up Sunday morning to the sound of me getting sick! And I didn't even go out the night before... No worries, I'm fine now.

Ger and Jacqui didn't actually live in Carrrigaline, but between the towns of Carrigaline and Ballygarvan on farmland that Ger's father leases out to other farmers (meaning that the Spillanes live in the middle of whatever the other farmers choose to grow; this year: corn). I think I should also add that Ger and Jacqui are also very well off, seeing as Ger used to be a semi-professional footballer. (Translation: their house is huge.) Upon arrival to the Spillane's house, Lauren, Jules, and I were greeted by Lassie. Well, not Lassie per se, but Kipper, the Spillane's one year old collie. We loved Kipper, and boy, did Kipper ever love us.

After settling in to our rooms, Jacqui invited us to wait in the family room while she prepared tea. Half an hour later, she called us into the breakfast nook/dining room, where we sat down to personal-size pizzas, salad, coleslaw, 'chips', and a plate of white bread. Apparently, in the Spillane house, "tea" means "supper." We spent the rest of the evening chatting with Jacqui while Ger was out with the boys at a gaelic football match, finally heading to bed around 11 PM after watching Maid in Manahttan on TG3.

The next morning was unhurried and relaxed. After breakfast (served with even more white bread), Lauren, Jules and I pulled out some work, which we did at the table in the breakfast nook/dining room (once I get batteries for my camera, you'll see how this works). After numerous cups of tea and a plate of biscuts, Ger made lunch--turkey, salad, cole slaw, potato salad, white bread, white bread toast, and a whole wheat cracker with cream cheese on it. Oh, and there was yet another plate of white bread on the side.

Jacqui came back from her hair appointment that afternoon, and took us into Carrigaline to do some shopping and general walking around. While she was running errands, Lauren, Jules, and I walked around until we ran into some other students on their homestay. After some coffee, chocolates, and ice cream, we headed back with Jacqui to make "tea": chips, rashers, sausages, alphabettoes (what you would get if spaghettios and alphabet soup had a love child), and, you guessed it, a plate of white bread. Lauren and Jules went back into Carrigaline to go to the Corner House, Carrigaline's Pub, and I stayed in to chat with friends and family.

The next morning was a disaster--around 7 AM, i got up to go sit in the bathroom because I didn't feel well. Around 7:15, Ger returned from taking Ben (the youngest, 10) to meet up with his hurling team for a match outside of Dublin, promptly walking in on me, sitting on the floor with a towel around my shoulders (it was cold). 8 AM--I was sick, but nothing really came up. 8:10--walked down to ask Ger for some medication. Took said medication, but wasn't helping. In a panic, I called Mom and Dad. After some deliberation over the phone, I woke Jacqui up, who declared I had a "tummy bug." Around 8:45 AM, I officially fell asleep on the bathroom floor. I woke up at 9:15, and moved back to bed, where I stayed until 11 AM, after I began to feel much better. I pretty much stayed in bed until it was time to eat dinner, where I ate a little of the food (pork chops, boiled carrots, and potato). We packed, gave Jacqui and Ger their thank you gifts (which they loved, thank goodness), and boarded the bus for the ride back to DeansHall.

Needless to say, I didn't do much for the rest of the evening. No worries--as I said before, I'm not really having any problems now with that.

On a lighter and less gross note, I had my first fiddle lesson this morning, where I learned a Kerry Polka. I have the lesson recorded on my computer (albeit not very well--I need to buy a microphone for my iPod for better sound quality) and maybe, one day, I'll figure out how to put that stuff up here. It was a good lesson, despite the fact that I got elbowed in the face while trying to hold the door open for my professor as he carried more chairs in. I think we're even now--I had my embarrassing moment last week when I was afraid to play for him, and he had his this week when he elbowed me.

I also got a chance to talk to a lot of friends today, both over the internet and phone. It was good to hear how people are doing and what's going on at Northwestern. I miss it a bit, but I'm starting to really adjust (I thought I had been adjusted before, but I was only adjusted to the Early Start schedule).

Tonight, I have rehearsal with the Cork School of Music's Symphony Orchestra for the second time. In the meantime, I need to heat up dinner (leftovers from last week that I stuck in the freezer), warm up, and get a little work on my papers done.

Until then,