#1 Control and Chance in music and art A survey of philosophies
UDC: 78.01
781.6
COBISS.SR-ID 258596620
Received: Nov 3, 2017
Reviewed: Jan 15, 2018
Accepted: Feb 2, 2018
#1 Control and Chance in music and art A survey of philosophies
Citation: Cai, Shuang. 2018. "Control and Chance in Music and Art: A Survey of Philosophies." Accelerando: Belgrade Journal of Music and Dance 3:1
Acknowledgment: The idea for comparing these particular articles stemmed from Dr. Jeongwon Joe, the co-author of the final article examined. I would also like to thank Dr. Matthew Quick for his helpful suggestions and assistance in editing.
Abstract
This article is a survey and review of several writings on the philosophies and compositional techniques involving control and chance in the creation of modern art and music. The purpose of discussing and comparing these writings is to trace different understandings, reactions, and interpretations of these philosophies in order to offer a more informed perspective on these oft misunderstood techniques. The first article analyzed is Robert Charles Clark’s “Total Control and Chance in Musics: A Philosophical Analysis,” which discusses fundamental issues regarding both total control and chance music. The second article, Stephanie Ross’ “Chance, Constraint, and Creativity: The Awfulness of Modern Music,” presents some of the adverse reactions to these methods of composition. The third and fourth articles, Roland Barthes’ “The Death of the Author” and “From Work to Text,” offer a broader philosophical viewpoint on the different roles of the author and their product when creating art. The final article, Jeongwon Joe and S. Hoon Song’s “Roland Barthes’ ‘Text’ and Aleatoric Music: Is the ‘Birth of the Reader’ the Birth of the Listener?” concludes this survey by tying Barthes’ concepts back to music.
chance music, modern art, aleatoric music, methods of composition, serialism, determinism
Robert Charles Clark
Total Control and Chance in Musics.
A Philosophical Analysis
Robert Charles Clark begins his article “Total Control and Chance in Musics: A Philosophical Analysis” (Clark 1970, 356) by discussing control versus freedom in music, and then introduces the main topic of his article, the methods of Karlheinz Stockhausen and John Cage. His discussion of Stockhausen begins with an analysis of the elements of control one can have over a musical tone. They are pitch, overtone structure, duration, loudness, and morphology. Clark focuses in on the issue of overtone control. Traditional composers have had some general control over this through selection of instruments and textures. Stockhausen, however, aimed to break through this restriction on tone:
What does an architect do when he wants to build a single-span bridge or a skyscraper or an airplane hangar? Does he still use clay, wood, and brick? (Ibid.)
For Stockhausen, all of the elements of tone were ultimately controllable through electronic means. With the introduction of electronic manipulation, as Clark states:
the full range of sounds that man can hear will then have become the readily manipulative musical resources of the composer. (Ibid.)
He uses the phrase “total control” for this type of music, and discusses the “exact foreknowledge” that this provides for the final production. Clark then mentions John Cage and his philosophy of “letting things be themselves” (Ibid.), as well as the importance of being in harmony with nature. As Cage states:
we discipline the ego because it alone stands between us and experience (...) a measuring mind can never finally measure nature (...) let sounds be themselves rather than vehicles for man-made theories or expressions of human sentiments. (Idem., 357)
Clark then discusses various similarities and differences between these forms of composition. Similarities include a striving for new sound arrangements, similar categorization as “modern” music, and musical style being more akin to each other than traditional music. The differences are that total-control music makes the performer unnecessary, and that the composer has a more direct hand in the composition with greater foreknowledge. Generally speaking, total-control music has a greater quality of “programming,” while chance music is more “ad-libbing” (Idem., 358).
Clark then alludes to his main argument: “the theories of composition behind total-control and chance music do not determine any differences in sound-products of the two types of composer” (Ibid.). In other words, although the methods may be different, the end result is not necessarily unique to each respective compositional style. Both compositional styles may utilize a full range of sounds, and neither is bound to a definitive method of composing. Thus, there is no guarantee that the musical product will provide a clear representation of its original philosophy. A total-control composition may, in fact, sound like and be mistaken for chance music, and vice versa.
