Thoughts on Tone Deafness

The October 2005 issue of BBC Music features a fine column by Lauren Stewart on the topic of amusia, commonly referred to as tone-deafness. Her description of the condition parallels amusia with certain types of color-blindness in which people cannot distinguish between two given colors. Likewise, people with true tone-deafness generally cannot perceive changes in pitch. It is commonly thought that around 14% of people claim to be tone-deaf. But if Stewart's definition of amusia is accurate, then it must be assumed that far more people claim to be tone-deaf than actually are.

Stewart reasons, and I agree, that most people identify as tone-deaf either out of a simple lack of training in vocal pitch reproduction or a shyness in doing so for others. Thus, over time, the scientific description of tone-deafness has been supplanted by a vaguer social one. I'm sure we've all met people who fall into this mischaracterization of amusia--the friend at the karaoke bar who absolutely refuses to take the microphone, for example. But more often than not, when this person sings, they prove that they at least can distinguish and reproduce pitch changes, even if awkwardly.

The University of Newcastle in Britain has done research into the phenomena, proving first and foremost that Newcastle is home to more than just fine brown ale. Newcastle's results showed that almost all people with amusia require a change in pitch of over a semitone before they can recognize the change, while some require up to ten semitones before hearing the difference. Ten semitones! On the other hand, people without amusia could usually hear pitch differences of less than a semitone, with some people hearing changes down to a tenth of a semitone. The difference is profound, as high level amusia renders every piece of Western music unintelligible to the listener. The American National Institute of Health has also found a strong genetic component to amusia, leading us further away from the idea that tone-deafness occurs as a result of a lack of exposure to or participation in quality music.

More striking still are the ramifications that this sort of tone-deafness has on a person's comprehension of the nuances of speech. In Western languages, of course, people rely on inflections of pitch to indicate subtle changes in the meaning of a given word--we use it to separate a question from a statement, for instance, or sarcasm from something genuine. While most people would probably learn to sense these differences through facial expressions, they would be at a loss when listening to someone over the telephone, for instance. This problem is made doubly challenging for speakers of Mandarin or Vietnamese, in which a given word may mean five or six wholly different things depending on its pitch inflections.

Many people with amusia cannot recognize common melodies except by rhythm and often perceive music as simple noise. But as musicians with profound hearing loss have proven, nearly anyone can still participate in music through sensations of rhythm and vibration--most famously in the case of Evelyn Glennie. As we learn more about this phenomena, then, our view of students whom we too easily toss off as tone-deaf must necessarily evolve. If we fail to impart to these students why music is worth loving and do not find ways to give them at least some tools for interacting with it, then our creativity as educators has likewise failed.

So much to learn, so much to hear.

Today's listening adventure involved the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, with Previn at the helm, in the Vaughan Williams 5th Symphony. The bulk of my time with Vaughan Williams has been with his wind music--most specifically his Folk Song Suite. One of the founding pillars of the wind band repertoire, it's a charming piece, one that I've had the pleasure of performing three or four times. It showcases the British military band format, which at the time of the Suite'scomposition was still, artistically speaking, in its infancy. It dips its toes into the waters of the artistic range of which wind ensembles are capable. Without it and pieces of its time, we could not have the impressive range of music for winds that we have today. But when it comes to Vaughan Williams output, I am coming to realize that it is child's play.

My first real experience with RVW's orchestral output was the Sinfonia Antartica, which I--foolishly, perhaps--took on as a final project for an orchestration class three years ago. With its rich palette of color and huge ensemble size, I thought I could bring it to life as a piece for large wind band. The project was an exercise in diligence and frustration, as I struggled to make the work accessible for winds. While other students hammered away at orchestrations of 16-bar hymns for their final projects, I lived with Vaughan Williams for three months, every night trying to make progress on this beast, this musical headstone for Robert Falcon Scott and his doomed expedition to the South Pole. As the years passed, popular perception of Scott has changed from one of reverence to doubts about his competence. But all criticisms aside, I could not ignore the drama of the final journal entry he penned before his death on the Ross Ice Shelf, which RWV took as inspiration for the Antartica:

I do not regret this journey; we took risks, we knew we took them, things have come out against us, therefore we have no cause for complaint.

The more time I spend with Vaughan Williams, the more I appreciate his voice amongst 20th-century composers. I'm still a small fish in the world of orchestral and wind repertoire, I don't deny it. But as I listen to more works, both widely accepted and on the fringe, I also refuse to hide my wide-eyed excitement when I come upon one that reaches me profoundly. It no longer matters to me if that piece is not on the cutting edge of musical development, even at the risk of appearing naive. If my wonderment makes me naive, so be it. I would rather open my heart to a popular work like the 5th than remain bitter and closed off, resigned only to championing the works of the avant-garde. New works must always be championed, I agree, but not at the price of ignoring the beauty of works that came before and may simply be less experimental than the latest Stockhausen or Rands.

