The Reading Railroad

http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=37785

[Dear Diary,]

Until recently I'd forgotten how much I love to read. In the past week, I've gone through some good books. Some of the best were Phillip Roth's Everyman, Voltaire's Candide, Stephen Hawkings's My Brief History and Lisa Randall's Higgs Discovery: The Power of Empty Space.

In the past, some of my friends have said to me that, for various reasons, they "don't like to read very much". I've empathized. Books have never seemed as innately engaging to me as screen-delivered entertainment. In the past couple years especially I've largely abandoned reading in my leisure time. Instead, I've watched lectures, information-rich web shows, movies, etc.

What I've rediscovered lately is that books make life richer and more interesting. For me, the drive to read is connected to feelings of curiosity and determination to figure things out. When I was a child, those feelings were totally irrepressible. In recent years, they've been less pronounced. I think the relationship between those desires and the consumption of literature is basically symbiotic.

I'll Write This Blog Post Tomorrow

Like many people, I sometimes struggle with the urge to procrastinate. It's amazing how tempting it can be to postpone even the most pressing tasks.

Here is a video from ASAPScience explaining some of the science behind productivity, as well as some insight on how to avoid procrastination. It's informative, funny and short.

When I have trouble focusing, I will often force myself to alternate between "work" and "break" activities. On this schedule, "work" means doing activities that I would normally put off and "break" means doing activities that are low stress and more fun (like writing this article).

My "easy" version of this schedule is to work every hour and half hour for ten minutes, taking twenty minute breaks after each work session (like this). This may seem indulgent, but it ends up being effective because each ten minute work session is extremely intense.

My "medium" version is to alternate between equal fifteen minute breaks and work sessions (like this). Usually this doesn't work very well for me; either the breaks or the work sessions feel a little too long.

My "hard" version is to alternate between twenty minute work sessions and ten minute breaks (like this). This seems to work best when I am completing a task that requires attention for longer periods of time. If I need to "get into" a project in order to do it well, I might approach it this way.

None of these represent a perfect solution, but they all help me stay on top of things without pulling my hair out. In the end, it feels good to get things done.

And now I guess I should get back to work.

EDIT 2013-11-24, 9:14pm:

A friend of mine just sent me a link to a two-part article about procrastination from Wait but Why. It is excellent. Be sure to read both parts One and Two.

A Portrait of the Classical Bullshitter

Consider the following conversation:

Person #1: "Last night, I was listening to Beethoven's second bassoon concerto. It is so gorgeous. Do you know that piece?"
Person #2: "...why, yes! The second violin part in that piece is terrific. In fact, I think that is one of the most underrated gems in his entire oeuvre. But it runs a tad long, don't you think?"
Person #1: "Mmm."

Both of these people are being disingenuous. Neither of them has heard Beethoven’s bassoon concertos, because he didn't write any. But they are eager to impress each other with their knowledge of classical repertoire. So they pretend.

Person #1: “I think that Mozart’s 39th symphony is by far the best he ever wrote. I might even say it represents the pinnacle of European musical culture.  Don’t you agree?”
Person #2: “Oh, it’s wonderful all right, but I tend to prefer his 34th.”

In the process of bullshitting, people may use hyperbolic language (“terrific”, “gorgeous”) and make sweeping statements (“most underrated”, “by far the best”) to make it sound like they know what they’re talking about. This works because it seems less likely that a person who is passionate about a topic will lie about it. They may also posit some critical comments, but these remarks will be deliberately vague (“runs a tad long”, “tend to prefer ____”) so as to avoid being pressured into providing details.

The temptation to bullshit can be enormous because it’s embarrassing to be “caught” not knowing something you should. Faking it seems like an easy and harmless alternative…so long as you get away with it. But it’s impossible to be a hundred percent sure you’re in the clear. Maybe the other person has noticed the deception and is simply being polite. Or maybe you have made a grievous error in your description of the piece.

It is better to be direct and truthful. Contrast the earlier interactions with this one:

Person #1: “I was listening to an awesome piece by Beethoven last night. It was one of his symphonies.”
Person #2: “Can you remember which one it was?”
Person #1: “No…but I remember it had a story attached to it. And one of the movements depicted a storm.”
Person #2: “Oh, that’s the 6th, the ‘Pastoral’. Yeah, I love that piece.”
Person #1: “I know, right?”

This is a happier scene. Person #1 probably doesn't know the repertoire very well—Beethoven’s 6th symphony is a famous piece—but Person #2 fills the gap quickly and the two people are nonetheless on their way to an engaging discussion. This last example demonstrates what we miss out on when we pretend to know things: genuine intellectual growth, camaraderie and the pleasures of honest conversation.

For Its Time

Cave painting, Lascaux, France, 15,000 to 10,000 B.C.

When criticizing a work of art that is important or influential, there is a temptation to forgive its shortcomings in light of its historical significance. Here is an instance: some drawings by early cave dwellers may not be impressive by today's standards, but they may be impressive by the standards of the time in which they were made; for this reason, any comparison between these drawings and the Sistine Chapel that declared Michelangelo's art as artistically superior might be disregarded on the basis of contextual or historical ignorance. This temptation should be resisted.

The truth is that there are two variables at work here: 1) the importance or effect of a piece of art and 2) the excellence of that piece's craftsmanship. These variables are independent. One artwork can be simultaneously influential and poorly made; another can be simultaneously unimportant and brilliant. Therefore, the argument that a work is good "for its time" is not an argument at all--it is a non sequitur, a conversational path towards a possibly interesting but completely separate source of study.

These two subjects require very different areas of knowledge. Talking about the importance of an object of art requires knowledge of the history and culture surrounding its creation. Talking about its craftsmanship requires knowledge of the craft. It is possible for someone to be completely at ease in one of these fields and completely lost in the other.

In my experience there is confusion about this distinction, and this confusion causes problems. There are people who hold back from criticizing the craftsmanship of important works because they are afraid of looking ignorant or erratic. And there are great works that get panned or ignored on the basis of their unpopularity.

