From Metallica to Bach: Breaking down barriers between audiences and art forms
Starting the day with Bach, the glorious Sonata in D for solo violin, followed by some early Bob Dylan, Schubert songs, Schoenberg’s second quartet, Bill Evans’ ‘Twelve tone tune’, then a couple of Metallica tracks, before winding down with some Jethro Tull and Brahms. What may seem like the result of putting one’s ipod on shuffle, has, for a long time now, become a typical example of a day’s listening at home.
Spanning from the Medieval to a-tonality and the avant-garde, from genres including folk, rock, prog rock, classical, jazz, and heavy metal, and more recently world music, my eclectic daily listening mix may appear to be a disparate collection of unrelated tracks. And yet, I will argue that many of these genres have more in common than not, and that recognizing and exploiting such connections not only reveals to us many examples of the alchemy of music, but also is key in breaking down barriers and building the audiences of the future.
The type of listener we may associate with each of the above genres tends to differ enormously; compare your average audience seen at a classical recital with that of a Metallica concert. The contrast, from personal experience, on the surface at least, is vast. But are these widely varied styles of music really that incongruent? And their respective audiences really so different?
We certainly use different language to describe these seemingly dissimilar audiences; we wouldn’t write Metallica ‘connoisseur’, or discuss a classical music ‘gig’. Yes, on the surface a Metallica connoisseur and a classical music fan often look different, one expresses appreciation through gentle applause, the other through jumping head first into a mosh pit (only reserved for really good performances of Mahler 8). However at heart I would argue they are essentially the same, in as much as they both share a genuine enthusiasm for the music to which they choose to listen, music which for many goes some way to defining their personal identity. Is there really such a gulf between, say, the repeated, stamping chords of Stravinsky’s Le sacre du Printemps, and the distorted, driving, repetitive riffs of thrash metal?
After all, vastly differing styles and genres – within Western musical culture at least – derive their melodic material from the same twelve note chromatic scale, which itself is organized into modes, major-minor diatonic scales, and much more besides. Similar rhythmic and melodic patterns and devices also abound in common: sequences, imitation, repetition, ostinato, syncopation, to name but a handful. Even musical structures are common between many genres, for example strophic song form as used in romantic lieder and many pop and folk songs. It seems inevitable that similarities will occur between different styles, but equally incredible that such relatively basic means can produce such a myriad of possibilities.
Some similarities are more obvious, and perhaps more convincing, than others, and lie outside of issues relating to melodic, rhythmic, and structural organization. Compare, for instance, the poetry and beauty of acoustic folk music with the similarly intimate and expressive nature of romantic Lieder. There are similarities here on many levels. Firstly, both genres were not initially intended for the larger stage, but for more intimate performance venues, such as the salon, music room, or pub. The use of very simple instrumentation – piano/voice, guitar/voice – intensifies the impact of these works, and puts maximum emphasis on the words, as well as the musical content. The themes found in the text are also strikingly similar. Consider Schubert’s many depictions of the romantic ‘Wanderer’, and Bob Dylan’s many references to ‘travelling on’ and journeying in general. Take Dylan’s Don’t think twice it’s alright, a song about an embittered, unrequited relationship, from which the protagonist moves on, and then listen to Schubert’s Die Schӧne Müllerin; themes of love, relationships, unrequited passion, and travel, are quintessentially romantic.
Timbre also links music from differing origins. A clear example of this is heard in early twentieth century French music and the music of the Javanese Gamelan. After first coming across Gamelan at the Paris exposition in 1889, composer’s such as Debussy began to explore similar bell and gong-like sonorities using the piano. In works such as Debussy’s Pagodes, Et la Lune descend sur le temple qui fut, and Cloches à travers les feuilles, to name just a few, we hear clear imitation of complex gong and bell sonorities, the resonance of the piano providing the perfect medium for such sounds. Messiaen would later take this even further, using harmonies in which he transcribed the overtones of bells, such as can be heard throughout the final movement of his Visions de l’Amen for two pianos.
Other connections, a full consideration of which perhaps lies outside of the scope of this article, include the progressiveness and enormity of Wagner, and the entirely overblown and forward-seeking nature of Prog rock. Bands such as ELP, King Crimson, and Yes utilized classical music in their own work and band members were frequently classically trained – ELP famously released a prog version of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. A similar crossing over between genres is heard in the use of folk melodies by classical composers such as Vaughan-Williams, Bartok, Kodaly, and Copland. Next, consider Bob Dylan’s ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’, in which the lack of melodic line, and the emphasis on words and message, is not so far removed from the way in which Rap and hip hop function. How about freedom of improvisation and rhythm found in Indian classical music, and the so called ‘Indo jazz’ originating in the 1950’s? And, surely unquestionably, the rhythmic games of Bach, and the toe-tapping syncopations of much jazz, both of which render many listeners unable to sit still.
