RESULTADO DE MACRO INVERTEBRADOS

Introduction

To make sound “visible”—this sounds like a dubious, or perhaps undesirable, task for a music scholar devoted to phenomenological approaches to under-standing music. Don Ihde, however, has reminded us that sound plays an important role in defining the world we see. In his ground-breaking Listening and Voice: A Phenomenology of Sound, Ihde demonstrates how our aural sensibilities help to define aspects of human experience that are typically associated with things we see—such things as the shape of an object, the height of a room, the speed of a train. Ihde argues that the Western philo-sophical inattention to the sounding world grows out of a general “visual”

bias that values seeing over hearing as a source of credible information about the world.

Following in the footsteps of Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Ihde draws atten-tion to the bodily nature of perceptual experience generally and of aurality in particular—as he writes “I hear with my whole body” (LV 45). Through the body hearing intercommunicates with the other senses of sight, touch, smell, and taste, woven together in the totality of lived experience. From this bodily based sensory holism we may understand sonic meaning as informed by sight, as well as the other senses. Such sensual intercommunication is confirmed when we observe that a sound is “high,” that a sonority is “bright,” or that melody is “angular.” Thus, the project of visualizing music recognizes that sight plays an important role in defining sonic meaning.

The recognition that vision informs hearing does not directly justify the project of making sound visible. If sound is inherently meaningful, then listening should be sufficient to our understanding. But our engagement with music has historically been attended by other forms of address. If someone asks “why do you like those Rags by William Bolcom?” I need some way to

characterize aspects of their sound and explain their appeal.¹ My answer to such a question could be to “talk” about the Rags, using linguistic concepts that refer to sound. But historically people have used other means to address sound. For instance, numbers have been used to characterize intervallic quali-ties, sometimes people use physical gestures to characterize a melody, and visual models of various sorts have been used to represent sound features. In other words, we use various tools to grasp musical sound—sometimes for practical reasons of communication and sometimes for the purposes of knowl-edge building. So, while one might assume that hearing is sufficient for musical understanding, attempts to “grasp” musical sound with some other tools seem always to have accompanied music making itself. My project here is focused on visualizing, because it opens up some conceptual avenues that these other tools do not.

Visualizing the Musical Object

To “visualize” implies more than simply seeing, it implies “making” some-thing that can be seen—a bringing to visibility. As such it implies a certain kind of comprehension through conceptualization and it affords a kind of

“sharability.” Practically, visualizing allows us to point—literally or figuratively—to the thing and share thought about that thing with others. And, in the case of music, it means engaging the object in a way different from the way it is primarily apprehended—a visible thing is used to take account of a heard thing. For music, I am interested in how visualizing has the effect of

“making visible” some aspect of sound, allowing for communication and exchange, and then how this process can influence what is hearable.

By the term musical object I simply mean some “thing” of a sounding musical instance, which may become the focus of experience. This sense of

“object” is based in principles of phenomenological philosophy that hold that

“things” arise as a result of intentional acts within experience.² In a musical context, an object or musical thing has some kind of “shape” and meaning in our musical experience. While the musical object could be an entire piece, my primary interest here is with shorter, constitutive things that emerge from the moment-to-moment progress of a musical instance. The range of possible musical objects is wide: a melody, a “pastoral” character, a metallic timbre, a “blue” color, and so on.

The attempt to visualize music is long-standing. The earliest records of human writing also include some sort of representation of musical activity.

And since these earliest attempts, there have been a great variety of different notational systems both within and across various world cultures. The ency-clopedia Grove Music Online gives the following definition of notation: “A

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visual analogue of musical sound, either as a record of sound heard or imag-ined, or as a set of visual instructions for performers.”³ The authors don’t clarify in what senses musical notation is analogous to sound, but they do articulate two different purposes that notation serves. On one hand, notation provides a way of “preserving” a sound that is held in imagination or in memory:

from sound to visual representation. On the other hand, notation is read by a musician for the purposes of performance: from visual representation to sound.