We should treat these variables as separate. We should feel free to criticize the classics, and we should feel free to praise artistic accomplishments we suspect will be forgotten.

Newgrounds Interview Reposted from 4/22/12

Image from promotional materials for
Piano no Mori: The Perfect World of Kai

On April 22, 2012 I was interviewed by a member of Newgrounds. The interview is mostly about my music, but a few other topics are discussed as well.

It is reproduced here with a few minor modifications. These modifications are mostly contextual, like removing parts of the original titles of tracks (i.e. "{BT} Sneaky Sneakers" becomes "Sneaky Sneakers"). The original copy of this interview can be found here.

I recommend TheInterviewer for links to more interviews. I also recommend my interview of the host, listed under the Newgrounds username "The-Great-One".

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Today's guest is a fascinating individual. He is probably most known on Newgrounds for his music, with tracks such as Dance till Dawn, Coulrophobia, and Nostalgica. He is also an artist and filmmaker. The story he is going to tell us today is unlike one I have heard before. He is none other than Benjamin Tibbetts.

Q: How did you find Newgrounds and why did you join?

A: A couple of years ago I was looking for a place to showcase some of my original music. A friend of mine mentioned that Newgrounds might be a good place to start. Since I knew he had connected with some very cool artists here, I thought it was worth a shot. At first my experience was not good. Visiting this site for the first time was like wandering clueless into a giant party without knowing anybody. I was overwhelmed by the staggering amount of content. I was intimidated by the quality and talent exhibited by some of the community members, which made me hesitant about uploading anything for a while. Gradually and through participation I've become much more comfortable here. These days it is my homepage.
This experience is probably not unique. I'm sure lots of people are scared away initially from uploading their own content by the harshness of reviews, or by the sheer size of the community, only to later grow to love those same qualities in the site. Newgrounds is somewhat unlike most web communities I've seen in that it feels like a giant mess, like a place where everybody is throwing paint on the walls. Since my first visit to the site I've realized that this is probably the best environment for creative and passionate artists to thrive, fail, succeed and connect with one another. After seeing the recent threats of SOPA and PIPA, I'm beginning to realize how much I cherish this sense of freedom which Newgrounds and some other important sites have fostered in the last decade.

Q: How did you discover music?

A: My parents are music teachers. When I was three years old my dad would play the piano, I would sit on his lap, and I would pretend to play by putting my hands on top of his. At five I started taking piano lessons. I haven't stopped since.

Q: What inspired you to make music?

A: At about seven or eight I realized I didn't like to practice, so I started improvising on the piano to fool my parents in the other room into thinking I was playing Beethoven or whatever it was that I was supposed to be practicing. After a while I started messing around with some old music notation software so I wouldn't forget some of the things I had improvised.

Q: Your first song to the Audio Portal would be entitled So I am Singing. Were you the one singing and then edited with these programs and/or was there more to it?

A: That track sounds even weirder to me now, and even cooler, than when I first wrote it! The voices were totally synthetic and rendered using an old program called Virtual Singer in conjunction with another, even older program called Melody Assistant. The second half of the track is basically a reversed rendition of the first half, which was edited in Audacity.

A screenshot of "Melody Assistant".

Q: How and when did the University of New Hampshire come into your life and what did you study there?

A: I pursued my undergraduate degree in music theory at the University of New Hampshire from 2007 to 2011. There were a few great professors who listened to and gave constructive criticism on nearly everything I wrote while I was there. I also made some close musical friends at the university who continue to give me support, competition and feedback.

Q: Prelude in C minor was a sad solo piece played at the University of New Hampshire by you. Why a sad piece for your performance and what was your audience's response to it?

A: One of my professors said that sometimes you write for yourself and sometimes you write for other people. "Prelude in C Minor" was one of those pieces which was written in a private moment and which I later chose to perform at the university. I tried to evoke a very specific emotion through that music; there is sadness, but sadness with a twinge of something else. The audience responded well. I cut off the applause from the version I submitted to Newgrounds because it ruined the mood, but I nevertheless felt very happy with the reception to that performance.

Q: Your first time in the Trance genre here on Newgrounds would be with Dance till Dawn. I have heard many different Trance songs here on Newgrounds, some good, while others very generic. You take your time with this and ease the listener into it to where you are entrancing the listener. What was the inspiration and process you took in making this?

A: I'm beginning to understand the genre a little better now than when I wrote that song. The trouble is, you can write a very generic Trance song and be perfectly within the confines of the genre and also be boring as hell. Or, you can blur the genre line so completely that no one can follow what's going on. "Dance till Dawn" was a little too ambitious for the software I was working with at the time, so it sounds to me like this might be overdo for a makeover with better samples, but I'm still very proud of the song compositionally. I'll reveal something a little private here and mention that the inspiration for the track actually came from my experiences seeing various people I knew struggle with abusive relationships throughout high school and college. I tried to convey some of these emotions through the music. There is struggle and there is momentum throughout the whole track. The music takes a few dark turns, but everything ends on a triumphant note. Trance felt right for that kind of story. The process I used to write the song was not complicated, but it was slow--I painstakingly clicked and dragged every note into the notation software and listened repeatedly until I was sure I was writing what I wanted to hear.

Q: Sneaky Sneakers lives up to its name of being very sneaky. As the user basbalfan55 put it...

"The plucked guitar, harp, and pizzicato strings were a perfect selection of instruments which fits the character described in the title perfectly. Wonderful layering of instruments, and the melody and countermelodies all work so well together!"

Would you agree with this statement? If not then perhaps you could tell us your original vision when making this song?

A: Jeff Heim (basbalfan55) is himself an impressive composer, so it was great to find that complement from him in the Comments box. To answer your question I'll just say that "Sneaky Sneakers" began as something totally different than what it became. There was a long period a few years ago when I would write a piece every day in Sibelius for whatever instruments I felt like using at that moment. This by itself doesn't explain why some of these sketches came out as strangely as they often did (and even less does it explain what to do with them now, other than let them sit on my hard drive), but there was definitely something cathartic about writing music every day and getting into a really consistent work schedule. The piece which eventually became "Sneaky Sneakers" began as a trombone quintet with cowbell on the side and it was called "More Cowbell". Eventually I decided to change the music and settled on using plucked strings to create a completely different atmosphere.

