This month Serpentine Magazine reveals our Music Issue. Throughout June we will publish critical essays and projects that explore the multitudes of our musical existence. Taking a cue from John Cage, we define music as âthe production of soundsâ and so, in this light, our purview for the month will range from the ambiance of everyday life to commercial jingles to contemporary music.
Musicâmousike (âthe art of the musesâ)âis perhaps the most transcendent form of art. From the Divje Babe flute, which was carved from the femur of a bear and is thought to be 40,000 years old, to the commercial struggles of TIDAL, music has entranced and soothed the soul. Itâs in this expanded field of musicking, a phrase coined by sociomusicologist Christopher Smalls, that we can understand the immensity of musicâs influence over man and animal:
The act of musicking establishes in the place where it is happening a set of relationships, and it is in those relationships that the meaning of the act lies. They are to be found not only between those organized sounds which are conventionally thought of as being the stuff of musical meaning but also between the people who are taking part, in whatever capacity, in the performance; and they model, or stand as metaphor for, ideal relationships as the participants in the performance imagine them to be: relationships between person and person, between individual and society, between humanity and the natural world and even perhaps the supernatural world.
When John Berger wrote, âSeeing comes before words. The child looks and recognizes before it can speakâ his observation was shortsighted. The child listens and knows before anything else. With partially formed ears at 18 weeks, she can hear the first music: the woosh of rushing blood. By 25 weeks, she can hear the muffled world outsider her motherâs womb. It is from these earliest moments that music takes hold, providing the most incipient stages of culturation.
In Sydney Pollackâs 1985 film Out of Africa, there is a scene which is meant to endear the viewer to Robert Redfordâs gentleman-turn-wildman Denys Finch-Hatton. While on safari with author Karen Blixen (Meryl Streep), Finch-Hatton uses a length of twine to introduce two unsuspecting primates to the wonder of music. The monkeys startle, but donât runâto Karenâs amazement. When one becomes too interested and scratches the record, Finch-Hatton chases them away, turning in sublime awe, he looks into the distance and says, âThink of it: Never a man-made sound and then Mozart!â
That leap, the aural equivalent of 2001: A Space Odysseyâs seminal bone-to-spaceship match cut, contains within it the mass of our entire existence. The scene speaks to something deeper of the filmâs thematics: no matter how far from our own cultures we wish to stray, we remain inherentlyâand perhaps destructivelyâentrenched within it. âHe even took the Gramophone on safari,â Karen says in the filmâs opening narration, âThree rifles, supplies for a month, and Mozart.â
How we get from womb to Mozart is the story of music itself.
The poet J.C. Bampfylde wrote, ârugged the breast that music cannot tame,â though we know itâs more complicated than that. And so, by devoting this month to music, the editors of Serpentine Magazine hope to lay open and reveal a minuscule cross-section of that complication. We believe it is by studying music that we can study ourselves, and come to know, at least, that âwithout music, life would be an errorâ.