Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts

Thursday, September 16, 2021

Sr. Mary Ruth, "The Curriculum of the Catholic Woman's College in Relation to the Problems of Modern Life" (1916)

 [106] The first step in defining what the woman's college ought to do is to state its primary aims, because they should direct us in the choice of the various subjects of study. The nature of the means, which in the present educational problem is the curriculum, is largely determined by the nature of the purpose to be attained. Social and industrial changes are making great demands upon the college for suitable preparation for life. The striking lack of educational standards by which the effectiveness of college training is judged, urges a consideration of what is the fundamental task of the woman's college.

Christianity has lost much of its vitality in the world since it has been taught through books. In the olden time when knowledge of Our Lord, of His Heavenly Father, and of His Blessed Mother, were taught by word of mouth and by mystery plays, God and His saints were very real to their followers who willingly, even gladly, suffered all things to prove their love of [107] Him. Again, in the olden time when morals were taught by word of mouth, by example, and by morality plays, all intimately related to God the Creator and Saviour [sic] and sanctifier of men, the priests and other teachers, whether in the missionary field, or at home among their own people, even though according to modern standards quite unlearned in science and art, were able to lift themselves and their followers to higher and higher planes of Christian life and civilization. Since we have undertaken to make the knowledge of God an academic subject, however, knowledge of Him has become in great measure memorized statements that have little or no influence upon our daily lives. To a large proportion of civilized men, Christ is a myth like William Tell. To-day [sic] because the love of God no longer dominates men's lives, we have a world war, nations battling against nations, and the spectacle of the powerful ruler of a so-called Christian nation decorating a man for writing a hideous "Chant of Hate."

The first aim, then , of the woman's college is to make its students real Christians; lovers and followers of a real Christ. Both consciously and unconsciously we imitate those whom we love; we do what we think will please them, and we develop along the lines of their development, and grow to become like them. Christ's life on earth was a life of love and service of man. If our students love Christ, they, consciously or unconsciously imitating Him, will also love and be eager to serve those with whom they associate in their daily lives, not only their families, but their communities, and thus their country. While the woman's college is inspiring its students with a love of Our Lord and of His Blessed Mother and the saints, it will make sure in their minds and hearts the relation between that love and the love of His children and the desire to serve Him through serving them.

The second aim of a Catholic woman's college, therefore, is to fit its students to serve God through serving the community in which they live. This directs our attention to the vocational aspect of education which at the present time is the dominant feature of all educational discussion. In the Catholic woman's college this is a vocational problem correlated in no way with [108] the training for a money-making occupation; rather it is the problem of giving preparation for the life that the student will lead after she leaves college, and making that lifework the basis of her preparation. The real vocational motive is to be construed as one which stimulates and enables the student to acquire not only the knowledge for, but the art of living the purposeful life which she thinks she is fitted by capacity and taste to lead after her college course is finished, thereby making her a contributing member of society and giving her a positive value in the social equation. the power of a worthy purpose to create and maintain interest and to stimulate study, is of supreme importance in college as in high school and, indeed, in all education. The desire for preparedness to meet one's life-task is the best stimulus to seek the requisite training for it.

The term, problems of modern life, stamps the subject of our discussion as a sociological question, and requires an understanding and an appreciation of present conditions of society. Upon a surface view we are immediately confronted with a multitude of problems of modern living, each of which has its claims. But back of them all, because it lies at the basis of all, and towering above them all, is the vitally important problem of the home. It needs no argument to establish this thesis. What everyone agrees to needs no discussion. Upon the home, its spirit and training, depend those fundamental attitudes of a man or woman that control all the relations of life.

In order that this Section of the Catholic Educational Association may be a constructive force in the educational betterment of our Catholic women's colleges, the vital topic, the relation of the curriculum of the Catholic woman's colleges to the problems of modern life, has been proposed for our discussion. We can do little more in the first meeting than to bring the subject before the consideration of our college teachers for an analysis of conditions, with the hope of making it a matter of continuous study, observation, experiment and discussion, to be checked by follow-up work which should judge of the value of the education by its functioning in later life; that is, by the degree of success attained by our students, measured by their own standards of ethics. Finally, in order to make the study widely profitable, [109] we should make reports of our findings, giving to all the benefit of the experience of each. Then shall we awaken inquiry into the relative values of subjects of the curriculum to equip the college young woman for the efficient home, and stimulate experiment to discover these values. Then also shall we realize the potentiality of this Section of the Association as an agency in constructing an educational plan to conserve the ideals of the home, to raise those ideals to a higher level and to furnish training in household management, thus to safeguard the home by laying under contribution to that end the intellectual and ethical instruments of the curriculum.

The far-reaching industrial and social changes of the nineteenth century brought in their train momentous changes which have affected no institution so profoundly as the home. In less than thirty years new machinery has virtually revolutionized industrial methods, removing one industry after another to the factory, until at the present time nearly all the clothing is made in the factory, the tailor shop, or the modiste-studio; much of the food is prepared in the packing house, the canning-factory, the bakery, and the delicatessen store. Instead of knitting the stockings and making the dresses and aprons at the family fireside, the woman of the house places the order, and lo! the ready-made garment is at the door. Instead of making the bread, she, or her maid telephones and the bread is delivered fresh for dinner. Instead of moulding [sic] candles, she touches a button and the carbon filaments radiate light. There is no escaping the fact that physical conditions affect and greatly modify human relations and the sense of spiritual obligations. When food and clothing were prepared in the home, the members of the family were identified with the various processes and were associated in the work. This identity of aim and cooperation of service was the basis of organization upon which the solidarity of the home depended. The home was the industrial unit. Stern necessity was the creator and the custodian of the home spirit. Its compelling force in keeping the members of the common tasks, working in common and sharing in common, was effective in building deep relationships of the home and developing the [110] altruistic ideals, leading selfish human nature to exercise itself in unselfishness, thereby preparing itself for social obligations.

The principle of solidarity is fundamental to society. There can be no national spirit, no world spirit, without the loyalty which depends for its vitality upon the tap-root of solidarity. This root, because those primary relationship which are its essence can be formed only during the plastic years of childhood, must have its beginning in the home.

It cannot be expected that there will be any reversion to the old industrial system. The old-time home with its numerous industries will never return. More of its already nearly depleted activities will be taken over by the factories. A change and readjustment to the new conditions is inevitable. The relationships of the family must be strengthened by some other means than work. We must find some substitute for work to conserve the home as the center where may be formed those ties of affection which are the sources of the deepest joys of life. Dr. Andrews says in Education for the Home:

"Strength and satisfaction in the home relationships form a prime problem. The breaking down of the family bond is to be overcome by strengthening that bond, by enriching the home experience of the individual, child and adult alike. . . . Our education for the home will be a sorry thing indeed if it concerns simply the household arts of cooking, sewing, and household care unless it teaches us the art of 'family building', of home-making, of living in families in such ways as to bring increasing personal satisfaction as the years go."[1]

The "enrichment of home experience" in the sense of cementing family bonds was furnished by the mutual service required in providing the comforts of life. There is a deep truth in Pestalozzi's statement, "It is the social side of parental solicitude that makes environmental influences themselves of spiritual value, contributing thereby to the higher intellectual and emotional life. The stocking which the mother knits before her son's eyes has a deeper significance in his education than the one he buys at the shop or puts on without knowing where it came from."[2] [111] This concrete expression of the value of work in moulding the child's deepest sentiments is an argument for some other agency in the absence of work as a substitute to develop unselfish family relationships.

The present crisis in the decadence of the home tests our capacity to adapt the curriculum and training to the new conditions. The new factor to reckon with is the leisure of the members of the family. Practically, for both men and women, the hours of leisure have been doubled. This has been done for women by the transfer of industries and by fixing the maximum number of hours which women may work in stores and factories. The hours of men have been proportionally shortened. The sixteen-hour day has been shortened to an eight-hour day. The office hours from nine o'clock until five leave long stretches of leisure. Whether we like it or not, the solution of the problem lies in enriching the home experience, by organizing the leisure of the home and making it by its very attractiveness a compelling force to accomplish the solidarity of the home. It may not have the same unifying effectiveness as work. It is a less tangible, less insistent influence, and therefore will require finer art and more careful preparation on the part of the home-makers to make it an integrating force. There is a daily challenge to the woman of the home to make it an enriching experience.

"The home of the future must be cultured. . . . The companionship in the work of their hands that husband and wife have lost, they must find again in the cultivation of their minds and hearts. The home of the future must breathe a charm so potent that it will gather to its bosom each evening the dispersed and weary toilers of the day. The home of the future must be the sanctuary of life and the dwelling-place of love; the mind must find in it room to grow in all the realities of truth and beauty; its atmosphere must be that of refinement and culture; beauty must cover it with her mantle and courage must protect it with his shield. . . . Woman must preserve the home of the future. She must preserve in it the sacred fires of religion and culture. Through it she must save man from materialism and from the worship of the golden calf. She must build a home in which he will find rest from his toil, consolation in his sorrow, strength to battle with temptations, courage in the midst of disaster, and companionship in the highest aspirations [112] of his soul," says Dr. T. E. Shields, in The Education of Our Girls.[3] 

 These words written in 1907 have application to-day not less than a decade ago. This consideration invests leisure with extraordinary importance as a constructive force of society. "The girl problem or the boy problem is inherently a leisure-time problem," says Montague Gammon.[4] What inference must we make as to our duty in this vitally important matter?

