We humans like to organize, categorize, and label things. This is usually a good thing. Organizing food into specific groups (meat, vegetables, grains, etc.) helps to prepare our tongues for what we are about to eat. Labelling a piece as “French Baroque” helps us know what sort of sounds we will be hearing. On the other hand, it takes no stretch of the imagination to see how social categorization of human beings can cause huge damage.

So, what about the word “modern“? Does it mean turn-of-the-20th-century, or just current/contemporary? When exactly was (or is) “modern music” written? Is it an intellectual concept rather than a time period? Or perhaps it’s just coded talk for “ugly”? I offer no answers here – the best I can do is point out that the context of the conversation changes how we use the word.

I’m imagining your average high school or college level music appreciation class. The time comes for the 20th century – “modern music”! Without a doubt, the Rite of Spring is played, and enthusiastic discussion ensues. If it’s a high school class, the performance is probably accompanied by the dancing dinos of Fantasia, while college students get to hear stories of riots, orgies, human sacrifice. What ends up happening is that the Rite ends up becoming the piece that defines what modern music is supposed to sound like. Later, when these students hear Stravinsky‘s later works (labelled “neoclassical” and “serial“), they are shocked that it sounds so completely different.

There might have been a riot at the premiere of the Rite, but not because of the ground-breaking modern sound. Five years before, Arnold Schoenberg (who, as a Jew, was labelled by the Nazis as “degenerate”) wrote his Five Pieces for Orchestra. Knowing this piece came first, the Rite almost seems like a step backwards toward romanticism. Fifty years later, Pierre Boulez would label Schoenberg as not modern enough.

Be careful with labels.

This is just the first movement. Listen to the full 5 pieces here.

On this day in 1851, Moby Dick was published in the US. It is one of the greatest books ever written – highly recommended reading! First, you learn that all sailors are lunatics. Then, you’ll learn all sorts of useless whale facts as you crawl through chapters of classification and lore. Lastly, you get to endure tens of thousands of words devoted to the slow mental deterioration of an already bonkers-crazy ship captain. (Joking aside, it is a truly marvelous work.)

George Crumb is an American composer whom I deeply admire for his ability to be avant-garde without being off-the-deep-end. He uses all sorts of unorthodox instruments (e.g. toy pianos, tape loops, electronic effects) and extended techniques (i.e. using an instrument in a non-traditional way, like singing into a flute or bowing on the wrong side of a violin bridge) in his music. Many composers have done this, but most fail at making music, and instead make something more akin to organized noise (if you like organized noise, that’s fine. I don’t. When I want to listen to organized noise, I turn on my washing machine.) Crumb, on the other hand, makes music – it is otherworldly, but often astoundingly beautiful.

Among his more famous works is Vox Balaenae, or voice of the whale. On one hand, it’s exactly what you might think – weird underwater “moos” like Dory does in Finding Nemo. But once you get past that, it’s oddly pleasing, calming, and brilliant. The entire work lasts 20 minutes, and is for masked performers (seriously) playing flute, cello, and piano. This video is the beginning of the piece, a flute solo with a little piano to set the mood – both using a lot of extended techniques!

And, unlike Moby Dick, you don’t have to invest hours into it before deciding you don’t like it and quitting. (Joking aside, it is a truly marvelous work.)

Let’s rewind to the 1930’s. There was a group of American composers who were working to create a “truly American” sound in Art Music composition. This group included Aaron Copland (he was the unofficial leader), Samuel Barber, William Grant Still, Walter Piston, and many others. They were nearly all taught by the greatest 20th century teacher of composition, Nadia Boulanger. They were continuing the work of Charles Ives, Amy Beach, and even William Billings, in the search for an American musical identity.

This non-exhaustive group includes women, men, blacks, whites, Jews, Christians, gays, straights, and the disabled. What could be more American as Chester, Appalachian Spring, or the Afro-American Symphony?

The Un-American Activities Committee was formed in 1938, and ultimately led to the Red Scare of the 50’s. Copland and Bernstein were among those who were under investigation for Communist activities. So … Make America Great Again? If we had eliminated Copland and Bernstein for their leftist leaning, would we have been great? If we suppressed Beach for being a woman, Still for being black, or Barber for being gay, would we have been great? If we deported Schoenberg, Hindemith, Yi, or so many others for being refugees, would we have been great?

So today I present American composer Roy Harris‘ Third Symphony, his most famous work and considered the most “American” (whatever that means). His story is the quintessential “rags to riches” American tale – an Oklahoma farmboy rises to the top of the music world. He wrote a piece for the American bicentennial, which was panned because it mentioned slavery (how Un-American, to mention a major part of American history!)

So, the unsure future we’re facing isn’t new; even so, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t stand up against it.