Maybe ‘classical’ isn’t actually a genre, but a way of thinking.
Of course, we all know that big-C Classical was a period from 16whatever to 17whatever.
But the term which noone seems to be able to provide a satisfactory definition for is little-c classical.
Apparently, I’m a ‘classical musician’. I’m trained in a ‘classical’ tradition, at a ‘classical’ establishment, on an instrument that’s predominantly known for its ‘classical’ repertoire.
Yet if you take Wikipedia’s definition of ‘classical music’, which is lifted directly from the Oxford and Concise Dictionary of Music, classical music is ‘the art music produced in, or rooted in, the traditions of Western liturgical and secular music, encompassing a broad period from roughly the 11th century to present times’.
In today’s world, I just look at that and think: what a load of anachronistic rubbish.
Personally speaking, such a definition just doesn’t reflect the breadth and depth of what a ‘classical’ upbringing means to me as a ‘classical musician’. For me, the ‘classical-ness’ is with me regardless of whether I’m playing something that conforms to a classical tradition or not.
In one recent week’s work, I part-improvised a live event featuring the music of Josef Haydn, extemporized on themes by Philip Glass for a brand consultancy, academically deconstructed an entire piece by Mozart, performed Welsh folk music in an outdoor festival, and taught a 10 year old violinist to play a rock song by MUD.
So far as I am concerned, every one of these experiences was 100% classical, in that they brought to bear all my ‘classical’ training and knowledge and experience to create a compelling experience. But not one of them fit the traditional definition of what ‘classical’ is.
This is a problem that so many performers are having to deal with right now, and I think it’s time to reverse the thinking on this. I’ve been trying to find alternative ways of describing what I do over and above the accepted idea of ‘classical’, I think it’s time to just admit that the existing definitions of ‘classical’ are out of date, and no longer applicable.
What we need to do instead, is to accept that ‘classical’ is not some kind of elitist, specialist genre. It’s just a way of thinking that takes into account an exceptionally high level of order and structure within a particular endeavour.
New Directions
Thanks to the belief that some people have in my work, I have the opportunity to run a 3 year research project at the Royal Academy of Music (which I'll explain in another post soon).
It will incorporate what I've wanted to do since 2002, which is to record an ongoing program of MP3s, supported by a regular blog.
I'm going to use this as a chance to streamline what I do into three parts:
- Performance and Recordings (especially with Fifth Quadrant, which replaces what I was doing with Court Lane Music)
- Academic Research (at the Royal Academy of Music)
- Commercial Projects (through Consonart)
What links my work with these three organizations so tightly together is that they are all, in their own way, deep explorations of the effects of technology on music – looking at all the same ideas, only from three very different perspectives.
In particular, the effects of digital technology on the way we create and consume music should be especially fascinating. But I suspect the disruptive patterns of technology from a historical perspective will tell us a lot about the time of change we're going through now, as well as what we (by 'we', I speak especially for musicians) may experience as new technologies emerge in the future.
I think these are the right vehicles for both the practical and the theoretical challenges that I'm addressing, and in each case, I'm working with some of the most interesting and brilliant people I've ever known.
Soon, I'll tell you more about the research project, which will run through this blog for three years, beginning in October 2010.
I'm already starting preparations, and the regular blogposts and recordings will start in the early Autumn.
More in a month or so… 
The Creation Of Beauty
For the athlete, it is the thrill of crossing the line first; an adrenaline intensity so strong, that a decade of training is justified in just one moment.
For the artist, it is something more intimate; a moment of apparent truthfulness, where mind, body and soul come together in such a compelling way, that you cannot help but say, "yes, that was beautiful".
Those who don't experience the moment see the pursuit as sheer folly.
For those that do, it encapsulates a lifetime's meaning. One taste can be enough to propel the seeker through an infinite sea of incompetence and failure.
Anyone can do it, in any field. Sport, and the arts, just happen to be especially shareable.
A Street Performance
I felt the adrenaline begin to pulse through my body as the subway train reached the final stop. The doors slid open, and I leapt out, pushing my way through the turnstiles and up to the street. The city was manically busy but I barely noticed the noise: my mind was still and alert, poised in anticipation. I felt a small sense of trepidation — not a lack of confidence, but certainly a sliver of fear for the unknown.