Our home-makers must catch the purpose and appreciate the value of leisure in saving the home. To develop in young women a consciousness of their duty toward the home, to see and to use the golden opportunity that leisure offers them to make the home a center of happiness, to help them to accomplish in some measure the vital union of theory and practice in the fine art of living, this is our basis of orientation. Dr. Andrews says, "A new vocational emphasis is in the older education as well as in the education called vocational, and the home is to be one of the beneficiaries of this changed point of view."[5] Home must be such a pleasant place that it will lay hold upon the affection and loyalty of every member of the family. It should compete successfully with the club house, the dance hall, the billiard room, the vaudeville theatre [sic], and the amusement park. The home should be so attractive that when the man of the house leaves his office or place of business, he will take the most direct way to reach it, and the adolescent boy and girl will from pure choice spend their evenings in the family circle. The attitude of the members of the family toward their home is a reasonable basis for the evaluation of its potency as a constructive force in their lives. To strengthen home-mindedness then, is the vital task that lies before us. It is the problem that the Catholic woman's college should address itself to, and readjust the curriculum so that the various subjects with their resources and interests may develop in the students with appropriate attitude and ideals. The present group system which obtains generally in the college and regulates the course of a student [113] makes easy the conditions of such an achievement. Indeed Dr. A. W. Harris, ex-president of Northwestern University, says, "Of a hundred girls more than eighty will become home-makers; they constitute so large a group with a common life business that special studies and methods adapted to their needs may fairly be required of all."[6] The selection of studies to attain this aim should hold high place in our purposes and be the object of our best thinking and investigation. Would that an educational prophet might arise and name the subjects which would contribute most effectively to this end! The movement for scientific measurement of educational results is slowly gaining ground and it is challenging the methods of education; but even though we had reliable standards of measurement, anything like a scientific rating in the measurement of training for home-making could be made only after the lapse of years.

The results of the present education as given in the woman's college shows that woman has been educated away from the home. Miss Addams says, "Modern education recognizes woman quite apart from family or society claims, and gives her the training which for many years has been successful for highly developing a man's individuality and forcing his powers for independent action."[7] The woman's college has not emphasized the conservation and enrichment of home life. Instead of stressing the fine values of home companionship, it has emphasized the possibilities of community service, woman's opportunities of club membership, and the obligations of a wide social nature, with the result that many women have acquired a false perspective of their duties. The woman's college has pointed with pride to the fact that its entrance requirements were the same as those of men's colleges. The Report of the Commissioner of Education for 1916 shows that there are eighty-four colleges with an attendance of 19,179 undergraduates to which men are not admitted. This does not exhaust the number of such colleges, as there are some not rated in this report. They have all modeled their curriculum closely upon that of men's colleges.

Inasmuch as women perform different functions from men, [114] it is logical that some preparation be made for the tasks that fall to their lot. So far we have given very little attention to working out lines of distinct instruction especially adapted to woman and her God-given work in the home. The Association of Inter-Collegiate Alumnae have felt the need of such adjustment, and at their convention in New York in 1911, the principal subject of discussion was the possibility of adding to the curriculum subjects of special value to women. Hygiene, biology, and sociology were the subjects in greatest favor. It requires no extended study to see that we must do more than merely train the intellect. Our aim is not to educate the students to find delight in reading Browning in solitude. The study of higher mathematics and an analytic study of the Greek dramatists are not best adapted to develop that quality of character which is most needed in home-making. For the woman in the home, culture is not to be valued as a personal acquisition as such, but merely as a development of her personality to make her effective in the service of others.

Socialization of education is a new term injected into the educational vocabulary. The changes in the curriculum of schools indicate a shifting of emphasis from knowledge in itself to its purpose in terms of group interest and group development, and mutual interrelations of the group. Nowhere has this principle greater application than in preparing our students for future homes. A measurement of the success of her college education, therefore, is not the measure of her capacity for happiness; rather it is the measure of how far she actualizes the fine, rare ideals of womanhood in the home. Dr. Andrews says, "The home as a conservative institution has been slow to receive educational attention, but its vital interests make education for the home second to none in importance." To formulate a curriculum with such an objective must from the nature of the case be a long task. It is very difficult to evaluate subjects. We know that the finest values elude all measurement. We cannot conclude that each subject of the curriculum has a specific service as a "life value." Such an inference Mr. Van Piper says would be like saying that, "If a course in mathematics is a prerequisite for a given course in physics, then [115] each chapter in mathematics is a prerequisite for some corresponding chapter in physics. Everybody knows there is never any such correlation of part to part. . . . There would be much essential matter in the mathematics which could not be sanely omitted, yet which would find no specific application in the physics proper. In a precisely  parallel way there may easily be phases in a preparatory training school which still are not, as such, anticipatory of any corresponding demands in adult life."[8]

There is no way of arriving at a determination of the "life values" of different studies. It is difficult to determine the value of those studies which have been tried out in the curriculum for ages; new subjects will have to be tried out and their effects noted in the efficiency of the real home-maker. Moreover, all the other subjects, however well planned, are inadequate without vital religion which should be both the root and the flower of the curriculum. Faith in God the Creator, and trust in His providence whereby He feeds and clothes and shelters His children and "opens His hand to supply the wants of every living creature," and a personal love of our Divine Saviour Who is our model of loving service, will inspire the spirit of loving service and self-devotion. True religion begets character. Let pulsating, practical religion permeate the daily life of the students and it will inspire them to serve others. The subjects of the curriculum will equip them to execute that which religion prompts them to do.

One important principle which is fast gaining ground is that there should be correlation between the curriculum and the normal experience of the student. Education must be brought into intimate relation with life in the twofold aspect of work and leisure, both of which should be put on an educational basis. Economy and efficiency of effort which is the objective of training in household management, contributes to the leisure which we have seen is to be used purposefully to enrich the home. The woman of the future must appreciate the value of leisure and employ it systematically for moral ends. Broadly [116] speaking, the equipment of the home-maker has a twofold aspect, practical and cultural, or according to Dr. Andrews' distinction, household management and home-making. The ends are efficiency and cultured personality. The home-maker should know how to organize household activities. Mrs. Willard, who discovered domestic economy as a subject of instruction, said, "It is believed that housewifery might be greatly improved by being taught, not only in practice, but in theory. There are right ways of performing its various operations, and there are reasons why those ways are right." Both the facts and the principles of household management the home-maker should know. This scientific knowledge will furnish economy and efficiency of effort, thereby increasing the leisure time. Denatured drudgery is a significant term which connotes both the lessening of the work and the glorifying it with the home-making motive.

Home economics, therefore, should occupy a large place in the differential curriculum planned for the home-maker. This is a complex, comprehensive subject including a wide range of material and its courses of instruction should be both technical and cultural. It is defined by the American Home Economics Association, Baltimore, Md., [sic] as the study of the economic, sanitary, and aesthetic aspects of food, clothing, and shelter as connected with their selection, preparation, and use by the family in the home, or by other groups of people. It lays under contribution the subjects of art, history, anthropology, sociology, aesthetics, economics, physiology, hygiene, mathematics, physics, and biology.[9] This subject should be placed on an equality with any science, political or social, and given a dignity and an importance accorded to any of the sciences. It should give the student an acquaintance with the rational ways of conducting the household; cultivate good taste and judgment of clothing values, artistic and economic; it should give such training as would guarantee freedom from such a dismal domestic failure as "Mrs. Hamlyn, who, with an A. M. from the State University, was always in trouble with her servants; the meals were irregular [117]; the table not appetizing; her house in disorder and her children absolutely undisciplined," according to Dr. Shields.[10]

We should stress with emphasis the social sciences, and stress equally the importance of their philosophical principles being in accord with the principles of faith. According to Dr. Andrews's judgment, sociology should be studied from a threefold view-point [sic]: (a) General sociology, giving the origin and development of civilization and the structure and function of present institutions; (b) Domestic sociology, dealing specifically with the origin, development, structure and functions of the family and the home as a human institution; (c) A study of the practical movement for general social betterment. A study of sociology, however, will not create or nourish the spirit which appreciates those finer, rarer interests of the home, but it will make the student understand the significance of the courses in home economics in their relation to modern problems, and the young woman who understands the home in relation to the larger life of which it is a part, will approach all problems of home economics with a deeper appreciation of their connection with the realities of life. Home economics must get its point of view from sociology. The center of interest of sociology is the relation of individuals to each other. This adjustment of personal relation depends chiefly upon spiritual conditions. Habits, purposes, and ideals of life affect profoundly these relations. This fact makes apparent the value of psychology in the curriculum. If we could make home economics a branch of applied psychology with the creation of an ideal home and family as its great purpose, the study would give not only academic instruction and expansion of mental outlook, but it would furnish an insight into experience to see the interrelations of physical problems with the spiritual aspects of human life.

A basis of Catholic philosophy is essential in the curriculum of the Catholic woman's college. We look to religion for the Christian ideal, and the inspiration and grace to advance toward it. Moreover, philosophical principles may be appreciated with [118] precision and yet be ineffective as a practical guide to conduct. Morality depends upon good will rather than upon knowledge, yet the moral nature is rational and requires a rational account of duty. Especially is a grasp of the underlying principles of true philosophy necessary to point out the fallacies in the theories proposed by some secular philanthropists and modern sociologists, between which and the principles of Catholicism there is "an essential and irreconcilable antagonism." From the field of philosophy it is practicable to derive a great deal of material vitally helpful to the Catholic woman's college alumna, yet it is important to keep insistently in consciousness the fact that we are preparing her to safeguard the home, not to take the chair of philosophy in college. A study of logic will help her to think correctly. A course in Introduction to Philosophy is recommended to give an acquaintance with the principles of scholastic philosophy, and as far as may be accomplished to cultivate the power of philosophical criticism. This is especially important in view of the widespread materialistic philosophy which interprets all human living in economic terms, the logical outcome of which we are reaping in the present world war [NB: WWI]. The aim here should not be to give the student complete knowledge of the evolution of idealism from Descartes to Hegel, nor of empiricism from Bacon to Mill, nor of pragmatism, as purely a matter of philosophical knowledge, but to give her an insight into the essential philosophical truths that she may be able to discover the principles underlying the method of a social movement and judge of its truth or falsity.

