MYSTICAL MUSIC THEORY, Part 3: Music Is More Than Notes.
“Do you really want to bring him here?” she asked me. She was a prominent and amazing Blues guitar player, formerly played Speed Metal. I’d heard her play a song called, “THAT GUY,” or “THIS GUY”–she hadn’t settled on a title–and I liked the song very much.
We were enjoying each other’s company, over a week-end visit. I think she meant that if she played the song, that guy would be a third wheel in our enjoyment of two.
What could that possibly mean?
One explanation is her mind would go to that guy. Playing “THAT GUY,” she would be thinking about that guy, her mind would be on him, and not me. Not only her mind, music is primarily emotion, not thinking. She would be bringing her feelings about him into the room, into her. She was asking me if I wanted her to have feelings for him in her heart, sitting with me.
It gets deeper. Yes, the composer’s life experience goes into a song. In my poem, SOMETIMES IT COMES DOWN TO SCALES, I write:
“talking about soloing, or composing, or writing a poem
Then you’ll want considerations, the examined life, self-awareness
The struggle to outgrow the script childhood wrote for you–
These are to poiesis as scales are to a musician
I would say a good song or poem sings out of, sings out the human condition
Audiences don’t like a poem or a song they can’t hear
That doesn’t bespeak the human condition, their own condition
(LINES DRAWN AUTHENTIC: A Realized Man, available on Indigo Books online, and NOA Gallery, Bonnie Doon Mall).
My poem also brings in the audience. Music mystically connects the hearts of audiences with only Air. I think that the Air is alive. But science says air is Nitrogen and Oxygen gas.
People are returning to vinyl albums. You take a piece of plastic, and that plastic sends you into tears or ecstasy. A diamond needle sends electrical signals into speakers; speakers make air move in waves, and air waves hit your eardrums and you are joyful. Or cry. Or are transported to God if it is Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, 4th movement. Plastic, Nitrogen, and Oxygen.
Part 4 will be about the relationship between performer and audience, as well as the way this figures into the “business of music,” or club management and Artist.
ENIGMATIC DR DAVE ENTERPRISES, PRELUDED
Those pedals and the amplifier back in front of them, makes it all happen!
When I was a Swedenborgian Pastor, I emailed my musician friend Darryl Dybka about theology and metaphysics. I was not mystical, then. I was not a musician, then. I was looking in AT music from the outside, as a Pastor who forgot all about my life as a musician, 44 years ago. Music was dead to me as a participant. So, as a learned scholar and theologian, I was telling Darryl what I saw the essence of music to be, and how music is woven into the structure of Reality.
I told Darryl something I’d been believing for some time. When a musician plays music, they are connecting with forces of the whole universe. A vibrating string or sound wave, is physics. Physics is the physical, material universe. All the notes in a scale, and all the chords you make out of those notes, are contained in a vibrating string or standing air wave in a flute or organ pipe.
I am not a physicist, so I don’t know how much of the universe vibrates. I do know that an electron can be a wave, and that electron shells around an atom’s nucleus act like musical harmonics. (Atoms have lower and higher shells around them.)
Ocean waves are waves.
But the point isn’t how much of Reality vibrates like a guitar string or standing wave. The point is that music is physics and built into the fabric of matter. Musicians do not stop to think that what they do is participating in what the universe is made out of.
There is powerful Philosophy and Myth that speak to this: Pythagoras and The Muses are only 2.
Pythagoras discovered the Pythagorean Theory; for right triangles. But in a Harvard course called THE THOUGHT WORLD OF EARLY CHRISTIANITY, we learned about the Pythagorean Number Mystery Religion. That course was not about the Bible. It was about the thought world that Christianity took root in. We learned about the way Myths functioned in daily life. We learned about how Romans made offerings to the Spirits who governed the intersections of Roman roads. How when Cyrus the Mede liberated the Jews from Babylon, he told his priests to learn how to honour the God Who governed their land.
Pythagoras was thought to be divine. His Number Mysticism was based on a triangle arrangement of numbers, with 1 at the top: 1, 2, 3, 4. My interest is the number 3.
