The Language of Music

It's hard to explain impossible things to you.

But the reason one person writes to another is that there is something he needs to tell that person, something which he thinks the other person doesn't know. The only problem is that when a fact is an unknown fact, it is hard to understand. In fact it may be impossible to understand - it will take a lot of problems and hard work to finally see what it was. Sometimes, indeed, you can't just tell someone the answer they need, because they won't understand without actually discovering the answer for themselves. That's why we have symbols like mazes and spirals. Labyrinths were popular in ancient art. Popularity comes when something resonates with many people, no matter what the intention behind it. In this case, the Labyrinth is a journey you must follow until it is solved - there is not normally a short way through.

The Labyrinth is a part of the ear, too.

When we hear music we can identify patterns. Without them, it would probably be noise. But as long as we can fit the sound to a pattern we feel there is some sense behind it. We keep creating possible patterns to fit to the stimulus, trying to find a match for one or more templates that we have stored, or creating a new one based on the incoming material. So although I said we try to find a fit, really we are creating the pattern that we hear. The sound is what it is, but the pattern is our own. Listen to noise and see how soon you start to hear words. They may not be there as such, but we are looking (listening) for them.

So we may find there is sense at the first hearing of a piece of music. That depends on what experience we have. Whatever the case, we will try and we will find something. But you might end up saying, no, I just couldn't make anything of it. Like the ladies in the Wigmore Hall who laughed at the 'wrong notes' in a Webern piece - which was written in 1899! I was there, you can believe me.

There are "dissonant" cases where the music is too different from the listener's internal templates and antagonism results. Of course, the dissonance is not necessarily a question of some dissonance in the music's harmonic idiom - I was referring to the dissonance between what they are hearing and what they might expect to make sense, or what they have heard before and got used to. But on the whole the music one hears is mostly more or less familiar - you tend to recognise it as music, and more particularly as "our music". Statistically we are more likely to hear music we already recognise, of course - because statistically we will stay in more or less the same place.

Recognition comes then, somewhat or a lot. You can tell there is a loud bit coming up because it starts getting louder. It started quiet so you know it will be quiet for a bit. Or after learning a bit more, you know that if it is quiet, it might stay quiet or might SUDDENLY get loud. You start to learn what the options might be. And if you know a bit about music you might here where the harmony is going. You might recognise the sort of "subject" the composer is thinking of. Of course there is not a subject, it is music not words, but there are associations and special patterns we notice. It might be something clear like the sound of a bird (the cuckoo in Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony) or something ambiguous like the sound of water or wind in a Schubert song. It might be a topic like "military" (Chopin Polonaise) or "exotic" (Debussy Pagodas) or "academic" (Handelian fugue in Mozart or Beethoven). Whatever it is, you learn, and then finally you understand. It can take repeated hearings to get there though - although most do not try after the first attempt. And sometimes there is no attempt! (What are the chances of success there I wonder?)

All of these insights come with practise and understanding. Some come with learning and knowledge.

They say that a child's mind is a clear mind. They say a child will see the obvious when everyone else convinces themselves otherwise or trips themselves up in tangles of thought and blind guesses. That's why there is the famous story of The Emperor's New Clothes. Maybe it's funny, I don't know. I'm sure no-one believes it could ever really happen. But that's the shock you get when you realise it's happening all the time. Look at what people are doing around you now. A little or a lot, helping or un-helping, but they are certainly taking a lot of different approaches to the maze of their life. Certainly the mazes are different, but can all the people be right? The child says: I thought you had to get to the centre. (Does that mean it is easier than it seemed?)

Yes, you try to hear some sense in the sound coming in. But we are in luck, because the person who created it all - the composer - put sense in at the beginning. So we are in with a fighting chance!

I am convinced that we can understand music purely by paying attention to what the composer has put in it. That's the approach I took when I wrote about Evryali, and it's how I try to understand music on a daily basis. The significance of this is that it doesn't matter how much you know before you get started. Knowledge came down to us because other people noticed things; that means we can notice them too. But it will take a long time if we try to understand the knowledge AS WELL as the music. That's two jobs, you see. Fortunately I have tried to understand the music, afflicted with only a slight knowledge of the technical processes involved. (That's not a joke, I really don't know much!). That's why I'm here today to tell you where to look.