I strode purposefully into the park, waving off the offers of chess games from the chess players on the corner, and focusing on the music I was going to play, almost blocking from my mind the thought of setting down, finding a space, and building an audience. I knew the theory – what marked out busking from a true performance – but I had never actually dared to create a performance in a public space before; to wrest control of a space and turn it to my advantage, to expand it and draw people inside, to sustain interest and to take them on a journey that made it worthwhile to stay and listen.
I knew it could be done, but I didn't know if I could do it successfully. There are so many factors that you can't control; the weather, the mood of passers by, street musicians' existing pitches and politics, and the technicalities of bylaws. My heart was in my mouth.
As I got to the centre of the park square, which was teaming with perhaps a hundred people, I saw the space underneath the arch. People were walking through, but it was otherwise empty. A perfect place to stand. I looked up at the sky; the tall towers around the park glinted in the late Autumn sun; not a cloud to be seen. Maybe luck was on my side.
Forcing myself to move fast, not allowing myself time to think or to rationalize the risks, I set my violin case down under the arch, and took out the violin. And predictably, nobody took any notice whatsoever!
But when the realization hits that nobody cares, your attitude changes: What's the worst that can happen? I felt a rush of freedom, and became conscious of my breathing, which immediately began to slow.
I admit, this was also partly my choice: I've always found that the best way to handle a critical moment is to focus on breathing. It's the most reliable way of restoring natural order to the body; freedom of every joint, every muscle, and of course the mind.
And then I drew together my nerves. "Ladies and Gentlemen!", I shouted.
A handful of people turned to look. Most didn't.
"My name is Simon and I am The Violin Player."
A couple more heads turned, but didn't seem very interested.
I said a few more words of introduction, and launched into a Paganini Caprice.
For sure, nobody cared.
But by now, I was free. I had control of my own attention, my own body, the small space around me where my violin case was. I didn't need an audience for now. I just needed to create something.
Halfway through the Paganini, I became aware of a man nearby, standing and watching. And to his right, another face. As I ended the piece, I could see a third person double back, and return to take a second look.
Not wanting to lose any momentum, I launched straight into a rendition of a traditional folk tune. The faces were still there. I made eye contact. A performance was erupting.
A piece of Bach really engaged people. It's astonishing what a piece of great music performed well can do, even in the most unexpected of contexts. But I felt a closeness was missing.
"I have a very short, very beautiful piece to play to you now, but first I need to ask you a favour."
I told the growing crowd that the following piece was an intimate gift (and it is. It's a very personal piece to me and to people I've played it to. If you know my work well you can probably guess which one it was). I needed them to come closer, and assemble in the space just in front of me, so I could share it with them.
And they did!
And so far as I can tell, they liked it very much.
I concluded – for this was an ultra-short set – with a piece of folk music that filled everyone again with rhythm. Clapping, foot-stamping, and really getting becoming engaged with as many senses as possible. I explained that my performance was an experiment, and invited people to show their appreciation with a small donation.
**
To perform in a public place is a strange thing. There is something mesmerizingly raw about it, because it plays on the purest forms of interaction — especially if you are interacting with a complete group of strangers.
Unlike in an established venue where there are pre-conditioned expectations, here there are absolutely no rules whatsoever. Your performance lives or dies by the second. You have to engage constantly; you can't let your guard drop.
There's perhaps a risk that details can be lost in the pursuit of such enagagement, or that structural decisions or musical subtleties – both crucial aspects of Classical music – can become secondary to phrase-by-phrase interest. For that reason, Classical-rooted music is perhaps better suited to a more formal listening environment.
But it still works.
**
For the record, I made $29.95 exactly. Not bad for a little under 15 minutes! It seems crude to measure music by money, but as far as you're going to do that, there's no more accurate crucible for it than a street performance, where you're only as good as your last note…
Busking vs Street Performance
I was thinking hard about the difference between busking and street performing, for reasons you will see in my next post!
I have always been wary of busking, as to me it sometimes seems little more than begging. Other times, it doesn't.
On trains – literally on trains – busking can be an incredible nuisance. It's an intrusion into other peoples' space that is usually not welcome.
Approved busking in stations is a different matter; it's approved, it's legal, I don't have a problem with it. It can make peoples' journeys pass in an altogether more pleasant way. Even if it's not an especially nice place to work.
