Tmolus of a Different Color

When I came across the first sentence of the Denver Post’s Fine Arts Critic Kyle McMillan’s puff piece about composer Osvaldo Golijov, I had a deviant, critically fanciful thought: what would happen if I did a little research about this commercialized cliché and, subsequently, its use as metaphor?

Osvaldo Golijov is the King Midas of classical music.

To explain: King Midas (from Greek mythology), as we all know, had the “Midas touch,” turning whatever he touched into gold, the possession of the power known in alchemy as chrysopoeia, or the Philosopher’s Stone.

Simple, right? Kyle’s just saying that Golijov is very successful. Well, these meta-critical eyes read into it a little more than that, perhaps too much. I tried to find out what’s beneath this reference to see if we can really say whether it’s an appropriate metaphor in this context, because, often times, metaphors can go astray in unusual ways.

Now, what follows is not a critique of Kyle. Nor am I putting words into his mouth. It’s a more discursive critique, a critique in general, because we all understood Kyle’s initial reference—it was successful. But!

When we dig in, however, we find some disturbing things. And if I were Osvaldo Golijov, I might have strong reason to believe that the “Midas touch” was, indeed, inappropriate, because there is much more to the story of King Midas.

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The Abridged Story of King Midas with Observations of Note

Silenus, Dionysus’ teacher, got drunk, wandered away and passed out. King Midas took him in and entertained him for ten days. Midas returned Silenus to Dionysus on the eleventh day. Grateful, Dionysus offered Midas a reward. King Midas asked for a “golden touch,” which he received. He loved it at first, but grew to despise it—everything he touched, including his food, turned to gold. He begged Dionysus to take it back. Dionysus consented, telling King Midas to wash it off in the river, which he did.

1) King Midas was greedy
2) King Midas eventually saw his “golden touch” as a curse.
3) King Midas was cleansed/baptized in the river.

Afterwards, he hated wealth. He came to worship Pan, the God of shepherds, hunting and rustic music. Pan is thought to have studied music with Orpheus. On one occasion, though, Pan challenged Apollo, the God of the Lyre, to a musical competition, with Tmolus, the mountain God, as the judge. Apollo handily won. Among the spectators, the only dissenting opinion was made by King Midas. Ticked off at his awful ears for music, Apollo turned them into donkey’s ears. Ashamed, King Midas hid them by wearing a turban.

4) King Midas no longer troubled himself with wealth, favoring a simple life, as exemplified in his God of choice, Pan.
5) King Midas had terrible ears for music.

That's King Midas on the left, with donkey ears.
(painting by Jacopo, il giovane Palma, 1548-1628)




So, you see, there is a lot to the story. And since it’s a metaphor, after all, we have to substitute Osvaldo Golijov for King Midas, greatly changing Kyle’s initial meaning.

1) Osvaldo Golijov was greedy
2) Osvaldo Golijov eventually saw his “golden touch” as a curse.
3) Osvaldo Golijov was cleansed/baptized in the river.
4) Osvaldo Golijov no longer troubled himself with wealth, favoring a simple life.
5) Osvaldo Golijov had terrible ears for music.

Or further...

6) Osvaldo Golijov was Dionysian (of chaos and ecstasy), as opposed to Apollonian (of order and harmony).
7) Osvaldo Golijov worshipped a musically inferior God.
8) Osvaldo Golijov wears a turban.

Given a tiny bit of knowledge about Greek mythology, Kyle’s first sentence is deeply troubled, that is, if taken out of context. Of course, this isn’t what he’s pointing at, but still. It’s the equivalent of saying, “Osvaldo Golijov is the next Jacko,” or “Osvaldo Golijov is the next Britney Spears.” Is that a good thing? Maybe. Maybe not.

Is this metaphor apt, then? Sure, if it’s qualified. However, Kyle’s sentence didn’t mention the “Midas touch,” it referred to King Midas, the person-myth--a much broader topic than just the "Midas touch.".

I know I’m belaboring a super-super-super-small point, but it also gave me the perfect springboard to ask another question. Can anyone tell me why Allan Kozinn called Messiaen’s colors, colors for Britney’s sake, harsh?

In the more expansively dense sections Ms. Archer played [the organ] with an unflagging power and assertiveness. Those are necessary qualities here: the best way to deal with this score as a listener is to stop wondering why Messiaen painted God in such harsh colors and let the music envelop you. When it does, Messiaen’s vision becomes clear.

Perhaps, he’s taking the super-super-super stupid, clichéd, stereotypical, facile route: dissonance is objectively bad. I guess, to Kozinn, dissonance doesn't jive with the whole "good" God thing. Oh well. I suppose it takes a donkey's ear to know a synesthete.
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Composer of the Day!

Today’s composer of the day is Olivier Messiaen.

(1908-1992)

Frenchman Olivier Messiaen’s music is difficult to find in America, though it is still performed with relative regularity. His students, however, are well-known and widely respected (Pierre Boulez, Karlheinz Stockcockblochen, Iannis Xenakis).

He had a disease, which, one assumes, helped make his music extremely colorful. He had synaesthesia.

Synaesthesia is classified as a disease in which specific sensory input (e.g. a sound) triggers involuntary responses from another, second, sensory pathway (e.g. vision). In other words, sounds can trigger visual sensations. There are many kinds of synaesthetes, including number-letter » color associations, number » form (object) associations, sound » color, word » taste, and the ever rare sound » taste.