The author’s response to most of Clark’s arguments and thoughts in his article is that they are sensible, particularly the idea that total-control music provides a form of guarantee during a performance. Clark does not mention, however, the idea that chance is ultimately involved in all forms of performance. Even if the music, equipment, and performance elements are entirely predetermined, there is always the possibility of the unexpected, such as a failure of technology, a fire in the concert hall, etc. His comment that total-control music makes the performer unnecessary is interesting, although perhaps not entirely accurate. It is true that if the composition is completely electronic, you might not experience living performers on stage. Someone, however, still has to set up the equipment and “perform” the work, even if behind the scenes. His ultimate argument is interesting, but it is hard to escape the fact that many compositions of this type still represent themselves quite clearly. John Cage’s “Water Walk” for example, obviously involves chance, whereas a prerecorded electronic piece like Stockhausen’s “Electronic Studies” is likely to be understood as predetermined.
Stephanie Ross
Chance, Constraint, and Creativity.
The Awfulness of Modern Music.
Stephanie Ross’ “Chance, Constraint, and Creativity: The Awfulness of Modern Music” ( Ross 1985, 22) is partly an analysis of Stanley Cavell’s article “Music Discomposed” (1967, 88-89), as well as her own examination of the nature and challenges of modern music. She opens the discussion on a classic issue concerning much of “modern” art: it seems like anyone could do it and thus the artist’s work has no merit. She states that there are two lines of defense against this. This first is that one could claim that artistry is indeed there, but it is just difficult to understand. Secondly, perhaps the lack of traditional artistry should not be a concern at all. She proposes that music in particular suffers from this criticism and disassociation from its audience. She then proceeds to talking about Cavell’s claim that much of modern art and music is fraudulent.
One of Cavell’s main viewpoints is that the composer, in an effort to make his/her art more unique and personal, effectively creates a composition that is incomprehensible for the audience. Cavell conceives this issue as definitive of modernism, where composers are “somehow forced to write music that cannot find an audience” (Ibid.). He is particularly concerned with the potential fraudulence of this art, and argues that:
audiences today cannot tell whether contemporary musical works are genuine or fraudulent, art or non-art. (Ibid.)
Ross goes into detail about the origin of this sort of music, being a result of the second Viennese School and related to the serialism of “totally organized” music. She then brings up Ernst Krenek’s 1957 composition “Sestina” for voice and instrumental ensemble, which Cavell examines in his paper. Evidently, “the overall feel of the piece is strident and clanging” and “yields not engaging melody or energizing rhythm, but a seemingly anomalous succession of sounds, textures, and timbres” (Idem., 23). Krenek’s serialism was based off of a sestina poem that he wrote, where the words follow a specific pattern of rotation and repetition. He then created his musical composition based on these patterns. What was particularly interesting for Krenek, however, was not the total control of text and musical elements, but rather the unpredictable chance that was brought about by these initial intentions. Krenek states:
So complete a determination by serial rule of a sufficient number of parameters will make control of the remaining ones impossible. (...) what happens in this remaining sector is well-nigh unpredictable (except perhaps by electronic computation) and although intentionally brought about by the composer, it is not consciously planned by him (...) Therefore these happenings may be considered chance results. (Idem., 24)
This creates an interesting paradox, "that ultimate necessity causes unpredictable chance." (Ibid.)
Ross further examines Cavell’s belief of fraudulence in art. Cavell argues that the experience of fraudulence and trust are inherent to the experience of art, that there is no definitive method of identifying fraudulence in art, and that even the artist or composer or critic may not even know when they have created or witnessed fraudulent work. Thus, the argument “Art is anything produced as art by an artist” (Idem., 25) is evidently unsubstantial due to the very possible situation of producing fraudulence. So the question arises: where does this fraudulence initiate? Ross begins a discussion on the method and merit of serial composition. She states that:
serial composers have apparently taken one of three views on this matter. Some declare flatly that ‘serial procedures are not to be perceived by the listener’; others that they ‘are not perceived consciously but the music gives an effect of coherence which the listener cannot explain’; still others that ‘serial procedures can be perceived, given the listener’s cooperation in learning. (Idem., 26)
One argument that Ross proposes to counter these ideas is that music is ultimately an aural art form, and any composition that circumvents the listener is merely sabotaging its ultimate purpose. Cavell also argues that:
the problem with post-serial composition is composition (...) that fraudulence resides not in the end product but in the process through which it comes about. (Ibid.)
