The Giant Entropy-Monster

In a sense, what I've hoped for this blog to perhaps, in a more or less poetic fashion, reveal my own (if I can really call it my own and not simply what great musicians and friends have bequeathed to me) philosophy of music. I've never actually read any philosophy of music, even though I major in philosophy, and love music. Indeed, I already am too predisposed to view music the way I do now to understand how a rigorous philosophy of music could make sense. It's a certain subset of aesthetics, or philosophy of art. But I don't do aesthetics either. Or not yet. Either way, I find it way too fun in my little (perhaps ill-formed and hypocritically-conceived) bubble of self-truths and self-compromises: the kinds I've had to make with myself to fully come to grips with what it is I play, I listen to, and in some sense, I live. I literally breath in D minor. More like D harmonic minor nowadays, but whatever (only metal musicians would get that one I think). My point is just this: I'm trying to slowly make you all my minions. I want to start a righteous band of defenders of this understanding of music: 1. music is emotional; 2. music is (almost always) anything you say it can't be; 3. musical statements have truth-value (or meaning) only insofar as we want them to have meaning (John Cage's ideas). But of course my important addendum is this: not only should we want to conceive of meaning therein; we need to.

"We need to" should require some sort of psychological/anthropological argument on the face of it. We need to? How? Which ancient ancestor so faithfully engraved this idea into humanity that we need it? Well that's not how I meant it.

Asshole.

I meant it like this: to fully "get it", to completely feel embraced by it, we need music to transfer meaning. And even if the meaning is arbitrarily (notes and sounds simply do not equal linguistic assertions) inserted, it is not done so by the logical mind, but by our emotional faculties. Or whatever you call the part of the brain that enjoys art/beauty/music. But if this is not done by the logical mind, our standard idea of arbitrariness is dead: it is arbitrary from the perspective of the logical analysis of the situation at hand, but there really is something deep within the arrangement of sound and silence that strikes a chord with something else within us (I love puns).

So that was me doing a little philosophy. Think about it. Don't simply judge. Think. We have a duty as the unique keepers of rationality (as Aristotle would say) to discern our world, because we can, and the answers are out there, and if we don't they'll remain out there, where nothing can reach them, and even after we have all died off at least we've struggled to grip something beautifully insignificant to the giant entropy-monster, but may not be so insignificant compared to the love we have of another human being, or the joy we get from familiar people, laughter, catharsis, unrelenting misery, death, birth, an orgasm.

In a sense, what I mean is: we should be asking these questions simply because we can. Knowledge is not something to which we can ascribe value: it just is. And similarly, we just are. We just are, and knowledge just is, and we are are together. Sounds like something from Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds.

Recently, I got into something of an argument with someone I didn't even know over Facebook (of course) about metal, and in general, music "with screaming". He made the claim that whatever it is, it's definitely not music. This made me angry because I really love such music, but it would have made me angry regardless: if you want to come tell me you think something isn't music, I promise you're wrong (unless you claim that frogs are music, or something; I mean serious claims). You can't logically maintain it, unless you're willing to admit that we people who obviously do experience it as music do not. Then good luck living with 1=2.

Of course I should've known better. This kid was not only wrong, but simply immature. I think we was much younger than me (being a friend of one of my cousins, who is also younger than me). But he wouldn't give up: if there is screaming in it, it can't be music. This idea hurts my soul. Honestly, I wanted to drive to his house and fucking punt his ass through his own living room. But for now, let's just say we had a friendly disagreement, and now it's all forgotten.

The goal of music is to find a place in each of us that is nothing at all most of the time, but only then becomes this sort of metaphysical inner-radio. Music is the hand trying to tune us in to something people have yet to fully understand. Since this analogy could seem a bit sexual, I'm going to say that's awesome. I like when music reaches inside of me and turns my knobs and shit. Aw yeah.

Perhaps it would be better for us all if we just listened to each other. What is so terrible about a band that screams? I mean, really. I won't accept "it sounds bad" or "it's too dissonant" or "I'm a pussy" as answers. They all may be true, but they don't answer anything. I mean: what is objectively wrong with it? What about it's essence (what makes it it) is so abrasive to the very fabric of our being? What about Ravel's Concerto for the Left Hand makes people hate on it so much? I mean, what the fuck. It's definitely fucking good. I cried when I first heard it. Son of a bitch.

Anyway, I just hope you can understand one thing: if we need somehow to ascribe meaning to music, and we restrict which things we are allowing into the special club "Things-which-can-be-called-"music"", then we are taking opportunities away from ourselves to experience a fuller, more beautiful life. Full of the worst and best of everything. Experiencing what is already there, waiting for you to take witness to its claims to such power, is truly living.

Live.