Consonance & Dissonance
The trajectory from darkness to light is a philosophical throughline of music history. Out of murkiness, turbulence, and minor key emerges the iconic "Ode to Joy" in Beethoven's Symphony No. 9. From the harrowing, musical manifestations of grief upon the loss of both his wife and mentor, respectively, Joseph Suk composes a bright, serene, "heavenly" final movement to his Asrael Symphony. Camille Saint-Saëns literally transforms the Medieval doomsday chant "Dies Irae" into a kinetic, cheery melody that concludes his Organ Symphony. The examples are nearly endless. As music is a universal healing mechanism, it is no surprise that composers are attracted to this model. But how does it work, and why is it so relatable?
Concepts of "darkness" and "light" are musically analogous to "dissonance" and "consonance"—the former, conflict, and the latter, resolution. On the surface, we often regard dissonance as simultaneous pitches traditionally discordant in Western music. Play any black key on the piano in tandem with an adjacent white key, and I doubt you would describe the sound as "pleasant." Composers routinely employ such harmonic tension to represent darkness or, technically speaking, conflict. On the other hand, consonance—or "light"—is imperative resolution without which no art would be remotely satisfying. But even the most pleasant sounds are not compelling in a vacuum. Predictable harmonies or rhythms alone are simply boring. Consonance requires dissonance, and vice versa, to mean anything at all—a concept inherent to the human experience.
What is success without failure? What is variety without monotony? What is life without death? Music has taught me to embrace adversity, because joy is muted and dissatisfying in its absence. As we experience a holiday season juxtaposed against political strife, perhaps family strife, fear, loneliness, or depression; consider music itself a light in the darkness. A light so bright—a beauty so radiant—not despite, but because of its tenebrous backdrop. Planning this Sunday's service, the perfect music came to mind: something far simpler than the aforementioned symphonic grandeur. Jodie and I will play the three movements of a short work by one of my college friends, Mary Gemmell Smith, called "Images." Its three movements will comprise the Prelude, Winter; Offertory, Shadows; and Musical Meditation, Sunlight. From the literal and figurative darkness of winter rises the sun—steadfast illumination, mercifully unburdened by human strife. "Resolved" by the light of a nourishing sermon, we return to Winter again, this time to the famous, invigorating composition by Vivaldi from his Four Seasons. Together, we will sing hymns #95: "There Is More Love Somewhere,” #1021 "Lean On Me," and UU composer Jason Shelton's song "Life Calls Us On."
See you Sunday!
David
Concepts of "darkness" and "light" are musically analogous to "dissonance" and "consonance"—the former, conflict, and the latter, resolution. On the surface, we often regard dissonance as simultaneous pitches traditionally discordant in Western music. Play any black key on the piano in tandem with an adjacent white key, and I doubt you would describe the sound as "pleasant." Composers routinely employ such harmonic tension to represent darkness or, technically speaking, conflict. On the other hand, consonance—or "light"—is imperative resolution without which no art would be remotely satisfying. But even the most pleasant sounds are not compelling in a vacuum. Predictable harmonies or rhythms alone are simply boring. Consonance requires dissonance, and vice versa, to mean anything at all—a concept inherent to the human experience.
What is success without failure? What is variety without monotony? What is life without death? Music has taught me to embrace adversity, because joy is muted and dissatisfying in its absence. As we experience a holiday season juxtaposed against political strife, perhaps family strife, fear, loneliness, or depression; consider music itself a light in the darkness. A light so bright—a beauty so radiant—not despite, but because of its tenebrous backdrop. Planning this Sunday's service, the perfect music came to mind: something far simpler than the aforementioned symphonic grandeur. Jodie and I will play the three movements of a short work by one of my college friends, Mary Gemmell Smith, called "Images." Its three movements will comprise the Prelude, Winter; Offertory, Shadows; and Musical Meditation, Sunlight. From the literal and figurative darkness of winter rises the sun—steadfast illumination, mercifully unburdened by human strife. "Resolved" by the light of a nourishing sermon, we return to Winter again, this time to the famous, invigorating composition by Vivaldi from his Four Seasons. Together, we will sing hymns #95: "There Is More Love Somewhere,” #1021 "Lean On Me," and UU composer Jason Shelton's song "Life Calls Us On."
See you Sunday!
David
Posted in Music Notes