If Home Taping was supposed to have killed music (it didn't) then streaming is supposed to be starving artists and performers.
Look at a history of music. Musicians have always been badly paid, not paid at all, relegated to the servant's quarters, screwed over by record companies and mangers, and otherwise as badly treated as actors. Even a Court composer might not get paid for months on end and have to live on credit. Unless they were a celebrity or wrote popular opera. And even Mozart died a pauper.
Music streaming companies are carrying on a long and mildly despicable tradition.
The core of the streaming proposition to the customer is that the marginal cost of a stream is zero, and the average cost decreases as the amount streamed increases. In the UK this is only beaten by BBC Radio, which has zero cost, a decent quality of content but a now fairly lamentable quality of transmission, and is paid for by the people who watch television, so there are no advertisements. Either beat the heck out of buying CDs. Or listening to adverts.
Imagine that the marginal cost of a stream was not zero. That in addition to the monthly fee, we had to pay, say 20p for the first time we streamed a track, and then it was free thereafter. Taylor Swift's 2019 album Lover is £6.88 for 18 tracks at Amazon, or £3.60 under this suggestion. (Keeping a record of a customer's free list and doing the accounting is easy, though making it blindingly fast might be a challenge.) Maybe we get "20 free tracks" a month.
I image that the number of people streaming would fall faster than Disney losing subscribers for firing Gina Carano (that reference isn't going to age). Even at 10p a track. That zero marginal cost gives people the feeling they are getting something for nearly free. Which is a powerful feeling for a marketing department to have working for it.
Hold those thoughts for a moment.
Streamers pay the artists per play. I might play a favourite CD 100 times over four years (say), and at £0.0022 / stream for a 10-track CD, that's £2.20, which is about what an artist with a good lawyer and agent gets from the sale of a CD. But the CD (or downloads) pay the artist's royalties up front, when the money is most useful. Artists would love my suggestion of an up-front charge followed by free repeats, because it matches what happens with CDs, vinyl and downloads. (Except for the bit where I own the CD, but I only have a free repeat as long as the streamer a) stays in business, and b) decides to change its mind because that's what big corporations do. Let's note this ownership issue, and move on.)
What's good for the artists is going to put off the customers, and vice versa.
But then again: what's the point of providing music to people if the artists don't make money from it? Or if the effort it takes might be more profitably used in another medium?
None. Which is why the streamers make it very easy for artists to get their music onto the service. If the streamers charged the artists (as Spotify is rumoured to be thinking of doing), I imagine a lot of the artists would simply vanish. The expected benefit for most of them would be close to zero at best.
Streaming looks like a robust business model. It piggy-backs on fast broadband that is going to be there anyway, on super-capable mobile computers masquerading as phones that everyone has, on the willingness of artists to provide music and accept what amounts to deferred payments for an extended period, and a pricing scheme with a zero marginal cost. What could go wrong?
Well, something is, because music streamers are not making scads of money. It's news when one turns a profit in a year.
What really go wrong is the Regulators enforcing minimum payments to artists. Governments in need of money realised a while ago that digital businesses are not paying enough for the access to the markets those Governments provide. It is taking them some time to figure out how to get the money while not losing the service, but they will get there. Legislation grinds slow, but it grinds fine.
It's also a thought that Amazon or Apple could buy all the major streaming services (except each other) with about half-and-hour's profits, take the savings, and run them as brands. Is that going to be what happens a few years down the line?
Monday 15 March 2021
Thursday 11 March 2021
Music I Buy, Music I Stream / Taped: Why The Difference?
In the early 1990's a company I was working for offered me a departing colleague's company car. There were tax advantages to company cars then, and it was a 2.0-litre Vauxhall Cavalier with automatic transmission: a world away from the bangers I had driven previously. I said yes please, and learned how to drive an automatic on the way back from the office in Docklands. (Forget about your left foot, is the secret.)
I realised then that there were some things that I would never spend my own money on, but would happily accept if it landed in my lap without too many costs.