It is widely believed that notation within the European tradition developed as an aide to memory, initially indicating only the contour of pitch sequences. It was primarily a tool for performers, and secondarily a way to preserve a rep-ertoire or piece. Over time, notation became more specific, representing more features of sound such as rhythm, timbre, dynamics, and articulation; and in conjunction with such growing specificity, it began to serve in the nineteenth century the function of preserving a composer’s intentions.

Despite its increasing specificity and its role in defining the “musical work,” notation does not completely determine a performance or a work. As an analog, the notation is not identical to the “music.” For instance, consider this notational figure from the beginning of William Bolcom’s Incineratorag.⁴ The notation is symbolic in the sense that the physical marks stand for some

“thing”—say, a pitch or a duration. The musician must learn not only the general system by which visual marks refer to sound but also the specific ways the notated sounds are realized on an instrument or voice. In this par-ticular instance, the musician must have acquired an advanced technique on the piano. From this background knowledge, the performer makes the nota-tion “sound” by “reading” the notanota-tion in two senses. One is the simple correlation between mark and sound: for instance, in the Bolcom passage I must know that the first pitch in both the left and right hands is an E^b at a

Figure 5.1 Bolcom, Incineratorag, measures 1–3

soft (piano) dynamic and that I should play the music at roughly the speed in which the quarter-note beat occurs 66 times per minute. Second, in order to make the “music” of this rag I must know something about the history of rags in the early twentieth century in order to project its proper expressive character, to play the syncopated rhythms with the appropriate amount of accent, and so on. In other words, to make the visual representations of the notation “come alive” the performer must interpret the music from the nota-tion. Thus we might more properly characterize the person who interprets as the “musician-performer”—that is, the performer must bring to bear a con-siderable and deep knowledge of “the music.” ⁵

European notational practice provides a kind of recipe for the music. It symbolizes directly what we might think of as the “basic ingredients” of the piece—its pitches, dynamics, durations, instrumentation—which must be

“cooked up” so to speak. And while it facilitates communication between composer and performer about the sounds of a particular piece, notation does not directly visualize the music. Following Charles Seeger, we may observe that the primary function of notation is prescriptive, not descriptive.⁶ It tells the performer what to do, and does not directly establish a visual analog of the musical object in descriptive terms.

Besides its function as a kind of “recipe” for performance, notation serves other kinds of purposes. In giving a kind of permanence to musical ideas, it serves to define a work apart from its performances. Further, notation is used for the purposes of study or other such investigation. For instance, we draw on scores for study of the historical development of musical style, of musical organization from the perspectives of theory and analysis, and of musical aesthetics. Thus thinking about music is generated in part from the same graphic symbols that are primarily intended as a kind of communication to performers. The people who engage in such study, who I’ll refer to as

“scholars,” must interpret the notation in ways similar to that of performers.

These scholars must read the music into the notation and hence must engage their abilities as musicians. In other words, they must operate as “musician-scholars” in order to engage the music.

While its function is primarily prescriptive not descriptive, traditional musical notation has provided access to the music of a work for the purposes of performance and study, and it has defined a work apart from its perfor-mances. However, in the twentieth and now twenty-first centuries various musical, technological, and cultural changes have challenged this role of notation and have drawn attention to the function of “visualizing” generally.

I briefly mention only some of these changes here and suggest how they have challenged both how music is performed and how we take account of it through verbal or visual means. I consider three types of challenge.

