Searching for Greatness, Part One

“There are two kinds of music -- good music and the other kind.”

~Edward "Duke" Ellington

The greatest of them all?

Over three years ago, I wrote of NY Times critic Anthony Tommasini's project to select the ten greatest composers of all time.  Of course, there were caveats:  he only began with the Baroque and all his guys (yes, they were all guys) were dead.  The list, in his stated order, includes 

• Bach
• Beethoven
• Mozart
• Schubert
• Debussy
• Stravinsky
• Brahms
• Verdi
• Wagner
• Bartok

But one is left to ask, what exactly signifies "greatness," especially when discussing music.  From Tommasini's column:

Ah, greatness. Early on I received a friendly challenge from a reader (“Scott”) who questioned the whole notion of greatness in music. He cited the title essay in “Listen to This,” a collection of astute, lively writings by Alex Ross, the music critic for The New Yorker and my good friend, which was published last year (Farrar, Straus & Giroux). In this essay he argues that the very term “classical music” makes this vibrant art form seem dead. Indeed, as he writes, “greatness” and “seriousness” are not classical music’s defining characteristics; it can also “be stupid, vulgar and insane.”

I have even taken a less than scientific poll of two gentlemen whose opinion I greatly admire, critic, arts consultant and Juilliard Professor of Entrepreneurship, Greg Sandow and musicologist and IPR personality, Bernard "Barney" Sherman.

Greg Sandow

Greg writes:

Might be better to ask what makes a piece of music good or bad. “Great” is just a fancy, self-important way of saying that a piece is good. Or maybe it’s a superlative, meaning “Very, very, very, very good.” Also also very very very important. Anyhow, I think that if we don’t answer the simpler question, we’re left with defining “great” only as a kind of bloviating. Unless “great” is supposed to be a crown bestowed by history. Then “great” music is what people say “great” music is. Music from the past.
Makes my head ache to think about this!

I think an additional problem is that knowing a piece of music is supposed to be “great” can blot our ability to judge it with any clarity. The Eroica is a “great” symphony, so we don’t say out loud that the last two movements aren’t nearly as good as the first two.

I’m wary of greatness as a concept in art. It’s a judgment that often involves self-praise by the person making it. I’m so artistic; I recognize the greatness of this masterpiece. It’s a pompous concept. Leads to a pompous view of music, in which we revere pieces certified as great, and immediately put on a lower level things that don’t have the label attached. Stops us from hearing the inherent qualities of the music, especially if they involve frivolity or even simple joie de vivre. And stops us from playing a piece with simple love of music. We can’t do that. It’s a Great piece. Have to show that in our playing!

Somehow I've managed to misplace Barney's response(s) but I recall him "chickening out" and taking a similar tack.  It's as if we know what it is when we hear it, but can't put it into words.  I'm kind of drawn to composer Mickie Willis:

•  Is the piece technically well executed? Regardless of the style, the performance - whether improvised, derived from notation, or electroacoustically produced - should be free of extraneous notes, sounds, effects, nuances of any kind that do not contribute to communication of the musical ideas.

•  Does it exploit a variety of elements of music, i.e. rhythm, harmony, melody, texture/timbre? Although a quality piece of music need not have all elements equally represented (in fact, many if not most fine works do not), a piece that relies solely on any one element is likely to be less than fulfilling.

•  Is the chief attraction not the music but the words? If the answer is yes, then the piece probably should be considered more as a theater piece or as poetry, than music. For music is the most abstract of arts, and although the marriage of text and music can be transcendent, the best does not need verbal associations to enhance it.

•  Are the elements of the work highly integrated so that each supports the other’s function? Melody, for example, cannot exist without at least some degree of rhythm; rhythm, however, can exist without melody, as can harmony without either rhythm or melody. But it seems that most truly satisfying music exploits the elements in ways that cause the product of them to be greater that the sum of the elements, disparately.

•  Does the piece appeal on a variety of levels – intellectual, emotional, spiritual? A piece can be strong enough in any one of these areas to justify being called good, but the best music somehow seems to appeal on many levels.

•  Is there a feeling of "musicality" about it? That is, does the piece invoke a desire for body movement that corresponds to the gestures in sound? Musicality is distinctly human and inexorably connected to physical movement in ways that are imbedded in our psyches from the first expressive sounds uttered by our ancient ancestors to experiences as recent as our last rehearsal.

•  Is there satisfying formal organization to the way the gestures are presented and developed? Since music occurs over time and for practical reasons, if for no other, music has to have a beginning and end, it seems to be our nature to expect some kind of sequence and development of the ideas that we find satisfying as anticipation and memory blend to create a mental image of form.

•  Is there a good balance between familiarity and variety, appropriate for the length of the piece? Clearly, very extended pieces will need to introduce more variety than very short ones; likewise the task of maintaining coherence within greater diversity is more difficult and expected in longer pieces.

•  After having been listened to many times, does the piece still have appeal, appeal that is based on some new revelations rather than solely on comfortable familiarity? Complexity in and of itself is not especially valuable, but exceptional music seems to have many facets, and holds up well and continues to interest even after many listenings.

•  Do you feel positively stimulated, better, richer, fuller, or improved in some way for having heard the piece? This may seem a lot to expect, but truly great pieces (which, or course most music, even very fine music, will not be) often have a beneficial effect on careful listeners. Like the nutrition axiom "we are what we eat," (which, although obviously not literal, makes the point that our physical health is affected by our diet) in the arts we are what we consume, and what we habitually listen to affects our spirits. The best music makes us better by stimulating our minds and touching our hearts, and helps us feel better about ourselves and the world.

Of course that's a lot of stuff to ponder. Like all great music, it's undoubtedly worth it. There really is intended to be a finale to this convoluted tale; it just may take awhile.