And not just costs. Image matters. I have streamed Nine Feet Underground from Caravan's 1971 album In The Land of Grey and Pink a few times now. It's a great piece of music. There is no way I am buying the CD. Because of the songs on the rest of it. I am not Caravan-songs-guy: I'm great-instrumentals-guy. No CD with a twee pink cover will ever be in my collection. (This doesn't have to make sense to you, just to me.)
When cassettes appeared, it became clear that there was music we would buy, first- or second-hand. We wanted the LP. Then there was music we taped from other people's LP's. We wanted to have it available, but not so much that we would pay for it. Other than the cost of the cassette.
Home taping was killing music, we were told. We knew there were some spivs out there taping everything, as there were when downloading appeared. But that wasn't us.
What was it about tape-but-not-buy music?
Sometimes the LP only had a couple of decent tracks on it. In the 1970's the good stuff was amazing, but the bad stuff was dire. Now most CDs are all decent, or all dire, depending on whether you like that kind of music. A lot of 1970's LPs were not worth full retail.
Sometimes I liked the music, but I might go off it. U2's 1983 War, 1984 Unforgettable Fire and 1987 The Joshua Tree were like that. I bought their 1991 Achtung Baby (on cassette), and still have it. I play that much more frequently than I play the earlier albums, even now though I get the awesomeness of the earlier work.
Perhaps because it isn't music that I would want to put on as the result of a lapse of attention. Damn! I put on Unforgettable Fire. Or have someone put it on and then I would have to be polite and listen to it.
There are also artists and music that we pay full price for because a new album from them is an event, it has excitement and charge. That's why there's a new-release premium over the twelve-months-after-release price. There are artists we will pay twelve-months-after-release price. There are artists we would only ever stream, there are artists we would only ever stream once, and I will never knowingly play anything by Metallica.
This discussion makes no sense to full-time streamers, who pay a monthly price, or have Android software to dodge the ads, for everything, and can hear a new release on the day if the artist makes it available. Their equivalent is music they have on their Favourites, and music they don't, but still listen to. Same thing, lower price.
I realised then that there were some things that I would never spend my own money on, but would happily accept if it landed in my lap without too many costs.
And not just costs. Image matters. I have streamed Nine Feet Underground from Caravan's 1971 album In The Land of Grey and Pink a few times now. It's a great piece of music. There is no way I am buying the CD. Because of the songs on the rest of it. I am not Caravan-songs-guy: I'm great-instrumentals-guy. No CD with a twee pink cover will ever be in my collection. (This doesn't have to make sense to you, just to me.)
When cassettes appeared, it became clear that there was music we would buy, first- or second-hand. We wanted the LP. Then there was music we taped from other people's LP's. We wanted to have it available, but not so much that we would pay for it. Other than the cost of the cassette.
Home taping was killing music, we were told. We knew there were some spivs out there taping everything, as there were when downloading appeared. But that wasn't us.
What was it about tape-but-not-buy music?
Sometimes the LP only had a couple of decent tracks on it. In the 1970's the good stuff was amazing, but the bad stuff was dire. Now most CDs are all decent, or all dire, depending on whether you like that kind of music. A lot of 1970's LPs were not worth full retail.
Sometimes I liked the music, but I might go off it. U2's 1983 War, 1984 Unforgettable Fire and 1987 The Joshua Tree were like that. I bought their 1991 Achtung Baby (on cassette), and still have it. I play that much more frequently than I play the earlier albums, even now though I get the awesomeness of the earlier work.
Perhaps because it isn't music that I would want to put on as the result of a lapse of attention. Damn! I put on Unforgettable Fire. Or have someone put it on and then I would have to be polite and listen to it.
There are also artists and music that we pay full price for because a new album from them is an event, it has excitement and charge. That's why there's a new-release premium over the twelve-months-after-release price. There are artists we will pay twelve-months-after-release price. There are artists we would only ever stream, there are artists we would only ever stream once, and I will never knowingly play anything by Metallica.