Q: I believe there is an interesting story to be told with the song Coulrophobia. The definition of this word is of course "the fear of clowns". So what is the story behind this song?

A: I hate clowns. I know they're supposed to be funny but I don't find them funny at all. When I was a little kid my parents used to take me to a traveling circus which came to my town every year. This was like getting the same awful Christmas gift in your stocking a couple years in a row. I wasn't into it. I tried to look like I was having a good time so it wouldn't hurt my parents' feelings. Apparently I was a little too convincing.

Q: Another step into the world of Trance would be with Alberti's Place. Truly a rocking song that envelops the ears. When making this song did you reference "Dance till Dawn" or did you simply go from scratch when looking into Trance?

A: That's a hard question, because I do think that I might have accidentally or subconsciously borrowed from Dance till Dawn to make Alberti's Place. Mostly the answer is no. "Alberti's Place" came more from my recent obsession with Souleye's soundtrack to VVVVVV, and although I think it fits well into the Trance category I would probably be equally comfortable submitting it as Video Game music. There is a kind of 8-bit enthusiasm in the middle section which I tried to copy from Souleye's work. Definitely, though, electronica is something I've really only begun to explore.

Q: My favorite song by you and what I believe to be your best song has to be Nostalgica. It truly did captivate my ears when I heard and sent me back to a simpler time of my youth as I'm sure it will for others who listen to it. Where did the inspiration for this song come from?

A: "Nostalgica" is emotional for me too. Its roots are in some Japanese music which is close to my heart, namely the soundtracks to the Zelda and Final Fantasy series as well as the films of Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata. I imagine that anyone who's played those games or seen those movies might understand a little of what I'm getting at. I definitely associate those feelings with my childhood and with sights, sounds and smells which are only just on the edge of my memory.

Q: The last song of yours we're gonna talk about is Four On Four an interesting Video Game song for sure since it can be used for a variety of different things. Either just as a background theme, a fight song, a boss theme, there are just so many possibilities. Where did the inspiration come from for this one and what were the steps you took into building it?

A: Some of the inspiration for "Four on Four" came from admiration for certain NES soundtracks, particularly music from the Castlevania and Super Mario Bros. games. What I find really inspiring about these old soundtracks is the simultaneous complexity and simplicity which they demonstrate. There are only ever a few lines or melodies happening at once, but the music is nevertheless really sophisticated, and there are lot of little details which an attentive listener can relish. I should add that the Ape Escape soundtrack by Soichi Terada was also on my mind when I composed this and I definitely hear influences from that music as well.

To create a tricky piece like "Four on Four" I split the composition process into two distinct parts: 1) the initial conception and 2) the edited final track. This is a process which seems to work well for a lot of my music. I begin by writing down the things I'm sure about, or as sure as I can be--a melody, a harmony I really like, a texture which is really important in a certain place, and so on. During this time I sometimes make notes (no pun intended) about what I'm going to do later. This is usually done in one sitting, or as quickly as possible, to get the idea out of my mind and into some kind of recognizably musical form before I second-guess myself. Usually this results in a track which is too long and disorganized. This is actually a great place to start. From there I edit, reorchestrate, tweak, reconsider, and polish the music until I'm satisfied (or, occasionally, until I'm sick of working on it!). I like to think of this process as comparable to mining for a raw metal before cutting and polishing the diamond.

"Nostalgia" by Luke Cheuh

Q: You are not only just a musician, but you are also an artist. You have many different works in the Art Portal. When and how did you get into art?

A: I've been into CG art as a hobby since about 2004 when I first bought a copy of Bryce 3. I had a vision that one day I would develop an RPG and create the graphics and music myself, a vision which came directly out of hot summer days playing Final Fantasy VII. I posted to the art community at Renderosity under a couple anonymous usernames. Now I've found that the Newgrounds Art Portal offers a much richer community with more helpful feedback. These days I use an amalgamation of several free and commercial programs to make my visual art. The RPG has been put on hold indefinitely.

Q: You are, as you describe, a hobbyist filmmaker. What films have you made?

A: There were some student films in high school and college, two which are feature-length and about two dozen are short films of varying quality and subject matter. I've also made a few short animations which are fairly abstract. Filmmaking is wonderful--it combines a lot of my interests, ranging from compositional work to visual aesthetics, and it offers another medium through which I can express myself artistically.

Q: You have posted in two different atheist threads. Are you an atheist? If so then could you tell your story of how you became an atheist?

A: Yes, I think I can say that I am a passionate atheist. My family is devoutly and almost uniformly Protestant, so giving up the faith of my parents, siblings and close relatives was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I think that in the U.S. there is almost as much pressure on people to be religious, or spiritual in some ill-defined way, as there is pressure to be heterosexual. Happily, thanks to some some very talented writers such as the late Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins and several others, it looks like the atmosphere is beginning to improve for atheists in this country. But there remains an element of pathos in losing one's religion. I'm not at all sorry to have lost faith in God, but I am sorry to have lost what was once the only thing in common between myself and some Christians. I alluded to this briefly in the NG forum: I remember having the exact same feelings towards some of my friends at school when I found out Santa Claus was not real, and even having some of the same arguments (such as "If no one knows if you're naughty or nice, why not be naughty all the time?", and "How can you prove He doesn't exist?", and so on). These sentiments affect my work as much as they affect my politics, so I would be remiss if I didn't talk about this part of my life.

"Cosmic Chapel" by Zdzislaw Beksinski

Q: You and I share a fascination of learning more. You too are an interviewer. What made you want to interview others in different fields?

A: Yes, I interview composers, game developers and visual artists. I get a thrill out of making contact with people I admire, and it's fun to pick their brains about things which interest me. Usually I learn things from an interview. Sometimes the person I am interviewing will write something which causes me to think deeply for a moment, like when Daniel Remar responded to the question about "Do you have any wisdom to offer to aspiring game developers and programmers", and part of his response was "Make what you love." I think that's terrific advice.