The study of ethics is of paramount importance. Especially is this true at the present time when the prevalent ethical standard is the humanitarian standard, and altruism and social efficiency are regarded as ends in themselves, and social welfare, as the end of conduct from which all moral values are derived. It is evident that to discover the principles of humanitarianism in its methods of social service, which are popular and appealing and to a great degree praiseworthy, a knowledge and an appreciation of the grounds of moral obligation and of the essential importance of right motives are necessary. But the Catholic woman must discriminate between the system of morality based [119] on the ideal of the service of humanity and the system that recognizes that the universal order is the expression of the divine will to which the individual is obliged to conform his conduct, and that one essential factor of his conduct is the service he owes his neighbor. Moreover, with the increasing worldliness and unrestrained love of pleasure, the trend of the time toward the standard of utilitarianism as the determinant of moral values, and toward hedonism which ignores all moral values, it is important to know the true criterion of conduct; to see that although morality has its independent root in the rational nature, yet ultimately it has the same source as religion; namely, the Infinite Good; that both are connected with the end of man and that the sphere of each is penetrated by the principles of the other.

At the present time when our country should be aglow with patriotic fervor, the study of Christian ethics will give the scientific basis of patriotism and show that it is a virtue and a sacred duty. Here we shall find the principle calling upon the Catholic woman to make the sacrifices which the present crisis requires; to simplify her way of life; to do without luxuries, even to deprive herself of daily comforts, and to accept all the privations that she may have to endure, and thus become a sharer of the soldier's sacrifice. To be specific: To encourage the young woman to economize in the preparation of food and to prevent all household waste (here we note the close correlation between ethics and household economics); to be willing to stifle the instinct to conform to fashion even to wearing a gown of last year's style; to substitute simple social functions for the elaborate receptions and theatre parties; in a word, to forego every superfluity, imbued as she should be with the feeling that it is the duty of every woman to do all in her power to help her brother called to the front.

In the forefront of subjects that furnish mental culture are the foreign languages. The tendency of the current educational scheme away from Greek is manifested widely. Within the last few years there has been a shift of emphasis also from the study of Latin. Meanwhile, the discussion regarding the theory of general discipline continues. Besides the value of whatever [120] "transfer" of general powers which does take place, the study of Latin is valuable as a means of preparation for the acquisition of a Romance language, as well as for its direct bearing upon the study of English. Prof. A. F. Lange, dean of the School of Education, University of California, says, "Just because it is so radical in the specific disciplines it can be made to furnish (the results of which are transferable, at least to things that are human), Latin as an educational means has virtues that other subjects have not." In addition to this two-fold reason of "general" and "specific disciplines" is the value of the content of the Latin masterpieces studied. Archbishop Spalding says, "The educational value of classics does not lie so much in the Greek and Latin languages as in the type of mind, the sense of proportion and beauty, the heroic temper, the philosophic mood, the keen relish for high enterprise, and the joyful love of life which they make known to us." Granted that in this factor the Latin classics are greatly surpassed by the Greek, yet the possibilities in this regard inherent in the study of the language form an additional reason why we would retain the Latin in the curriculum of the woman's college. The modern languages enjoy an increasing popularity as subjects which will function in the daily life. Either French or German should be a part of the education of every college alumna; she should have not only a reading knowledge, but a certain conversational facility in the language.

For the development of the intellectual and aesthetic quality of mind, we would emphasize the liberalizing value of literature with the caution to avoid academic-mindedness. The tendency has been to intellectualize everything taught in order that the student might know for the sake of knowing. Perhaps there has been too little conscious attempt to teach this subject in a manner that emphasizes and fixes in the student's mind right attitudes towards life and to develop fine appreciation and high ideals of womanhood. This will require the study of literary embodiments of their ideals.

History which we have been wont to rank next to literature as a culture study, is being displaced in a measure by the social sciences on the plea that according to present standards it is [121] overloaded with material which is not of substantial worth in realizing the present aim of education. The Catholic woman's college, however, cannot afford to lessen the emphasis upon the history of the Christian centuries.

Music should be included in the curriculum, not so much to enable the home-maker to furnish beautiful music as means of entertainment; the victrola [NB: brand of wind-up phonograph; also generally refers to any wind-up phonograph] of to-day enables us to hear the pianist's conception executed perfectly; to hear Godowski, not as Godowski really plays, but better,—as Godowski would wish to play, by enabling him to become his own best critic and to correct his own execution. The study of music is most valuable for its cultural effect. For the same reason art should be studied. The culture value of both music and art in developing appreciation of the fine arts and in cultivating the emotional side of one's nature is preeminently high. In adding to the power of the rational enjoyment of leisure they are significant studies.

Emphasis should be given especially to the cultivation of the speaking voice, both for its effect upon others and for its reaction upon one's own state of mind. A querulous voice is a powerful excitant of domestic scenes. On the other hand, a cultivated voice under control has a value that would be difficult to exaggerate. It acts effectively upon others and reacts upon one's self. Mr. Arnold Bennett says in his volume, The Human Machine, that ninety-nine per cent of all daily friction is caused by mere tone of voice. "It is a curious thing that an agreeable tone artificially and deliberately adopted will influence the mental attitude almost as much as the mental attitude will influence the tone. If you honestly feel resentful against some one, but having understood the foolishness of fury, intentionally mask your fury under a persuasive tone, your fury will at once begin to abate." It is of supreme importance that the curriculum should offer an opportunity for this element of cultural equipment.

For a large number of our students, the greatest value of their college education should come from both increased knowledge and deepened sympathy and insight. The aim is not to make literati, but to encourage the students to combine with [122] school activities and social experience the art of home-making and an appreciation of womanly ideals. Socialization of the student is the educational watchword of to-day; that is, to give the student the view that right conduct rather than knowledge is the ultimate aim of education.

The policy of the Catholic woman's college in the solution of this radically vital problem of modern life, the safeguarding of the home, reflects the spirit and judgment of the Catholic Church. It should stress the cultivation of that phase of college life both in curricular studies and in extra curricular activities which is best fitted to develop and strengthen the personal life which Dr. Andrews says "education for the home is ultimately to furnish." Our students should be of the intellectual-moral êlite [sic]. Historically, culture has meant that body of knowledge which individuals use in their leisure. We would not reconstruct the concept, but we would effect a rapprochement between the college curriculum and the normal experience so that the studies will function in the daily lives of the students from the standpoint of our present social organization, the basis of which is the home. Adapting the Catholic woman's college to the needs of its students and readjusting it to present conditions, will be the sign and the expression of our appreciation of, and our response to, the needs of present environment.

To summarize: The great problem of modern life is the saving of the home. As a real home, it is going and partly gone. The "downfall of the home" is a current theme of discussion. In the past, the home was preserved by the solidarity that work creates, but work has been greatly eliminated, and even the hours of men's labors are shortened by half. Therefore, the solidarity of the home as created and preserved by work is gone. Solidarity of another kind is the solution of the problem. What solidarity? There is only one—the solidarity of an organized leisure. If woman is to be a home-maker, the enrichment of the home by the systematic use of leisure becomes her real life-career. How to organize leisure is the heart of our problem. Woman must be educated, not to find her delight as a solitary with her books as her best companions, but in the center of the home where she must make herself and her home [123] so attractive as to charm the home folk; so that her husband will hasten from his place of business and her sons and daughters will hasten from school, all to join the home-circle. Are we educating our students for that at present? Will Greek and higher mathematics train the woman for this? We are educating woman away from the home. Culture has for its aim, or rather the school has for its aim in giving culture, to fit woman to shine in public, to lead in club work, and to take part in platform speaking. We, of the Catholic woman's college, know our aim. We must educate woman for organized leisure. How? It will take a long time to work out the system. The method is as yet only tentative, but we must keep the aim steadily in view; work and try out plans, and as far as they succeed, adopt them, mindful all the time that the inspiration of the best initiative and the dynamic of that self-sacrifice and devotion without which home would be but a hostelry, is the spirit of religion which invests ordinary duties with an extraordinary dignity and which is the rootage [sic] and the fruitage of home life and of all worthy social life.

DISCUSSION

Mary A. Moloy, A. M., Ph. D., College of Saint Teresa, Winona, Minnesota: In appreciation of Sister Ruth's beautiful paper I will say that I sincerely trust that she outlines what may be possible in our women's colleges in the not too distant future.

In general, as far as graduates of schools go, undoubtedly eighty out of one hundred girls find their places in the home. With college graduates, however, it is different. From statistics gathered some years since from colleges granting degrees to women, we find that only thirty-three per cent of college women graduates find their place in the home. Can we at the present ignore the claims of the sixty-seven per cent who may wish to pursue work other than that bearing directly on the home?

We are not saying that this attitude of women pointing away from the home is as it should be. We merely see it as a condition with which we have to reckon. Women are restless in this generation. They are taking their places side by side with men in political, economic, sociological and pedagogical fields. We do not say that this is as it should be but the fact is not to be overlooked. If a young woman wishes to become a specialist in higher mathematics, in the classics or in history or sociology, is her ambition legitimate? Shall we let her go from our keeping [124] to seek the training she desires where the boldest and the saddest doctrines advanced in philosophy since the organization of the faculty of liberal arts are made part of her course?

Let us give her mathematics, the classics, history, even the professional courses in law and medicine, in the safe and holy atmosphere of the Catholic college. Let the mathematics, the classics, the science, be so full, so thorough, so advanced, that for the mere secular branches alone she can nowhere find them more thoroughly and carefully presented. Let us give her what she wishes of secular learning that is legitimate, and thus save her to the Catholic faith through the philosophy that she will learn from us to interpret correctly and in terms of eternal truth, her theory of science, her practice in sociology or her interpretation of history. This is quite in accord with the practice of the Church in all times. There has never been a legitimate demand on the part of men or women that she has not magnificently provided for.

It is the ultimate business of the Catholic college to educate women out of their restlessness back again into the home.

