MUSIC: A HEARING ON ART AND WHAT IT MEANS TO CREATE
An article by V.T. Norman
“When I was younger, I wanted to play an instrument: I wasn’t sure which one.” This quote from Aaron, who is currently doing a degree in Music Technology, is a sentiment shared by a lot of people. For good reason, I would argue, music is just another form of art: so, it often doesn’t matter to people what instrument they play, so long as they can play an instrument. Just as it does not matter what form of writing a writer uses, so long as they can write. However, music is unique from visual mediums in that it cannot differ in its experience. To clarify, one can take their time admiring a painting or they can give it a quick look-over; one can savour a story or skim over it. But it is not possible to listen to music slower and more appreciatively, nor faster and dismissively, at least not without changing the music itself. Nothing changes about a paragraph when you read it slower, only what you picture because of it; to listen to slowed music changes the music itself.
Or does it? Does nothing change about a visual or literary medium when you look at/ read it in a different way? Does the music change when you slow it down? These are the questions I seek to answer in this article. I will present arguments both for and against what it means to change art by changing experiences; allowing you, dear reader, to make your own decisions on how, in changing the way that we experience art, we change art that we experience.
To begin, let us analyse the main arguments for the claim of “Changing the way we experience art, does not change the art itself.” The first, and most effective argument, for this is that art is a physical thing: physical things cannot change just because we experience them differently. Just because something looks large and imposing, does not necessarily mean that it is either, it could just be close up. If we could change things, made of matter, with our perceptions alone, we would all have force powers: which we do not. Reading a book slower than you normally would, for whatever reason, does not mean that the book is magically longer, we are just experiencing it slower. A song, if we were slow it down or speed it up, would still have the same notes and lyrics. On the other hand, Nightcore is considered a genre unto itself, even though all it consists of is speeding up existing songs, to change both its experience and its aesthetic. To say that speeding up a song does not change the song intrinsically, is to say that Nightcore is not a genre. This opens up a whole new can of worms, which is, what is a genre of music?
Genres of music differ from genres of other media, in that it generally does not inform what it is about. Rather, it informs how the song is performed and in what tone. The Pop song ‘Hey Ya!’ by OutKast is about the same thing as the Jazz song ‘Hey Laura’ by Gregory Porter which is, in turn, about the same thing as the Country song ‘They’re Hanging Me Tonight’ by Marty Robbins. These three songs, despite all being different genres, are about love that is dysfunctional and difficult commitment can be. Whereas, the strands that connect the Horror film “IT” and the fantasy-comedy film “Mary Poppins” are much more tenuous. They are both about magical entities which appear to influence a number of children before disappearing, but due to their genre, they are not much more similar. All of this in mind, is Nightcore a genre? One could argue that because it changes the way a song is perceived, it is its own genre. On the other hand, Nightcore does not create new songs, there is no such thing as an original Nightcore song, therefore it is not a genre.
An argument one could make that perception does change a work of art is that a work of art can only exist when it is being perceived: perception brings it into existence. This proposal, we can call Shrodinger’s Beats, after Shrodinger’s Cat, because this is essentially the same dilemma. For those unaware, Shrodinger’s Cat theory goes as follows: A cat, a bottle of poison, and a geiger counter are locked in a box. If the Geiger counter detects radiation, the bottle shatters, killing the cat. Shrodinger proposed that, until it is observed, the cat is in a quantum superposition of both dead and alive. Likewise, this argument supposes that, until observed, art both does and does not exist. However, unlike the cat, Shrodinger’s Beats are not in a quantum superposition. Rather, the art does exist, in the physical sense, but it does not exist in the metaphysical sense. Because art has meaning, and that meaning can differ between person to person, that meaning does not exist until a person observes it. The counter-argument for this being that art always exists, regardless of whether someone is looking at it. Whether someone perceives something is immaterial to its state of existence. Art is not physics, usually, it does not simultaneously exist and not exist: it always exists.
Music is an excellent example of Shrodinger’s Beats, because it literally does not exist until it is being played: but it simultaneously does exist when it’s not being played because how else would you play it? Something to consider when thinking about music, as it applies to Shrodinger’s Beats, is that it splits the hypothesis into two interpretations, funnily enough, both of which fall under Shrodinger’s Beats.
The first interpretation is music that has already been recorded i.e. a Vinyl Record. In this case, Shrodinger’s Beats would say that until the music on the vinyl is played, it does not exist, as it is not being perceived. However, the vinyl does exist, which is to say, the music on the vinyl exists. Therefore, the music both does and does not exist. It is only when the music is played that it only exists. When the music is not being played, the music does not exist to anyone; however, the data which holds the music does exist. All of this links to another question about art which has been raised by Abigail Thorn in her video essay, Is Art Meaningless? That question being: can you be wrong about art? Is there a single correct interpretation of any piece of art? She argues that yes, there is a singular correct meaning to a work of art,
“If someone says to you, I just saw “Doctor Strange 2”. And you go, “Oh yeah, what’s it about?” and they says, “It’s about how love has an everlasting value, even between two people of different social classes on a doomed ocean liner.” You’d be like, “No, that’s Titanic.” It definitely seems like you can look at a work of art, think you know what it’s about and be wrong, which mean the meaning at least is not subjective.” Whilst she might have a Philosophy Degree, and a Bibliography, and she uses philosophical language; I have a hunch that this is only half-right.
When I began writing this article, I thought it would be a quick, fun little exploration of music as an artform. Instead, I have found myself in a metaphysical, metaphorical rabbit hole. The abyss that is analysing perception is vast, but one that is necessary to descend into. If we can understand how our perceptions shape art, we can then infer how we can make excellent art. Music can be technically impressive but incredibly dull to listen to, look to J.S. Bach’s collected works, for example. He was a cornerstone of the Baroque Era, embodying everything that defines that era of music. Many1 praise his use of repetition, complex exercises, repetition, unique motifs, repetition, chorus arrangements, and repetition. When someone who enjoys Bach listens to his Badinerie: they feel sophisticated, intellectual, and relaxed. They hear the complex sheet music, presumably after having studied it for that is the only part of the Badinerie that is interesting, and the musical techniques. I, on the other hand, when I listen to his Badinerie, feel annoyed that there isn’t more. He starts off with an interesting motif, a unique exercise, and then he repeats that so much that it starts to sound like white noise: white noise that makes me annoyed. Some listen to the Badinerie and picture the flute-player frantically playing their motif. Others, listening to the Badinerie, picture a tea party in a fancy garden, or a fairy dance. When I listen to it, I picture my GCSEs. So, which interpretation is correct?
Both views of the Badinerie can co-exist. It can simultaneously be a masterful exercise for the flute, as well as a frustrating bore. It can be about the orchestra frantically playing the notes in sync in order for it to sound as it should, as well as about a tea party, or fairies dancing. There is no constant. There is no centre. There is no correct interpretation of music; there are only correct interpretations of music.
