That Voodoo That You Do
Can I just explicate to everyone how frustrating it is to analyze this damned amazing composer that went by the name of Claude Debussy? Absolute genius. Somehow he manages to throw about a very small amount of notes on the page, but arrange them in a way that makes every bit of sense to him and none to me. He constantly is fooling around with tonic, often (I think) trying to imply two tonics simultaneously, often using multiple consecutive passing tones or consecutive neighbor tones. The interrogative we always address in theory is how the composer creates music that sounds like it belongs together. I've heard this song, I've sung it even, and its gorgeous. But I haven't the slightest insight into Debussy's mind right now. And I've just spent an hour getting through eleven measures of analysis.
Maybe I should just approach this from the perspective of Debussy. I just need to think late 19th century, drink some wine and eat a quiche. Just kidding. If that method worked I would need to contract syphilis in order to understand Schumann. And that means there would be a lot of music theoricians with spongy brains. Spongier brains, anyway.
Alright, enough about music theory. I feel like last week was almost a complete waste. I accomplished some, but not enough. I suppose I have today and tomorrow yet. It might just be the coffee, but my mind is everywhere right now. It might be that I read Arcadia and watched ten minutes of Kate and Leopold last night, but I wish I lived in Victorian era England. At the moment I just despise modern times and how closely I'm conformed to modernity. That which I miss most I think are honor and wit. Noone gives a damn about them anymore. I'm not sure I do. I wish I did. I have such ridiculous second-order desires. And I do go on. Alright, enough explication on random thoughts and talking about music theory. I might organize my poems for my midterm portfolio and then return to Debussy, making this post a little metaphoric in form. Love to all and good day.
Maybe I should just approach this from the perspective of Debussy. I just need to think late 19th century, drink some wine and eat a quiche. Just kidding. If that method worked I would need to contract syphilis in order to understand Schumann. And that means there would be a lot of music theoricians with spongy brains. Spongier brains, anyway.
Alright, enough about music theory. I feel like last week was almost a complete waste. I accomplished some, but not enough. I suppose I have today and tomorrow yet. It might just be the coffee, but my mind is everywhere right now. It might be that I read Arcadia and watched ten minutes of Kate and Leopold last night, but I wish I lived in Victorian era England. At the moment I just despise modern times and how closely I'm conformed to modernity. That which I miss most I think are honor and wit. Noone gives a damn about them anymore. I'm not sure I do. I wish I did. I have such ridiculous second-order desires. And I do go on. Alright, enough explication on random thoughts and talking about music theory. I might organize my poems for my midterm portfolio and then return to Debussy, making this post a little metaphoric in form. Love to all and good day.