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Challenges

First, the advent of electronic music in the concert tradition has changed the way works in that medium are defined and preserved. Some works utilize only electronic sounds; they typically have no score and are preserved in sound recordings (tapes, CDs, digital files). For instance, classic works of this sort include Mario Davidovsky’s Electronic Study #1 and Edgard Varèse’s Poème Èlectronique, the latter including instances of musical borrowing from pre-existing recorded music or naturally occurring sounds.⁷ The performance of these works is enacted when someone—usually referred to as the “tech-nician”—pushes the play button. Thus, with no score, study and discussion of the music is obviously affected.⁸ Second, the rapidly growing prevalence of sound recordings in our daily lives has had a significant impact on musical practices—an impact felt in performance, scholarship, and listening itself. For instance, Terry Teachout has demonstrated that performance styles have lost their “regional” accents, replaced by an “international” style that arose as a consequence of young performers emulating the style of a few recorded performers.⁹ Scholars such as Jose Bowen now study recordings for evidence of the history of changing performance styles.¹⁰ And others link styles of performance to the needs of recording and broadcast technologies.¹¹ Third, the expansion of professional scholarship to include music of the jazz and popular traditions requires that some methodology be devised for the study of genres for which a score is not understood as the defining mark of a work.

These challenges have implications for not only the ways that we ad-dress but also how we comprehend the musical object. They illuminate the reliance of such comprehension on the notated score as a kind of visualiza-tion and suggest that other types of visualizing be used to assist our efforts toward comprehension. The remainder of my presentation here first examines in more detail the various ways that music has been visualized in both pre-scriptive and depre-scriptive terms and then demonstrates some other models based on principles of mapping.

Visualizing Music: Prescriptive and Descriptive Approaches The excerpt of Bolcom’s Incineratorag in Figure 5.1 exemplifies a prescrip-tive visualization: the composer writes symbols, whose references are prede-termined by an interpretive community, that prescribes what sounds should be played. Typically such visualizing provides the means for performing the sounds—both for the purposes of public performance or scholarly engage-ment with a work. Sometimes composers use other graphic models, which,

though they symbolize sound in other ways, are still prescriptive. For in-stance, Figure 5.2 shows an excerpt from Treatise, Cornelius Cardew’s Trea-tise, which uses shapes and other graphical marks to suggest types of musical gestures, dynamics, and textures.¹² While still providing the basic ingredients for a performance, such graphic notation establishes a relatively more inde-terminate relation between sound and symbol. Such notation relies on the bodily based sensory wholism, which allows us to transfer the significance of a graphic symbol to musical object.

Sometimes traditional European notation is used in ways that blur the prescriptive/descriptive boundaries. In the popular music world, it is often not the creator who notates a “song.” It is not uncommon for someone to tran-scribe a song from a recording for the purposes of selling the “sheet music”

to fans, students or other performers.¹³ And in studies of jazz and popular music, scholars often define their research projects around transcriptions of famous performers or performer/creators. For instance, Peter Winkler has written eloquently about the politics of transcription in the instance of an Aretha Franklin song. His article, “Writing Ghost Notes,” addresses the is-sues of using European notation to capture precisely a musical performance for the purpose of understanding what the performer does.¹⁴ But as Winkler observes, the traditional notation he employs can’t capture some of the mu-sical features he hears. One of Winkler’s figures, shown here in Figure 5.3, demonstrates his attempts to specify as exactly as possible the rhythm of Franklin’s vocal line in “I Never Loved a Man.” His goal of capturing pre-cisely Franklin’s performance in the recording yields notations of consider-able complexity with regard to pitch and rhythm. As Winkler points out, the transcription, while accurate, does not give a sense of an underlying musical Figure 5.2 Cardew, Treatise, page 1

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simplicity that characterizes the performance. The complexity results from the attempt to make the notation visualize the “music” and from the use of a prescriptive visual tool for a descriptive task.

