Tag: artistic expression

  • Debussy is Overrated

    Debussy is Overrated

    or… “How Others Did It So Much Better”

    The following is a video script I prepared, but never filmed. In the end, I decided I had better things to do, but perhaps the idea is of interest?


    VIDEO: Me playing the Drowning Church

    VOICE OVER
    When I first encountered Debussy, it was here. With this piece.

    At the time, my hands weren’t yet big enough to reach the wide spreads… and strange shapes… but that’s not why I found it difficult. It was difficult because I couldn’t find a way to convincingly express anything musical.

    It was like the composer needed to convince himself that gravity didn’t apply to him – in my hands, the music couldn’t escape a suffocating heaviness… everything… just… went nowhere…

    Debussy was not for me.


    VIDEO: Greg speaks directly to the camera while music continues in the background

    Of course, Debussy’s influence then and now is undeniable. But I’m still not convinced. And 40 years later, I think I know why…


    CHANNEL SPLASH


    VIDEO: Greg speaks to camera
    TEXT OVERLAY: “Debussy Oversimplified”

    Debussy’s legacy and influence comes down to a couple of things:

    • he rejected common practice counterpoint and voice leading
    • relied on parallel harmony that broke formal conventions
    • and most important – the sound texture mattered above all else (symbolism)

    VIDEO: composer headshots of Ravel, Satie, Scriabin…

    BUT the thing is… other composers around that time were making similar choices – advancing musical language – and they were writing better music.

    VIDEO: New Location – Greg Speaks to camera

    Musical events are connected in time by our brains – this an unavoidable principle of musical language. One event next to another – implies a range of NEXT options… and if we go too far outside what was implied… the connection can be lost.

    Ignoring this is like deciding to ignore physics just so you can build a perpetual motion machine.

    Let me show you what I mean.


    VIDEO: Me playing Moons Over My Hammy
    TEXT OVERLAY: “Sweet Anticipation”

    VOICE OVER
    Let’s take the opening of one of Debussy’s most famous works – Clair de Lune.

    If at any moment…

    ANYTHING can happen…

    The connection is lost. The implication isn’t strong enough to imply a satisfying resolution.

    A sense of anticipation is never created – because just about anything… can happen… and all we can do is take it in.

    Anticipation requires that we look forward to something… and THAT depends on what we JUST heard.


    VIDEO: New Location – Greg Speaks to camera

    If you know this piece, you realize that I just started adding random bits of… whatever. If you don’t know this piece, you probably weren’t bothered.

    Now… creating a sense of suspended animation – of floating aimlessly in a hazy mist – can be done in so many wonderfully compelling ways – ways that maintain and deepen connections to the way our brains listen – and ways that still feel as “magical” as anything you can dream up…


    VIDEO: Me playing Gymnopédie No. 1
    TEXT OVERLAY: “Suspended Animation Doesn’t Exists Without Movement”

    VOICE OVER
    Here the composer sets up several expectations…

    A “looping” accompaniment of sorts…

    And a beautiful melody that has clear direction…

    Even if it takes some time to complete…

    This is Erik Satie. He wrote this in 1888 and in many ways, this is the earliest “ambient” music.

    But it creates a sense of stillness through the illusion of suspended animation. Expectations are set forth and satisfied on multiple levels and we don’t have to ignore the way our brains embrace music!


    VIDEO: Me playing Scriabin Op. 74
    TEXT OVERLAY: “To Break Rules, You Must First Know The Rules”

    VOICE OVER
    In this case, Alexander Sciabin has discarded traditional harmony in favor of symmetrical harmonic structures. He’s breakin’ the rules. (what a rebel!)

    But a sense of anticipation with a relatively limited set of options is maintained.

    And yet we’re absolutely floating in a fragrant cloud of misty goodness – gravity is intact. And the anticipation is sweet.


    VIDEO: New Location – Greg Speaks to camera

    So there it is.

