True innovation
"The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance."
- Aristotle
We stepped from the bright lobby into the dimly-lit auditorium. Why are there couches on the stage? I thought to myself. I was surrounded by a group of Norwegian women, all of whom seemed to know what they were doing more than I did, so I followed them down to the stage. Beside me, a dreadlocked, bearded 20-something in a vintage sweater settled emphatically into the cushions. Alright, then, I thought, couch concert it is.
As it turns out, there were also yoga mats available for those who wished to lay on the floor. The audience surrounded the performers on all sides, and the performing duo faced each other as they played. It was quite a unique combination of instruments - violin and saxophone, plus a brass bowl hit with a mallet, a finger harp from Ethiopia, and plenty of singing.
You're probably imagining something abstract, grotesque, and tribal right about now, but that's not how it was at all. There was actually more silence in the music than sound. They started with just simple, soft noises. Harmonics on the violin. Blowing air through the saxophone. Gradually, the violinst began to place his fingers more firmly on the strings, and the saxophonist lightly tapped her keys. They passed a phrase back and forth, grew quiet, then picked up another, each developing it uniquely, comtemplatively, softly.
It must have been a good twenty minutes before they stopped. Nobody applauded, so I assumed the piece must have been the first movement of a multi-movement work. The saxophonist started tapping the brass bowl beside her with a soft mallet, causing it to ring in the intimate, audience-bounded space. The violinist tapped his bow on the strings, adding a bit of percussion. The sounds continued to blend together as the violinist started pulling his bow across the string. Gradually, softly, I began to hear what could only be a human voice. Interwoven seamlessly into the matrix of notes, the saxophonist began to sing.
She continued for a good long while, first in Norwegian, then in something I didn't recognize, perhaps Hindi. The violinist accompanied her with regularly-paced, slurred notes. He let his bow float up and down across the strings, first toward the bridge, then toward the nut.
By this point, I had completely lost track of time, of how many pieces there had been, of where I was or who I was with. I was entranced. The music was exceptionally innovative, both in content and in style. The musicians used their instruments in a number of non-traditional ways and seamlessly blended together a variety of sounds.
As I listened, I couldn't help but imagine for myself a second life as a professional musician. I wanted to sit in theory class next to these two, take out my own violin and join in, be surrounded by musicians with both imagination and bravery.
I started longing to be equally innovative in other areas of my life, my music, my science. The problem is that true innovation is very hard to achieve, because it involves imagining that which has never existed and then bringing it into existence. It's much easier to just see what already exists and re-do it over and over again. Actually, something I've realized is that many times, the greatest achievements are not made by quantum leaps into the unknown but rather by combining just the right pre-existing elements in a new way. I'm certain that if I was more acquainted with the musical collections and the personal experiences of the two performers, I would be able to identify the elements which they had borrowed from various sources and combined in new ways.
The concert was definitely a source of inspiration for me, musically as well as personally. I'm very glad I got to witness such innovative music.
- Aristotle
We stepped from the bright lobby into the dimly-lit auditorium. Why are there couches on the stage? I thought to myself. I was surrounded by a group of Norwegian women, all of whom seemed to know what they were doing more than I did, so I followed them down to the stage. Beside me, a dreadlocked, bearded 20-something in a vintage sweater settled emphatically into the cushions. Alright, then, I thought, couch concert it is.
As it turns out, there were also yoga mats available for those who wished to lay on the floor. The audience surrounded the performers on all sides, and the performing duo faced each other as they played. It was quite a unique combination of instruments - violin and saxophone, plus a brass bowl hit with a mallet, a finger harp from Ethiopia, and plenty of singing.
You're probably imagining something abstract, grotesque, and tribal right about now, but that's not how it was at all. There was actually more silence in the music than sound. They started with just simple, soft noises. Harmonics on the violin. Blowing air through the saxophone. Gradually, the violinst began to place his fingers more firmly on the strings, and the saxophonist lightly tapped her keys. They passed a phrase back and forth, grew quiet, then picked up another, each developing it uniquely, comtemplatively, softly.
It must have been a good twenty minutes before they stopped. Nobody applauded, so I assumed the piece must have been the first movement of a multi-movement work. The saxophonist started tapping the brass bowl beside her with a soft mallet, causing it to ring in the intimate, audience-bounded space. The violinist tapped his bow on the strings, adding a bit of percussion. The sounds continued to blend together as the violinist started pulling his bow across the string. Gradually, softly, I began to hear what could only be a human voice. Interwoven seamlessly into the matrix of notes, the saxophonist began to sing.
She continued for a good long while, first in Norwegian, then in something I didn't recognize, perhaps Hindi. The violinist accompanied her with regularly-paced, slurred notes. He let his bow float up and down across the strings, first toward the bridge, then toward the nut.
By this point, I had completely lost track of time, of how many pieces there had been, of where I was or who I was with. I was entranced. The music was exceptionally innovative, both in content and in style. The musicians used their instruments in a number of non-traditional ways and seamlessly blended together a variety of sounds.
As I listened, I couldn't help but imagine for myself a second life as a professional musician. I wanted to sit in theory class next to these two, take out my own violin and join in, be surrounded by musicians with both imagination and bravery.
I started longing to be equally innovative in other areas of my life, my music, my science. The problem is that true innovation is very hard to achieve, because it involves imagining that which has never existed and then bringing it into existence. It's much easier to just see what already exists and re-do it over and over again. Actually, something I've realized is that many times, the greatest achievements are not made by quantum leaps into the unknown but rather by combining just the right pre-existing elements in a new way. I'm certain that if I was more acquainted with the musical collections and the personal experiences of the two performers, I would be able to identify the elements which they had borrowed from various sources and combined in new ways.
The concert was definitely a source of inspiration for me, musically as well as personally. I'm very glad I got to witness such innovative music.
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