The first time I noticed something important about music was in a Mozart symphony last year. It wasn't a good performance (maybe that's why I noticed it). The symphony was called "The Jupiter", but I don't think that matters because I don't like the "I know it all" approach to music: Ah, The Jupiter, yes, of course. Beethoven's second Razumovsky Quartet, yes. Opus 106, a masterpiece. It does annoy me rather, you see this is talking about music without mentioning the music. Perhaps it is not talking about the music? I know it's helpful to use labels so we can know what is being discussed, but these are the names on the filing cabinet. They are the names on the files. They are not the contents of the files. Inside are lovely golden sounds without names. Songs without words that sing in my heart.

I forget exactly what it was in that Mozart symphony. I think it was a movement in the harmony. I realised he was doing something really funny, moving somewhere no-one could have predicted. I wondered why no-one was laughing. I think it was because they were hearing "A Mozart symphony" - the one in their heads, perhaps. You don't need Sherlock Holmes to tell you that the best Mozart symphony comes from Mozart, not from us. By some twist of fate, that was actually what I was hearing. Yes, no incompetence on the part of the conductor or players prevented me from hearing what the composer had put into the music. It was all there, and it always is in any piece or performance.

Music is highly cultural, you know. There is a lot to learn about. But as it happens you don't particularly need to learn any of it. If you are responsible and care about the music and why it exists then I think it won't hurt to try learning a bit. But you have to listen first.

I listened, and I am now telling you this:

A master composer knows his job and tries to get better at it.

The best composers didn't stop when they had had enough, or when they thought they were good enough. They continued changing.

In these cases, the golden secret inside centre of the music was what led the creator - it was what they were trying to communicate! In the other cases, the composer got tired and his forms started writing themselves, though there could still be flashes of inspiration. It could never dry up completely (some music leads me to doubt this but it is true)

The secret was called ecstasy. Did the composer want to be a composer, or could he not stop being a composer? "Ecstasy" is a word that means being outside yourself. What is outside? Whatever we don't already know. Other people. Other places. Other ideas. Mistakes. Answers. Genius.

Whatever you think about music, I think we all have to agree there is some kind of vision involved in it. Someone wants to communicate something, and that is their vision. It can be predictable, clichéed, or previously impossible - a surprising thing of brilliance and power. With skill, the vision becomes clearer.

That vision is present in every part of the work, and through the opposition between the parts we can appreciate what it is. (The word for an arrangement of parts is composition)

You won't at first know what a piece of music is saying. It's important to remember that it isn't saying anything. As long as you can say it in words, you are not there. You can talk about it but you have to live it to see it.

With repeated slow careful exposure to music you can learn to feel what it really is. Your mind is not understanding it, your heart is not feeling it, but these senses may be involved.

Remember what I am telling you: it is real. Music is real. There is a real reason for it. It is not something in a book or on a CD, it is something outside you, coming in. Also remember that if you were lost in a labyrinth, you might forget your journey. The outside might seem dark and unfriendly. Think then of what it's like to find the way through the maze. Find the end, and you see you were the one who had gone outside. Really the music is inside. People who don't listen are stuck outside. When we hear it truly, we are all joined up again. Or starting to be.

Primo Levi was in a prison camp. Then he sent us a message through his books so that the world would change. James Clavell was in a prison camp. He did the same. He did a good thing too, because he loved the people who imprisoned him. That is how he was set free. Any others who still hated them were still prisoners, weren't they? And Ronald Searle was in the same camp. He had to carefully hide his drawings while he was there. He sent us messages too.

There is a well-known analogy that life is like a bird flying through a lighted hall. It is light for a moment, then it is dark again. That's silly, because although I can see what it means, I think they are looking at it from the wrong side. Think what the other birds are thinking. Wot is that bird doing stuck inside that dark hall when we are all out here?

I spoke of prisoners because when we are stuck or lost, what we need most is a way out. Sometimes it is all we can do just to survive. There isn't much sign of life outside the prison. But one day a message comes.

To understand the message is all we need to do.

It is not obvious. But it is there. If you can love it, then you are hearing it.

This is the language of music.

