In the Poetics, Aristotle gives us one of the first (if not the first) introduction to the idea that there is an economy in works of art. He says, “For that which makes no perceptible difference by its presence or absence is no real part of the whole.” I don’t believe that I am uncommon in the way that I am progressing toward maturity. That is, I am much more adept at spotting the extraneous and extracting it than I was when I was young. I can more readily assess an idea and its potential development. I can balance the unity and diversity necessary to establish an economy of means that allows me to create a musical work that is poignant without running to far from the central point. This is a skill that I haven’t worked so hard to develop in my prose. I enjoy the diversions of wandering thoughts.
The issue that still tries to pin me on the mat is the pedagogy problem. To wit: how do you handle a student that brings you a work that is immature and lacks any sort of economy. To be sure, there is a different economy in a poem than in a novel. There is a different economy in a fugue than there is in a symphony. The difficult part is in the way we foster students to maturity of economy.
I certainly remember the anxiety I experienced as a teenager the first time my works were exposed to mature composers. I remember how I hung on their every word for encouragement. Most of my teachers were very kind and did not press to hard on the issue of the ideas – however immature they may have been – but focused on how well those ideas were communicated.
All this is to say, I have an idea that my job is to foster honesty in creative work. I don’t know how to assess “honesty” aesthetically, so I retreat to technique. Is this really what you mean to say? Do you realize that the climax you are trying to establish has been betrayed by foreshadowing that all but revealed the conclusion? Did you really want to take away the significance of the end by presenting it so clearly in the beginning?
In some ways, I find those questions easier to ask than others. Do you realize that the substance of your ideas are well trodden paths that have already been explored? Do you really hunger to know the Western canon well enough to understand the tradition in which you are participating? Are you willing to discover that what you thought was a profound emotional experience was really something trite? That’s the hard stuff, and I don’t have good answers for these problems.
There is one thing that I have experienced that gives me comfort. I have had a few students that I knew very well. I could tell when they were making the easy choice instead of the honest choice. I could tell when they were placing expediency over truth. I could tell when they were trying to impress my sensibilities instead of their own artistic calling. I confronted them on it every time.
Kurt, great blog post. Not many people talk about this issue. At least not that I hear. I think that addressing technique is a means towards honesty. Philip Lasser used to ask me similar questions when I would show him music: "Did you know you did this?" "You have your opening motive embedded in an inner voice. Did you mean to do that?" This speaks to composing by intent, as well. Robert Frank (SMU) talks about that on his website, and I think it comes with time. When I was younger, composition was a series of happy (and not so happy) accidents. Not so now (I hope). Personally, I think composition is best taught by referring students to composers dealing with similar problems, and I'm sure you do. Love your blog, man.
I was telling someone the other day that the best comp teacher I had was a guy named Tyler White. He has some cred, but is not so well known. In my lessons, he would say something like, "Hmmm. This reminds me of something…Do you know the second theme in the 3rd movement of Mozarts 28th Symphony? This is a very similar issue." I would say, "Um…that's not really coming to mind right now." He would reach over to a shelf and pull a score that had the exact issue that I was confronting. Then, he would say, "Well, here's how Mozart handled the problem." I want to be that teacher, but I'm not sure that I know the canon that well.
In all of my composition lessons (meaning ones in which I was the student), I have not once heard the issue of economy raised. And here is yet another blog on the topic (I read another not too long ago). It's honestly not something that I think about. That's not to say that I don't "practice economy." In fact, I'd like to think that there are many other composers out there like me who do it unknowingly.
Kurt, your example of teaching with the canon is spot on. I'd love to be able to do that some day, but I simply don't know the canon well enough. And you're absolutely right in saying that we shouldn't be afraid to confront the problem.
As for teaching philosophies, I subscribe to the one used by my primary professor in undergrad. He summed up his thinking thusly: "I believe my job as a composition professor is to ask myself two questions: 1) Where is the student trying to go in the piece? 2) What can I do to help get them there?"
I've heard David Conte repeat something he heard Nadia Boulanger teach. It's a three-parter:
1. Make a list of all the music that you love.
2. Learn the music by heart.
3. When you compose, don't avoid the obvious.
I don't think it's about knowing "the canon" so much as knowing what you love. That's just me.