    40 years after I struggled to give this music direction…

    I learned that it doesn’t have any. At least not to my ears…

    VIDEO: Me playing the Drowning Church

    VOICE OVER
    I’d like to know what you think about Debussy and my take… Leave your thoughts in the comments below. I look forward to you showing me the error of my ways!

  • Towards a Progressive Art

    Towards a Progressive Art

    How Can You Build on Such a Quicksand?

    George Rochberg spent his life arguing for a renewal of humanist values in art. He felt the aleatoric and serial music that dominated his time was destined to fail the most basic test for inclusion in the ever-expanding legacy of culture — that musical experiences must be meaningful to people.

    George watched as many of the musicians around him turned their backs on the values of identity and meaning in their art. Without identity and memory, there could be no meaning. Without the possibility for meaning, art would fail to exist as a holistic and satisfying experience.

    For George, these elements were the very substance of life, and therefore music.

    We literally must impose an order of some kind on our affective memory if we are to see meaning in our existence. It is in the power of forming the data of our existence that we shape ourselves and the world around us; and it is out of this power, this urge to meaning through form and order, that art arises.

    — George Rochberg

    In other words, cultivating a sense of musical identity requires the listener to recall the idea in memory and recalling musical ideas requires an adherence to culturally acquired patterns and structures. If musical elements exist without an identity (what is it? and later, what was it?), they will, at best, only offer fleeting moments of disassociated sensations. In George’s mind, music like this has “foredoomed itself to extinction”. It will never have the chance to become part of heritable culture.

    The Search for Firmer Ground

    Rochberg insisted that in order to escape the quicksand of musical entropy, identity and memory must operate in two places at once: at the motivic level and formally. In both cases, he suggested that a perceivable identity must be consistently present through repetition, variation, and recall. Further, he imagined that even though they all approached music very differently, Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Mozart, and Wagner would all have recognized and fully embraced these high-level concepts.

    In fact, there is a growing body of research that supports this.

    Starting in the 1950s Meyer, Younblood, Krahenbuehl, and Coons introduced serious studies involving the concepts of musical arousal, uncertainty, and surprise using principles borrowed from information theory. Since then, generative theories (Lerdahl, Jackendoff, and Narmour) and quantitative models (Huron, Margulis, and Farbood) of musical expectation and tension have shown that humans apply learned memory encoding to the sounds and musical patterns that we experience.

    So, in order to find meaning in musical expression, we require structure and a perceptual adherence to culturally learned schematic patterns, structures, and devices. It seems George was on to something…

    To play with entropy in art is to play with a self-consuming fire.

    — George Rochberg

    Self-perpetuating musical elements must incorporate the past, present, and suggest a possible future. Without this, music (pitch, harmony, duration, and ultimately, form) cannot convey movement or meaning. Without this, the questions so fundamental to human expression and existence suddenly have no answers. Where are we going? Have we arrived? Why have we arrived here?

    The Problem with Allegory

    While it’s clear we’ve made great strides in understanding the fundamentals of musical comprehension since the 1950s, most of this progress has yet to filter down into the lexicon of applied music. Without awareness of these discoveries, the people discussing, creating, teaching, promoting, and financing artwork remain locked in a haze of anecdotal notions when trying to assess aesthetic value, consider solutions to artistic problems, and communicate artistic ideas.

    At best, we can only come away with an allegorical sense of the issues we’re attempting to address.

    When talking and writing about the creative process, Rochberg often used intentionally vague phrases to convey concepts such as, “emerging on a new plane”, “transcendent qualities”, “cosmic consciousness”, “powerful connections”, and “growing an atmosphere”. He spoke of musical gestures in terms of their weight (gravity) and temperature. He even assigned these attributes to individual composers; Beethoven was “hot” while Debussy was “cold” etc.

    George was far from alone in defining music in largely allegorical terms. In fact, it’s quite common to hear artistic values discussed in poetic, ephemeral, mystical, or even supernatural terms. Of course metaphysical descriptions of music are useful because they convey more than the words themselves might imply. Thinking about art in this way can inspire an artist to imagine beyond the obvious solutions that present themselves and discover novel, more satisfying results.