This discussion makes no sense to full-time streamers, who pay a monthly price, or have Android software to dodge the ads, for everything, and can hear a new release on the day if the artist makes it available. Their equivalent is music they have on their Favourites, and music they don't, but still listen to. Same thing, lower price.
Monday 8 March 2021
Why Do I Find Some Musicians Collectable , But Not Others?
Diamonds In The Dirt is the second album from Joanne Shaw Taylor, and it's the one I have.
If you have never heard her, try out one of her albums on Spotify. I listened to her 2012 release Almost Always Never on Spotify recently. It was good, but I didn't feel the need to learn how or why to use Favourites so I could add it. Nor did I feel the need to buy it. One of her albums is enough. I feel the same way about Chvrches, whose 2013 CD The Bones of What You Believe still deserves all the fuss it received at the time. And about Tegan and Sara, whose 2013 album Heartthrob was on train-music repeat for a while a few years ago.
You may not have heard of Maya Jane Coles either. I have her 2017 2-CD set Take Flight, the 2013 CD Comfort, her contribution to the 2012 DJ Kicks series, and the 2013 Heatwaves for mixmag magazine.
There are six CDs of Alfred Hill's String Quartets on Naxos. Just before the last lockdown, I bought volume 2. After a few listens, I wondered if there was more on Spotify and found there were, and it had the latest version by the Dominion Quartet. I think I chose volume 6, and very pleased with the result I was. I have a feeling I may buy all the others. Good string quartets are hard to find.
What is it about some artists that one CD is enough, but for others, a hundred are too few?
The essential Seven Dials CD is instrumental, has a narrow dynamic range, does not demand sustained attention, but has enough going on that when I do choose to tune in to it, there's something I can hook onto easily and be drawn in by. A good rhythm helps, as does melody, neat phrasing, strong licks and riffs, and thoughtful solo-ing and scoundscaping. I can take vocals, but neither too bland (Nora Jones) nor too guttural (every metal band ever). And no thump-drum intros. It's a balancing act, and any given artist might do it on one CD and miss it on another. Only a few do it consistently for a run of CD's.
It does explain why my collection includes medieval chant, baroque, Real Jazz (1930 - 1965), flamenco, Mozart, and chunks of trance and progressive house, and I see those as part of one continuum.
I have two more conditions.
I like each artist to have thier own distinctive sound. I should be able to recognise the composer or the artist pretty much by the end of the intro and certainly by the end of the first verse. Like Guerlin perfumes: each one smells different, but they all smell like a Guerlin.
And the musician needs to be changing and developing, in however nuanced a manner within their genre. I think Sohn's 2014 CD Tremours is a masterpiece. The 2017 follow-up Rennen is more of the same. Christopher Hogwood's 2010 release of Mozart's complete symphonies shows how Mozart's composing became more complex and experimental through the years: it's always Wolfie, but it's a Wolfie who is growing and learning all the time.
Needle, meet haystack (aka Amazon CD store, aka Spotify).
There are dozens of records and artists from my past phases of listening I still play now and again, thanks to Spotify. Many of them meet my conditions, but for some reason, they are now from-the-past. But that's something else to write about.
If you have never heard her, try out one of her albums on Spotify. I listened to her 2012 release Almost Always Never on Spotify recently. It was good, but I didn't feel the need to learn how or why to use Favourites so I could add it. Nor did I feel the need to buy it. One of her albums is enough. I feel the same way about Chvrches, whose 2013 CD The Bones of What You Believe still deserves all the fuss it received at the time. And about Tegan and Sara, whose 2013 album Heartthrob was on train-music repeat for a while a few years ago.
You may not have heard of Maya Jane Coles either. I have her 2017 2-CD set Take Flight, the 2013 CD Comfort, her contribution to the 2012 DJ Kicks series, and the 2013 Heatwaves for mixmag magazine.
There are six CDs of Alfred Hill's String Quartets on Naxos. Just before the last lockdown, I bought volume 2. After a few listens, I wondered if there was more on Spotify and found there were, and it had the latest version by the Dominion Quartet. I think I chose volume 6, and very pleased with the result I was. I have a feeling I may buy all the others. Good string quartets are hard to find.