Reminiscence

Tasten: the Ballhaus, Berlin – it was May
What really happened? It’s not easy to say…
The programme read “Ian Pace: Verdi Transcriptions”
A charming idea full of tuneful inscriptions.

For thirty-two years they had grown more and more
Until they encompassed Books One through to Four.
But the composer Mike Finnissy, Verdi’s arranger
Unknowingly put Ian Pace in great danger.

The first and the second books went by quite calmly.
But out in the night was a whispering army…
By the light of the moon they rose up to embrace
Their campaign to silence the pianist Pace.

“You were OK at first, but the next book’s the worst!
We wish that you’d never sat down and rehearsed!
You should never have thought about starting to learn it!
But you did, and that’s why we say Ballhaus: Let’s burn it!”

Then a bottle was thrown
And it fell like a stone
And unFinnissy flames billowed out.
Men ran round in a panic
Increasingly manic
And Jeremy started to shout.

Folks looked up from their paella
At the blossoming fire
Their faces all lit up with red.
In the ensuing fracas
They all dropped their tapas
And ran out to see who was dead.

Would they find Ian Pace
Lying flat on his face,
The piano a pile of ashes?
Would the Tasten be stopped
Since the bottle had popped
And consumed it with murderous flashes?

“NO! I triumph over anti-imperialist subversives!”
Shouted Ian majestically over the sound of the flames.
Or something similar.

But the army receded
Defeated, conceded
The flames never gathered the power they needed.
The Ballhaus was saved
So the audience waved:
“We’d prefer if this concert proceeded!”

And it did.

Ian knew if he stopped and he failed to finish he
Might risk the rage of the powerful Finnissy.
After Books One and Two, he returned with the Third. He
Continued and finally finished his Verdi!

The rest of the festival? It was much calmer
With more of the music and less of the drama.
The black and white keys sounded notes by the million
And people came in (some police, most civilian).

Magda attacked the piano, her performance thus leading
To displays full of energy…also some bleeding.

For a good cup of tea, how far will a man go?
The answer, in music, came from our friend Django.

With a burning of rubber and soundtracks galore
This bass player goes with his foot to the floor
He finishes the course while the others are starting
A long-distance driver, we thank him – he’s Martin!

Tasten, Tasten…

Masked men came there to fight but floated into the night
They all ran away and are free.
The fire never stopped it, so Tilbury topped it
With Feldman’s Palais de Mari.

THE END

Thanks Magda, Michael and Jeremy!

Mister Men

Something strange is happening to the Mr. Men!

The Mr. Men is a series of children's books written in the 1970s by Roger Hargreaves, and published first in England. Roger died in 1988 so after that his son Adam carried on writing the books. He still does, but the whole Mr. Men "brand" was sold for a lot of money - so much that if you spent all the money on Mr. Men books and laid them out end to end, they would stretch round the earth five times! (They cost £2 each and I hope I worked that out right!)

Actually, they are worth more than that. They are very good.

I have two that were printed in the 1970s (because I was produced in the 1970s!): Mr. Sneeze and Mr. Funny. At that time, here were the other books you could get:


And, on the front, this is the kind of thing you would see:



Today, the only difference on the front covers is that the signature by Roger Hargreaves doesn't slope anymore. It is upright:

That's ok. Which do you prefer? (PS Mr. Silly looks funny, eh?)

The other changes are not so OK, in my opinion. First of all, look at what has happened to the back cover line-up of Mr. Men. They have all changed! Look at Mr. Funny and compare him with his picture above:



This is not the same Mr. Man! I don't think the colours came out right here, but one major difference is that his gloves aren't the right colour! Mr. Funny's body is green and his gloves are yellow. In the new picture his body and his gloves are green. Hmm, not good I think. Then look at the eyes. This is the most disturbing change. What is wrong with the eyes? Look at them! They are completely different now, and have no character! The bold lines of the original have been replaced by this hideous cosmetic surgery nightmare operation look. Maybe someone thinks he looks more human? Well, these days, perhaps that is true - when so many people in the public eye do have this weird plastic surgery/botox injection eye-look. Is that what it is? Has Mr. Funny had botox??? I don't believe it! He would never do that! This is the man who cheered up all the animals in the zoo when they had colds! But now they would have us believe that he is a fading star of the 70s, clinging on too long to his share of the spotlight and sinking ever deeper into a whirlpool of alcoholism like many before him (Krusty the Clown?)