He also suggests that chance and improvisation are:
a way of artists’ relinquishing responsibility for their work, of in fact not composing at all. (Ibid.)
Krenek, however, believes that the unpredictability he gains from his initial serial means in “Sestina” is the only way to guarantee genuine inspiration. The impersonal result of these mathematical means ensures that the composer’s conscious or subconscious knowledge and experience of past music does not interfere with genuinely fresh creativity. Cavell merely sees this as a wish to preserve choice by foregoing responsibility” (Idem., 27), and that Krenek becomes so far-removed from his inspiration that there is no connection to the original artist’s desires, experiences, and creativity, which results in a fraudulent composition. Ross counters part of this by reiterating that the creation of works such as this do ultimately arise from choice and intent. But another problem, as Cavell states, is that:
often one does not know whether interest is elicited and sustained primarily by the object or by what can be said about the object. (Ibid.)
He argues that the work is not based on aesthetics or even knowledge of the outcome, so it is inherently impossible to satisfy artistic means. This leads to his statement that:
compositions that were not created to satisfy their composers are not likely to satisfy us either. (Idem., 28)
Even if the original material was chosen with intent, the end result is ultimately “chosen, but hardly composed” (Ibid.). Ross argues that because Cavell’s issues with modern music are based on the compositional process, but ultimately without grounds on which to judge the outcome, his charges against new music are at a stalemate.
Ross then provides her own viewpoint about the nature of music and composition. Although it is common knowledge that most artists strive to do what has never been done before, she claims that it is actually impossible to do what has been done before, particularly in the world of music. She states that “composers today cannot even compose in the style of their predecessors” (Idem., 30). She puts forth the idea that:
return to an earlier style is always conditioned by and filtered through the styles, attitudes, and experiences of the intervening years (...) for we would hear it against the background of all that has happened in the music world since. (Ibid.)
This could make it possible for an artist to compose in an old style and still have a fresh edge. But her focus, however, is on the idea that music has no intrinsic meaning. Whereas visual arts have pictures, colors and visible style, novels and plays have text, etc., music is ultimately an abstract art form. She states that “music has syntax, but no semantics” (Idem., 32). Without this meaning, she believes that it is ultimately impossible to recompose in traditional forms while bringing something truly new to the table. The methods of modern music, such as aleatory and determinism, are the natural evolution of a need to strive for novelty in music.
The author’s response to Ross article is that the fact may stand that the drive for novelty indeed pushes many composers to write for a specialized “university” audience, often resulting in an artistic product that cannot succeed in finding a general audience. As Cavell discusses (op. cit. 1967a, b), composers will often use methods that help separate them from their desires, experiences, and creativity. Unfortunately, the result is sometimes so extreme that it can seem disconnected from knowledge, thought and humanity altogether, which certainly calls into question the artistic value of the work. Another issue, as Cavell states, is whether the interest should lie more in the object or what is said about the object. Cavell puts it well when he writes:
compositions that were not created to satisfy their composers are not likely to satisfy us either. (Idem., 28)
Krenek’s philosophy that the act of serial control provides humanly incalculable ends and thus results in a degree of chance is fascinating. The effort to control everything ultimately ends in unpredictability. Although when expanding the philosophical argument to this point, one could also bring in the larger concepts of determinism and free will, calling everything into question and ultimately being left with no tangible answers. Ross’ final argument that modern music springs from a need for novelty that cannot be found in revisiting old styles is sensible. But again, bringing larger philosophical disputes into play, we may ask: does everything really have to be novel?
