If you don’t hang around geeky musical circles, it’s unlikely that you’ll know the name Walter Piston, but you probably know his most famous students Leonard Bernstein and Leroy Anderson. Piston wrote his orchestral suite Three New England Sketches in 1959. The movements are titled Seaside, Summer Evening, and Mountains. Piston claims there is no specific narrative in the suite, and that he chose the movement titles arbitrarily. Even so, he writes this little story about the first performance of the sketches:

… a man came up to me, following the premiere, and said, “I hope you don’t mind my saying that I smelled clams during the first movement.” I said, “No, that is quite all right. They are your clams.” Each individual is free to interpret as he wishes.

I am greatly looking forward to smelling clams by tomorrow evening – I’m off to New England for some much needed R & R.

Mention the name John Cage, and you’ll get a smirk out of every former music appreciation student.

“John Cage? Oh yeah, I like his music. I especially like his 4’33”, heh heh.”

Even if Cage’s music isn’t exactly the kind of stuff you turn on to relax at the end of a difficult day, he does make you think. Another of his famous philosophy-based compositions is “Music of Changes“. There is an ancient Chinese divination book, the I Ching, in which you toss three coins six times to determine your fortune. (you can use the I Ching online!) Cage took this idea and translated it into a compositional device. So instead of thinking, “I think this piece needs a quarter-note G here,” Cage used the I Ching to tell him what notes to put where – in a manner of speaking, removing the composer from the compositional process, and leaving every choice to a coin toss.

This idea of reducing the control of the composer is known as Indeterminacy, and was a reaction to a style called Serialism, in which the composer carefully organized everything with inflexible mathematical structures. The irony is that both the random Indeterminate music and the ultra-organized Serialist music both sounded the same – inhuman, confusing, and difficult.

So, what happens when a composer says “Let It Go!” and writes music based on chance alone? Listen:

I recently saw online that you can once again purchase and play the original 1996 PC game Quake. While it wasn’t the first first-person-shooter, it was the first one that had a truly 3D world and allowed for multiplayer games. I wasted many hours playing this masterpiece with my college buddies (I regret nothing). What struck me about this 20-year anniversary sale was that the game was getting negative reviews. Well, the game is ancient as far as computers go, and the graphics looks abysmal compared to modern shooters. But still, the guts of the game hadn’t changed – so why the poor reception?

It was the music! The original game had a soundtrack by the metal band Nine Inch Nails. They scrapped this music in the currently sold version, probably because the band wanted a cut of the profits, and it would be hard to justify selling this ancient game for more than a few bucks – not enough to pay the piper. Quake was a good game, but they’re right, it’s a completely different experience without the death metal soundtrack. The same thinking applies to movies. If we were to remove the music from movies, they would feel empty. Try to imagine Star Wars without the heroic theme. Or Chariots of Fire without the iconic running music. Or Rocky without “Gonna Fly Now.” Now try to imagine them with different music …

Does it work conversely? Could the music stand alone without the film? Sometimes yes, sometimes no, I suppose. I have to be honest and say I’ve never seen the movie On the Waterfront, but I know the Symphonic Suite from it that Bernstein wrote, and I feel like I can tell the flavor of the movie, based on the music alone.