I should add that I think what you are doing here at TheInterviewer is great for Newgrounds. I'm sure I speak for your other readers in saying we appreciate the work you do and enjoy the weekly articles.

Q: You seem to be a teacher of music. Could you tell us then in your own words, your definition of what music is?

A: Defining a word like music is like reverse engineering your own head. I might describe music as "any sound or sounds to which we pay attention, usually organized with the purpose of entertaining an audience, generally distinct from unsung speech and language."

Q: What can we expect from Benjamin Tibbetts in the future?

A: You can expect more music! I am scoring an animation which will hopefully be presented to some of the folks over at Adult Swim later this month. In the more immediate future I'm scoring another short student film by Brian Burke. This is on the heels of his previous film "No Good Deed", which I have showcased on the News section of my acount homepage.

Besides that, I will continue posting music to the Audio Portal and on my website at www.bentibbetts.net.

I found Benjamin Tibbetts while I was simply browsing the Audio Portal. His music captivated my ears and I was truly stunned that I did not come across him sooner. Over the course of this interview and after it we have become friends, and I'm certainly glad that we have. He is oozing with creativity and uses the outlets supplied to him to share his creations with the world. My only hope is that more of the world will learn about him in time.

Opie the Birdman

"The sound is jaunty but without joy, like whistling in the dark. It sets the tone; the action begins like an undergraduate lark and then reveals vicious undertones."
-Roger Ebert, in his review of The Third Man

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A lot of the music in mainstream television programming is generic or repetitive. But TV music doesn't have to be that way, and it hasn't always been, either. There is a video which I've kept coming back to since childhood that illustrates this perfectly. It is an episode of "The Andy Griffith Show", a sitcom which ran from 1960 to 1968. The episode is titled "Opie the Birdman". The music in this show (written by the late Earle Hagen) was motivic, expressive and meticulously designed to accompany the actions of the show's characters.

In this post, I'd like to walk through the music in one scene from this episode. By doing so I hope to draw attention to a few moments in the score that I think exhibit quality and attention to detail. To fully understand the depth to which Hagen internalizes this narrative, I recommend watching the episode in its entirety.

EDIT 7/13/2013: I've just noticed that this video is no longer freely available on YouTube due to a copyright claim by CBS. This is unfortunate.

I recommend this show to anyone who's interested in Earle Hagen's scoring for television. It is available on DVD: The Andy Griffith Show, "Opie the Birdman", Season 4, Episode 1. Here is a link to the fourth season on Amazon.com.

• 4:20-4:44. After a brief segue from the previous scene, there is a period of fugal interplay between the woodwinds. The flutist is prominent. The music is complex and nontonal. It reflects Opie's playfulness and exuberance. As Opie pretends to shoot his slingshot, the harp mimics his actions with punctuated note clusters. It is appropriate that a plucked string instrument like the harp should accompany the slingshot, because the slingshot is itself constructed much like a string instrument; when a stretched elastic band like the inner tube in Opie's slingshot is drawn and released, it produces the sound of a vibrating string.
• 4:44-4:50. There is a suspenseful pause as Opie puts a real stone into the slingshot and shoots it at a tree.
• 4:50-4:56. The woodwinds resume the playful music. This time it is louder and more intense. More instruments are playing, and some of the lines are doubled.
• 4:56-5:02. The strings enter. They play a premonitory phrase as Opie loads another stone. Much of the material between 4:56 and the end of this scene is modal. Unlike key areas which are firmly major and minor, often interpreted as archetypically happy or sad respectively, modal areas often suggest a range of emotions more bittersweet or complex than pure joy or despondence.
• 5:02-5:10. As Opie fires the stone into the air, there is an ascending motion in the orchestra. When the stone hits the bird, the ascending line stops abruptly. When Opie sees the bird falling to the ground, the premonitory music briefly resumes.
• 5:10-5:15. The oboe arpeggiates a minor chord as Opie approaches the bird. All traces of playfulness in the music have vanished.
• 5:15-5:26. The flute plays a series of slackening trills as Opie guiltily encourages the bird to fly away. These trills sound like the chirping of a bird.
• 5:26-6:13. The score gradually becomes more tragic as Opie processes the situation. A fragment of a motive is played by the violist. This motive is not limited to this episode--Hagen uses leitmotifs like this one to signify different characters in the show. These leitmotifs recur from episode to episode and from season to season. Over the course of the series, this motive gradually becomes associated with Opie's character.
• 6:13-6:31. As Opie cries and runs away, the strings bring the score to its melancholic climax. There is a segue to the next scene.
• 6:48-6:52. As Andy walks up to the house, there is another preminatory phrase.
• 6:52-7:02. When Andy notices the dead bird, there is another series of slackening trills in the flute.
• 7:02-7:19. As Andy's attention is drawn upwards towards the young birds in the nest, another upwards flourish is played by the orchestra. There is a segue to the next scene.

The rest of the score is just as detailed. Hagen is a master craftsman. He carefully balances musical elements to create a commentary which unfolds with the gracefulness and dignity of a well-written ballet.

Clarifornication

"Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.

"In the book it said: 'Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole, without chewing it. After that they are not able to move, and they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion.'"

~from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, English translation by Katherine Woods

"As soon as he got home, he went to the larder; and he stood on a chair, and took down a very large jar of honey from the top shelf. It had HUNNY written on it, but, just to make sure, he took off the paper cover and looked at it, and it looked like honey. 'But you can never tell,' said Pooh. 'I remember my uncle saying once that he had seen cheese just this colour.' So he put his tongue in, and took a large lick. 'Yes,' he said, 'it is. No doubt about that. And honey, I should say, right down to the bottom of the jar....'"

~from The World of Pooh, stories by A. A. Milne

["Dear Diary..."]