    But it’s not without a significant downside.

    Relying on allegory when discussing the complexities of artistic expression can introduce unnecessary confusion, stunt communication, and hinder artistic progress. Ignoring (or hiding from) the tangibles surrounding the artistic process imposes an emotionally-biased and highly-subjective system of judgment that is difficult to apply in practical terms. Most importantly, it closes the door on ideas that exist outside of the internally-defined borders of acceptance, often without reason or evidence.

    German poet and critic, Hans Magnus Enzensberger saw this problem and described it nicely:

    The moment a topological structure appears as a metaphysical structure the game loses its dialectical balance, and literature turns into a means of demonstrating that the world is essentially impenetrable, that any communication is impossible. The labyrinth thus ceases to be a challenge to human intelligence and establishes itself as a facsimile of the world and of society.

    Pragmatic and Progressively Human

    Allegorical representations of musical expression have value, but the creation of art is also concerned with definable practicalities. Like Enzensberger and others, I see a balanced approach as essential to progress. As such, I am interested in (and even inspired by) the inevitable march of technological progress and the influence it is exerting on the future of art. Moreover, I find that the inclusion of an information-driven perspective offers a convincing theoretical model of our own human creative processes.

    My work in music (as composer, pianist, and researcher) has been focused on developing a practical, useful, and tangible understanding of these principles — in order to ensure the survival of music as a progressively human expression of art.

    George (and others) rejected the reduction of musical information to parameters upon which a person can operate. Perhaps more importantly, he worried about the result of imposing a strictly rational order on this data to create new art — an order that might not take into account his concerns with memory and identity.

    My claim is that many of the artistic values that we as artists hold dear are present in the discrete parameters of music. This includes memory, identity, and even an understanding of expressive qualities of musical character. Further, algorithms are no longer limited to the simplistic and prescriptive ordering of musical data. Today we can create software that is flexible, adaptive, and if trained against representative human examples, is even able to contribute meaningful expressions of art.

  • The Aural Savant

    The Aural Savant

    Johannes Vermeer (1632-1675) is widely acknowledged as one of the greatest painters of the Dutch Golden Age. In particular, his uncanny ability to capture the lens-accurate effects of light and shadow in intricate and provocatively staged scenes has elevated him to the status of revolutionary master.

    There’s something very special there. Almost spiritual. And yet, we can’t quite put our finger on it.

    — Tracy Chevalier, Historical Novelist on Vermeer

    Recently, inventor Tim Jenison spent more than five years developing and testing theories around the possibility that Vermeer relied heavily on machines to produce the 36 masterworks attributed to him today. While it’s unclear how applicable Jenison’s results are to Vermeer’s actual process, the backlash from his efforts makes it clear that associating influential artwork to a partially mechanical process is a decidedly unpopular thing to do.

    Should Technology Play a Creative Role?

    Of course, art is never created in a technological vacuum. Advances in paint pigmentation, musical instrument construction, and so on, are examples of technology’s direct influence on artistic output. And yet many cry foul when they suspect a technology may be brushing up against the essence of an artwork.

    When confronted with art that acknowledges direct technological involvement in the creative process, people often say they feel deprived of an authentic artistic experience. They feel cheated in some way.

    I’ve experienced this bias from non-musicians and professional musicians, and I’m not alone. While I understand why people might draw similar battlelines in other aspects of their lives (e.g. politics and spirituality), I’m left frustrated and confused when it comes to the role of technology in art. How can the source of the artifact count for more than the artistic value of the work itself?

    Perhaps a little armchair theorizing will help me understand — or at least feel better about — the apparent state of things.

    Touchable Technologies

    clarinet-technologyCould it be that certain technologies are more readily accepted because they appear to be within the immediate control of the artists themselves? For example, while most composers would be unable to fashion a working clarinet from raw materials, it’s certain that most have worked closely with numerous clarinets and clarinetists, so as to understand the limitations and advantages of the physical mechanisms employed.