What is it about some artists that one CD is enough, but for others, a hundred are too few?
The essential Seven Dials CD is instrumental, has a narrow dynamic range, does not demand sustained attention, but has enough going on that when I do choose to tune in to it, there's something I can hook onto easily and be drawn in by. A good rhythm helps, as does melody, neat phrasing, strong licks and riffs, and thoughtful solo-ing and scoundscaping. I can take vocals, but neither too bland (Nora Jones) nor too guttural (every metal band ever). And no thump-drum intros. It's a balancing act, and any given artist might do it on one CD and miss it on another. Only a few do it consistently for a run of CD's.
It does explain why my collection includes medieval chant, baroque, Real Jazz (1930 - 1965), flamenco, Mozart, and chunks of trance and progressive house, and I see those as part of one continuum.
I have two more conditions.
I like each artist to have thier own distinctive sound. I should be able to recognise the composer or the artist pretty much by the end of the intro and certainly by the end of the first verse. Like Guerlin perfumes: each one smells different, but they all smell like a Guerlin.
And the musician needs to be changing and developing, in however nuanced a manner within their genre. I think Sohn's 2014 CD Tremours is a masterpiece. The 2017 follow-up Rennen is more of the same. Christopher Hogwood's 2010 release of Mozart's complete symphonies shows how Mozart's composing became more complex and experimental through the years: it's always Wolfie, but it's a Wolfie who is growing and learning all the time.
Needle, meet haystack (aka Amazon CD store, aka Spotify).
There are dozens of records and artists from my past phases of listening I still play now and again, thanks to Spotify. Many of them meet my conditions, but for some reason, they are now from-the-past. But that's something else to write about.
Thursday 4 March 2021
Can We Always Be Listening To New Music?
Some people find out what they like quite early on, and stick with it. Nothing wrong with that. If they chance across something else they like, they will add it to the list. What they won't do is go looking for new stuff. Maybe they have other priorities, like, oh I don't know, raising children? Or running a business?
Some people, and I am one, need a certain amount of novelty. New. Different. Just because why not? It's not in everything: novelty-seeking in some areas is balanced by stability in others, and of course, there's always money as a restriction. My diet is healthy but fairly plain, but my music collection, the books I read? All over the place. I can spend the time looking at new art, or listening to new music, that I may decide I don't like so much, because I don't have children to socialise and a partner to keep entertained. If you have ever thought that people who do a lot of culture, or people who do a lot of gym, are slightly odd, I'm not going to disagree.
How do you do novelty? One rule is: try anything once. If you have a strong pro-reaction, try it again. Otherwise you can leave it. It's a good rule, but does not give us a chance to acquire a taste. Some things need a little getting used to: Irish Guinness, cold fish on rice, swimming, Mozart.
There are three ways something can fail to connect with me: a) I just can't get it: try as I may, metal just sounds like a noise to me; b) I do get it, but it leaves me cold: almost everything on the ECM label; c) I get it, and it does occasionally touch me , but it just doesn't fit into how I'm living at the moment: the nineteenth century Romantic symphony.
The question is: how long should we try to acquire the taste? Through the early eighties I watched each Rohmer movie as it came out, intellectually getting what was happening but nothing else, before I finally connected with one (My Boyfriend's Girlfriend in 1987). Classical ballet leaves me un-moved for all I appreciate the technique, and it took about four seasons of Flamenco at Sadlers Wells before I got the singing (otherwise I was there for the dancing and the instrumental music) through an Eva Yerbabuena piece I cannot find even on You Tube.
Spend too long listening to too many new-or-different bands, or reading too many what's-this-like books, and I find I can forget what it's like to wallow in what I really like. Music, or reading, or movie-watching, stops being fun.
The Romantic symphony has been my bugbear. This is anything after Beethoven and not including Mahler and Bruckner. I get what it's doing, and I like a lot of them. But they just don't work for me. It's taken me an age and a decent pair of speakers to sort out why.
