SOS writer Craig Anderton is all for musical literacy, but sees no benefit in instant gratification.
For some people, music is an art; but for others, it's a business. Mouths don't get fed, mortgages don't get paid, and no petrol goes in the family automobile if gear doesn't sell. This is a particular concern for manufacturers of MIDI software and synthesizers, who have seen the boom times of the '80s fade, as more musicians hop aboard the 'unplugged' bandwagon, and the market for MIDI gear becomes saturated (how many sequencers does one musician really need?). It's only natural that at times like these, corporate minds become focused on how to 'grow' the market, and get the MIDI industry back on a healthier footing.
I had dinner recently with some music industry‑types. Like a lot of salesmen, they seemed to be under the illusion that there is a huge, untapped market of people who want to play music — and the only reason why they can't, the reasoning goes, is because technology hasn't made it simple enough for them.
I have a real problem with this. My complaint concerns the attitude that music lies in the tools we use, not in our souls — that we can come up with technology that will allow 'wannabe' musicians to translate concepts into action, and not have to worry about messy details like practice, original thought, or passion. Because, of course, the software will supply everything that's needed to make music.
And I suppose nuclear power will be too cheap to meter, we'll all be zooming around with personal jet packs instead of cars by the year 2000, and so many labour‑saving devices will be in place by 1997 that we'll all be working 20‑hour weeks. Add: 'and technology will enable non‑musicians to express themselves musically.'
I believe that music is something beautiful and important; it's a means of communication and self‑expression that creates a soundtrack for our lives. As Aldous Huxley said, "After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."
Don't misunderstand me. I'd love to see more people able to express themselves musically. I like the idea that in places like Brazil, friends often stop by with instruments, and jam instead of engaging in the passive art of watching TV. But the idea that technology can make it possible to create music — forget it.
Sure, it's nice for manufacturers to think that somehow, they will be able to tap into the millions of people who would love to make music but lack either the time or dexterity to commit themselves to the process. But the fact of the matter is music does not come from algorithms, and making music will always be a discipline. Many people who want to hear music will find it a lot easier to pop into their local CD shop and buy a CD, than sit down at the computer and mess with MIDI, no matter how easy it is to use. Even if an instrument is easy to play, music will always be difficult to play.
Does this mean I'm down on the computer tools that allow me to make the music I want to make? No, not at all. I've really become accustomed to digital audio, sequencers, and all that good stuff. It's given me powers I never would have had otherwise. It has taught me much about arranging and harmony, and even enabled me to swap files with people on the other side of the country. I wouldn't want to give up these techno toys.
And I'm not down on software like Band In A Box or Music Mouse either. The former expands on the time‑honoured tradition of 'music minus one' practicing, while the latter has more of the personality of an instrument than a compositional algorithm. The problem comes when you think something can create music for you. If you don't have something you want to say musically, no tool will say it for you. Technology can serve only as an amplifier or processor of what you create. When you practice music, you're not just practicing technique; you're shaping your soul. Music software that tries to fit everyone into prescribed limits will never allow the equivalent of a Jimi Hendrix, who was brilliant because he broke so many rules, and did it so well.
Jimi Hendrix was not signed because of a focus group saying they wanted that kind of music. He didn't write his songs on a Power Mac. Hey, he had six pieces of metal on a plank of wood with five program changes, a distortion box, and a wah‑wah. But his passion for music took control of those tools. To trivialise music to the point where one thinks it can be neatly coded into a bunch of algorithms is unfortunate, and furthermore, betrays a fundamental inability to understand the differences that exist between art and technology.
In today's de‑personalised, market‑researched, over‑merged, corporate world, we need original statements. If companies really want to get the masses into making music, the best way to do that is not to create musical toys, but to push for an educational system that regards all arts, not just music, as a crucial part of the learning process.
Craig Anderton is a monophonic synthesizer with a three‑octave range, pitch bend, vibrato, and several gigabytes of on‑board memory. He responds to both pressure and velocity, but wishes that life had a quantization option for taking out the rough edges, looping capabilities (so you could do things you liked over and over), and of course, an undo command. He has developed sounds for Alesis, Deltalab, DigiTech, Emu, Ensoniq, Northstar, Oberheim, Optical Media, Peavey, Prosonus, Rane, Symetrix, Yamaha and others. He is eternally grateful that he wore ear protection when he played concerts back in the 60s.