There are some things I don't miss about elementary school. The daily intonation of the pledge of allegiance. The way everyone in middle school appeared infinitely larger and tougher. The way certain grown-ups sometimes seemed to be addressing you as an infant. "Mrs. So-And-So," one of them might say, referring to herself in the third person, raising up her eyebrows impossibly high on her forehead, "Mrs. So-And-So would be so happy if you could stop playing with those sharp scissors right now, because those are big boy scissors..." Maybe I suspected even then that some of these poor, overworked souls could probably use an all-expenses-paid vacation or at least a couple stiff drinks.

But I do miss the books. Picking up a copy of The World of Pooh, I notice a few oddities that escaped my attention as a Kindergartener--why, for instance, is The Hundred Acre Wood almost exclusively an all-boys club?--but mostly I enjoyed reading it as much today as the first time on my mother's knee.1

Children's books like The World of Pooh and The Little Prince use simple language to convey complex ideas. Consider the quotes at the top of this post. The first scene is brutal and viscerally awesome. It conveys itself in a few words--a snake devouring an animal whole--while leaving some details for the imagination to "chew on", like whether the animal is killed instantly or what it would be like to be inside a boa constrictor. The second is full of subtlety; the reader knows almost from the beginning that Pooh's tongue-in-cheek aside, "but you can never tell..." probably functions as a justification for mischief. Both of these scenes demand intelligence; the reader must "get" that the snake is without conscience while Pooh is possibly acting against his own.

Obviously, complex or sophisticated language is not a bad thing. It is sometimes extremely beautiful and sometimes extremely necessary. We would be much poorer if English literature was subjected to the rules of the Simple English Wikipedia. But I do wish public speakers and writers--especially people in the political sphere--were sometimes required to speak and write more simply. Truthful statements and good arguments would be better understood. Dishonest statements and bad arguments would be more easily disproved or disregarded.

See also:

1. Although I did find one jarring moment in the first chapter: in light of the recent shooting of a 2-year-old girl by her 5-year-old brother, Milne's depiction of Christopher Robin traipsing around with a gun "just in case" doesn't have quite the same charm as it used to.

Grindcore, Zelda and Dopamine

I held a public exchange with The-Great-One earlier this month. The conversation was conducted via personal messages and published on one of his blogs over at Newgrounds. I've reproduced it here (and added a few more hyperlinks than were in the original article).

================================

Benjamin Tibbetts: Here's something that concerns both of us: the idea of criticizing, or appraising or judging works of art.
Movies are a popular art form. Steven Spielberg's Lincoln has grossed over $180 million worldwide since its release last November. It's also been received well by critics. At the time of this writing, it ranks a 90% on Rotton Tomatoes.

After watching a movie like this one, made by a "serious" director, people all around the world engage in a familiar scene: they talk about it. On the ride home, say, or on the phone in the context of recommending the movie to a friend. They talk about what they didn't like and what they did, they talk about the performances of the actors and actresses, the quality of the special effects, the music, the camera shots, etc. From listening to some of these conversations one might think that no aspect of any movie, however insignificant, could ever pass unevaluated before these scrupulous eyes.

People may choose to disagree--sometimes vehemently--about the quality of these films. But it's not always clear to me that these arguments aren't personal or subjective. What is there for someone to be really "right" or "wrong" about in their judgement of these experiences? If someone says for instance that they "didn't care for" Daniel Day-Lewis' portrayal of Lincoln, are they really making an objective statement about dissimilarities between his portrayal of Lincoln and historical records? Or are they simply saying that their experience of the character was an unpleasant or unsatisfying one?

If it's the latter (and I suspect it often is) then their criticisms say more about variables like their individual personalities, the theaters in which they saw the movie, how comfortable the seats were, the moods they were in that day, etc. than they do about Daniel Day-Lewis's abilities as an actor.

This observation applies to critics of all art forms. Consider classical music. Critics often describe Mozart as a "genius"-is that an objective judgement of reality, or an expression of an essentially personal passion for the music?

I'm not denegrating this kind of passion but you can see that its usefulness is limited--"I'm glad you like it," I often want to say, "but what makes you think everyone should or must feel the same way?"
If the critic was describing, say, a plumber hired to fix a toilet, he might judge the plumber's ability by whether or not the toilet malfunctioned the next day. In other words, the plumber has a specific job, and the criteria for evaluating him as a professional is fundamentally connected to whether or not he competently does that job.

But what exactly is the job of a composer? "To write music," one might say. But it's not that simple. Suppose Mozart haphazardly drew pseudo-random notes on a piece of manuscript paper. (Incidentally, there are many people who essentially make their livings doing just that.) Under that simplistic definition, he would be fully doing his job as a composer. Would we still praise him for his abilities? No. There are a whole host of other expectations, some that are extremely subtle and some that even the audience can't quite articulate, pertaining to music composition. When a critic effectively says that Mozart's music is "perfect in every way" (as many music critics have), is he really taking into account this vast and complicated criteria? Or, is he merely describing his own personal taste?

The-Great-One: All art is subjective. However interpretation can be different. As far as movies go, you hit the nail on the head. The experience in the art can affect you. Seeing a movie in theaters, with other people, on the big screen is truly a wonderful experience. That is why when movies are re-released into theaters, people go see them. Mainly for the theater experience and seeing the movie on the big screen.

As far as music goes, there is a video called The Science of Music that I think explains music and how people see it and judge it through their criteria. It's a form of drug in a way, best way to describe music is different forms of liquor. Since many alcoholic drinks are two note to three note chords in the way they're constructed, the quality of the drink matters.

BT: Interesting. I've never heard that analogy about drinks--I think you'll have to unpack that a little more for me.

That video explains why people feel good when they do--dopamine--and it points out that "music" generally causes us to release that neuro-transmitter. What's limiting about this explanation can be illustrated by the quotation marks I used in the previous sentence. Not only is it difficult to define what's "good" or "bad" about music, it's challenging just to define music itself. The video begins:

"Whether it's Mozart, Joni Mitchell, Adele, or newcomers like Frank Ocean, music is powerful and has existed in all cultures throughout history."