Dynamic range. Way too much dynamic range. Around 100dbA for triple-forte or above and 30dbA for triple-piano or below. It is not suitable for how I use music. I need a much smaller dynamic range. Mazart is fine. So are Bach, Haydn, Handel, Clementi and almost everyone who composed before abut 1800.
A lack of tunes, riffs, and assorted hooks. It's all a bit wander-y and abstract. Hence the exceptions for Mahler (lots of tunes) and Bruckner (riffs).
I feel much happier playing the weirdness of Godspeed You! Black Emperor rather than the weirdness of Schumann.
Why do I keep on giving the Romantic Symphony a chance? Because I know I am supposed to like it. And in the right mood, a bit of Sibelius or Respighi is just fine. Mostly, I'm not in that mood.
The thing is: I think I should be in that mood more often.
But that's just not me. And I feel like I'm forcing myself if I try to be.
I have been playing music I like recently. Familiar - though high-quality music or literature always has some surprises. I feel more at home when I do.
Some people, and I am one, need a certain amount of novelty. New. Different. Just because why not? It's not in everything: novelty-seeking in some areas is balanced by stability in others, and of course, there's always money as a restriction. My diet is healthy but fairly plain, but my music collection, the books I read? All over the place. I can spend the time looking at new art, or listening to new music, that I may decide I don't like so much, because I don't have children to socialise and a partner to keep entertained. If you have ever thought that people who do a lot of culture, or people who do a lot of gym, are slightly odd, I'm not going to disagree.
How do you do novelty? One rule is: try anything once. If you have a strong pro-reaction, try it again. Otherwise you can leave it. It's a good rule, but does not give us a chance to acquire a taste. Some things need a little getting used to: Irish Guinness, cold fish on rice, swimming, Mozart.
There are three ways something can fail to connect with me: a) I just can't get it: try as I may, metal just sounds like a noise to me; b) I do get it, but it leaves me cold: almost everything on the ECM label; c) I get it, and it does occasionally touch me , but it just doesn't fit into how I'm living at the moment: the nineteenth century Romantic symphony.
The question is: how long should we try to acquire the taste? Through the early eighties I watched each Rohmer movie as it came out, intellectually getting what was happening but nothing else, before I finally connected with one (My Boyfriend's Girlfriend in 1987). Classical ballet leaves me un-moved for all I appreciate the technique, and it took about four seasons of Flamenco at Sadlers Wells before I got the singing (otherwise I was there for the dancing and the instrumental music) through an Eva Yerbabuena piece I cannot find even on You Tube.
Spend too long listening to too many new-or-different bands, or reading too many what's-this-like books, and I find I can forget what it's like to wallow in what I really like. Music, or reading, or movie-watching, stops being fun.
The Romantic symphony has been my bugbear. This is anything after Beethoven and not including Mahler and Bruckner. I get what it's doing, and I like a lot of them. But they just don't work for me. It's taken me an age and a decent pair of speakers to sort out why.
Dynamic range. Way too much dynamic range. Around 100dbA for triple-forte or above and 30dbA for triple-piano or below. It is not suitable for how I use music. I need a much smaller dynamic range. Mazart is fine. So are Bach, Haydn, Handel, Clementi and almost everyone who composed before abut 1800.
A lack of tunes, riffs, and assorted hooks. It's all a bit wander-y and abstract. Hence the exceptions for Mahler (lots of tunes) and Bruckner (riffs).
I feel much happier playing the weirdness of Godspeed You! Black Emperor rather than the weirdness of Schumann.
Why do I keep on giving the Romantic Symphony a chance? Because I know I am supposed to like it. And in the right mood, a bit of Sibelius or Respighi is just fine. Mostly, I'm not in that mood.
The thing is: I think I should be in that mood more often.
But that's just not me. And I feel like I'm forcing myself if I try to be.
I have been playing music I like recently. Familiar - though high-quality music or literature always has some surprises. I feel more at home when I do.
Monday 1 March 2021
Why Do You Listen To Music?
Why do you listen to music?