    Is a composer’s use of “clarinet technology” acceptable because we can touch it? Are clarinets welcome because they’ve been around (in one form or another) for hundreds of years? Does the mechanical nature of physical instruments and tools seem more grounded to us?

    This sounds plausible.

    Untouchable Technologies

    But if touchability is so important, why then is it acceptable to use software to design and/or implement an artistic idea?

    Most often, creators employ digital tools as a series of black boxes with very little knowledge of their internal workings. Artists using these tools can be unwittingly influenced (or even held hostage) by interfaces, opcodes, and algorithms they didn’t create.

    Computer Generated Net Art

    And yet, artists using technologies like these are rarely (if ever) seen as engaging in artistic trickery or cheating, nor do they feel these tools are outside of their control.

    Strike.

    Maybe it’s time to turn the question of artistic authenticity on its head. What can we learn by examining other examples of artistic practice that are commonly viewed as deceptive?

    The (Dis)Advantage of Influence

    Just as certain applications of technology appear to influence the assumed integrity of a given artwork, the same may be said for the amount and type of perceived influence any given work contains.

    I say “perceived” because it is often the case that deep influence between artists and composers go misappropriated or even unnoticed. In fact, the attribution of landmark innovations can be so widely mistaken that the error becomes an indelible part of the canon.

    Even so, the questions that arise are familiar…

    • When artists draw heavily from existing artwork (whatever their intent), is it a form of cheating?
    • Where should lines be drawn between artistic influence, parody and copying?
    • Is it acceptable for artists to copy (or borrow) from themselves?
    • When is artistic appropriation a creative act, and when does it devolve into plagiarism?

    This feels closely related to questions surrounding our Vermeer example such as: when does a mechanically-aided artistic process cease to be a creative act?

    Hrm…

    Maybe what upsets people isn’t the use of technology per se, but rather a perceived loss of artistic authenticity and uniqueness. Adding to the confusion, perceived signals of artistic authenticity are in a constant state of flux…

    A Modern View

    js-bach-with-shadesInterpreting evidence that Vermeer was an extremely clever engineer with a talent for theatrical staging (who happened to produce incredibly important and influential artworks) is offensive to many — at least today. I suspect the same would be true if evidence surfaced suggesting that Bach’s ingenious counterpoint was significantly made possible by an incredibly clever (but long forgotten) 17th century machine.

    It’s important to remember that these illustrations carry the full force of history behind them. A distant history whereby it’s impossible to know with certainty how any specific artwork was created. Of course, this isn’t true for new pieces created by machines. But this fact only makes it that much easier for people to dismiss machine-generated music as less worthy of repetition — especially in an time of A.I. buzzword fatigue and algorithmic intrusion into our daily lives.

    Parting Thoughts

    I recently had the opportunity to see several of Vermeer’s paintings with my own eyes. Great googily moogily. The light in these paintings are unlike anything else I’ve seen.

    I’m certainly no expert, but the illumination sure feels lens-accurate to me. And so what if it is? The paintings are so much more than the unprecedented technical execution of light and shadow. So much more…

    The truth is — I have yet to hear music produced by a machine that rises to the quality of what humans create. But don’t mistake this for pessimism. There are many worthwhile efforts underway. We’re just getting started. And unlike some, I welcome our new algorithmic overlords.

  • Composing Music with Isomer

    Composing Music with Isomer

    After graduating Eastman in 2002, I got involved with music informatics research and spent several years developing music search and discovery technologies. During that time, I was exposed to emerging AI that led me to imagine potential solutions to existing challenges in computational creativity. Today, I’m working to develop methods for human and software collaboration with the goal of generating novel musical expression grounded in familiar perceptual structures.

    Unlike other approaches to computational creativity, I’m not interested in directly modeling the creative process in humans. Instead, I’m searching for a musical result that speaks emotionally through a context-aware, emergent grammar — a language that feels natural and engaging, even when its surface is unfamiliar. It’s a tall order, and something that I’ll be working toward for a long time to come.