A closer look at jazz reveals many underlying links to the classical art form. The development of modal jazz in the 1950’s by the likes of Miles Davis and Bill Evans was based on modes previously found in the complex polyphony of the Renaissance, and before that in the beginnings of notated music itself, as heard in Gregorian Chant. The versatility of these simple scales in providing the building blocks for music centuries apart, and in doing so creating a link between two very different genres, is fascinating.
Furthermore in 1948, whilst spending increasing amounts of time with composer and arranger Gil Evans at his 55th Street basement apartment in New York, Davis came across the music of Gabriel Fauré, Maurice Ravel, and Manuel de Falla. It is not hard to imagine the young Miles Davis being captivated by Fauré’s unique approach to harmonic progression, as well as the at times restrained and emotionally contained nature of some of the composer’s works. On Davis’ seminal, and deeply modal, album Kind of Blue (1959), on which he was joined by pianist Bill Evans, it is not hard to hear the influence of these early twentieth century composers, whether it be Evan’s exquisite close voicings and restrained style in Blue in Green, or the Spanish influence in Flamenco Sketches, in which different modes are used as a way of creating compositional structure.
Bill Evans studied at the Mannes School of music, and was already an experienced classical pianist and composer before choosing to devote his performance career to jazz. He was renowned for his elegant and intense style and one can hear, in both his compositions and performance manner, a strong influence of composers such as Ravel, Debussy, Fauré, and perhaps even some late Scriabin. It is no accident that his style is frequently described as ‘impressionist’. Interestingly, as part of a house concert, I recently performed Ravel’s stand-alone Prelude, followed without a pause by a transcription of Evan’s Two Lonely People. A number of audience members commented afterwards that they could not tell where one ended and the other began. Indeed, Ravel’s use of seventh and ninth chords, and his closely voiced dissonances, make his Prelude uncannily similar to Evan’s sound world. Beyond the many harmonic connections between classical and jazz lies Evan’s Twelve tone tune, which must be one of the only attempts to write a jazz tune using Schoenberg’s serial technique.
The existence of connections between genres, styles, and even art forms, seems inevitable to me. Artists, whether they be composers, writers, choreographers, painters, photographers, or film makers, draw inspiration from many places, often from art forms other than their own. As a result, similarities abound, whether it be in sound, or through the way in which art, as a whole, seems to repeatedly explore certain themes, such as those relating to love and death, among others.
My own personal foray into cross arts and multi genre performance has manifested itself in the founding of Multiphonic Arts, and a performance series in London based in a ruined chapel. Each summer we present a series of performances which explore an ever widening range of musical genres and art forms, including classical, jazz, folk, and world music, as well as dance, poetry, drama, mime, film, photography, and painting. This has proven to be a very worthwhile venture, and one that sets out to break down the barriers between art forms, as well as between their associated audiences. We frequently welcome a diverse and wide ranging audience to our events, and our ethos is one of openness and inclusivity, through serious artistic performance.
The multi genre concept was initially inspired by my great love for the music of Alexander Scriabin, a composer to which I have devoted a great deal of my adult life, both in research and recording. Whilst my obsessions with Scriabin’s music mean that I cannot write any article without finding a way to mention him, his precepts regarding the role of art are certainly relevant here. Scriabin believed fervently that the future lay in a synthesis of the arts. He had begun this journey during his composition of his great orchestral symphonic work Prometheus: The Poem of Fire, in which the music is accompanied by changing coloured lights and various lighting effects. His ideas found their ultimate manifestation in his concept of the ritualistic and reality-transforming Mystery, which would be preceded by the Preliminary Action. Sadly only fifty pages of musical sketches exist, but in this monumental work he planned to combine music with dance, colour, scented smokes, and a libretto, which is the only element of this vast work that survives almost completed.
Unfortunately Scriabin didn’t help himself in also planning this work to be performed in a specially built temple at the foot of the Himalayas, and believing the performance would herald a mass transfiguration of human consciousness. Sadly, even today, it is extreme ideas such as these that tend to cause some not to take Scriabin’s music and artistic vision as seriously as they perhaps deserve to be. At its heart, Scriabin’s vision is for a breaking down of the barriers between art forms, as well as the divisions which separate us as human beings. To me this gets to the very centre of the capabilities of great art, and has inspired me to explore ways of bringing seemingly very different audiences together, albeit on a much smaller scale, and without the mass transfiguration, so far at least…
James Kreiling, October 2019