... who stated that music is ONLY math and does not evoke emotion. And also stated that it cannot evoke emotion any more than motor oil.
Today, however, one of my students came to me after having read some books about music over the holidays and was talking of an interview with some famous musician (I cannot remember who) who stated that music is ONLY math and does not evoke emotion. And also stated that it cannot evoke emotion any more than motor oil.m1469
Music and LanguageThe truism that “The essence of music is unexplainable in words” is self -contradictory. The speaker who utters those words is, after all, giving a kind of explanation. The statement seems to acknowledge the unresolvable aspect that’s always inherent in an understanding of music, but simultaneously forces a resolution. The task of this truism is often to blow the whistle on a discussion that has grown futile, or to call one off ahead of time, admonishing us that it is pointless. (…)Music is cherished in part because it supersedes the need for discourse ahead of time. The consensus that people often reach is that they can’t reach a consensus — in words at least — on what they just experienced. Our very muteness towards music, though, is often the precondition of a deep solidarity that its listeners experience amongst each other. It involves a preternatural kind of group knowledge, a resounding “I know that you know.” I don’t know what you know, but that’s not important. I’m satisfied by the mere knowledge that music pushes your buttons like it does mine. There is something in the world out there that correlates with both of us immediately, albeit in different ways. That solidarity suggests that music gains a communicative advantage over words precisely because of its non-linguistic character. Speech -language, by comparison, is crippled from the outset, a waterlogged form of communication. If we spend a lot of time on back and forth discourse that never reaches its goal anyway, music seems to already be there, wordlessly beckoning us. The implication is that there is indeed an ‘exit from language’. Discourse reaches the finish line, and music waits on the other side. In one sense we have a symbol of freedom. Music could be viewed as a model of complete self-sufficiency, generating itself out of itself, with no outside (linguistic) authority hovering around. The underlying desire for self-sufficiency, like so many forms of desire, has an anti-social aspect. It would be nice if I had no one to answer to, but then I couldn’t really include myself in society. Like democratic discourse, a shared musical experience denotes a paradox, but one with radically different implications: the solidarity that listeners experience together is a strangely anti-social form of sociality.(…)(…)Music is an ideological w hore. She will play for any team, as Burgess/Kubrick showed so well in A Clockwork Orange: The famous ‘Ode to Joy’ theme from the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony — that paragon of Enlightenment ideals, with text from Schiller — is the soundtrack that accompanies the sociopathic protagonist of the story, Alex, as he rapes and murders. When Pavlovian therapy is administered in the second part of the film, he cannot listen to the Beethoven without becoming violently ill. Disturbingly, I always feel pity for Alex at this point. However evil his actions, we share one thing in common — the simple, unfettered joy that comes from listening to that Beethoven. Despite my own horror of this character, I enter into complicity with him.Alex, played by Malcolm MacDowell in the film, is the dictator. His mates are his army, mindlessly following him and assisting him on his rampages. Kubrick’s vision grimly parodies the characteristic pageantry of fascism — the campish sadomasochism of their repressive military outfits, the brutal pornographic images, the strange matriarchal symbolism. So there I am, staring at the fascist in the mirror. The mirror is Beethoven’s music. Such a beautiful piece of music, one that celebrates so much that is good for me, can be used to celebrate death and destruction for someone else, instantaneously. But we both celebrate, regardless. I must concede that Beethoven’s music has no fixed moral stance in and of itself, and ‘art for art’s sake’ becomes appropriate again: Art seems to win a victory here, reclaiming its autonomy.(…)An idealistic form of communication, then, involves isolating possibility from the specificity of its outcome. Then I am allowed to look at something more directly for a moment. In this case, I look at Alex directly through the music. We are communicating with each other, he and I. If there is this solidarity in the music, there is the possibility of some other form of solidarity. The Beethoven will point to infinite possibilities between us: maybe we’ll just sit and listen, maybe we’ll go beat someone to a pulp, maybe we’ll fight for democracy together. But in and of itself, that opening that is the music carries no force, no gravitational pull. The force, if there is one, will come from us. We will decide where we go together, what we do, if we do anything.