Or perhaps I should ask: why do you play music on a hi-fi, on headphones, on ear-phones, on the car radio?
For a long time, music was for something. Singing along, or dancing, or hauling up sails, or providing a rhythm for working or walking. Gregorian chant and later vocal church music was for instilling a mood in its listeners. Opera was entertainment, and the crowd used to turn up at all times, and talk. Wagner put an end to that. He turned the lights down so the ladies could not see each other's hats and lovers. At least that's the story.
Sly Stone said we should dance to the music. Some music is for dancing to, from Baroque bourees to Viennese waltzes, though Trance seems to be for standing in a packed space and making vertical gestures with your upraised arm. Rock and roll was for dancing, and virtuoso stuff some of that dancing could be.
For years, the BBC Light Programme (aka Radio 2) used to broadcast a thirty-minute programme called Music While You Work. It was on at 10:30 and 15:00, these being times when people were held to flag at the production lines, spinning jennies and account-book-filling. It was live, and consisted of upbeat dance music, but nothing too exciting. The myth says that productivity went up when it was on.
Music can enhance a mood. Next time you're on the Zandvoort - Amsterdam train, play Milestones soon after you leave Zaandvoort. As long as it's sunny.
Some music was to provide a background to a dinner or social occasion, so there would be no awkward silences. Telemann wrote four books of Tafelmusik and jolly pleasant stuff it is too.
Bach thought Telemann was pretty good, and they shared quite a few licks. Music stops the French saying un ange passe. It can also ease the sound of a noisy eater.
There isn't one experience that is listening to music. There are many.
Listening to orchestral music is about hearing all its nuances, the interactions between the various instruments, the way a theme is developed, varied, moved around... all that music analysis stuff. And then the end of Mahler's Second reaches inside you and brings out tears and profound astonishment.
Listening to Above and Beyond is about being absorbed in the music and the mood it creates. It's almost a kind of surrender: here I am, take care of my soul for the next couple of hours. Their 2019 Prague gig worked out like that.
Listening to jazz is about feeling the groove and the tunes and the solos. A lot like listening to Baroque: different groove, and there isn't as much soloing in Baroque. Dig the violin interplay on the D Minor Double Concerto. Listening to flamenco guitar is the same: feel the groove, hear the tunes and harmonies, marvel at the technique: all at once.
Listening to pop songs of whatever genre is about impact: the tune, the beat, the lyrics, the attitude. Later on, it's about the memories of the time we heard that music: where we were, how we were feeling, who we were with, what we were doing.
Professionals can listen in a very different way. They are listening for what the performers, or maybe the producer or the mixer or the composer, are doing. What's that sound and how did they get it? We should use that bap-ba-cha effect on one of our tunes. Darn, another drop-D tuning. Yeah, it's all being played on the upstroke, that's why it sounds like that. They missed the increase in volume on that sixteenth note that Fernyhough asks for. What about that D/F-diminished after the A minor 9? Oh no, the rest between those final chords is way too long. Professional listen because that's their business.
One reason to listen to music is to decide if we want to listen to it again. Because some music is closer to us. There is the music that we listen to often, and music that we listen to once and never again, and then music we may listen to once in a couple of years. We're looking for more music that we want to listen to again. I was always on the lookout for "train music", and when I found a good one, it stayed on the phone for months. I go through a month or so when I play Doo-Bop three or four times, and another month when it's Bob Dylan, or Corelli, that gets played.
I have music to get me going in the morning, and to fall asleep to at night. I write these with music playing, and sometimes when I need to focus on something tedious at work I will put on the headphones and play something that distracts the fifty per cent of my brain that isn't getting used by work. Train music is for blotting out the sound of the train and of people talking and coughing. It helped me concentrate on reading or whatever I was doing.
Every now and then, I will stop what I'm doing and listen to the music, wallow in it, and then go back to doing whatever I was doing. When I put the headphones on and play a track or an album over again, that's because I want the emotions it brings.
Music makes living easier. That's why I have it playing. And when it doesn't, I don't.