In the case of the sound » color form, specific pitches or harmonies create a sensation of specific colors or patterns of colors.

For a composer like Messiaen, his sound » color form of synaesthesia translated into vibrantly “colorful” music. A devout Catholic organist, he developed his own highly personal symbolic system of composition with color. I forget the exact chord which symbolized the blood of Christ, but I assure you it's a good one.

Check this out. An organ improvisation. This is F-ing cool!

Check this out, too. Some orchestral music that has bird calls.

There's a lot of information about him on the interwebs. He is one of my favorites. You should listen to his music.

This Sucks Dick

I'm not sure what to make of this. Philip Glass, scheduled to perform some of his piano music for the University of Miami, received an injury causing him to cancel the performance (Miami Herald).

“One of my kids jumped into my arms... and he bent my finger back.”

He actually told this to a reporter.


But this is also very disturbing.

You most certainly have entertained my dislike of interchangeable/vague-and-meaningless adjectives. And, to a degree, I acknowledge that it may be overly nitpicky. But why waste words, when it can be said in a clear coherent manner? So far, the only answer I have goes something like this:

(speaking as a critic)

The writer of classical music reviews has an obligation to compete, along with the other writers of other subjects and advertisements, for column space and, thus, readership. And the only way to do so is to mimic those “extreme” cultural norms, i.e., over-inflate the language, to give it some Gestalt, to make it sound bigger, to sound more important, than it really is.

My problem is that this kind of writing further confuses the music critic’s readership, alienating them from the possibility of understanding something about unfamiliar music. I do understand that music is ephemeral—it is an art, if you will, of memory—and that adjectives are often necessary to best describe, in word form, what happened. I also accept minor ambiguities, like:

...relentless momentum...

But even there, I find a problem. Does the author intend to suggest that there is a kind of “driving towards a goal,” or “snowballing growth,” momentum? Or does the author mean, instead of momentum, motion? Granted, either interpretation may be relevant to a particular work. However, we’re talking about Philip Glass, whose musical ideas (motifs, phrases, etc.) often meander (minimalism), but the motion is continuous (e.g., fast and continuous eighth-notes).

It is difficult to screw up an interview, or at least in the transcribing of one. And in many respects, this is a very insightful interview. The only problem I have is when Lawrence A. Johnson, the interviewer, interjects, adding his own “insightful” quips. Often, they are fine, or neutral. But this particular segue way, about Glass’s Violin Concerto, just sucks dick.

But first, I’ll give it to you in Mad Lib form.

In many ways the concerto seems to represent Glass at his most approachable and characteristic, imbuing a traditional form with his brand of (adj.) energy, (adj.) riffs and a (adj.), (adj.) lyricism that is distinctive in its (adj.), (adj.) sensibility.

Just remove the adjectives and this sounds pretty good. I get it. But I can still reword it so it’s even more clear:

“The Violin Concerto represents the quintessential Glass: a traditional form infused with his own distinctive brand of energy, riffs and lyricism.”

Personally, I think that sounds very good. But, obviously, this is not what was written. So we continue.

Now, just for fun, try to match the following adjectives with their appropriate placement within the actual sentence.

Sad
Urgent
Rock-like
Urban
Modern
Wistful

In many ways the concerto seems to represent Glass at his most approachable and characteristic, imbuing a traditional form with his brand of (adj.) energy, (adj.) riffs and a (adj.), (adj.) lyricism that is distinctive in its (adj.), (adj.) sensibility.

If you’re like me, the only one that really seems obvious is “rock-like.” Rock-like riffs. Correct! Even if all that comes to mind is “Iron Man,” which is probably not particularly an indicative Glass-ism. That leaves us with these:

Sad
Urgent
Urban
Modern
Wistful

And this:

In many ways the concerto seems to represent Glass at his most approachable and characteristic, imbuing a traditional form with his brand of (adj.) energy, rock-like riffs and a (adj.), (adj.) lyricism that is distinctive in its (adj.), (adj.) sensibility.

Aside from “rock-like,” I don’t feel confident assigning an adjective to the other blanks. I could make a case for and against every adjective in every space.

This is my problem with over-abundant adjectives. If you merely gloss over the sentence (in it’s original form) I can kind of get a sense of what Glass is about (or what Larry Johnson thinks about Glass), in which case the adjectives did their jobs. However, if I really think about the appropriateness of each one, I get confused. Very confused. Is it really “modern energy?” Or “urban energy?” Or “urgent energy?” I don’t know. Each one sort of makes sense. But, because “urgent energy” is not a thing, nor is it sufficiently differentiated from “traditional form,” I would have guessed that the correct pairing is “urban energy.”

Here’s the actual sentence:

In many ways the concerto seems to represent Glass at his most approachable and characteristic, imbuing a traditional form with his brand of urgent energy, rock-like riffs and a sad, wistful lyricism that is distinctive in its modern, urban sensibility.

Just sad.

That said, and to hedge a little, this was a very interesting interview. It was mostly, well-written. But, this one sentence, this one confusing, misleading, over-inflated excuse of a sentence, chaps my hide. There were so few opportunities to really F this up.

Like I’ve said before, this is not an isolated case of Color Me Badd journalism, it’s rampant, almost to a point where it’s the standard. This is one of the reasons why The Detritus exists. I just happened to catch Lawrence Johnson on a bad day. One on which Glass outs his son for sabotaging a concert.