It has been said that the home is a vanishing institution, but we must change all this. The home has been turned out into the street and the paved road has invaded the cloister. But souls are to be saved by the hundreds and it is not a matter of supererogation but a sacred imperative duty to rescue the flower of our Catholic young womanhood from the education that will prove to be their undoing. We must bend every available energy to enable our young women to take their places side by side with the women of the times in every line of legitimate endeavor in which women are engaged. Let us not forget that in the first centuries of our era there were Christians in the very palaces of the Caesars and we know to what glorious purpose.

The Catholic college for women in America has a magnificent opportunity to regenerate the times. Can we afford to side-step the issue, be blind to its appeal and fail in the supreme work that as Catholic educators we are called upon to do?

Rev. J. H. Ryan, D. D., St. Mary-of-the-Woods College, Ind.: It would be difficult, indeed, to exaggerate the value of the learned and timely paper, "The Curriculum of the Catholic Woman's College and the Problems of Modern Life." The author not only appreciates the conditions existing in our colleges for women, but what is more important, possesses a vision of the future status of women in American society and of the means of preparing them for their work. She emphasizes two points which to my mind are of fundamental import. First, the Catholic woman's college is for the education of women—rather an obvious statement, yet one constantly lost sight of by educators. No one denies that women can follow, and very successfully, the courses outlined for men in college and university, but the question is not, can they, but ought they? It was a foolish pride which prompted educational authorities to lay [125] down identical courses for men and women, ignoring all the physiological and psychological differences between the sexes. Let us go back to what the ideal of the woman's college ought to be—a womanly woman. Secondly, the Catholic woman's college is Catholic; that is, its ideals, its methods, its spirit, are imbued with Catholic truth and tend to the production of ideal Catholic women. If the college is false to either of these ideals, its raison d'etre ceases then and there.

Before discussing in particular the curriculum of our women's colleges and its bearing on the problems which concern Catholic women to-day, a word of suggestion may not be out of place. There is altogether too much formality in our teaching; too much book work, note-taking, memorizing, and that especially in the cultural subjects. There is too little correlation of thought and action. Education must not be divorced from life; they are in reality one and the same thing, viewed from different angles. If there is one place where we would look for and expect dynamism in education it is in the colleges for women. Men readily throw off the evil effects of a formalistic training by contact with a vital, strenuous world, but the lives of women are more sheltered and guarded, and they have not the opportunities of so readily correcting false impressions absorbed during college days.

The author of the paper under discussion realizes the new orientation in woman's education. She demands, and for excellent reasons, that it be socialized more and more in order to meet the conditions and requirements of modern life. The industrialism of the last century has indeed wrought great changes in the home, and therefore in the lives of women with respect to the home. And not only have the old conceptions of the home been changed; the very outlook of women on life itself has been marvelously transformed. Women, and especially college women, do not look upon marriage to-day as the end-all of their existence. Statistics from secular colleges will bear out this statement. Unfortunately there are no statistics available for our Catholic women's colleges, though I see no reason why the same conclusion should not be true of them as well. Then, women to-day are becoming more and more independent economically. Over seventy-five per cent of the graduates of Catholic women's colleges go either into the professions or into business. In the majority of cases, it is true, this is merely temporary occupation. Industry, therefore, has not only changed the home; it has worked a revolution in women themselves and in their attitude toward life.

Woman's education ought to be socialized, but can that be done by the mere addition of "social studies" to the present curriculum? Will the super-imposition of sociology, political economy, domestic science, on cultural subjects, develop a woman capable of appreciating the needs of the times and of doing her part in meeting its demands on her? To my mind an altogether different emphasis is necessary. The home-making studies must not be dragged along as so many step-children; [126] they are real children, the heirs of the future. They must be stressed and emphasized. They must be given the place of honor in the curriculum. A new curriculum is so necessary as a change in emphasis, a reorganization of the old curriculum and a new correlation of its parts, with insistence placed on those subjects which will prepare our women not only "to make a living" as someone has said, "but also to make a life." This change would be vital, it is true, but not so radical as it might seem at first thought. An ideal curriculum would be one in which, during the freshman and sophomore years, social, scientific, and home-making studies would be in the ascendancy, not neglecting, however, the study of the languages. For example, a young woman, in addition to religion, English, and a language, might elect from the courses in logic, psychology, child-psychology, physiology, chemistry, biology, or domestic science, and care of children and the sick, during two years. This plan would also allow for the continued study during the whole college course of any subject, vocational or cultural, in which the student was interested. The freshman and sophomore years, therefore, would prepare a woman for her position in after-life, would teach her the subjects every woman ought to know, together with one or two courses which meet the demands of her individual talent or taste. The last two years ought to be divided between subjects which bear directly or indirectly on her future work, or which represent a secondary taste in the individual. In these latter years emphasis should be placed upon ethics, history, civics, and sociology. But someone may ask, "What about the cultural, what about the development of personality?" I answer that there is a culture of the sciences as well as a culture of art, or of history, or of literature. Culture is not a thing apart, is not a thing fastened on the mind; it is rather the flowering of qualities inherent in one's personality, which can be obtained by scientific courses as well as through the medium of language study.

Again, and this is a point not touched upon in the paper under discussion, in the process of socializing woman's education, great insistence must be placed upon the health of our students. It is manifestly and statistically false, that college life injures the health of women students. Four years of college have built up many a youthful body. In this matter of physical education, the college has a clear and distinct duty toward not only its students, but towards the State and the race as well. Army examining boards have been loud in their complaints of the physical deficiencies found in the mass of American men. Is the physical condition of our women any better? I think not. Gymnasium work should be made a curricular study in our colleges, and credit given for the same. Two hours of physical training weekly is little enough,—but this minimum ought to be exacted of every woman student. Whether physical training is to be more and more individualized, (and this is the present-day tendency), according to the special weaknesses and defects of each girl, or whether it is to take other directions, is a question that [127] may fairly be left to the faculty of each institution to solve. The necessity, however, of putting every convenience in the way of our women to make their bodies strong, healthy, and robust, is a duty which cannot be overlooked, and should not be shirked. For the woman of the future, a healthy body is as necessary as a sound mind.

Religion must hold first place in a Catholic college for women. A four years' course in Christian Doctrine, (this subject is vitally necessary, as so many of our young women matriculate from public high schools), Church history, Bible study, and ethics, taught in the manner and after the spirit noted by the author, cannot fail to produce lasting results. The atmosphere of our colleges, the lives of the instructors, are such that the translation of religion from theory to fact is constantly kept before the eyes and the minds of the student body in a manner not possible anywhere else. Let me bear my humble testimony to this fact, namely, that there is one thing in which our Catholic woman's college will never fail—in turning out strong, pure, upright, Catholic women.

The author mentions art and music as curricular helps in aiding women to meet the problems of modern life. Both art and music, it is true, have a professional value, but where their place is and should be in the socializing of female education, is difficult for me to perceive. I wish to voice a vigorous and emphatic protest against, not the retention of music and art in the curriculum of a woman's college, but against the undue prominence sometimes given to them, and especially to music. The following reasons prompt this assertion: First, they are of little or no practical value in after-life; secondly, the author mentions that mechanical inventions do better than any individual can ever hope to do; thirdly, they take up time, to the detriment both of the individual and of the college itself, which ought to be devoted to real college work. Were a college woman to attempt to carry "double music," voice culture, and one instrument,—entailing ten or twelve hours a week for instruction and practice, the result would be unfortunate and spell inefficiency. The curriculum of the present-day college is so full, as it stands, that one cannot afford to lose so many hours every week for music or art. To the difficulty, that our woman's colleges are not endowed, and therefore depend financially on music and art to meet the expenses of the institution as a whole, I have and know no reply. My sole contention is that neither the college curriculum nor the problems of modern life demand so much time as is now given to music and art.

In conclusion, may I thank the author for her illuminating paper, and publicly express my conviction that as long as we have such learned and devoted Sisters as she, teaching in our institutions, little or no fear need be had that our colleges are failing in their duty, either towards the present or coming generation of women.

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Footnotes:

1. U. S. Bureau of Education, Bulletin 1914, No. 36, p. 20

2. Educational Writings, edited by J. A. Green, Views and Experiences, p. 162

3. P. 280.

4. Report of the Com. of Education 1916, p. 447

5. Op. cit. p. 7

6. "The Future Education of Women," The Youth's Companion, May 31, 1917

7. Democracy and Social Ethics, p. 83

8. School and Society, "On Radicalism in Education," May 5, 1917, p. 524

9. Cf. Syllabus of Home Economics, 1913

10. The Education of Our Girls, p. 210-21

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Source: Sister Mary Ruth, OSD, "The Curriculum of the Catholic Woman's College in Relation to the Problems of Modern Life," Catholic Educational Association Bulletin 14, no. 1 (Nov. 1917): 106–127.

Monday, November 11, 2019

Igor Stravinsky on Snobs

[91] I have often heard artists say: "Why do you complain about snobs? It is they who are the most useful servants of new trends. If they don't serve [92] them out of conviction, they do it at least in their capacity as snobs. They are your best customers." I answer that they are bad customers, false customers, as they are as readily at the service of error as of truth. By serving all causes they completely vitiate the best ones because they confuse them with the worst.

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Source: Igor Stravinsky, Poetics of Music in the Form of Six Lessons, trans. by Arthur Knodel and Ingolf Dahl (New York: Vintage Books, 1947), 91–92.

Saturday, November 9, 2019

Igor Stravinsky on Revolution and The Rite of Spring

[11] I am well aware that there is a point of view that regards the period in which The Rite of Spring appeared as one that witnessed a revolution. A revolution whose conquests are said to be in the process of assimilation today. I deny the validity of that opinion. I hold that it was wrong to have considered me a revolutionary. When The Rite appeared, many opinions were advanced concerning it. In the tumult of contradictory opinions my friend Maurice Ravel intervened practically alone to set matters right. He was able to see, and he said, that the novelty of The Rite consisted, not in the "writing," not in the orchestration, not in the technical apparatus of the work, but in the musical entity.

