I decided to try and squelch some of my more ADD tendencies, so I shut off all outside distraction, turned the lights down, and got to listening to the new Arcade Fire album while perched on my bed. Letting my mind wander, I started to pick up subtle nuances as the album developed. The melody slowly rising and overtaking the struggling Wynn Butler who seems early on in the album to be at war with the instrumentals, attempting to make his voice have meaning over the cacophony of sound. I thought to myself the lay out of this album is masterful, the transitions work beautifully, it builds from start to finish, just to come all crashing down as the first side ends. But this post is not about my feelings persay, it’s about the sense of coherence one feels when listening to an album in its entirety (which I will admit I didn’t even do since I stopped at the first side, my ADD sometimes always win out.)
Is the feeling of coherence intrinsic to the album itself? Most musicians and those around music would say definitely. The songs are placed in their order for some thematic reason that the authors have some privileged access to. It could be stylistic as in building up tempo, or it could be thematic as in many of the Killers’ early albums, taking you through a journey of pain and loss, ending on a bitter and exhausted note. What if a band such as Arcade Fire were to generate 40 songs and then dump them on their label who then have the job of ordering and building up a theme? Would the coherence one may feel from this be less valid than the coherence one feels from an album constructed coherently by the author? Do creation and construction live in separate realms?
To understand this question, one must look from where coherence comes from. For all the best laid plans a band has, people are fickle with regards to feeling how you want them to. The coherence of theme may be lost for the coherence of melody and tempo. In fact, single songs are sometimes put into coherent narratives by our own personal coherence generating mechanism, our brains. Many people experience the feeling of having their Ipod on shuffle, or listening to the radio, and that perfect song coming on at just the right moment. The song order was fundamentally random with no underlying structure, yet you the observer felt some deeper meaning in the songs arrival in your personal arc. In fact, many people hope to discover new connections in their music repertoire with external coherence generating mechanisms, such as ITunes Genius and Pandora. These systems attempt to synthesize an underlying coherence of the listener’s music tastes and map them onto either new or already existing songs within the listener’s repertoire.
Now it seems that I have come to divide creation and construction as two separate realms, in that construction can be reconstruction by the observers, the consumers of music. But this same reconstructing of narratives that listeners do, is the same sort of reconstruction bands do as they are creating albums, and songs. The tempo, notes, and beats of stanzas are constantly being morphed, blended, discarded, folded into larger themes, melodies, cadences of songs, which are then recombined, spliced, manipulated, lengthened into full-fledged albums with their own arcs, narratives and meta-structures. But is this process linear, does it build from stanza, to song to album without any feedback between these interlocking steps?
Music occupies a particular human world of creative expression. Though it is unique, it falls within the realm of human cognition and I think the answer to this quandary may lie there. A simple analogy to the process of language production may be illuminating. Whenever one blurts out something to their friend about how grand their day was, what comes first the meaning of the message or the content used to convey said meaning? Many people instinctively say that meaning comes first, for without the meaning, why would we express that particular phrase? But if the meaning came first, what language was the meaning in? If it was in English, then isn’t the meaning already in words, so where did the words come from to give to the meaning. Many researchers have come down on the side of the co-relationship between meaning and content. Both simultaneously constrain one another.
The vocabulary we have at our disposal affects the meanings that we express and vice versa. There’s a reason people who speak more than one language often talk about thinking, or reasoning in another language so as to resolve some problem. Linguistic constraints beget reasoning constraints (Dennett, 247). Oliver Sachs has a wonderful, reporting of the constraining aspects of linguistic mediums:
“Communication by motor behavior became a very important part of the transference…[W]ithout knowing it, I was receiving two sets of communication simultaneously: one in words, a form in which the patient ordinarily communicated with me; the other in gestures [signs], as the patient used to communicate with his father. At other times in the transference, the motor symbols represented a gloss upon the verbal text the patient was communicating. These motor symbols contained additional material which either augmented or more likely contradicted what was being communicated verbally. In a sense, “unconscious material” was making its appearance in consciousness by way of motor rather by way of verbal communication (Sachs, 34).”
Transference is a bit much for me, but it is clear that the mode with which reasoning is articulated and rehearsed affects the thoughts that are produced. Verbal and motor communicative structures are different and can construct thoughts in ways that are sometimes at odds. The abacus and calculator are two different methods for the same goal “calculation”, yet the mechanisms used and results generated can diverge.
Dennett, D. Unconcsiousness Explained. Little, Brown and Company: Boston. 1991.
Sachs, O. Seeing Voices: A Journey into the World of the Deaf. Harper Collins: New York. 1990.