In ethnomusicological studies, the issue of visualizing music is long-standing since scholars in that field often study music from other cultures that have no Figure 5.3 Winkler’s “attempted” transcription of Franklin’s vocal line

notation of their own. Nowadays, ethnomusicologists work from recordings and the types of transcriptions they produce are varied. Some employ symbols and a format similar to that of European notation, such as the transcription of a

“Hukwe melody” by Robert Garfias shown in Figure 5.4.¹⁵

Other scholars dispense entirely with European symbols and employ a mode of representation that is more simply descriptive. Sue Carol De Vale, in her study of harp and voice sounds in Uganda, invents or borrows graphi-cal marks to represent sound features—as shown in Figure 5.5.¹⁶ Like Cardew’s

Figure 5.4 Robert Garfias, transcription of Hukwe melody

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in Figure 5.2, the symbols of De Vale’s transcription depend on our ability to transfer the significance of a graphic symbol to musical object.

Such descriptive visualizations of sound play a role in the work of schol-ars addressing historical music in the European concert tradition. Music ana-lysts and theorists in particular have relied on various types of descriptive visualizations that are used to represent some aspect of musical structure.

Since “structure” is already itself a concept about musical sound, these visu-alizations are representations not so much of sound itself but of a concept about sounding relationships. For instance, some of the more famous visualiza-tions of music structure include Johann Heinichen’s musical circle. Figure 5.6 Figure 5.5 DeVale, Graphic Notation of Texture

Figure 5.6 Heinichen’s Musical Circle

cites an instance of the circle, which occurred in his 1711 treatise, Neu erfundene und grundliche Answeisung.¹⁷The circle demonstrates that keys—

both major and minor—listed in an order of increasing flats or sharps have a cyclical organization.¹⁸

A couple of centuries later, Heinrich Schenker visualizes the structure of a whole piece with his “graphic analyses.”¹⁹ Figure 5.7 cites his analysis a J.S.

Bach Prelude. The uppermost system is the “Ursatz”—the deepest level of structure—and the bottom system is the “Urlinie Tafel”—the foreground or surface level.

Schenker uses traditional Western notation but has transformed it to serve purposes that are descriptive but rely on a good deal of instruction and practice in the reading of the notational symbols.

In the 1980s, Robert Cogan used new technologies in sound analysis to produce pictures of the overtone structure of music.²⁰ Figure 5.8 shows one of Cogan’s “spectral photos”—this of the opening 54 seconds of Milton Babbitt’s Ensembles for Synthesizer, an electronic work with no score. Cogan’s Figure 5.7 Schenker, Graphic Analysis of J. S. Bach

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spectral photo here only depicts an excerpt of a longer work; and it is gen-erated by a “machine-like” reading of sound, unlike the graphic depictions of De Vale and Schenker.²¹

Visualizing as Conceptualizing

The visualizations considered so far illustrate a range of possible ways that musical sound has been comprehended by graphic means. My focus next is on what is entailed by the act of putting onto paper a visual symbol that represents musical sound and its implications for the ways that we compre-hend music.

For the composer, putting musical ideas onto paper is often part of the creative process itself. While there are stories of Mozart essentially transcrib-ing whole movements that were already fully formed in his imagination, it is more typical that notating and creating go hand in hand. However, it is im-portant to remember that the composer must be fully conversant with the conventions of notation and how its symbols refer to potential sounds. The notated symbols in this instance are primarily prescriptive—providing the ingredients necessary to “make” the music.

The issues surrounding the practice of descriptive visualization are more complex. Some of these issues have already been well articulated within the ethnomusicological community where transcriptions are often needed for purposes of study and discussion. Since the beginnings of ethnomusicological research, scholars were confronted with problems of notating music from non-Western cultures for the purposes of study. The promise of an automatic and hence “objective” transcription arose with the invention in the 1950s of such machines as the “melograph”—a machine that reads pitch variations and Figure 5.8 Cogan, spectral photo of Babbitt’s Ensembles for Synthesizer

displays it graphically. In his article, “The ‘objective and subjective’ View in Music Transcription,” Nazir Jairhaizboy points out some of the false assump-tions about the possibility of an objective transcription process. Part of the

displays it graphically. In his article, “The ‘objective and subjective’ View in Music Transcription,” Nazir Jairhaizboy points out some of the false assump-tions about the possibility of an objective transcription process. Part of the