Where Does Music Mean?

The most ‘social’ of our media now seems to be used too often to keep others at bay.

Portable music has been with us at least since the Sony Walkman introduced in 1979.  Forty years later we are completely accustomed to taking a preferred aural environment with us, mostly drowning out the one we are in.  Even so, that isolating effect still seems like a peculiar violation of the idea of music.

Recently, in a supermarket I was competing for space in the detergent isle.  The challenge came from a tall man, perhaps in his 20s, his earphones leaking out sound like hundreds of little straight pins rolling around in a can.  We both wanted to extend our reach to a high shelf blocked by the other. At the same time his eyes seemed to take a cue from his aural isolation; he looked down and away. This shopping trip was strictly a solo effort in his own private space.  My friendly glance to him was ignored or not seen; his body and his head were in different places. And so I was both in the way and also not really there.  Nothing unusual about this in the 21st Century.  We now routinely enter the personal space of strangers without ever acknowledging them.  And yet there was this little insight:  what is arguably the most ‘social’ of our media is now part of the apparatus we use to keep others at bay.

People who study the history of performance remind us that music-making has almost always been a social experience.  Of course the simple idea of “cooperation” does not begin to describe the intense listening and blending that musicians playing together must master.  As for the rest of us, in most of the 19th Century families with any disposable income had a piano, and usually enough kids to assure some duty-bound performances to visitors.  Performances in private salons and concert halls came even earlier.  In England the Hanover Square Rooms holding about 900 people were used in the late 1700s to feature composers such as Joseph Haydn and George Frederick Handel. By the early 1800s halls were built and packed with listeners eager to hear small groups and even full orchestras.  To this day avid music fans thirst for “live” performances of a sort in both massive arenas and more intimate clubs.

Kate Winslet Singing Scenes from “Sense and Sensibility”

Kate Winslet has a lovely voice and I wish she would sing more in her movies

All of this makes me wonder if music belongs in the detergent isle at all.  Is part of its essence violated by a cheap ear-sized speaker competing with the commotion of a supermarket?  Is there a sense in which our love of the form has the effect of undermining its traditional powers to foster affiliation?

Communication ‘at a distance’ always exacts a price.

To be sure, isolated listening has increased the time we can spend with this precious art. The mass production of phonographs at the end of the 1800s was only the first step in making music accessible.  And who doesn’t cherish the ability to call up a great performance at will that can be rendered in detail on modern equipment?  Even so, I still cringe at the idea of stopping Andre Previn in mid-performance, or talking over the perfect phrasing of Ella Fitzgerald. Somehow such interruptions seem like a kind of abuse of the idea of ‘public’ performance.

Communication ‘at a distance’ always exacts a price.  When performers and their audiences are separated, something is lost, just as clearly as when a listener is in a reverie that goes unshared.

The Nightmare of Presidential Incitement

In the United States, a charge of “incitement” to lawless action is on the softest of legal ground.  The First Amendment rightly protects even provocative speech.  On the other hand, could there be a speaker other than Donald Trump would have been warned by officials to moderate his fighting words?

Standards for judging a President vary enormously. Usually the ire of critics is directed to acts that—though often well intentioned—fall far short. JFK went ahead with previously drawn plans to invade Cuba in 1961.  The result was the ill-fated Bay of Pigs Invasion that was a complete organizational and military fiasco. Years later Richard Nixon sent his Vice President out to public even events armed with criticism of the media, sometimes using the baroque words of speechwriter William Safire.  Who will ever forget the unintentionally funny charge that the press was made up of “nattering nabobs of negativism”?  To be sure, Nixon hated the national press.  But he mostly confined his hatred to private diatribes in the Oval Office.

Most hear his intemperate words with regret; a few dangerous others seem to hear a call to be a soldier in a purification crusade.

The point is that few observers of the Presidency have had to worry about gratuitous public abuse of others, which is incidentally enshrined forever in library-bound editions of the Public Papers of the Presidents.  Petty, mean-spirited and racist broadsides are now part of the official history of this great nation. It can hardly be surprising that we are beginning to see  more attacks on his political opponents, allies, immigrants, the news media and countless other groups named in Trump’s thoughtless tirades. And while a lot of racist and violent acts should not be laid at the feet of this President, it’s not unreasonable to conclude that his intemperate rhetoric has sanctioned some of them. Cesar Sayoc mailed pipe bombs to a Trump hit list of opponents from his home in Florida. The banners covering Sayoc’s van are a traveling road show of Trump’s machismo bluster. It’s not unreasonable to assume that he believed his lethal explosives were helping ‘make America great again.’ Anti-Semite Robert Bowers who killed worshipers in a Squirrel Hill synagogue was apparently angry at Trump for being too moderate. At first it this awful massacre would seem disconnected from the vitriol flowing from the White House, until one ponders the effects of rhetoric that implicitly sanctions the abuse of any minority.  Trump plays the same tired American nativist card repeatedly: a problem in our long past that even Teddy Roosevelt tried to end.

Last July the New York Times publisher, A. G. Sulzberger, visited Trump and cautioned him that his attacks specifically on the press were going to get someone killed. “I warned that this inflammatory language is contributing to a rise in threats against journalists and will lead to violence.” No one paying attention to Trump’s language could think Sulzberger’s concern about incitement to violence was unjustified.

As mean-spirited as Trump has turned out to be, the real surprise is how many Americans seem to share his iconoclasm. 

In the United States a charge of “incitement” to lawless action is on the softest of legal ground.  The First Amendment rightly protects even provocative speech. That’s as it should be.  On the other hand, having seen Trump at numerous rallies abusing the press corps just a few feet away (“fake news media!,” “trying to take away our history and heritage!,” “sick people!,” “they don’t like our country!,” “enemies of the American people!”), I have no doubt that any other speaker would have been warned by local law enforcement to moderate his fighting words.

As mean-spirited as Trump has turned out to be, the real surprise of the last several years is how many Americans seem to share his iconoclasm.  Most of us who have spent years studying the Presidency always assumed that the nation’s commonplaces of tolerance and goodwill would carry the day. No one would want to burn down the house in order to save it. Most presidents have understood that the oath of office obligates them to voice the familiar tropes of cooperation.  Lincoln’s famous warning that “A house divided against itself cannot stand” seems newly relevant and stunningly unheeded.

Few modern leaders seem to revel in turning crowds into mobs.  Is Donald Trump’s indifference to his coarsening language the result of an easy life made possible by too much power or his easy access to wealth?  Whatever the cause, adding a level of narcissism matched by a deficit of empathy makes this President a truly lethal man. Most hear his intemperate words with regret; a few dangerous others seem to hear a call to be a soldier in a purification crusade.