Hmm. The Mr. Funny inside the books is the same one as before. Perhaps this back-cover image is some look-alike or impersonator they used for publicity material. Obviously Mr. Funny, like Saddam Hussein, is a person of such importance that he has many doubles for use in public work. I understand.

Having suggested that the insides of the books have not changed, I am afraid this is not true in the case of Mr. Dizzy. What on earth has happened to the images? They look like they have been scanned in by dogs. Or hamsters! (They find it harder to operate the mouse. Which wasn't supposed to be a joke. But I suppose you could see it as one if you want). Just look at Mr. Dizzy's edges:


Dear me. That's what it looks like in the book, I am afraid. Not good!

So you see, I am not completely happy with the state of the Mr. Men books today. But I can tell you: if you want to read them, they are all still with us, even if there is something strange on the back, even if there are a few odd things about them today. The insides are the same (except Mr. Dizzy and I haven't checked all of the books so I can't promise everyone else has escaped this treatment).

They come highly recommended (by me). They have been translated into 20 languages, so you should be seeing some near you! In fact, you are reading this in English so I would recommend you look for the English ones. They are the first and best!

Let me know what you think.

Consulate

Remember me?

It was pointed out to me today that I said I'd be back in the blink of an eye. I did imply that it could be a long blink, so I think we can say I have been true to my word there.

Phrasebooks are useful. They are also quite funny sometimes. The old example was the phrase "My postilion has been struck by lightning". Very useful, eh?

I have here Collins' Greek Phrasebook compiled by Christopher Scott and first published in 1964. Perhaps a little quaint because it is old. Perhaps a little frightening as it demonstrates the frame of mind with which the Englishman approached travel in Greece at that time! (Haven't they heard of Byron?)

The Collins series is interesting from this period. Some phrases don't necessarily spring to mind, or certainly not to my mind. The Spanish book tells you how to say "He is a pansy" - a pejorative term for homosexual. I don't think I would say it in English - what are the chances of needing to say it in Spanish?

So let's open the pages of our Greek phrasebook and see what we want to say to the Greeks.

Good Morning.
Good Evening.

It starts well!


I beg your pardon.
Am I disturbing you?
I am terribly sorry.

Already several ways of saying sorry! Very important to the English then, and still is. Sorry!

Too dear.
Very cheap.
Quickly.
Slowly.
Gently.
Look out!
This way.
That way.
I am an Englishman.
What is the matter?
On the contrary.
Very well.
Whose turn is it?
It is not my fault.
I do my best.
Will this do?

A lovely little story. What was happening, you will have to decide. What about "I am an Englishman"? It sounds almost an admission of some shameful secret.

Now for the section called "General Difficulties". Always my favourite! Here we go:

I don't understand you.
Of course I don't, I'm English! We don't have foreign languages, you know. We do have phrasebooks though.

That man is following me everywhere.
Oh no, not that man! He was busy in 1964. Even if he only followed 10% of the people who bought this book.

I shall call a policeman.
I shall stay here.
(Threatening to occupy Greece?)
Help! Fire! Thief!
Who are you?
I don't know you.
I don't want to speak to you.
Leave me alone.
Go away.
That will do!
You are mistaken.
I didn't do it.
I will give you nothing.
It is very annoying.
It has nothing to do with me.
What have I done?
I have done nothing.
I have paid you.
I have paid you enough.
Let me pass.

A bit of excitement!

Many other useful phrases are presented in an interesting way. Those with lightning reflexes can grab their phrasebook, find the section for "Chemist and Hairdresser", read the Greek letters or use the imitated pronunciation system, and exclaim:

The water is too hot, you are scalding me!

I have been burnt by the sun would probably be obvious without the thought being spoken aloud. Also they were expecting it anyway.

A hundred Drachmas to win on...
Betting on horses? You don't get that in modern phrasebooks.

Does this street go to the Acropolis?
Did they ask that on every street?

We can see the travelling English at work fairly often:
I do not want anything with garlic in it.
We do not want retsina.

I have left my glasses in the toilet...
...was a bit puzzling for me. How did they get down the toilet?

