Thursday, January 30, 2014
Besides the usual aspects of music -- melody, harmony, rhythm, counterpoint, development, resolution -- could there something deeper, more essential at work in a composition? A quality to which the listening soul is helpless against impressions that subtly register in and integrate with the unconscious? That's a question each person will have to answer for himself or herself.
Here, I propose, is sonority as a fantastical commingling of timbres into an organ-like resonance:
This effect is distinct from strictly religious connotations that the word "organ" usually conjures. It's more like a primal synthesis of the human and the unaskable question -- time become the sound of itself. Does sonority only happen during performance, or is it also something mediated through the composer's intuition and imagining?
The blending of timbres into an organ-like plangency is, I suggest, a clue to art as such.
Perhaps through a poet. In some poems (Adam Zagajewski's?), sonority is a thing happening apart from the aural. Not the usual "music" of a poem's language but a something implicit and symbolical. An unheard effect, a cumulative vibration within written gesture -- a poignancy of being in confrontation with Being. Mood as a sonorous choiring of memory, presence, and the necessity of a meaning that is impossible.