Previn talks about how people are often afraid to program Vaughan Williams' less violent symphonies out of fear that people will not come out to hear them. But in the 5th, Vaughan Williams crafted a gem, an introspective work that does not need to be on the cutting edge. It stands on its own amongst 20th-century symphonies, a heartstopping work that shows an old master wielding the forces of a large symphony orchestra deftly, almost effortlessly, and to astonishing effect. The Romanza alone made my bottom lip quiver and brought tears to my eyes. I felt so exposed, so utterly revealed that I had to rest my head in my hands while listening to it. It brought me to that moment of emotional intimacy in which I feel physically weakened, when my sense of being in my own skin and skeleton fades, replaced by an overwhelming sense of immersion in something beautiful, truthful and larger than myself.

I hope never to reach a point in my life where I am no longer capable of going to that state. If the childlike wonderment that allows me to access that state makes me naive, then I will celebrate my naivete as long as I am able.

The Question No Young Musician Wants To Hear

"So, what are you studying in school?"

Yes, that question. And you might think that that is a very ordinary, unassuming question but for anyone in college who's had to answer that question and the questions that always follow that question, then you know just what a hassle that conversation can turn into. Unfortunately, I have spent a considerable amount of time this year in the hospital. While there, I suppose to make some sort of small talk, the nurses and hospital workers would ask me questions about myself. Think of any uncomfortable question that someone could ask you and they asked me but I brushed those off with ease. But then, it would always come back to the aforementioned question. And I would always sigh a great sigh.

So why is this question so bad, you might ask. Well, there's a myriad of reasons but I'll start with the basics. Apparently, no one seems to study music anymore (this being the opinion of the general populus) and whenever you say "um, I study music", the response is always the same. one of astonishment and confusion. This leads to the second question --- "do you sing/what instrument do you play?". For me, I always get the people who believe that if you study music, that automatically makes you a singer. And so when they ask me do I sing, i never know what to say. First off, all collegiate musicians sing in some respect even though we may not all be singers. And I, personally, do sing but that is not my primary instrument. This is where it gets complicated for me. I always respond with "no. I play bassoon."

I'm sorry?

That always gets their goat. Now i don't mind that people don't necessarily know what a bassoon is. I tell them not to be ashamed or feel bad or try to hide the fact that they don't know, I don't mind. What bothers me are the people who say "bassoon? that's so weird. like no one plays bassoon! what made you play that?" spoken with a tone that reeks of disappointment, confusion and "wow, this girl is an idiot.". I don't know why I always seem to get that reaction, as if I've just made the biggest mistake of my life by choosing to play bassoon. But not even that's at the heart of this matter.

Apparently, if you go to the Czech Republic, they have a 95% music literacy rate, meaning, if you stopped someone on the street and asked them to sing a major scale, they probably could. If you asked someone that here, on the streets of New York City, well who knows what would happen. It's no surprise the lack of arts education in America. Now I do realize that this is not Europe where the Western art music tradition is so closely tied to the culture, nor should it be. My feelings about the state of music education in all its forms in this country are too many for this short commentary. And I can't even get into how questions like this, loaded if you will, can attack the already fragile identity of someone who chooses to study music. There is no support in the families, in the schools and in a society that values making money and moving up in the world as opposed to doing something you love and doing something that creates beauty and brings life. I know I've been the victim of feeling like it would have been better if I had gone into a "respectable" profession. This coming from the know-it-all adults who move through the muck and mire of life just to survive. All I want to say to the adults of this nation is this:

Yes, music is a real profession. It's been around longer than all of the IT jobs and upwardly mobile urban professions (well, most of them anyway) and it's not just singing do re mi, it's history and it's math and it's science and physics, acoustics, literature, physiology, psychology, human nature. It's the language of some of the most innovative, foresighted, creative geniuses in recorded history --- the myths of Wagner, the dreams of Berlioz, the religion of Bach, the vitality of Mozart. And not all of us want to play some piece you've never heard of at a concert you'll never go to. We're in law, medicine, business, education, publicity --- all of these things are part of the great doctrine that I study. I do not mock you for the thing that you work hard in and devote your life to, please try to return the courtesy.

And for all of you who wonder about the bassoon? Well, you have no idea what you're missing.