Hey-ho, travelling was a strange business for us then. Not for everyone though. And you have to give them credit for trying with the phrases and everything (particularly if he was a pansy - was it the man who was following me everywhere?)

And if it all gets too much, if the prices are too high, the food too Greek, the language not English enough, then there is always one phrase standing by. The phrase of phrases. The cure-all:

Where is the British Consulate?

See you there!

Crayon Carry-ons

Wax crayons are very popular. People like children to use them because they don't have sharp points, so you cannot cause injuries with them. This seems quite a reliable principle to go by. However. There is one documented instance of crayon-induced harm that I know of. As a child, Homer...


...Simpson, fond of putting crayons in his ears and nose,


got one stuck. Not realising this, over time the crayon found its way into his brain. Detected by X-ray photograph,


it was removed surgically. The surgery effected a radical change in Simpson's brain-power.



The new Homer, unhappy with the responsibility of free thought, started to yearn for the old days when all he had to think about was where his next beer was coming from. His daughter Lisa's fears were realised when she noticed her powder blue crayon was missing...So perhaps crayons also bring tragedy, of a kind. But let's hope there is a lesson we can all learn from the story of Homer Simpson.

Remembering at all times to keep crayons clear of the orifices of the head, let us look at the evolution of the wax crayon colour rainbow. In the beginning, there were only eight colours. This was in 1903 when Binney Smith & Co. first started manufacturing the Crayola crayon. The colours were black, blue, brown, green, orange, red, violet and yellow. Quite good choices! No controversy so far.

In 1949 another 40 colours were added. Lemon Yellow, Burnt Sienna, Periwinkle, Thistle - more exciting names. One of them was changed in 1958 - "Prussian Blue" was thought to have no meaning at that date, since it was decided children no longer knew of the deep blue colour of the Prussian army uniform. OK, I understand I suppose. It turned into "Midnight Blue".

Some of the names were a bit too exciting. Oh dear, what's this one - Flesh? Well, it was a pinky colour. Except not all flesh is that colour, is it? So they changed the name to Peach. That was the Peach that we used at my school. It was the one that always ran out the fastest. We were always drawing people, of course, and seemingly the people all had Peach-coloured flesh - yes, flesh was "Flesh" at that time. Not surprisingly, because I never saw any other colour skin for many years. One of the dinner ladies was Italian, and I thought she looked a bit strange! Where did I go to school, you may ask? Nazi Germany? No, it was an ordinary English school. So we thought. Anyway, I have seen lots of different skin types now. And I'm not sure I would use Peach for any of them - though it does come in handy as a base, if blended (I'm really talking about coloured pencils here; I haven't used wax crayons recently).

So goodbye Flesh. 16 further colours were added in 1958, among them Indian Red. The name referred to a famous type of pigment used in paint. But I suppose people were a bit nervous. They thought about the Native American (name for the people who lived in America before the Americans lived there) and remembered they were called "Red Indians". That's what we called them too, once - and yes, I learned all about them at my school. But they weren't Indian, and they weren't Red any more than I am Peach or Marcus Aurelius Garvey was Black.

Nervous people thought Indian Red could be seen as Red Indian, so it became Chestnut in 1999.

The strange thing is that in 1998, when the latest addition to the Crayola rainbow brought the total number of colours to 120, one of them was called Fuzzy-Wuzzy Brown. Hmm. "Fuzzy-Wuzzy" is a racist term for a person of African genetic origin. A Brown person, one might say (or "black", I suppose, though I already exempted M. Garvey from being painted with that exact colour. I would like to say that I don't find anybody to be quite black. Some people come close-ish - a very nice colour of skin I think! Other colours are nice too, of course. Please can't we just say everyone is human-coloured?)

So there was a crayon called Fuzzy-Wuzzy Brown. There still is, as far as I know. It didn't get changed. But Indian Red did. How odd, to me. To you?

Please note that I have refrained from giving examples of possible other upsetting names that crayon companies may wish to mysteriously overlook. There is no "good taste" control on my humour when I'm being harsh, and I'm not trying to offend people today. Please imagine your own. In fact, don't imagine them. You don't need any practise thinking like that. We've had enough racism now. We've all seen enough of it. Come on, think of some nice names instead. And if there is a skin colour you don't like, think harder. Give it the most beautiful name you can, please.

Thank you.