But let's address it from a musical viewpoint.
The problem with busking is that the audience is a transient one. Especially on a transport network, the audience does not have the choice to stay or to go. It has to go.
That's the opposite of the problem with on-train buskers, who take their audiences captive; they don't have a chance to escape!
To truly engage an audience, you have to have them choose to give you their attention for a period of time. In a concert hall that can be up to 2 hours, and you're guaranteed to have everyone present there during that time, whether or not you succeed in keeping them engaged for every second of every minute.
If your audience is transient, then you only have their attention for a few seconds. That completely changes the nature of the interaction, and therefore the nature of the art.
I remember Nigel Kennedy saying that when he busked in NYC as a Juilliard student, he would test which pieces worked the best, and gradually narrow down his public space performances to a few select pieces of music (such as the Bach Inventions). More than that, he would narrow down the individual phrases that were most likely to create an emotional response in a listener within 30 seconds… because that was the time it took to convince someone to take a coin from their pocket!
Drew Balch was the first person to articulate this concept to me, and we tested it some months back by going – completely on a whim – to perform under a bridge on the River Thames, where we played one of the pieces that we'll be filming next year. We positioned ourselves in the centre of a small pedestrian tunnel that took about a minute to walk through.
The work we played is a dramatic and explosive piece, and it was therefore no suprise that we managed to connect with and retain several people by focusing on the exciting, fast-moving sections of the music and playing them over and over again!
But… it was still busking.
I think Street Performance is fundamentally different if, and only if, you can take control of the space around you, and allow a crowd to congregate.
Then, you can create an entire show rather than just a continuous set. You can build on the audience development throughout your performance.
The funny thing with street performance that's done this way is that it's halfway between busking and a formal concert, because you have to develop a structural cohesion in the same way that you would for a concert, yet maintain the busker's mentality of note-to-note engagement, which may be more short-term orientated than the music itself would ideally demand.
It's kind of an unsatisfactory set of compromises, but to achieve enough of those compromises to make the whole show lift and succeed, is perhaps an art in itself.
At least, that's the theory. I guess all I need to do is prove it!
To Be Continued… 
[second picture from this post that I just came across on a google search - entrepreneur talking about the nature of the street performer vs sidewalk musician, and street performer as entrepreneur]
Music and Dementia
I
did a couple of outrea
ch concerts for Live Music Now recently that were sponsored by the Musicians Benevolent Fund. We were sent to play for former professional musicians who were seriously ill and no longer able to function properly. Many of those musicians were suffering from dementia.
You might think that's somewhere between a busman's holiday and chinese torture for a former pro, but that could not be more wrong! When you're deprived of many of your faculties, music can often reach places that many other forms of communication can't, and if you're losing your personality and the sense of who you are, it can be one of the only ways of connecting meaningfully with other people.
Actor Simon Callow is just one of the people who has experienced this first hand, and he tells the story of his relationship with his terminally ill mother in this article in the Daily Mail. As you can see, live music makes a profound difference.
Live Music Now and the Musicians Benevolent Fund have launched an 'adopt a musician' scheme in response to the positive effect that music has on such sufferers. I hope you'll consider becoming a patron of their work – it's a great cause and one that I'm happy to be part of.
Remember, it comes to us all…
Musical Ontology
A post about Musical Ontology, an area where the philosophy of music and information science increasingly coincide. If you're here for sweet scraping sounds rather than heavy theorizing, you may want to skip this post
Ontology
n.
(Computers) A systematic arrangement of all of the important
categories of objects or concepts which exist in some field of
discourse, showing the relations between them.
**
How Our Musical Ontology Is Changing, And Why Technology is Both The Cause And The Cure
Humans like to classify things, and music is no exception. Unfortunately music is really quite difficult to classify – not least because everyone's experience of it is so subjective. Even something that most people would recognize to exist (e.g. a piece of sheet music) can be difficult to classify because of what it is (e.g. can an arrangement of a piece of music be classified under the original piece, or is it a wholly separate and distinct piece of music?).
Of course, the difficulty of classifying music doesn't stop people trying!
In the last couple of hundred years, but especially throughout the 20th Century, the trend of music becoming a formal 'listening event' increased. Music was more and more a concert hall-orientated experience rather than an indirect result of a ritual or social happening. It moved from being an integrated part of an experience, to the focal point of the experience itself.