The fact is that Mozart's music is not very much like Adele's. And (don't get me wrong, I like Adele) I doubt that many serious people would agree to equating the two artists in terms of talent or accomplishment. But is this being unfair? Mozart's music is much more contrapunctal than Adele's, and at the time his music (i.e. his operas and later works) was much more innovative. Then there is the fact of Mozart's natural ability to apparently conceive entire works of this massive complexity in his head--clearly Mozart had much more to "offer" in terms of both ability and influence than Adele does now.

And yet...if we were to judge music purely by its complexity, or by the talent of the composer, we're liable to praise music which is neither pleasant to listen to and admire people for parlor tricks. Here is, for example, some music for a game called Adventures of Rad Gravity. The music is deeply complex. The composer obviously put a lot of time into it. But I think most people will agree it sounds terrible.

TGO: As I have been doing The Interviewer, I have interviewed different musicians here on Newgrounds and have asked them what the definition of music is. All of them have different ways of answering the question. I feel that is the question here. What is music and how should we judge it? How should we compare them? A video entitled Brutal/Deathcore/Grindcore is NOT Music! talks about how Metal is better constructed than these forms of music.

I think the dopamine does have something to do with it. How we label what music is good or bad. For some people one drink can be put together in an amazing way, like a martini. There are those though, who do not care for martinis. Then some drinks which are put together in a complex way, which taste great to some, but awful to others - like a Bloody Mary. The time and effort put into anything doesn't account for the finished product, if the finished product doesn't hold up well. Simplicity at times is much better.

BT: That was a funny video. I share PMRants' annoyance with Grindcore/Deathcore/etc.-core. It may be that certain genres of music, because of its outrageous content and messages, may actually be detrimental to the mental health of its fan base. But if we take PMRants' statement at face value (instead of regarding it as the polemical "rant" he probably intended) then we can see that he's clearly being illogical. Grindcore does, in fact, conform perfectly to the definition of music to which he alludes in the video. Here is that definition again.

music, noun.
1. an art of sound in time that expresses ideas and emotions in significant forms through the elements of rhythm, melody, harmony, and color.
2. the tones or sounds employed, occuring in a single line (melody) or multiple lines (harmony), and sounded or to be sounded by one or more voices or instruments, or both.

The construction of a Grindcore song may not take much talent (or perhaps it does; I don't know, as I have never tried) but it is certainly an "art" of some kind rather than a "science" in the traditional sense. Each song expresses a vision which is fundamentally based on an individual's conception of the world. It may be that most people (myself included) find many such conceptions unattractive. This does not change the fact that, conventions aside, there is no perfectly exact formula for a Grindcore song--at least not to the same degree of detail as, say, a scientific experiment or a culinary recipe.

A Grindcore song is necessarily comprised of temporally organized sound, and these sounds do express ideas and emotions. The fact that these ideas are largely violent in nature does not change this fact. Similarly, PMRants may find the rhythms of, say, the obnoxiously fast kick drum figures in Grindcore monotonous...but they are still rhythmic figures under any recognizable definition of a rhythmic phenomenon. He may find the lyrics indecipherable, but the singer is still expressing some kind of a melody. The accompaniment to the singers still expresses some kind of harmony. And so on.

I think what I'd like to argue for is a change in the language we use when criticizing music. We may defend our feelings about a genre by describing properties of that genre ("I find Grindcore monotonous because there isn't much timbral variety found in the entire spectrum of Grindcore songs."). But we're inaccurate when we say that our feelings objectively describe genres on their own merit ("Grindcore is monotonous.") I don't see the point of labeling music as simply "good or bad" in this way.

TGO: I agree with you that we do need a change in the language we use to describe music. We've been on the subject of music for quite sometime now, perhaps we could change the subject. I believe you and I are both fans of The Legend of Zelda series. What is your favorite game in the series and why?

BT: Well, I don't know very much about the series as a whole. I haven't played any of the games after Ocarina of Time--this includes most of the Zelda canon. But when I was a kid, A Link to the Past was probably my favorite game. LTTP offered a huge degree of variety and exploration. Its aesthetics, visual and aural, really "did it" for me. I recently replayed it in order to study the soundtrack for a paper, and found that I still knew the game inside out even after having shelved it for ten years. That hyper-intimacy might be partly why I still have a continual attachment to the game. How about you?

TGO: I also played The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past as a kid. My favorite is The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. I love the story, characters, music, and the use of all the unique items, dungeons, and fun boss battles. I would say the best in the series though is The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask. You did a paper on the soundtrack? Why a video game as a choice?

BT: Yes, I wrote a paper called "Hypermeter in The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past". It examined a specific musical element of the soundtrack. Now that I've passed it in as a final project for a class (and gotten a B- for writing issues and a couple illogical statements) I'd like to rewrite it and maybe publish it at some point.

I chose to write that paper because I liked the music in LTTP. In a larger sense, I suspect games are worth writing about. Roger Ebert once pointed out in an informal survey that there exists a demographic of people who would rather play a [generic] video game than read Huckleberry Finn. Alongside this apparently important phenomenon is the existing video game literature, often by authors who seem to lack first-hand experience of games. Ebert's companion blog post Video Games Can Never Be Art demonstrates this strange juxtaposition.
Ebert, it should be noted, later wrote that he was foolish to publicly bring up the subject of video games. This demonstrates again the usefulness of that "cardinal rule" regarding time management: "Not everything worth saying is worth saying oneself" (Harris). I know you do some work in this area; I'd love to know what drew you to video games, what authors you'd recommend, etc...?

TGO: I remember hearing about Roger Ebert talking about video games. Since he didn't really go into the scope of video games he couldn't really judge them on the merits of being art. The first video game I played was Super Mario World on the Super Nintendo Entertainment System at the age of 4, so I've been playing video games at an early age. What really drew me to them was how I was in control of the story and that it wouldn't advance unless I made it advance. The advancement in graphics always surprises me. At one point in time I thought that Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars was going to be as good as video games were going to look, until the Nintendo 64 came along.