Or perhaps I should ask: why do you play music on a hi-fi, on headphones, on ear-phones, on the car radio?
For a long time, music was for something. Singing along, or dancing, or hauling up sails, or providing a rhythm for working or walking. Gregorian chant and later vocal church music was for instilling a mood in its listeners. Opera was entertainment, and the crowd used to turn up at all times, and talk. Wagner put an end to that. He turned the lights down so the ladies could not see each other's hats and lovers. At least that's the story.
Sly Stone said we should dance to the music. Some music is for dancing to, from Baroque bourees to Viennese waltzes, though Trance seems to be for standing in a packed space and making vertical gestures with your upraised arm. Rock and roll was for dancing, and virtuoso stuff some of that dancing could be.
For years, the BBC Light Programme (aka Radio 2) used to broadcast a thirty-minute programme called Music While You Work. It was on at 10:30 and 15:00, these being times when people were held to flag at the production lines, spinning jennies and account-book-filling. It was live, and consisted of upbeat dance music, but nothing too exciting. The myth says that productivity went up when it was on.
Music can enhance a mood. Next time you're on the Zandvoort - Amsterdam train, play Milestones soon after you leave Zaandvoort. As long as it's sunny.
Some music was to provide a background to a dinner or social occasion, so there would be no awkward silences. Telemann wrote four books of Tafelmusik and jolly pleasant stuff it is too.
Bach thought Telemann was pretty good, and they shared quite a few licks. Music stops the French saying un ange passe. It can also ease the sound of a noisy eater.
There isn't one experience that is listening to music. There are many.
Listening to orchestral music is about hearing all its nuances, the interactions between the various instruments, the way a theme is developed, varied, moved around... all that music analysis stuff. And then the end of Mahler's Second reaches inside you and brings out tears and profound astonishment.
Listening to Above and Beyond is about being absorbed in the music and the mood it creates. It's almost a kind of surrender: here I am, take care of my soul for the next couple of hours. Their 2019 Prague gig worked out like that.
Listening to jazz is about feeling the groove and the tunes and the solos. A lot like listening to Baroque: different groove, and there isn't as much soloing in Baroque. Dig the violin interplay on the D Minor Double Concerto. Listening to flamenco guitar is the same: feel the groove, hear the tunes and harmonies, marvel at the technique: all at once.
Listening to pop songs of whatever genre is about impact: the tune, the beat, the lyrics, the attitude. Later on, it's about the memories of the time we heard that music: where we were, how we were feeling, who we were with, what we were doing.
Professionals can listen in a very different way. They are listening for what the performers, or maybe the producer or the mixer or the composer, are doing. What's that sound and how did they get it? We should use that bap-ba-cha effect on one of our tunes. Darn, another drop-D tuning. Yeah, it's all being played on the upstroke, that's why it sounds like that. They missed the increase in volume on that sixteenth note that Fernyhough asks for. What about that D/F-diminished after the A minor 9? Oh no, the rest between those final chords is way too long. Professional listen because that's their business.
One reason to listen to music is to decide if we want to listen to it again. Because some music is closer to us. There is the music that we listen to often, and music that we listen to once and never again, and then music we may listen to once in a couple of years. We're looking for more music that we want to listen to again. I was always on the lookout for "train music", and when I found a good one, it stayed on the phone for months. I go through a month or so when I play Doo-Bop three or four times, and another month when it's Bob Dylan, or Corelli, that gets played.
I have music to get me going in the morning, and to fall asleep to at night. I write these with music playing, and sometimes when I need to focus on something tedious at work I will put on the headphones and play something that distracts the fifty per cent of my brain that isn't getting used by work. Train music is for blotting out the sound of the train and of people talking and coughing. It helped me concentrate on reading or whatever I was doing.
Every now and then, I will stop what I'm doing and listen to the music, wallow in it, and then go back to doing whatever I was doing. When I put the headphones on and play a track or an album over again, that's because I want the emotions it brings.
Music makes living easier. That's why I have it playing. And when it doesn't, I don't.
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