As a consequence, more classification of music was necessary. People wanted to be able to communicate to others about what they were playing or listening to, and as people tend to define things by what they already know, so emerged a 'Classical Canon' in which musical works were presented as part of an informally yet universally recognised catalogue. Universally recognized by the Western world of bourgeois listeners, that is!
For the first time in musical history, pieces of music came wrapped up in easy-to-understand bundles of classification. A Symphony here, a Concerto Grosso there. Everything in the 'Classical Canon' had a form that related to another form. If you listened to a new Sonata it might confirm or confound your expectations, but it could still be put back neatly into the metaphorical 'Sonata' box at the end of the evening! Needless to say, these classifications were a little vague. You couldn't see the actual relationships; who was influenced by what, why it happened, and where. Those are the tiny little actions and events that power the natural evolution of things.
Beethoven's 'revolutionary' writing was in fact just an iterative evolution from what went before. But because we can't see the details of the ontology – i.e. all those little micro-influences that affected his work – it's far easier for us to understand his work in the context of musical history if we create a sweepingly vague set of metaphorical classification boxes and bung him into whichever one fits the best!
This kind of classification, which became ever more formal as books and other print media became more sophisticated and widely read, was based – quite naturally – on the zeitgeists of the times. I remember being taught at school about 'the great composers' from wallcharts
where musical history seemed to stop dead with the death of Benjamin
Britten! It had become accepted in British music education at that time that anything written post-1990 was 'modern music', and handled as an entirely separate body of work to '20th Century' music. Which is a nonsensical division.
It wasn't just the musical forms and genres themselves that formed the basis of the librarianship underpinning the body of musical work – 'the Classics' – that we came to know and love. It was the way those musical forms and genres were seen from the perspective of the society making the classification. That viewpoint was often a highly traditional one, with an emphasis on the past as a self-contained museum-piece, rather than on the past's relationship to the present. Inevitably, the more people who adopted this form of looking at the 'Classical Canon', the more widely recognized and universal it became.
If we accept that the roots of such classification or ontology are based on cultural zeitgeists, then we must also recognize that social change will eventually cause the classification to be outmoded.
The instinctive classification of, say, a late Beethoven piano work, by an early 20th Century music critic schooled in late 19th Century ways of thinking, would fall squarely into place in a lineup of the greatest instrumental, chamber and orchestral works of the preceeding 300 years. We would expect that same piece, if heard by a 21st Century experimental composer with a far more eclectic range of influences and experiences, to be heard in a very different context. So it follows that we would also expect it to have a very different and far more personal classification for that more modern listener.
Therefore, the further we move from the society that defined the 'Canon of Western Classical Music' that came about post-Mendelssohn, the less the existing classifications will work adequately for us. The 'Classical Canon' as an ontology could only survive in that same form for as long as there was no fundamental social change to sweep it aside.
The social change that's gradually making these classifications less and less relevant has been massively accelerated by the internet, and that's what's at the root of the 'musical genre crisis' we're now seeing, whereby the term 'Classical Music' is losing its meaning by the month.
But where a problem has been caused by technology, often a new solution can be found, and it's becoming apparent that where existing non-digitalized ontologies are being swept aside by a new hyper-personalized, social- and digital-media-fuelled individualism, so technology can now come in and capture then connect those new personal ontologies that emerge instead (i.e. the musical classifications that are individual and unique to each individual listener).
Imagine tomorrow's musical ontology being an amalgam of everyone's unique musical experiences and interactions, recorded and interconnected by technology, and navigable in any direction without reliance on outdated genres.
Imagine, if Beethoven were alive today, to be able to tap into his work from any perspective (e.g. as a listener, or a performer, with any motivation, anywhere in the world), and being able to see a complete web of connections between his work and yourself; who performed it, when, where, how… this would be so much more informative and create so many more possibilities than having just an unwieldy terminology that is only useful so long as the people you're interacting with use it too.
Technology can do all this, and probably sooner than you think.
###
Further reading:
http://www.musicdna.com/ – an effort to create a musical ontology that is powered by technology and compatible with the future semantic web, including an iPhone app that will log what you listen to, when
http://musicontology.com/ – another initiative working towards the realization of a digital musical ontology
The Semantic Web — Also: Wikipedia Article