I didn't start reading about video games until much later. Little Wars by H.G. Wells I believe to be the origin of all video games. It's a rule book in miniature warfare with small tin soldiers. Another book called Floor Games by H.G. Wells I believe describes why we are gamers, why we are drawn to video games, and why we enjoy playing them. Even though he talks about simple children's games such as Jacks, it can be related to us throughout the different eras of video games. I could also recommend Dungeons & Desktops by Matt Barton. What drew you to video games and what authors would you recommend?

BT: That's so cool--I didn't know H.G. Wells took games on as a topic. Super Mario World was my first game too. In retrospect, I was probably drawn by the bright colors in that game as much as anything. My second cartridge was the impossibly difficult Taz-Mania for SNES, which again immersed the player in a hyper-saturated cartoon universe.

About ten years ago I was initially drawn into trying the "Game Maker" software by a thoughtful piece written by its programmer, Mark Overmars. In an essay entitled "Designing Good Games", probably a distillation of a course he teaches at Utrecht University, he outlined some of the characteristics of games as opposed to toys or tools. There are some other developer/writers. Cly5m has a sort of exquisite website which offers some intimate scribbles about video games and other things; and blogs by people like Notch and Auntie Pixelante can be illuminative.

TGO: Oh I remember Taz-Mania on the SNES. That game was brutal in difficulty. I never really got far into it. I will admit it was still fun to play, even if it was hard.

My first take into making games was making my own board games. I made so many, even though most of them were just go from START to FINISH. I developed my own maze game on paper, it used a lot of different items in it to get you from here to there including keys, bombs, and skateboards just to name a few. I have done some ROM Hacking with Super Mario World, but that was about as far as I got. I never really dived into a program to make games. When it comes to making video games and information about it, I love watching Extra Credits. It is very insightful while at the same time being humorous as well.

BT: You're probably in good company in liking "Extra Credits". I remember a tweet from Daniel Remar (a talented Swedish game developer, one of my favorite people) saying he was inspired by that show. The artist for "Extra Credits", by the way, is much more brilliant than the visuals on that show might suggest.

================================

Since this conversation, I've discovered that Allison Theus, long-time artist for Extra Credits, has stepped down from the show. Sad as this is, I would still recommend this thought-provoking web series to almost anyone. I also recommend The Game Overthinker and the brand new video-games-meets-feminism show by Feminist Frequency.

Love is a Song

A brief follow-up to my last post on "classical music":

Musicians and non-musicians alike frequently use the word "song" incorrectly. Here are the seven definitions for the word provided on Dictionary.com:

1. a short metrical composition intended or adapted for singing, especially one in rhymed stanzas; a lyric; a ballad.
2. a musical piece adapted for singing or simulating a piece to be sung: Mendelssohn's “Songs without Words.”
3. poetical composition; poetry.
4. the art or act of singing; vocal music.
5. something that is sung.
6. an elaborate vocal signal produced by an animal, as the distinctive sounds produced by certain birds, frogs, etc., in a courtship or territorial display.
7. (idiom) "for a song"--at a very low price; as a bargain: "We bought the rug for a song when the estate was auctioned off."

None of these definitions approach the meaning people often colloquially intend: that "song" can essentially refer to any short musical experience.

Does it matter? No, not very much, except that by reducing all such experiences to a single word we deny ourselves the opportunity to use more colorful and specific words. What we're listening to may indeed be a song but it may also be a composition, a track, a recording, a performance, a tune, a sound, a noise. It may even be all of these at once. Why limit ourselves?

"Classical Music"

What is "classical music"? In the historical sense, it is music written in the Classical era by contemporaries of Mozart, Haydn, etc. This is "Classical" with a capital C.

However, this phrase is often used casually to mean something more ambiguous. The current edition of the American Heritage® New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy says it's "a loose expression for European and American music of the more serious kind, as opposed to popular or folk music."

The term in that sense is problematic. Both implications—that European/American popular/folk music isn't serious and that non-popular and non-folk music is serious—are questionable because there seem to be many exceptions. This is one general objection to all such distinctions between so-called "high" and "low" art. Of course, even if one buys the idea that there are two kinds of music, "classical music" is still a little confusing because it sometimes carries the former meaning. ("Is this piece classical or Classical? Is it classically written?")

There are alternatives. One can refer to the composer, the band or artist; describe the instrumentation; make an individual judgement on the "seriousness" of the work without lumping it with other similarly "serious" works; or use other genre-specific vocabulary.

Dreaming Up A Better Time Signature

"Art demands of us that we do not stand still."

     ~Ludwig van Beethoven (translated)

Most musicians, if they read music, spend a lot of time "interpreting" what's on the page by attempting to translate the notes on the page into a performance practice or theory. This written language didn't appear suddenly. It evolved over time until it reached its present incarnation, and will presumably continue to evolve unless and until the forces of technology render it obsolete.

Like most things that evolved, it is not perfectly designed. Some relatively small changes could probably make music notation more intuitive. This might be worthwhile, because more intuitive sheet music is probably conducive to better performance and better theory. In this post, I'll spend some time proposing one such change. (Heads up: some basic knowledge about notation is assumed.)

This is a time signature. The top number indicates how many beats are contained in every measure. In every measure following this particular signature, the note values must add up to a total of 4 beats. The bottom number indicates how many beats are contained in every note--or, rephrasing it a little, how long every note lasts in terms of beats. In the music following this particular signature, every quarter note lasts for the duration of one beat. This cryptic little nugget of knowledge is traditionally indicated by the bottom number "4".

Although the bottom number determines the beat-measurements of each note value, the relationships between the note values stay the same. A quarter note is still twice the length of an eighth note, a half note is still half the length of a whole note, etc.

To illustrate: If one was writing music using this "4/4" time signature and wanted, for instance, to fill a measure using only quarter notes, one would simply draw a measure with four quarter notes in it. But there are many other rhythmic options to fill each measure if the composer should feel so inclined--one could use two half notes (since each half note is still worth two quarter notes, and the total number of beats in the measure would still add up to four) or eight eighth notes (since an eighth note is still half a quarter note, and the total number of beats in the measure would still add up to four), or another of many variations of note combinations relying on similar arithmetic. Summarily: in every measure following this time signature, there are four beats, and these four beats are filled with the equivalent of four quarter notes.