Roland Barthes
“The Death of the Author”
Roland Barthes’ “The Death of the Author” (Barthes 1978a) is an examination of two concepts of writing: one where the text takes precedence and the author is no longer in the foreground, and one where the author is the focus and his product is a direct result and reflection of himself. Barthes explains that the death of the author occurs when the voice loses its origin and the text loses its function, becoming merely symbols that no longer act directly on reality. He distinguishes between two styles or eras of writing. One is from ethnographic societies (like Greek aural tradition) where the focus is on the story itself and no ownership is placed on the performer of the work. The other is a product of the development of literature since the Middle Ages, where greater importance is attached to the individual. It seems that in this phase of art and literature “the explanation of a work is always sought in the man or woman who produced it” (Idem., 143).
Barthes then introduces the work of Mallarme, who he claims was the first to again put language above the author. The language itself is what is speaking, which in effect restores the place of the reader by disempowering the author. He then mentions Proust, who not only blurred the relation between the writer and characters, but made:
the narrator not he who has seen and felt nor even he who is writing, but he who is going to write (...) instead of putting his life into his novel, as is so often maintained, he made of his very life a work for which his own book was the model. (Idem., 144)
He then mentions how surrealism contributed to this displacing of the author by engaging in “the abrupt disappointment of expectations of meaning” and employing the method of “automatic writings” (Ibid.). Barthes further discusses his distinctions of writing; when the author is the focus, he stands with his work on a timeline of before and after, nourishes, and creates the work. The modern writer, however, is “born simultaneously with the text” (Idem., 145), and thus is freed of the delays in polishing the work, creating a language which “has no other origin than language itself, language which ceaselessly calls into question all origins” (Idem., 146).
Barthes then describes text as a multi-dimensional space and “tissue of quotations” that indefinitely draws on itself and ultimately does not express origins from the author. When this author is gone, it becomes futile to decipher the text or critique it in the traditional sense, and without ultimate meaning, it is liberated from:
what may be called an anti-theological activity, an activity that is truly revolutionary since to refuse to fix meaning is, in the end, to refuse God and his hypostases – reason, science, law. (Idem., 147)
Barthes wraps up his arguments by presenting the reader as “the space on which all the quotations that make up a writing are inscribed without any of them being lost; a text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination.” (Idem., 148)
“From Work to Text”
Barthes’ “From Work to Text” (1978b) is an in-depth examination of what constitutes a “Work” and what is meant by “Text.” He introduces the article by discussing changes in the fundamental concepts of literature and language due to linguistics, anthropology, Marxism and psychoanalysis, specifically how they relate to objects and ideas that are outside of their usual scope. He mentions that there was a “break” in the last century due to Marxism and Freudianism, but since then the ideas and concepts regarding literature and linguistics have merely been shifting. In particular, one of these shifts has occurred where the notion of a “Work” has produced a new object – “Text.”
Barthes then embarks on a description of seven different traits that distinguish “Work” and “Text.” The first is method. He describes the Work as “a fragment of substance, occupying a part of the space of books,” and the Text as “a methodological field…one is displayed, the other demonstrated;” furthermore, “the Text is experienced only in an activity of production…the Text cannot stop” (Ibid., 157). The next category is genre. He states that the Text goes beyond literature, a hierarchy, or a division of genres. Essentially, it defies classification or boundary restrictions. Third, he discusses “signs” or symbols. “The Text can be approached, experienced, in reaction to the sign. The Work closes on a signified” (Idem., 158). Whereas the Work is somewhat constricted to specific symbolism, the Text “practices the infinite deferment of the signified” (Ibid.). The Work is “moderately symbolic” and the Text is “radically symbolic…a work conceived, perceived and received in its integrally symbolic nature” (Idem., 158-159). The Text is more liberated from the restriction of specific signs/symbols that are such an integral part of a Work. His next point is the plurality of Text. It is “irreducible” and “is a tissue, a woven fabric” (Ibid.) that defies specific categorization. The Text is a complex embodiment of many sources, and “the citations which go to make up a text are anonymous, untraceable, and yet already read” (Idem., 160). Barthes fifth point examines the process of filiation. A Work has a traceable lineage of the author as the father, whereas the Text is separate from this quality. A Work is similar to an “organism” which grows in a chain of related causes, and the Text is like a “network” which results in the “abolishing of any legacy” (Idem.,161). The author may appear in a Text, but only as a guest.
