I HEAR MUSIC

I supposed I started listening to music on the little Golden Records. These were small, seven inch, yellow plastic 78 rpm records produced by Mitchell Miller, better know to my generation as the Mitch Miller of sing-a-long fame. "Let me hear a melody I want to sing along," and "Be kind to your web-footed friends, for a duck may be somebody's mother. Be kind to your friends in the swamp, where the weather is always very, very domp. Now you may think that this is the end. Well it is." (Amazing that I can remember that stuff.)

My mother had a bunch of records, mostly big band and a little bit of classical, some piano music of Chopin played by Jose Iturbi. I never listened to the rock-and-roll that most of my peers listened to. I listened to classical. So did several of my friends. I prowled the Salvation Army Resale store to buy hundreds of old records at 10 cents apiece. I identified the classical pieces in the Flash Gordon films (Les Preludes and March Slav). I read books. And when I learned piano, I studied classical music.

And then came the time that I went to college and studied music professionally, piano, voice, theory, music history, conducting and so forth. Even though I didn't end up a musician, I don't regret the training. Now I am not sure if it is all the years I have been listening to music or the education in music I had or a combination of both, but I have discovered that I hear music differently than most people. I first realized this when I was playing the first part of J. S. Bach's Cantata "A Mighty Fortress." It's a very famous melody among the Lutheran crowd, but Bach treats it quite creatively. The melody is hidden as a canon between the trumpets at top oboes in the middle, and the organ and bass at the bottom. A canon is a melody that is repeated at an interval–something like "Row, row, row your boat." While the canon is going on the voices and upper strings are running decorated versions of the melody. Now I can hear the melody as plainly as if it had been performed as a solo. But I discovered than no one else had a clue what tune they were hearing.

I listened to a recording of the Kings College Choir singing a favorite hymn of mine, "The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, is Ended." A couple of verses sounded like the trebles were singing a descant. But when I played it again I realized the trebles were singing the tenor line an octave higher while the inner voices were singing what had been the treble line and octave lower. A few weeks ago the organist was playing "The Old Rugged Cross" and I immediately realized that the last line of the melody was the same as the last line of "Home on the Range." Or we sang another hymn and my ear told me there was something unusual about the melody. After thinking about it awhile, I said to myself, "There's only seven of the eight tones of the scale in this melody. The third tone is missing which creates an ambiguous modality." (Sorry for the technical lingo.)

I don't have a particularly good ear, but I do hear these sorts of things. They just happen. I believe the same thing happens to people who understand art or literature. I suppose something similar happens in mathematics and engineering and the sciences as well. Now my observation is that only the very simple discoveries can be communicated to people without specialized skills. For example, I could get people to hear the link between "Old Rugged Cross" and "Home on the Range," but I could never get them to hear the intricacies of Bach, at least not without a lot of work. Most people hear music in what I'd call a holistic fashion. They hear the total effect. Maybe they can pick out the elements of melody and rhythm in so far as they could hum or sing or keep time to the music. They might have some idea of instrumentation, if the music is simple enough.

What surprised me when teaching music to high school students was not only their lack of interest in the elements of music, but in some cases an absolute antipathy to analyzing even their own favorite forms of music. And this was before the onset of that rap noise that largely does away with anything except rhythm and vulgar language. Music in their minds was something to be experienced, but not understood in anyway, even if that understanding might deepen the experience. And of course anything they didn't like was rejected out of hand.

I have discovered that adults are no different in this regard. I was at a big-band concert once and met some acquaintances who had grown up with that music. One man remarked to. "That's a lot better than that Beetles crap." I tried to explain that much of the later Beetles later music was as complex and well-written as the Glen Miller arrangements we had just heard. He wasn't buying that. The only thing that counted was that he was familiar with some music and not with others, and only familiar music was likeable. That's often true with classical concerts as well. People want familiar classics. Musicians want to try new things, but the audience wants to hear what it knows.

Same thing happens at church. People complain bitterly about those difficult hymns, but they really mean they don't like hymns they haven't sung umpteen times before. I remember one time the congregation grumbling about singing "Behold, a Host." Yet that hymn is sung lustily at every funeral among those of Norwegian heritage.

Oh well, just some random thoughts on music. I'm going to quit and listen to the Pittsburgh Symphony concert on the radio.

May your soul hear the music of the spheres. May you dance with the angels. And may the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne