| | "I think that if anyone here is a troll, you're the clearest candidate. Your output on this site consists of nothing but insults masquerading as arguments on one hand, and pseudohistorical rant about the glories of beer on the other."
Thanks Robert. I love you too.
"Question: why would assortments of rhythmically placed tonalities come to represent an emotion?"
Well , because they do. I can't prove that by arguing about it, I can only ask you to introspect when you listen to music. Essentially it's because that is the way we experience these 'rhythmically placed tonalities' when we listen to them, as you concede yourself in part when you say that hearing Beethoven's 'rhythmically placed tonalities' makes you feel happy. Thank Galt something does. :-)
So I "haven't answered Fred's point at all?" Well, I'm not all sure that he's got one, nor that he's not aware himself of where to find the answers he claims not to know - but I'm sure he can answer that one himself. Perhaps you can too?
Anyway, you say that you can't experience the broad emotional abstractions in classical music? More's the pity - if true the great loss is truly yours. If you don't hear anything in music beyond more or less pleasant auditory sensations then you're either listening to the wrong music, or that's simply incredibly said. If theory rather than practice is more your bag and you wish to know how these emotional effects are possible through music, then since Rand's Romantic Manifesto recommendation of Helmoholtz's work on this topic, there have been numerous published accounts of how music affects us emotionally. The late Deryck Cooke's Language of Music is one such book that might be worth you exploring. Amazon recommends others when you call this one up.
Anyway, if it helps, here's a discussion by Schopenhauer on why and how music affects us, summarised for us by Brian Magee (who knows - being from German philosophy it might even seduce Fred!). For once A. Schop sounds unusually sane and clear:
The nub of what [Schopenhauer] has to say is that, as far as we are concerned as listeners, music proceeds by creating certain wants which it then spins out before satisfying. Even the most simple melody, considered as a succession of single notes, makes us want it to close eventually on the tonic, no matter how widely it may range before it does so, and provokes in us a baffled dissatisfaction if it ends on any note other than that; indeed, the melody has to end not only on that one note but on a strong beat in the rhythm at the same time. [S. obviously hadn't heard much jazz at this stage. :-) ] If it fails to do both these things together we usually feel something harsher even than dissatisfaction, we feel outright rejection: 'This can't be the end, It's got to go on. It can't just stop here.' If the music is more than a simple melody, and has harmony too, the harmony does the same thing: the chords create in us a sense of dissatisfaction followed by a desire for them to resolve, if only eventually, in a certain direction, and only if they do finally resolve on the tonic chord is the longing in us stilled. Schopenhauer sums this up by saying: 'Music consists generally in a constant succession of chords more or less disquieting, i.e. of chords exciting desire, with chords more or less quieting and satisfying; just as the life of the heart (the will) is a constant succession of greater or lesser disquietude, through desire or fear, with composure in degrees just as varied. Thus music directly corresponds to our inner states,and its movements to the movements of our inner lives.
He goes on to say that our response to music is felt regardless of our technical knowledge of music, and discusses in particular the special case of the end of a piece of music: "... [As] music, like life, consists of the perpetual creation and spinning out of longings on which we are stretched out as on a rack, unable ever to accept where we are as a resting place, until only the complete cessation of everything - the end of the piece as a whole... - brings with it a cessation of unsatisfiable longing."
The reason I quote this at length is twofold: first to answer your oh so polite questions about how music affects us; and second because at least one master composer explicitly wrote a piece of music intended to portray precisely what Schopenhauer descibes. Might I suggest you listen to Wagner's Tristan and Isolde, particularly the 'Transfiguration' which comes at the end of the whole opera, and in doing so see if what Schopenhauer describes is how you experience the piece.
Specifically, and to continue quoting, Schopenhauer goes on to describe "a technical device in harmony known as 'suspension' - and it was this that lit a beacon in Wagner's head" and led directly to his composition of Tristan:
Suspension does indeed create suspense. In its ordinary use it comes as the penultimate chord of a piece of music, when we have just heard what we thought was going to be the penultimate chord. This is nearly always a discord. I am using the word 'discord' here in its technical sense of a chord in tonal music which is not self-sufficient but requires resolution on to a concord - which is what we now confidently expect to happen. but instead of this the discord we have just heard moves to another discord - which only then, and perhaps after sounding extendedly, resolves on the tonic. In that instant when discord moves unexpectedly to discord we feel, figuratively, an intake of breath, a gasp of surprise. The tension we had assumed was about to be stilled is, on the contrary, prolonged, and not just prolonged but screwed up an extra notch. This means that the resolution, when it does come, is all the greater - we so to speak let out our astonished intake of breath in a sigh of heightened satisfaction. And says Schopenhauer, 'This is clearly an analogue of the satisfaction of the will which is enhanced through delay.' Tristan is a whole opera written on this principle - the ear is on tenterhooks throughout until the final chord.
I commend it to your attention. :-)
Quotes from The Tristan Chord, by Brian Magee (Metropolitan Books, 2000)
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