Barthes next topic is the categorization of the reader and the writer. For Text, the distance between reading and writing closes in and becomes a “single signifying practice” (Idem., 162). He discusses the division of these two concepts through history; we are taught how to read, but not how to write as one holistic activity. Regarding music, whereas playing and listening were intertwined in the past, we have become victims of specialization that divides the activities of music. The text, however, “asks of the reader a practical collaboration,” but “the reduction of reading to a consumption is clearly responsible for the ‘boredom’ experienced by many in the face of the modern text” (Idem., 163). Barthes final point is that the approach to Text is ultimately a “pleasure of consumption” and that it is bound to “a pleasure without separation” (Idem., 164). In conclusion, it seems that Barthes views Text as “that space where no language has a hold over any other” and that “Text should itself be nothing other than text” (Ibid.).
The author’s response to Barthes’ pursuit of a distinction between Work and Text is that it is a courageous one and has its merit, but ultimately it is very difficult, if not impossible, to lock down the two ideas into distinct categories. Particularly when he attempts to describe the Text, the vastness of such a concept is hard to nail down, especially when he tries to put the frame of history around it. Regarding aleatoric music, we may borrow his idea that the reader must become empowered in order to fully understand the Text. For eclectic music such as John Cage’s “Europeras,” it is also helpful to think of Barthes’ “tissue of quotations” as a definition of Text. Much of the philosophy behind aleatoric music, particularly with Cage, is letting sounds exist as themselves. Or, as Barthes puts it, Text should be nothing other than Text. It is also important to allow the audience and the environment to become a part of the composition, giving a metaphorical birth to the listener/performer/reader in addition to the work.
There is, however, a weak point in Barthes’ argument. Much of art which proposes to have a true “Text” often, in fact, draws the most attention to the composer/author/creator instead of their work. In music, there are numerous classical themes that people may be able to recognize without knowing the composer. But a work like 4’33” is merely an expression of time without the image and philosophy of John Cage attached to it. Seven white panels might as well be a projector screen without Rauschenberg accompanying the title. The philosophy of the creator becomes the centerpiece in so much of this type of work that to tear it apart and give it its own life becomes a maze of pitfalls. Barthes states that Text abolishes any legacy or filiation, but it is in our nature to assign an author to any art, work, or text. Quotes become much more meaningful when it comes from an important person. The ancient stories of aural tradition may or may not have specific authors, but are still designated with labels of “Greek” or “Native American” to color their meaning. Overall, Barthes is on to an interesting concept, but the dance he has to do with these ambiguous terms makes for an uncertain conclusion.
Jeongwon Joe and S. Hoon Song
“Roland Barthes’ ‘Text’ and Aleatoric Music:
Is the ‘Birth of the Reader’ the Birth of the Listener?”
Jeongwon Joe and S. Hoon Song’s article “Roland Barthes’ ‘Text’ and Aleatoric Music: Is the ‘Birth of the Reader’ the Birth of the Listener?” (2002) begins by describing the trends of control and chance in Western music. Through its development, composers have attempted to increase control in composition, with serialism representing its height. The emergence of chance music is an interesting counter to this trend. Joe and Song mention that chance is a part of all music, but the act of introducing chance intentionally is what defines aleatoric music. They then discuss post-structuralism’s critique of the author as creator, as well as Barthes’ philosophies on “Text” and “Work.” Then they present their argument that Barthes’ comparison of the listener to the reader is problematic because of the additional factor of the performer in live music. A deeper explanation of post-structuralism is given, from the origins of Nietzsche and Heidegger’s mistrust of human reason and objectivity, to Focault’s idea that human knowledge and reality cannot be ultimate truth because we work through the lens of linguistic conventions. This leads into a discussion of Barthes’ concept of “Text” and “Work,” and how his “Text” parallels Cage’s philosophy that musical composition is mostly about the process. They also reference his propensity for pulling material from existing sounds or various quotations. Joe and Song then further clarify their argument that Barthes’ comparison of aleatoric music to text is problematic since “unlike literary readers, listeners do not have direct access to a ‘text’ but need to be mediated by the performer” (Ibid., 268).