Pythagoras discovered that a string vibrating in half makes an octave. That is the same musical note next up: C to the C above it.
He discovered that a string vibrating in 3rds makes the 5th tone up. In C, that would be the note G.
And what blew my mind was the discovery of the 4th tone. Pythagoras discovered that 3/4 of a vibrating string is the 4th tone up; in C, that would be F.
This is astounding. The other tones, or harmonics, of a vibrating string do not have the 4th tone. But it’s there, anyway. Push down a string at 1/4 of its length, and let the remaining 3/4 of the string vibrate, and you have the 4th.
Why this is important is the I, the IV, and the V are the foundations of Western music: from Palestrina, Bach, Beethoven; Robert Johnson, Z Z Top and beyond.
The Numerology Mysteries of Pythagoras found the essence of Western music.
The Three Muses inspire Artists. Later traditions add more than 3; but originally, it was 3.
And the Three Muses all relate to music. They reside near a Sacred well at the foot of Mount Helicon. It is The Hippocrene Well, or Spring, because the winged, flying horse Pegasus touched Earth with his hooves and the well gushed forth.
There are 3 Muses: Nete, Mese, and Hypate. Their names mean, “Lowest, Middle, Highest.” They refer to the three strings on an Ancient Greek lyre.
I had to fight search engines because they kept telling me that Nete was lowest and Hypate was lowest. The root “hyp” doesn’t help. It can mean “hypo”–under, as in hypodermic–or it can be “hyper”–hyper which is “above.” My question was, is Hypate from hypo or hyper? The Proto-Indo-European root, “UPER” goes to Hype. “UPO” goes to hypo and its root means “under,” and a lot of other words so far from hyper that hypo isn’t what I went with.
Nete, has “NED” as its PIE root, which means “contain, hold together, a net.” That’s what bass notes do.
The origins of Western music are the 3-stringed Lyre. Each string corresponds to one of the 3 Muses. The Muses are the Goddesses who inspire all Art.
The 3 Muses are in Delphi, and connected to the Oracle of Delphi–the greatest source of Wisdom known in the Ancient World. The origins of Wisdom are the origins of Music.
I can’t wrap up this exploration. Other than to say that music is in the bowels of Creation. Maybe I should say the heart. Musicians involve themselves in the Creation of the Universe when they play a Blues song. Blues is based on the I, IV, V tones in the scale.
ENIGMATIC DR DAVE ENTERPRISES, PRELUDED
Safari detected unusual activity coming from my “research phone” when I was looking into all this, and wanted me to verify that I’m human. Whether I’m human is debatable; and, no, I did not let them know if I’m a human.
As an unemployed Elder, I have finally arrived at a position in life I’ve always wanted: I am free to do my art, in possession of some cultivated “skill,” and I have the will and motivation to do it.
I hope younger Artists are able to find their way here; I never thought I could when I was younger. Certain unreliable factors blocked me:
GREATNESS: I wanted to “make it,” “make a name for myself,” in fact, to be “great.” Now, I want to make art. I have the luxury of it being too late in my life to “arrive.” What a load off! I’m writing a poem about it: JUST HAVING FUN; but it’s not on today’s Agenda.
EMPLOYMENT: I thought I had to have a good and successful job. WHAT A CROCK. When you get to Senior Citizen status, nobody wants to hire you. It will happen to you. EMBRACE IT AS THE BLESSING IT IS! My wish for you is that you find a way to bypass all that. Say you can’t get a job so now you are free to devote yourself to your one true love in your life: your Art.
The only essential thing, is I have Canadian CPP and US Social Security to live on, even if it’s not really enough. It works.
2. Practice Piano–My own song, PANIC STATE (I wrote a blog about it a little while ago). Get familiar with the E-Minor Pentatonic Scale; also the chords associated with that Scale–the Dominant Chord is B7 or B Minor 7; the IV Chord is A-Minor; the “blues note,” or flat 5, is Bb (B flat). These are the things I need to know and play without thinking–in every key. Today it is E-Minor Pentatonic.