Are you lost yet? Don't feel alone--I find time signatures almost unbearably difficult to explain, and I suspect many other musicians feel similarly uncomfortable. When I was a child, the bottom number of a time signature was quickly dismissed by my piano teacher as an indication of "which note gets the beat". Later, when I asked for what amounted to a clarification of this riddle, I was told not to worry about the number for the time being because we would "get to it later". Unfortunately, we didn't. I switched to another teacher, who innocently and unwisely assumed that I comprehended music fundamentals. For a long time afterwards as a result of this poor communication the number remained mysterious to me.

Visually, the trouble with putting one number on top of another, like "4/4" or "6/8", is that it doesn't tell the whole story. Without explanation, it's impossible to infer what it might mean. In effect, the bottom number really refers to an oft-unmentioned and almost never-drawn chart (seen below) which draws unobvious correlations between certain numbers and note values. This basic information is probably key to "reading" the time signature.

One may see that the bottom number is essentially a glyph. The number 4, for example, does not mean or necessarily translate to anything to do with the number "4". It translates, as it turns out, to "quarter note". If the bottom number is a 4, then every quarter note is worth one beat. If it is an 8, then every eighth note is worth one beat. And so on.

As if this didn't appear arbitrary enough, things can then get even weirder. Once the student has internalized that information, he or she must then deal with the fact that the time signature often doesn't accurately describe the music. This is because there are further traditions, also often inferred rather than explained, which dictate that certain time signatures are not interpreted in the same way as they are notated. For instance, generally the 6/8 time signature is "felt" in 2--in performance, it sounds like there are two beats in every measure, where each beat is notated using three eighth notes (or the equivalent of one dotted quarter note). Another example may be a piece written in 3/4 which is meant to be "felt" in 1--in performance, it sounds like there is one beat in every measure, where each beat is notated using three quarter notes (or the equivalent of one dotted half note). These traditions are numerous and sometimes contradictory or dependent upon historical context.

There seem to be several unnecessary steps here. If it is accurate to say that the time signature has evolved, than this incarnation of its bottom half may be regarded as a byproduct of evolutionary processes not unlike, say, an appendix. In its current form, it appears to be more trouble than it's worth.

If on the other hand this aspect of the time signature was more self-explanatory, then a host of issues could be avoided--the common confusion of time signatures with fractions, the myriad practices which are only inferred by somebody else's demonstration or research, the challenge of sight-reading music with changing time signatures, etc.

Although there are probably many other solutions, a more intuitive time signature might look something like this:

Here are five potential time signatures using an alternative method. The bottom number has been discarded, and in its place the composer simply drew whatever note value he or she wished to have represent a single beat. The first time signature, in practice resembling 4/4, uses the image of a quarter note to indicate what the musician ultimately needs to know: that every measure is filled by the equivalent of four quarter notes. The second time signature, this time bearing resemblance to 2/2, indicates that every measure is filled by the equivalent of two half notes. The third time signature might be described as a descendant of the traditional 2-beat 6/8--it indicates that every measure is filled by the equivalent of two dotted quarter notes. And so on. Notice how much simpler this would be.

This is just an improvised improvement, offered up as an example. Although it seems better than the traditional model, it may still not be the most intuitive way of communicating the concepts behind the time signature. There may be ways of experimentally determining music notation methods which are optimally designed and easily understood after a quick perusal. Such experiments might incidentally reveal interesting things about how the human mind operates, and would almost surely come up with some better solutions than I could invent on the spot. But the fact that one can easily "dream up" such improvements in a few minutes suggests that the traditional system isn't all it might be.

Now you may think I seem overexcited about this apparently small detail. I should mention that I don't think this is just an academic issue. Confusion and differences of opinion on the interpretation of certain time signatures can affect professional as well as amateur musicians. And, even if every trained musician miraculously knew by osmosis how to interpret time signatures, the sheer factor of intimidation might still be doing damage to the musical community. The challenge of learning to read music might still be preventing some children and adults alike from entering the field and reaching their potential creative heights. Taken in the proper context, this is a fairly depressing thought. Who knows what music we never get to hear, or what blossoming of musical personality we never get to witness, when the challenges of notation scare a would-be artist out of exploring his or her natural talents?

Only slightly less depressing is the relatively obvious observation that many successful musicians manage without reading so much as a single note on paper. Might their careers be further improved by knowledge of music fundamentals? The impression I've gotten from talking to some people in this situation is that music notation presents a forbidding challenge. Hopeless about their chances of taking on this other "language", and motivated by the impression that their ignorance may encourage certain kinds of creative or artistic excellence, they continue to make music without taking the time to learn how to read it.

If we care about the problem of musical illiteracy, than we should consider addressing flaws in our notation methods. Of course, we don't know whether such a project, even if spearheaded by professors and public musicians, could ever be practical. Would it be possible, if enough loud, confident, influential voices spoke up, to incrementally but deliberately improve the written language of music?

The global exchange of information on the Internet might suggest that such gigantic collaboration could someday be plausible. But, the same sorts of technologies that could enable this innovation may also be contributing to its ultimate demise. Probably, the writing was on the wall for music notation as soon as recorded audio became a reality. Maybe it's a waste of time to talk about improving it for the same reasons we don't talk about changing the grammar of Latin or improving the Egyptian pyramids.

And yet...I'm tempted to say that the process of identifying these inefficiencies is worthwhile for its own sake. Why should we ever stop questioning whether the systems we use are optimally designed? Even in the arts, where I think one can sometimes sense a tendency towards hero-worshiping, we must admit that there's no rational reason to assume our creative predecessors were infallible, or that their methods of communicating their visions necessarily expressed the pinnacle of human efficiency and elegance. Why shouldn't we at least daydream about what better methods we might design? We could begin with the details.