I was made a revolutionary in spite of myself. Now, revolutionary outbreaks are never completely spontaneous. There are clever people who bring about revolutions with malice aforethought . . . It is always necessary to guard against being misrepresented by those who impute to you an intention not your own. For myself, I never hear anyone talk about revolution without thinking of the conversation that G. K. Chesterton tells us he had, on landing in France, with a Calais innkeeper. [12] The innkeeper complained bitterly of the harshness of life and the increasing lack of freedom: "'It's hardly worth while,' concluded the innkeeper, 'to have had three revolutions only to end up every time just where you started.'" Whereupon Chesterton pointed out to him that a revolution, in the true sense of the word, was the movement of an object in motion that described a closed curve, and thus always returned to the point from where it had started . . .

The tone of a work like The Rite may have appeared arrogant, the language that it spoke may have seemed harsh in its newness, but that in no way implies that it is revolutionary in the most subversive sense of the word.

If one only need break a habit to merit being labeled revolutionary, then every musician who has something to say and who in order to say it goes beyond the bounds of established conventions would be known as revolutionary. Why burden the dictionary of the fine arts with this stertorous term, which designates in its most usual acceptation a state of turmoil and violence, when there are so many other words better adapted to designate originality?

In truth, I should be hard pressed to cite for you a single fact in the history of art that might be qualified as revolutionary. Art is by essence constructive. [13] Revolution implies a disruption of equilibrium. To speak of revolution is to speak of a temporary chaos. Now art is the contrary of chaos. It never gives itself up to chaos without immediately finding its living works, its very existence, threatened.

The quality of being revolutionary is generally attributed to artists in our day with a laudatory intent, undoubtedly because we are living in a period when revolution enjoys a kind of prestige among yesterday's elite. Let us understand each other: I am the first to recognize that daring is the motive force of the finest and greatest acts; which is all the more reason for not putting it unthinkingly at the service of disorder and base cravings in a desire to cause sensation at any price. I approve of daring; I set no limits to it. But likewise there are no limits to the mischief wrought by arbitrary acts.

To enjoy to the full the conquests of daring, we must demand that it operate in a pitiless light. We are working in its favor when we denounce the false wares that would usurp its place. Gratuitous excess spoils every substance, every form that it touches. In its blundering it impairs the effectiveness of the most valuable discoveries and at the same time corrupts the taste of its devotees—which explains why their taste often plunges without [14] transition from the wildest complications to the flattest banalities.

A musical complex, however harsh it may be, is legitimate to the extent to which it is genuine. But to recognize genuine values in the midst of the excesses of sham one must be gifted with a sure instinct that our snobs hate all the more intensely for being themselves completely deprived of it.

Our vanguard elite, sworn perpetually to outdo itself, expects and requires that music should satisfy the taste for absurd cacophony.

I say cacophony without fear of being classed with the ranks of conventional pompiers, the laudatores temporis acti. And in using the word I am certain I am not in the least reversing myself. My position in this regard is exactly the same as it was at the time when I composed The Rite and when people saw fit to call me a revolutionary. Today, just as in the past, I am on my guard against counterfeit money and take care not to accept it for the true coin of the realm. Cacophony means bad sound, contraband merchandise, uncoordinated music that will not stand up under serious criticism. Whatever opinion one may hold about the music of Arnold Schoenberg (to take as an example of a composer evolving along lines essentially different from mine, both aesthetically and technically), whose works have frequently given rise to violent [15] reactions or ironic smiles—it is impossible for a self-respecting mind equipped with genuine musical culture not to feel that the composer of Pierrot Lunaire is fully aware of what he is doing and that he is not trying to deceive anyone. He adopted the musical system that suited his needs and, within this system, he is perfectly consistent with himself, perfectly coherent. One cannot dismiss music that he dislikes by labeling it cacophony.

Equally degrading is the vanity of snobs who boast of an embarrassing familiarity with the world of the incomprehensible and who delightedly confess that they find themselves in good company. It is not music they seek, but rather the effect of shock, the sensation that befuddles understanding.

So I confess that I am completely insensitive to the prestige of revolution. All the noise it may make will not call forth the slightest echo in me. For revolution is one thing, innovation another. And even innovation, when not presented in an excessive form, is not always recognized by its contemporaries. Let me take as an example the work of a composer whom I choose purposely because his music, the qualities of which have long been clearly recognized, has become so universally popular that barrel-organs everywhere have made it their own.

I am speaking of Charles Gounod. Don't be surprised at my lingering over Gounod for a moment. [16] It is not so much the composer of Faust who holds my attention as it is the example that Gounod offers us of a work whose most obvious merits were misunderstood when they were still new by the very people whose mission it is to be exactly informed about the realities they have to judge.

Take Faust. The first critics of this famous opera refused to acknowledge in Gounod the melodic inventiveness that today seems to us the dominant trait of his talent. They even went so far as to question whether he had any melodic gift at all. They saw in Gounod "a symphonist astray in the theater," a "severe musician," to use their own terms, and, of course, more "learned" than "inspired." Naturally, they reproached him with having "achieved his effects not through the voices, but through the orchestra."

In 1862, three years after the first performances of Faust, the Gazette musicale of Paris declared quite flatly that Faust, as a whole, "was not the work of a melodist." As for the famous Scudo [Pierre Scudo (1806–1864) was a famous conservative French music critic], whose word was law for the Revue des Deux Mondes, this Scudo in the same year turned out the following historical masterpiece, which I should never forgive myself for not quoting to you in full:
Monsieur Gounod, to his misfortune, admires certain outmoded portions of Beethoven's [17] last quartets. They constitute the muddied wellspring from which issue the bad musicians of modern Germany: the Liszts, the Wagners, the Schumanns, and even Mendelssohn in certain questionable aspects of his style. If Monsieur Gounod has really made his own the doctrine of continuous melody, of the melody of the virgin forest and of the setting sun, that constitutes the charm of Tannhäuser and of Lohengrin, a melody that may be compared to Harlequin's letter: "as for periods and commas, I don't give them a thought, I leave it to you to put them wherever you wish"—Monsieur Gounod in that case, which I should like to believe impossible, will be irrevocably lost.
But even the Germans corroborated the good Scudo after their fashion. As a matter of fact, one could read in the Münchener Neueste Nachrichten that Gounod wasn't French, but Belgian, and that his compositions did not bear the stamp of the contemporary French and Italian schools, but precisely that of the German school in which he had been educated and formed.

Because the literature that springs up on every side of music has not changed in the last [18] seventy years and because, while music is constantly changing, the commentators who refuse to take note of these transformations do not themselves change—we must naturally take up cudgels.

Therefore, I am going to be polemical. I am not afraid to admit this. I shall be polemical not in my own defense, but in order to defend in words all music and its principles, just as I defend them in a different way with my compositions.

---

Source: Igor Stravinsky, Poetics of Music in the Form of Six Lessons, trans. by Arthur Knodel and Ingolf Dahl (New York: Vintage Books, 1947), 11–18.

Igor Stravinsky on Artistic Taste and Tradition

[57] One cannot force one's self to love; but love presupposes understanding, and in order to understand, one must exert one's self.

The same problem was posed in the Middle Ages by the theologians of pure love. To understand in order to love; to love in order to understand: we are here not going around in a vicious circle; we are rising spirally, providing that we have made an initial effort, have even just gone through a routine exercise. [...]

The faculty of observation and of making something out of what is observed belongs only to the person who at least possesses, in his particular field of endeavor, an acquired culture and an innate taste. A dealer, an art-lover who is the first to buy the canvases of an unknown painter who will be [58] famous twenty-five years later under the name of Cézanne—doesn't such a person give us a clear example of his innate taste? What else guides him in his choice? A flair, an instinct from which this taste proceeds, a completely spontaneous faculty anterior to reflection.

As for culture, it is a sort of upbringing which, in the social sphere, confers polish upon education, sustains and rounds out academic instruction. This upbringing is just as important in the sphere of taste, and is essential to the creator who must ceaselessly refine his taste or run the risk of losing his perspicacity. Our mind, as well as our body, requires continual exercise. It atrophies if we do not cultivate it.

It is culture that brings out the full value of taste and gives it a chance to prove its worth simply by its application. The artist imposes a culture upon himself and ends by imposing it upon others. That is how tradition becomes established.

Tradition is entirely different from habit, even from an excellent habit, since habit is by definition an unconscious acquisition and tends to become mechanical, whereas tradition results from a conscious and deliberate acceptance. A real tradition is not the relic of a past that is irretrievably gone; it is a living force that animates and informs the present. In this sense the paradox that banteringly [59] maintains that everything that is not tradition is plagiarism is true. . . .

Far from implying the repetition of what has been, tradition presupposes the reality of what endures. It appears as an heirloom, a heritage that one receives on condition of making it bear fruit before passing it on to one's descendants.

Brahms was born sixty years after Beethoven. From the one to the other, and from every aspect, the distance between them is great; they do not dress the same way, but Brahms follows the tradition of Beethoven without borrowing one of his habiliments. For the borrowing of a method has nothing to do with observing a tradition. "A method is replaced; a tradition is carried forward in order to produce something new." Tradition thus assures the continuity of creation. The example that I have just cited does not constitute an exception but is one proof out of a hundred of a constant law. This sense of tradition that is a natural need must not be confused with the desire the composer feels to affirm the kinship he finds across the centuries with some master of the past.

---

Source: Igor Stravinsky, Poetics of Music in the Form of Six Lessons, trans. by Arthur Knodel and Ingolf Dahl (New York: Vintage Books, 1947), 57–59.