    What is Isomer?

    Since early 2012, I’ve been developing my own software (called Isomer) which allows me to move flexibly between interpretations of fixed audio sources, symbolic performances, and detailed orchestrational renderings. (You can read more about how Isomer thinks about music here.)

    What makes working with Isomer unique is the advanced role the software plays in musically interpreting the raw input data. Over time, Isomer is learning how human-composed music creates and satisfies expectation (emotional tension) and applying this knowledge to the output it generates.

    Making Machines Musical

    Applying deep learning technologies to artistic expression is a popular trend. But even in the best cases, this approach generally results in simple, distorted copies of the original input. While it can provide uncanny effects, the results remain tightly bound to limitations within the input models. In my view, creativity requires the ability to forge new connections between existing contexts, and the missing ingredient with current machine learning approaches is the conscious application of context within the creative medium. Or put more accurately: the contextual classification of musical elements critical to defining musical intent and expectation.

    These critical elements do not appear to reveal themselves with current deep learning methods which is why Isomer must become capable of deciding whether or not to apply learned rules to guide musical expression within an ever-changing artistic context. A simple example of this might be the application of a crescendo to a rising melodic line. There isn’t a single, ideal crescendo that will work in every case. Determining whether or not it’s an appropriate addition, and working out exactly how it should be executed, depends heavily on the melodic, harmonic, and timbral environment. Even if Isomer can learn how to apply an appropriate solution, the contextually-dependent decision whether or not to do so still remains.

    More complex examples include: how to finalize a musical gesture (i.e. registral return, agogic accent, dynamic contrast, none/all of the above?), how to affect a harmonic transition (i.e. adjust harmonic tension within a specific context), and how to orchestrate evolving variations of a specific melodic idea. These examples show how important the interpretation of musical events within their near-term context can be, and it’s for this reason that context awareness is the primary focus of ongoing development. And so with that in mind, let’s take a look at how I collaborate with Isomer throughout the composition process.

    Creative Collaboration: Isomer’s Role

    Isomer’s first job in the process is to reverse engineer audio input to determine how its spectral components change over time. Additionally, Isomer searches for perceptually important transient attack points or “event onsets”. Each event onset defines an adaptive analysis window that provides rhythmic context and helps Isomer develop large-scale formal pacing.

    Within each window, partial data is extracted, normalized, and stored. A picture of the composite harmonic layers is assembled (from bottom to top), allowing Isomer to define a series of layered monophonic lines. These lines are then shaped into useful musical material using learned principles of musical expectation and universal construction.

    Once the model is established (click here for details), Isomer can search for musically relevant patterns and modify the output based on composer input. For some applications, the composer may wish to keep the original analysis generally intact, while in other cases, it may be desirable to ask Isomer to add, remove, or modify events to create a result that is more predictable and universally appealing in its construction.

    Creative Collaboration: The Composer’s Role

    What’s left for the human composer to contribute, you ask? First, the composer must curate the input source(s). Whether it’s a series of short “found” sounds or a meticulously crafted concrète work, the input source has a significant impact on the harmonic content and dramatic pacing of the resulting work.

    Speaking of output, Isomer’s analysis often results in hundreds of tracks, but only a few (maybe 24 or so?) are likely to be used in the competed work. The composer must evaluate the potential for each of these output tracks and determine which will make it into the piece.

    In early versions of the software, the composer completely determined the orchestration. Today, Isomer sets out a basic orchestrational plan which must be modified by the composer. In future versions, Isomer will evaluate the timbral signatures of orchestral options to determine the most musically useful combinations of instruments to employ within the varying emotional states of the work.

    And finally, the composer must digitally realize and produce the resulting piece. Digital production isn’t traditionally considered part of the compositional process, but for me (as with many composers of electronic music) it is. Machine listening is still a long way from dealing with detailed production choices, and these decisions can have an enormous effect on the resulting piece. So for now, production must be up to the composer.