Their next section discusses three types of aleatoric composition: chance in composition, chance in performance, and chance with graphic notation. They present an interesting examination of the last two types. They tend to liberate the performer, but they do not necessarily liberate the listener, as Barthes originally intended in his analogy. The last section is a critique of Barthes’ analysis of “Work” and “Text,” and the flaws inherent in relating this to music. This includes the problem of historical placement and using names for supposedly nameless text. Barthes borrows the musical comparison for convenience, but ultimately collapses the listener onto the performer to make his point work.
The author’s response to Joe and Song’s critiques and arguments is that they bring up valid points against Barthes. There are other issues as well, such as Barthes’ lack of clarity. He describes the reader as becoming an “active co-producer of the Text” (Idem., 267). This can literally happen if the audience is involved in a musical piece or directly influences a piece of art, but in regard to a literary writer like Mallarme, Barthes is not clear exactly how the reader is involved. Perhaps it is more of a poetic statement that the reader is challenged to become more actively a part of the experience rather than a passive consumer.
There is another problem regarding his analogy to music. For written “Texts” that we literally read, or artwork that we can see, there is no need for a performer, and it is clearly a dichotomy of “Text” and “Reader.” In music, however, if the “Text” is interpreted as the musical score, then we are left with two more factors—the performer and the listener—creating a total of three categories, and undermining Barthes’ division into two categories of Text and Reader. There is one possible solution to this, aside from condensing the listener and performer together into one unit. We may define the Text as the performance itself, including not only the score but both the score and performer. The overall product then becomes the Text, and the listener may indeed assume the role of the Reader. Instead of “a substitution of authors” (Idem., 271), in aleatoric music we could have a merging of composer and performer. A parallel to this is Barthes’ description of ethnographic societies, where emphasis is placed on the story itself rather than the author, pre-written words, or performer. Essentially, the performer and author become the means to an end, and the “Text” is literally the end product of the story that is heard.
If we took the philosophy a step further, we could also argue that for literature a performance still does, in fact, take place. The dance of light off the page, the weather outside affecting your feelings about a certain passage, the different enzymes that release throughout your body and alter your mood; the artist’s text must go through a process of transference to reach one’s mind, and it does so in a different way every time, much like the chance involved in all performance. As suggested by Joe and Song, Barthes’ articles address valid points, but ultimately open up many more doors of uncertainty and unanswered questions.
Conclusion
When dealing with broad concepts such as chance and control, as well as trying to define the roles of the artist and his or her work, we inevitably encounter wide variances in the interpretation of their meanings. As we can see from this selection of articles, there are no clear and simple answers, and often the search for those answers can become circular. Perhaps the most important aspect of these philosophies is that the discussion remains alive and active. Despite Barthes’ attempt to argue that Text stands on its own, he still must put his commentary and his lens in front of the artist’s work before we understand this point. It is thus important to cross-examine different ideas and pursue further insight in order to be better armed to discuss with others and ultimately make our own decisions regarding modern music and art.
References
- Barthes, Roland. 1978a. “The Death of the Author.” Music, Image, Text. Translated by Stephen Heath. New York City, USA: Hill and Wang.
- Barthes, Roland. 1978b. “From Work to Text.” Music, Image, Text. Translated by Stephen Heath. New York City, USA: Hill and Wang.
- Cavell, Stanley. 1967a. “Music Discomposed.” Art, Mind, and Religion: Proceedings of the 1965 Oberlin Colloquium in Philosophy, 88-89, ed. W. H. Capitan and D. D. Merrill. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press.
- Cavell, Stanley. 1967b. Must We Mean What We Say? Cambridge U. K.: Cambridge University Press.
- Clark, Robert Charles. 1970. “Total Control and Chance in Musics: A Philosophical Analysis.” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 28 (Spring 1970): 355-60.
- Jeongwon, Joe and S. Hoon Song. 2002. “Roland Barthes’ ‘Text’ and Aleatoric Music: Is the Birth of the Reader the Birth of the Listener?” Muzikologija 2(2002): 263-81.
- Ross, Stephanie. 1985. “Chance, Constraint, and Creativity: The Awfulness of Modern Music.” Journal of Aesthetic Education 19(1985): 21-35.