Thursday, December 27, 2018

Ted Gioia on Music Criticism and His Critics


Ted Gioia, "Music Criticism Has Degenerated Into Lifestyle Reporting," Daily Beast, March 2014, https://www.thedailybeast.com/music-criticism-has-degenerated-into-lifestyle-reporting.

Responses and criticisms:

https://pitchfork.com/thepitch/278-music-criticism-is-not-lifestyle-reporting-a-response/

https://songsfromsodeep.wordpress.com/2014/04/16/music-criticism-has-degenerated-into-lifestyle-reporting-allegedly/

https://www.popmatters.com/jody-rosen-vs-ted-gioia-and-the-advent-of-new-fogeyism-2495675136.html

https://nmbx.newmusicusa.org/music-criticism-is-broken-and-its-all-your-fault/

https://www.vulture.com/2014/03/rosen-in-defense-of-pop-criticism.html

https://flypaper.soundfly.com/editorial/do-you-need-to-be-able-to-read-music-to-analyze-it/

http://333sound.com/has-music-criticism-degenerated-into-lifestyle-reporting/

https://musicandsoundstudies.wordpress.com/2014/03/21/ted-gioia-music-criticism-has-degenerated-into-lifestyle-reporting/

http://flavorwire.com/446354/in-defense-of-21st-century-music-criticism

https://slippedisc.com/2017/03/we-need-music-criticism-more-than-ever-nowadays/

Kurt Poterack, The Rhythm of Popular Music

The most interesting response to my Principles article, “A People without Melody,” was: “I get what you are saying about melody, but what about rhythm?” The person continued: “Certainly, there is a big emphasis on rhythm in popular music; wouldn’t you say that popular music today excels when it comes to rhythm?” I replied that rhythm is certainly a defining feature of much popular music today; however, the notion that these rhythms are always “excellent” would require a lengthier answer. This essay is my response.

I should say, by means of introduction, that I can only survey what I see as major trends in contemporary popular music and cannot even cover all of these. I very much regret, for example, that I will not be able to speak about that complicated, yet important, phenomenon of swing rhythm. There just isn’t enough space. But what follows will be an honest attempt to critique some of the major rhythmic trends in popular music.

It might be helpful, first, to look at St. Augustine’s definition of music: Musica est scientia bene modulandi. There is some question about the meaning of the last word (modulandi), but a good translation would be: “Music is the art of measuring well.” There is, however, another possible, and very complementary, translation. Taking the word motus (movement), which is very close to modulandi’s cognate word modus (measurement), I propose another translation: “Music is the art of moving well.”[1]

These two connected ideas of the measurement of musical rhythm and the movement that it inspires in dance go back, most famously, to Plato. However, it is important to understand that it is the perceived movement in the music itself that, arguably, inspires the reciprocal movement in dancing. Keeping this in mind, I would like to proceed to what I think is a central, and poignant, question implicit in Roger Scruton’s fascinating book The Aesthetics of Music. The question is: How did we get from “the cheerful and life-enhancing sound of Louis Armstrong” to the “monsters of Heavy Metal”?[2] Or, if I may add, to the modern-day Danse Apache of Gangsta Rap?

Even before Louis Armstrong, there is the equally cheerful and life-enhancing music of Ragtime. Ragtime seems to have been created by black pianists of the American Midwest who took the pre-existing musical form of the march, but “ragged” (i.e., syncopated) the rhythm of the melodies. Syncopation, which means emphasizing normally weak beats or weak parts of beats, was not a new phenomenon—you can find it in classical music. What makes Ragtime different, however, is that it uses syncopation regularly as a normal part of the music.

Is this more frequent use of syncopation something that comes out of Africa? Yes, but there is more to it than that. In Africa, as well as other places outside the West, one can find very complex percussion music of long tradition. It is typical in Africa to hear percussion ensembles playing layered rhythms that create fascinating textures, polyrhythms (e.g., groups of four played against groups of three), intellectually stimulating ambiguities (are these three groups of two or two groups of three?), and, at times, a deliberate obscuring of the beat.

Since such practices are beyond what one would hear even in Ragtime and in Louis Armstrong, where would one hear these influences in American popular music? The answer is that they can be heard in the Latin American music that comes out of South America and the Caribbean—rumba, mambo, salsa—where black slaves were able to preserve more of their musical traditions than in North America. One can also hear this in some of the more sophisticated forms of jazz, particularly the solos of some of the better jazz drummers like “Papa” Joe Jones, Art Blakey, or Max Roach, to name just a few. Speaking about musicians in India, but applicable to African-influenced music, the critic Winthrop Sargeant notes that:
It often happens among Indian musicians that a vina player and a drummer will engage in a friendly contest to see which can confuse the other into losing track of the sam (the beat). . . . The vina player delights in apparently losing himself in the most abstruse counter-rhythms, leaving the listener with an utter sense of bewilderment, only to issue forth triumphantly at the sam again without a hair’s breadth of inaccuracy, and with a sparkle of obvious satisfaction.[3]
If you want to get a sense of this technique in jazz drumming, look at the YouTube video “Max Roach -Solos.flv.”[4] The second solo in that video is a particularly good example of this technique of obscuring the beat for a long time and then re-entering without missing a beat—a technique that is utterly foreign to most popular music today. In fact, the stronger and more obvious a beat is, the more likely are people to call the music “rhythmic,” which is a bit like saying, “2 + 2 = 4” and people responding, “He’s a brilliant mathematician!” So, whence comes this idea that a throbbing, pounding, obvious beat is especially “rhythmic”—let alone “primitive”?

In order to understand this, we have to go to Paris, the night of May 29, 1913, when Igor Stravinsky’s ballet The Rite of Spring was premiered. The ballet tells the story of a virgin in pagan Russia sacrificing herself to Nature for the coming of spring. At that time, primitive cultures were a common enough fascination for Western artists and intellectuals going back at least to Herman Melville and continuing through Gauguin’s sojourn in Tahiti. Margaret Mead’s 1925 trip to Samoa should also be included as a cautionary tale of how this Western fascination can involve a certain amount of wish projection.[5]

Now Stravinsky had no agenda, but those famous stabbing, pulsing chords in the Danse des Adolescentes section of The Rite of Spring, which the audience heard that night, were to become forever seared into our modern Western cultural consciousness as exemplars of “primitive rhythm.” To be fair to Stravinsky, this is one section in a very long work, and even these repeated pulse-like chords are accented at irregular intervals that give the rhythm a real subtlety. However, as great a work of art as The Rite is, in my opinion, its faux primitivism unwittingly inspired lesser talents to create everything from cheap slasher movie sound tracks to the mindless thumping of disco music (including, but not limited to, the Village People) to the hand-clapping in Queen’s tribal anthem, “We Will Rock You” (short-short, LONG, short-short, LONG), and a whole lot more.

It is almost as if our culture collectively said, “You see, this is what primitive people do, and we all know that they ‘have rhythm’!” But as I already established, many non-Western cultures have a much more sophisticated sense of rhythm than that. What developed was a musical caricature of the primitive. For example, take Stravinsky’s pulsating rhythm; speed it up a bit; amplify it; put it into the most predictable, symmetrical patterns; spike your hair; wear a torn T-shirt; and maybe vomit on stage for good measure and—voilà!—you have punk rock.

In her book Hole in Our Soul: The Loss of Beauty and Meaning in American Popular Music, Martha Bayles points out how punk rock was largely created by the impresario Malcolm McLaren. An English fashionista and art-school dropout, McLaren was in thrall to what Bayles terms “Perverse Modernism.” This can be summed up in the French phrase, Épater la bourgeoisie! (Shock the bourgeoisie!), which was a rallying cry among the Decadent poets of the 1880s. It continued through the perverse plays of Frank Wedekind, Dadaism, and into the Fluxus Movement of the 1950s. It was the notion that art had to shock, offend, and unsettle in order to be effective. In this case, popular music was commandeered as a platform on which to pursue this art-school philosophy. Interestingly, the black jazz trumpeter and music educator Wynton Marsalis has a somewhat similar take on Rap, calling it “ghetto minstrelsy.” He speaks of white “safari seekers” saying, “Let’s go into the ghetto and see what the natives are doing.”[6] His point is that in the nineteenth-century minstrel show, the “safari seekers” would have seen what they thought of as rather buffoonish, but lovable primitives. What such safari seekers are tempted to see in Rap today, according to Marsalis, are savage (but lovable, because they secretly want to be like them?) primitives who murder and fornicate without scruple. This is a harsh indictment, and, to be sure, his criticism tends to provoke strong reactions. Nevertheless, it may do this because it hits close to the target. I shall investigate the musical reasons why this may be the case later.

However, before we do this, we need to move on from the faux primitive to what I call the mechanical approach to rhythm. To this end, I will quote Roger Scruton again:
Rhythm plays with regularity, but is not reducible to it: the pulse is both counted and discounted. . . . even the most exact performer will imbue a piece with a minute rubato, and this rubato is the mark of a living organism—the unnoticed vacillation of the pulse. When this rubato is absent—as when someone plays in time to a drum machine or a metronome—it is precisely rhythm that is the primary victim.[7]
Here we return to the notion that musical rhythm is both measurement and movement. If its measurement is too exact, then it won’t actually move us in a human way. As Scruton says in another venue, “one note invites the next into the space that it has vacated.”[8] A note might coyly linger, creating anticipation for the next note, or more quickly cede, stressing the next note’s importance. There is a subtle give and take, just as in human relationships. Music is not strict geometry. When it is treated that way, it has a very different effect. Scruton observes, for example, that “the rhythm in Heavy Metal . . . is shot at you; the rhythm of the [eightsome] reel [on the other hand] invites you to move with it.”[9] He then goes on to discuss the difference between “at” and “with” and how profound this is in human relationships. For example, we all know the difference between a conversation with a close friend and the pushy salesman who talks at us.