3. MALL WALKING: It’s too cold to walk outside, and walking is a different kind of exercise than Chen Taiji, which I also do (Grandmaster Chen Zhonghua Practical Method Taiji).
PANIC STATE: The Lead Vocalist for DAVE MATTHEWS BAND likes it! They told me in Charlottesville, in 1992 when I wrote it. I was playing through it, in a piano rehearsal room in the U Virginia Music School. DAVE MATTHEWS was trying out different configurations for his band: word was, "Something big is in the works."
Playing through it, tonight, I LOVE it. I'm astounded.
My bass teacher in Florida is a Berkeley School of Music graduate. He said the chord changes were too hard for him. They were for me, too--almost. I can play them now, and soon will make a recording.
When you write a note three bars down from the staff, it can get hard to count. I thought it is an Fb, but it's an Eb, below the third bar line down. It doesn't make me smart or anything: it means it has to be written down. So, you figure out how to write it, and there isn't any other way.
My Music Partner in Charlottesville always respected my musicianship--some other players did, too. But but I didn't realize it, and didn't have a strong profile. I was a Ph.D. Religious Studies Major.
I asked the singer for DAVE MATTHEWS BAND, because I wrote it just before my psychotic hospitalization. I had lost my perspective. I couldn't evaluate anything--was an author's point a solid argument I could rely on to quote? Why does everything look like a cartoon of reality? My close friend told me I'd list my gift for poetry. He'd read my poems at Harvard, and said my poems as a Ph.D. Candidate lost it. Now, 34 years later, I'm astounded. Can a composer say that about their own compositions?
It hurts, which makes me bitter and I can lash out that Edmonton does nor not credit me as someone who can write PANIC STATE.
The Internet world changes what "local" means. I consider a poet in Portugal my brother. An Architect in Transylvania, my sister. I have a colleague who is an Art Professor in Italy who travels and posts photographs of Temples and Statues in India, and orher places in Asia. When PANIC STATE gets a good recording, "locals" on the Internet will give me a listen. Maybe a friend I knew in 1992 in THE DAVE MATTHEWS BAND will hear it, and then it doesn't matter if someone on Edmonton's streets listens, or knows who I am. Edmonton favours its own. I like a lot of Edmonton Players.
These words are taking me away from my piano All art requires dedication, but music, a special dedication Art gives grace to the human who decides to dedicate A life, or even part of a life, to art When I’m done with these words, I’ll be at the piano Finding my way around the key of E Alone, just me and the piano keys When you make music, mind flows into body, maybe like dance, Music involves you with inflexible laws of physics Which become laws of the musician’s heart and soul and muscle memory I write these words in a dive with Alternative Rock in the background I glance at the waitress, the bartender, customers As I manifest this poem into these words And I am not alone—just me and these words Hemingway wrote in La Closerie des Lilas for the same reason None of this can happen when I am in the key of E It is only the articulation of my fingers on certain select piano keys No music can be in the background; the only music that is I make Writing poetry is closer to waking life than playing music is We are immersed in words much of the day Not so, the specific piano keys you must depress—and no others—in E You must wrench yourself away from everything When you come to the piano That is why it is sometimes hard to practice You don’t want to leave everything Unless music is everything to you And it is when you are playing A spell overtakes you and the ecstasy Makes you wonder later why you weren’t at the piano sooner
The day was seductive. Maybe I felt too good. You’re always second-guessing your mood When you have bipolar disorder I don’t think I’m manic A day like today can make a guy think money doesn’t matter That a life devoted to liberal arts is a good idea Make you shrug off for a moment the debt you undertook And you’re still paying on your education 27 years later, That 17 years of your life in school, impoverished, Did something good to your soul, and it is a good idea To do something good to your soul That jamming on keys with a blues guitar player all morning And a walk in the park with a sober friend, talking On a sunny, 75-degree day Would make you feel so good you question whether you’re manic, Forget that you’re years past due for a teeth cleaning That you can’t get the root canal and a few crowns And though your home is Canada, you used the remaining balance On your American credit card to pay for your oil change That just yesterday I went out for a cup of tea instead of breakfast