    A Final Thought

    Keep in mind that while exploring creative collaboration with computers is an interesting topic, these process details really don’t define anything too important. What’s truly important is the experience gained by listening. And that will always remain the biggest challenge for anyone involved in creative pursuits — computationally collaborative, or otherwise.

  • The Pleasures of Music

    The Pleasures of Music

    Much of what currently passes as interdisciplinary work in computational creativity is profoundly lacking in artistic experience and understanding. This is a pervasive and critical flaw — after all, the creative side of the equation is our primary goal, is it not?

    To help us consider a more appropriate balance, let’s briefly examine how human composers and analysts approach their work.

    Music as Data

    Our first challenge is that musicians don’t generally think of raw musical materials as data. Immediately we find a conflict between the computational and creative — how can we compute without data? The answer lies with how we collect, represent, and ultimately select musical elements for processing. The key issue we need to consider is context.

    Interpreting the musical context around individual events is what allows us to develop a meaningful picture of how groups of musical events function. Understanding these musical effects requires computational systems to make aesthetic judgments based on experience (or training in this case). I’m developing my own approaches to this set of challenges, but suffice it to say…

    Any composer that deals with musical materials as anything but a means to achieve musical effect is not likely to produce results worth exploring or repeating.

    A Composer’s View

    Composers seek combinations of musical patterns that take on an irrepressible life of their own. As someone with decades of experience attempting this, I can say that it’s an intimate and perilous journey with few external guiding references. Every step forward simultaneously removes options and presents new opportunities, and when a combination of musical events expressing strong potential finally presents itself, there are no guarantees.

    Unfortunately, this first-hand description of the compositional process isn’t very helpful when designing creative algorithms. To do that, we need ways of defining and comparing the effect of musical ideas to learn what sinks and what floats. In recent years my work as composer, pianist, and researcher has focused on developing a computation-friendly approach to this problem and I believe reasonable solutions aren’t that far off.

    What About the Analyst?

    On the other hand, analysis (whether computational or theoretical) encourages the deconstruction and justification of existing musical ideas by developing a highly-relational network of connections between events with clearly definable attributes. Strange as it may seem, some of these relationships may be carefully planned and executed by the composer, but many are not.

    Ultimately, analysis aims to reveal a tightly woven fabric of methodically cataloged connections; regardless of the composer’s design or intent, and without the natural aesthetic judgments mandated by the compositional process.

    Analysis is a necessary component of model-based computational composition. But for analysis to become directly relevant to the compositional process, it must be capable of addressing a wide range of emotional potential to provide a meaningful musical experience. In other words, it must evolve to encompass the pleasures that music provides to us.

    Pleasures of Music

    What exactly do I mean by the “pleasures” of music?

    Well, I don’t mean the types of emotional associations that attach themselves to musical textures, forms, and ideas through cultural conditioning and repetition. No. I’m speaking of an aurally perceptible, inner geometry that attaches itself to our collective nervous system and forces us to repeat and examine it for generations upon generations.

    While it may be difficult to codify them, these designs are recognizable and valued because we are human. We find a pleasure in their architecture that universally speaks to us, regardless of time and cultural distance. And they did not come to exist in a vacuum — they have been under constant development for thousands of years through the myriad generations that precede us. Lucky for us, these designs can be found throughout the musical canon.

    To create music worthy of sustained exploration and repetition, computational creativity must seek out the patterns and trends that elucidate these universal pleasures. This process begins with our attempting to understand fundamental musical aspects like memory, identity, expectation, surprise, and developing a data-driven understanding of the expressive qualities of musical character.

  • What the Future Sounds Like

    What the Future Sounds Like

    Electronic music pioneer Peter Zinovieff sums up Isomer’s raison d’etre in a single sentence…

    https://youtu.be/8KkW8Ul7Q1I?t=25m35s

    See this fantastic documentary in its entirety here.