One example of this phenomenon in music is the song “Bleed,” by the Swedish Heavy Metal band Meshuggah. It’s not only the song’s unrelenting fortissimo volume and the shouted vocals, but also the absolute rigidity of the accompanimental rhythm. Though there is measurement, there is no true relationship among the individual notes; they are isolated points, pulsations spaced along a timeline. They are like bullets, shot out at us from their evenly spaced places within an ammunition clip. This is why such music is often associated with violent, dehumanizing ideas and images. (I strongly warn against watching the very disturbing video associated with this song.) Or listen to the more anodyne Eurodance hit from the 1990s “What Is Love?” Again, it’s not just the computer-produced sounds; it’s the exactly measured computer-produced rhythms that create the feel of the hip yet impersonal world against which the singer makes his plaintive cry, “What is Love?” The presence of a humanizing, plaintive cry cannot be counted on in all such music.

While it has been common enough over the past century for moralists to decry the “sensuality” in some music, a fair amount of popular music of the past thirty or forty years lacks the rhythmic fluidity to be truly sensual. Often enough, its rhythm is machine-like and rigid. Though there will be the obligatory syncopations—all but required in contemporary pop music—they are the processed, reified product of the digital studio. They do not seduce or tempt. That would be an improvement. Rather, such rhythmic stiffness creates a more impersonal, “objective” effect. And this is also why such music inspires neither the ordered movement that the Waltz would, nor the more sensual, but still relational, movement that the Tango would. Such uncompromising rhythms do not encourage the subtle male-female negotiations, the give and take typical of couple dancing. In fact, as Roger Scruton has observed, it should not surprise us that what Punk, Heavy Metal, and Techno do inspire are “head-banging, slam-dancing, . . . [and] ‘moshing.’”[10]

This brings us to Rap. Where does it come from?

The only thing that we can say for sure is that Rap emerged in New York City in the 1970s, specifically in black neighborhoods in the Bronx. Rap’s musical origin seems to have been the joining of three distinct elements: 1) the beat-heavy faux primitivism of 1970s popular music, 2) the nascent mechanical approach to rhythm that would come to prominence in the 1980s, and 3) certain rhyming games and speech patterns common in African-American neighborhoods (think of “jive talk” and the poetry of Mohammed Ali).

As you can see, of these three elements, only the last is truly African-American. At its most effective, in Gangsta Rap in particular, Rap takes place against a pounding faux primitive beat, often employing that technological cookie cutter that is digital sampling, and couched in an unrelenting ostinato pattern. The effect can be that of Chinese water torture. You do not move with such rhythmic structures so much as submit to them, as one does to a good thrashing. It bowls you over—or you fight manfully against it. The only thing of any musical sophistication is that sometimes the rapper will chant the words in unusual rhythms against the beat, as in the quintuplet rapping of Eminem, in which the man vs. machine nature of the genre becomes most explicit.

How far we have come from the days of West Side Story (1957) when the kids were, or at least aspired to be, “cool.” Tough teenage delinquents though they were, the Jets and the Sharks strove for a certain cool unflappability, which had a concomitant flexibility as well as a natural grace to it. Gangsta Rap is not cool, it is rough, graceless and merciless—masculinity at its most unyielding. I realize that there are other types of Rap, but the tamer the subgenre of Rap is, the more it has the quality of a gimmick, like Fred Astaire dancing to the rhythms of the steam ship engine in Shall We Dance? (1937). While this certainly is entertaining, it is hardly something that would normally endure as a popular music genre for decades. No, it is the rougher, more authentic variety of Rap that holds most people’s attention because it speaks to them. We are dealing with a very significant cultural phenomenon.

Rap, simply put, often draws on the same sort of primitivist and, at times, perverse modernism that Punk and Heavy Metal do. In the final analysis, and despite most of its performers, it is only partially African-American in its musical makeup and hardly African at all. In my opinion, Rap does not even come close to that truly great product of African-American culture: jazz. Thus, the cultural significance of Rap’s deep and widespread popularity needs to be examined more carefully from the starting point of its actual musical structure, rather than from any politically correct (or even well-intentioned) views of ethnicity.

Finally, Rap seems to be a part of the general trend toward verbalism in the popular music of our day. Beginning at least with Bob Dylan, and continuing through Bruce Springsteen to U2, popular music has often been a venue for earnest poets and social critics of modest musical abilities. Dylan at least had the ability to craft a decent enough, tuneful melody; by the time we get to U2 all we have is eminently forgettable musical recitative. Rap drops even this pretense.

In conclusion, I want to stress that I have tried to delineate rhythmic trends in American popular music: the faux primitive, the mechanical, and the African. These are not the only trends, nor do they explain every single piece of popular music. However, these are major, significant trends. So my response to the question at the beginning of the article is that, because of the decline of African influences over the last half-century or so, only a small percentage of rhythm in popular music today could be considered musically “excellent.” On the other hand, the rhythm of much popular music today speaks volumes about where we are as a culture.

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Footnotes:

1. The Latin verb modulari does not itself mean “to move,” though it can mean “to dance” or “represent by dancing.” And the noun motus, as in the phrase dare motus, can refer to “dancing.”

2. Roger Scruton, The Aesthetics of Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 480.

3. Quoted in Philip Ball, The Music Instinct (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 222.

4. Max Roach Solos (YouTube) (http://youtu.be/F_voXNIsobs)

5. See Derek Freeman, The Fateful Hoaxing of Margaret Mead: A Historical Analysis of Her Samoan Research (New York: Basic Books, 1998).

6.Bill Milkowski, “Wynton Marsalis: Wynton Throws Down the Gauntlet,” Jazz Times, April 1, 2007.

7. Scruton, Aesthetics of Music, 24–25. (https://jazztimes.com/features/wynton-marsalis-wynton-throws-down-the-gauntlet/)

8. Roger Scruton, “Music and Morality,” American Spectator, February 11, 2010.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.

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Source: Kurt Poterack, "The Rhythm of Popular Music: Primitivist Slumming in a Machine Age?", Principles 4, no. 1 (2018), accessed December 27, 2018, https://www.getprinciples.com/the-rhythm-of-popular-music.

Kurt Poterack, A People Without Melody



As a college music professor, I am asked from time to time by students what I think of this or that popular song or songwriter. Lyrics aside, I like to think that I can speak with some authority on the music itself, having a masters and doctorate in music composition. At one point I decided that I would sit down and do some careful listening to current top-forty songs and write brief critiques of them. I did this over a period of several years. One thing struck me continually and almost without exception; I felt like the old lady in the 1980s hamburger commercial who would exclaim, “Where’s the beef?”

Except that I would exclaim, “Where’s the melody?” Over and over . . .

Perhaps I should clarify that when I say “melody,” I mean a tuneful melody—the kind that popular songs used to have in abundance. In fact, this used to be the hallmark of the popular song. I am speaking about the sort of melody that has a winsomeness to it, even a portability. Such a melody is one that is so appealing that people want to “carry it with them,” sing, hum, even whistle it while they are driving to work, doing the dishes, folding laundry, etc.

Indeed, such a melody is generally something that the non-professional can sing unaccompanied. Even though there may be recordings of such a song by professional singers with very elaborate instrumental accompaniments, this is not the only way that it can be performed. The melody makes sense by itself. A tuneful melody is going to have a shape, a waxing and waning, a rise and fall of the pitches, a focal point or two, and a long-term forward motion from note to note to note to its logical conclusion. A good melody has, as Aaron Copland once famously wrote, an “inevitability.” This logical shape is what makes it beautiful and, therefore, desirable.

It is my determination that after about 1970, such melodies went into rapid decline; after about 1980, they almost ceased to exist. Why did this happen and what, if anything, does this say about modern society and cultural mores? Is there a connection between music and the way people live, between the way artists live and the sort of music they create? These connections between art, artist, morality, and society are things that philosophers have mused upon at some length, so let us briefly explore them before we return to our specific topic of popular song melodies.

First, there is one thing that we need to get out of the way.

From time to time I hear from fellow cultural conservatives, no doubt over-interpreting Plato, that a man of bad character cannot help but create music or art that reflects the disorder in his soul. Likewise, a man of good character will necessarily create music or art that reflects his ordered soul. I call this “ad hominem music criticism.” It is a very dangerous approach. While this view can end up being correct in particular cases, without proper nuance and formulation, it is overly simplistic. It can lead to absurd conclusions that do not correspond to reality.

As is often the case, much light can be shed on difficult questions by turning to that great medieval philosopher St. Thomas Aquinas—particularly the distinction he made between Art and Prudence. Both involve the perfection of the Practical Intellect. However, unlike Prudence, which has as its end the good of man (i.e. morality), Art has as its end the good of the work itself. As the twentieth-century expositor of St. Thomas, Jacques Maritain, wrote, “if a craftsman contrives a good piece of woodwork or jewelry, the fact of his being spiteful or debauched is immaterial, just as it is immaterial for a geometer to be a jealous or wicked man, if his demonstrations provide us with geometrical truth.”[1]

To expand upon this, one could say that in order to produce a great work of art, one has to possess three things: 1) a developed talent; 2) the desire to produce a beautiful art work—even if simply to please one’s patron or the public; and 3) the tools, materials, and forms that his culture has given him with which he can properly express such beauty. Thus a skilled artist who wants to paint a beautiful picture of his current mistress, and who lives in a culture that has a tradition of beautiful art, will most likely succeed. The fact of the profound moral ugliness of his unfaithfulness to his wife will probably not impede his ability to paint a beautiful portrait if this is what he wants to do.

However—and this is key—sometimes, for a number of reasons, specific artistic techniques fail to be transmitted so that artists can no longer express certain feelings and ideals even if they want to do so. Thus, such a culture can no longer even be hypocritical. For example, the people in such a society might less and less want to feel love, honor, and tenderness, even as ideals to strive after, since they are no longer represented in their art and music. (And, consequently, artists will be even less motivated to preserve the techniques by which these things are expressed.) At the very least, you can tell what a society idealizes in general by studying its music, and I have long thought that a music theorist can be an effective diagnostician of a culture’s soul.