Too much art can ruin a guy Make a guy think that scales and well-crafted phrases matter More than the well-being of people, more than wishing well For those whose lives we touch, for yourself Then, when someone’s father needs to be put in extended-care, Or your car breaks, your world collapses You won’t know how to deal How to care Religion puts it all in perspective Gives your soul strength of life you need to get by I preached today; I’m alright with the world The rear axel on my car sounds like it will probably break soon It could be the differential; maybe only shocks—I’m not a mechanic Either way I won’t be able to fix it I emerge out from my protected home life I’m listening to club music I don’t particularly like Because it’s the young barkeep’s style and it makes her happy The whole idea of it all is cute, and I’ve heard enough Jethro Tull in my day, Sympathy for the Devil over 50 years The music morphs It’s anemic, vapid pop and I sadly reflect that it may reflect her generation You hope not, wish that you had Whitman’s gift of optimism Too much art can ruin a guy I was in church, today, and I’m alright with the world
I will be at scales, tonight Despite my flaws, Carol accepts me as perfect for her She is perfect for me, our world is perfect As perfect as can be this side of eternity But the world isn’t Carol My world can’t be only Carol, can’t be only our world The world doesn’t care about me as does Carol—why would it? There are 24 key signatures, all with their scales 48, if you count pentatonic scales, then there are 7 modes in every key Though, to me, the modes are another matter This all is expected of me, of every musician; I expect it of me If I’m not careful, I’ll rest content in Carol’s valuation of my worth Rest in the perfect world our own, in our care for each other Carol doesn’t care about scales—why would she? Though she is my whole world, we are the whole world to each other The world is not Carol If I’m going to solo in Santana, I had better be sure in my scales Then, eternity is more than scales And the man playing the scales is as the music in eternity Time was, that man was all that mattered to me But the world is not eternity Even if I think I’ll find eternity planted in the world, through the world It isn’t either-or, the world and eternity It’s good to plant my feet on the ground, even if the ground be art Carol likes it when I play a song for her
Esteem is non-transferable Maybe a life of ambition has netted accomplishments which are admired And you’re proud of what you’ve amounted to, Honors, awards, and achievements amassed and acquired in college You list them in an early resumé but not in maturity, Their merit fades like ability with age, fading skillsets And the memory of what you once were, once could do is not the same As the ability itself and proficiency, even if at one time It was your own, was who you are, what you are, were One can measure age by abilities one has lost Maybe we have rested on our esteem too long, Taking credit instead for actual ability
—Then there may be other considerations—
But respect from mastery of a discipline is a non-transferable asset That status of my Harvard degree in religion and culture doesn’t translate Onto the dance floor from the digital keyboard of my piano to listeners It’s the actuality of tonal rhythm my technique must generate. Into every new world an expansive soul is summoned because it is new Esteem cannot be imported but must be earned afresh as Danny Rand Fought the mythic dragon and earned by his own efforts The Iron Fist Contending to master arts of new disciplines in answer to wisdom’s howl The expansive soul’s ventures grow comfortable in unfamiliar realms Didn’t Leonardo’s poetry, inventions, astronomy, and architecture color The brushstrokes of the Mona Lisa? And Newton wrote theology; Bach taught Latin; Einstein played the violin; not cowering before The daunting other, the ignominy of beginning, the risk of failed esteem And my Kung Fu master was going to ask me to leave his studio Because I wasn’t getting it. Much later, he made me star in videos He filmed for newcomers as promos at his New Year’s celebration And another student and I were teaching assistants when we brought him To Harvard phys-ed and packed the gym. At the Chinese Cultural Center One of the senior students watched me and made signs, as his English Wasn’t good, imitating my awkward beginnings there and how I am now The nobility of my experiences with behavior health sciences, Contending with the fog of a mind touched with fire, sedated by meds Swimming through barely functioning, losing excellences I once knew Or my 26 years clean and sober and serenity’s radical recast of success Now I awaken nude in incompetence, wishing for nobility to transfer Into a world that never knew me before, Who I was, what I was, what I could do Only my performance in this iteration of identity
David Fekete 