This is still rather abstract; so, let me make it more concrete by taking the reader on a brief tour of American popular song. Essentially, American popular music begins with Stephen Foster in the mid-nineteenth century. Many of his songs are mistaken for folk songs, even though Stephen Foster was a paid professional who wrote his songs for professional performers who sang them in minstrel shows. While most of his songs have the purity and simplicity of folk-song melodies, his “Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair”—for example—approaches the level of a Schubert art song, betraying Foster’s training at the hands of the German-born music teacher Henry Kleber.

After Stephen Foster, there is a long fallow period that spans the turn of the century, during which vaudeville and Tin Pan Alley produce many trivial, forgettable songs. Even the memorable ones, such as “Sidewalks of New York,” have a quality of sentimentality that date them.

In the mid-1920s, we have the beginnings of what is later termed the era of the Great American Songbook. Some argue that this era ends about 1950, others say about 1960. These songs are mini-classics and transcend their era. Almost all of the major songwriters of this time, such as Jerome Kern, George Gershwin, Harold Arlen, Richard Rodgers, and Cole Porter had classical musical training. I like to point out that Cole Porter, a very “naughty” man, even aside from his sometimes suggestive lyrics, nonetheless studied harmony and counterpoint under Pietro Yon, a man who went on to become chief organist and choirmaster at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City. This is probably one of the last times that a traditional church musician and a popular songwriter drank together from the well of classical musical culture.

Of course, not all songs composed during this era actually belong to the Great American Song Book. There were many inferior composers who had short-lived hits. Many of these songs were average; quite a few were sentimental and corny. Going into the 1950s there is the phenomenon of the “novelty song,” of which Patti Page’s 1953 hit “The Doggie in the Window” is probably the best-known example. However, as terrible as it was, it was a singable melody that could stand on its own two (albeit, corny) feet. During this time there is also the emergence of two important movements: Rock and Roll and the American folk-music revival.

These two movements continue into the 1960s and much has been written about them elsewhere. Many have noted John Lennon and Paul McCartney, who had a song-writing talent that put them beyond many of their rock song–writing colleagues. However, as talented as they were, they often get classified with what is sometimes called the “Kiddie Pop” of the era. The “Adult Pop” of the 1960s, represented by such songwriters as the Bossa Nova composer Antônio Carlos Jobim and the American Burt Bacharach, produced tuneful and harmonically sophisticated popular songs. Jobim had been influenced by Claude Debussy, Maurice Ravel, and the Brazilian classical composer Heitor Villa-Lobos; Bacharach had a Bachelor of Music degree and had studied composition with the twentieth-century classical composers Henry Cowell and Darius Milhaud.

So, by the end of the decade there was reason for hope that the 1970s might go reasonably well. Even if the Great American Songbook era was formally over, the Great American Melody continued to be written. While it was not only Americans who composed these melodies, nonetheless, American audiences still seemed to enjoy a beautifully written melody—at least as a part of their “listening diet.” Something different, however, happens during the 1970s. In 1970, the number-one and number-two popular hit songs were “Bridge over Troubled Water” and “Close to You”—two well-shaped, tuneful melodies. By the end of the decade, in 1979, the top two pop hits were “My Sharona” and “Bad Girls”—both rather profane dance numbers. To be fair, these songs work in their own way because of their focus on an energetic rhythmic accompaniment and a strong beat that made them attractive to dancers. Melody, however, is a secondary element in these songs. Indeed, in “My Sharona” the melody seems to serve as a mere accessory to the driving accompanimental rhythm, which takes center stage.

This situation continues through the 1980s and beyond. Even though disco may have died, the emphasis on dance music continues as most pop hits have strong danceable rhythms, but very few have tuneful melodies that can stand on their own. The late George Michael’s 1984 hit “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” is a fairly typical example: a song with an attractive, bouncy rhythm, the whole focus of which is a four-measure melodic “hook”[2] which is repeated endlessly throughout the song. Not a dance tune, but surprisingly similar in its basic technique, is the 1997 hit ballad “My Heart Will Go On” from the movie Titanic. It has an even weaker verse melody, essentially a teetering back and forth between two principal notes, until it gets to the short bombastic refrain which, repeated ad infinitum, is meant to grab you by the collar with its emotional bid—before sinking back into mediocrity.

Ironically, at this time the influence of Broadway, long a source of tastefully written, tuneful ballads, begins to dry up—but for very different reasons. Beginning in the late 1960s, Broadway composers seemed to want to get more sophisticated. Even if they used popular styles, many of these composers started to conceive of their musicals as mini-Wagnerian music dramas, with every single line of text set to seamlessly composed music out of which few, if any, tunes could be extracted. The “hit-tune approach” of Broadway’s recent past began to seem very déclassé to them. In fact, the long-reigning doyen of Broadway composers, Stephen Sondheim, has produced few actual songs over his long career—the gorgeous ballad “Send in the Clowns” being, perhaps, his most notable exception.

What I marvel at these days is the seeming inability of many pop songwriters to write even an eight-measure phrase—probably the most basic phrase length in music. To take Adele as an example, most of her songs consist of the stitching together of four-measure units made up of one melodic idea, repeated over and over. To be fair, this is part of her technique to create a kind of a hypnotic effect, and she is not alone in this. I call it the “four-chord mysticism,” because, usually, each four-measure unit consists of four chords, repeated over and over like a mantra. (Although, sometimes I wonder if she actually could write a traditional ballad if she ever had the desire to do so.)

At any rate, try singing her “Rolling in the Deep” without the recording; you would likely start getting bored by the third iteration of that opening four-measure motive. The reason her performance of it works is that, through the addition at strategic points of instruments, back-up singers, and variations in her voice, a sense of build and forward motion is created. Oftentimes she later introduces a contrasting, repeated melodic motive, but the point is that the melody itself does not have much of a shape and sense of forward motion. It is the professional arrangement that creates this.

Finally, let us speak of the phenomenon of rap. Like it or hate it, raps are not songs, properly speaking, because there is no melody. Rap involves the rhythmicized speaking of words against a strong, steady beat. Indeed, there is usually a four-measure, repeated musical accompaniment in the background, although I would argue that this is not constitutive of the genre. Putting aside rap’s often morally noxious lyrics, I would make one basic observation: it should not be surprising that a culture, with an already-weak sense of melody, would elevate to such a high level, within its popular musical culture, a genre totally bereft of melody.

With rap, we may have finally bottomed out.

Before I conclude, I should stress that I am not promoting any particular style or era when I speak of the well-crafted, tuneful melody. My ecumenical canon would include such songs as “Beautiful Dreamer,” “Blue Skies,” “All the Things You Are,” “Stella by Starlight,” “But Beautiful,” “Somewhere,” “The Sound of Silence,” “Yesterday,” “Windmills of Your Mind,” “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” “Killing Me Softly with His Song,” and “Just the Way You Are.” These are only a few examples of songs that you can both enjoy your favorite artist singing and sing on your own, because these songs make sense as pure melodies.

So, what does it all mean—this clear loss of melody in today’s popular song? I almost don’t want to answer the question, but just let the profundity of this accurately diagnosed symptom sink in. I am more a musical technician than anything else, but it is clear to me that the loss of the lyricism of the well-written ballad, and the human values that it represents, is itself a major travesty. How could it be otherwise?

What I also see is the loss of almost any connection between the wisdom of the classical art music of Western Civilization and modern popular music—something that was not the case even a generation ago. There was a time when popular-song composers such as George Gershwin and Duke Ellington looked to the long forms of classical music as a means of liberation from the thirty-two-bar song form so prevalent in the popular music of their day. I can only imagine their dismay if either were alive today to see how some pop musicians have freed themselves from the tyranny of the thirty-two-bar song by creating . . . the four-bar song![3]

But this loss of long-term musical thought is also connected to the fact that few ordinary people participate meaningfully in music anymore. In the past a person of average musical ability could both enjoy listening to Nat King Cole sing “Mona Lisa,” and enjoy singing the melody on his own; fewer people today would want to sing one of Ariana Grande’s latest hits unaccompanied. Even if one enjoys her oeuvre, there is really not much melodic pleasure to be had from her music because, whatever else can be said about her, her tunes have little shape.

Popular music is now a kind of voodoo that is practiced on a very distracted, mute populace. People don’t listen closely and are, instead, subliminally induced to feel a limited number of musical emotions: the feeling of being hip, urban, gritty, sexy, funky, soulful—perhaps even a short-lived elation—before they move on to other distractions. Only a few substitutions are allowed. For example, if you want to substitute “country” for “urban,” a banjo and a few twangs will be thrown in, but the music will be surprisingly similar. You will almost certainly experience neither true musical lyricism, nor well-crafted, musically intelligent, beauty. Also, you will definitely not be given a well-shaped melody that you can take home with you and sing on your own. The superstar performer almost always has to be a part of the package.

The sad thing is, as far as I can see, too many people are content with this state of affairs.


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Footnotes:

1. See Jacques Maritain, The Responsibility of the Artist (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1960), 23.

2. A “hook” is a short melodic passage in popular music meant to catch the listener’s attention in a conspicuous way. It is to music what a red dress is to women’s fashion.

3. A measure (or “bar”), which is a grouping of a specific number of beats of music, is the standard way in which song length is calculated. Since the 1920s, the typical popular song has had a musical length of thirty-two measures. This thirty-two-measure musical unit is then repeated several times with different lyrics each time. To get an idea of the newer four-bar “McSong” approach, listen to Adele’s “Hometown Glory” or Mumford and Sons’ “Dust Bowl Dance” – to give just two examples of a common enough phenomenon.

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Source: Kurt Poterack, "A People Without Melody," Principles 3, no. 2 (2017), accessed December 27, 2018, https://www.getprinciples.com/a-people-without-melody.