Sounds Like Now
A blog by saxophonist Brian Sacawa
Archive for Literature
October 22, 2006 at 11:28 pm · Filed under Blog: Fall 06, Literature, Music
As you might have inferred from a previous post, I’m currently reading My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk, the 2006 Nobel Laureate in Literature. Among the many themes Pamuk deals with in the novel is the question of what constitutes “style.” The dictionary defines style as “the combination of distinctive features of literary or artistic expression, execution, or performance characterizing a particular person, group, school, or era.” Style is what distinguishes a particular artist, author, or musician as himself—their individuality, their “way,” their -isms.
How then is a style born and then perpetuated to the point where it is distinguished as a style? Here’s a quote from the novel in which Enishte Effendi, a master illuminator, explains to another how a new style of painting comes to be:
The birth of a new style is the result of years of disagreements, jealousies, rivalries and studies in color and painting. Generally, it’ll be the most gifted member of the workshop who fathers this form. Let’s also call him the most fortunate. To the rest of the miniaturists falls the singular duty of perfecting and refining this style through perpetual imitation.
A master imparts his teachings (and his style) to his pupils. And as a result, the master’s students pick up the master’s nuances—if not consciously trying to imitate them, then simply by being around a certain way of doing something for an extended period of time. As a saxophonist, I can usually tell who someone has studied with, or at the very least in which pedagogical line they’ve been trained, simply by their tone color, phrasing, articulation, and choice of repertoire. But what actually defines that master teacher’s style?
I’ve heard it said that what we hear (speaking in terms of music here) to be individuality and someone’s style are actually the little mistakes they make and their own peculiar manner of executing certain things, such as an articulation or a phrasing choice. And the way a student begins to sounds like the teacher is by imitating these subtle “mistakes.” (In the context of Pamuk’s novel—illuminators and miniaturists in sixteenth-century Istanbul—the only acceptable way to render an illustration is by reproducing as closely as possible the figures of the great masters from centuries ago. This is seen as the only acceptable style. Adding your own “signature” or synthesizing new or foreign ways of painting is viewed not only as a disgrace to your particular guild, but also an afront to Islam.) I don’t necessarily agree with the statement that an artist’s isms constitute subtle “mistakes.” It’s merely their particular way of executing a portion of their art. (Granted it might sound like mistakes to some.) And as far as synthesizing elements of different players into your own playing, I’ve written before that doing so is the beginning of the path to developing your own unique voice, which unlike in sixteenth-century Istanbul is something I’m told is desirable for artists these days.
October 17, 2006 at 9:42 pm · Filed under Blog: Fall 06, Literature
“The larger and more colorful a city is, the more places there are to hide one’s guilt and sin; the more crowded it is, the more people there are to hide behind. A city’s intellect ought to be measured not by its scholars, libraries, miniaturists, calligraphers and schools, but by the number of crimes insidiously committed on its dark streets over thousands of years.”
– Orhan Pamuk, My Name Is Red
April 17, 2006 at 11:36 pm · Filed under Japan, Literature, Music
“The late moon now emerged. Under the eaves of the building it was still dark, but the sky was beautifully illuminated. An attendant was sent to fetch zithers from the Bureau of Books and Instruments. When there were brought Tô no Chûjô chose the six-stringed zither, which he, like Genji, played with outstanding skill. Prince Hotaru took the great thirteen-stringed zither, while Genji himself decided on the seven-stringed kin. Lady Shôshô accompanied the gentlemen on the four-stringed lute. One of the senior courtiers, who was noted for his musical talents, was asked to conduct, and a delightful concert started. As the light began to spread, the color of the flowers and the faces of the players gradually came into view. Now the birds joined in with their own gay song. It was a dawn to gladden anyone’s heart.”
Murasaki Shikibu, Genji monogatari æºæ°ç‰©èªž
April 13, 2006 at 9:54 pm · Filed under Blog: Spring 06, Literature
I’ll go on. Author and playwright Samuel Beckett would have been 100 years old today. Frank J. Prial has an article in today’s Times featuring Barney Rosset, Beckett’s American discoverer while Jonathan Kalb reviews the new Grove Centenary Edition, published in celebration of his 100th birthday.
April 10, 2006 at 12:30 am · Filed under Blog: Spring 06, Cycling, Education, Film, Literature, Miscellany, Uncategorized
Where my mind’s been:
- Condi Rice gets reviewed in the Times.
- Andy Rooney talks about education. A generation of “cultural idiots”—haha.
- Ian Burama on Park Chanwook.
- Paris-Roubaix 2006: Cancellara attacks, Hincapie snaps, Boonen derailed delayed at the tracks.
- Hello Jesse and Joe—two Michigan MUSICOL 501 friends!
Recently Read: Invisible Cities and Difficult Loves by Italo Calvino, The Stories of Eva Luna by Isabel Allende, The New York Trilogy (yay) and Timbuktu (nay) by Paul Auster, A.H.W.O.S.G. (a book has never made me laugh out loud as much as this one) by Dave Eggers.
Reading: Here They Come by Yannick Murphy.
Practicing: Bach, Creston, Djupstrom, Sarasate
Grading: saxophone pedagogy midterm papers
Writing: my TAFTO contribution
Riding: my bike
Posting: new things to del.icio.us
Not: cleaning my house
Not: doing laundry
Need: a haircut
Will remember to: bring my suit to the dry cleaners
Procrastinating: Who, me?
Wasting: your time
Whee!
March 26, 2006 at 12:01 am · Filed under Blog: Spring 06, Literature
“Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he’d had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, ‘Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.’”
Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
May 30, 2005 at 2:16 am · Filed under Blog: Spring 05, Literature, Music
“‘Bravo!’ Settembrini cried. ‘Bravo, lieutenant. You have described very nicely an indubitably moral element in the nature of music: to wit, that by its peculiar and lively means of measurement, it lends an awareness, both intellectual and precious, to the flow of time. Music awakens time, awakens us to our finest enjoyment of time. Music awakens–and in that sense it is moral. Art is moral, in that it awakens. But what if it were to do the opposite? If it were to numb us, put us to sleep, counteract all activity and progress? And music can do that as well. It knows all too well the effect that opiates have. A devilish effect, gentlemen. Opiates are the Devil’s tool, for they create dullness, rigidity, stagnation, slavish inertia. There is something dubious about music, gentlemen. I maintain that music is ambiguous by its very nature. I am not going too far when I declare it to be politically suspect.’”
–Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain
May 19, 2005 at 3:31 pm · Filed under Blog: Spring 05, Literature
. . . is what you might call my summer reading list. (Although I think the prize for most ambitious goes to Terry Teachout, who jumped off the deep end rather innocently.)
Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace
Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, David Foster Wallace
Art & Fear, Paul Virilio
Little Boy: The Arts of Japan’s Exploding Subculture, Takashi Murakami, ed.
Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino
Foucault’s Pendulum, Umberto Eco
I might not make it but you need to aim high, right?
April 29, 2005 at 2:38 pm · Filed under Blog: Spring 05, Literature
I’ve had to turn the page on a few things. It’s time to move forward. It’s like starting a new book, which is exactly what I’m going to do. Something I’ve been meaning to read for a while now.
February 6, 2005 at 2:17 pm · Filed under Blog: Winter 04, Film, Literature
I recently watched the film Rivers and Tides: Working With Time (2001). It’s a portrait of the artist Andy Goldsworthy, who works exclusively with materials found in nature, like stone, wood, leaves, and ice. His work is stunning. Ephemeral. Fragile. Trascendent. Beautiful. It’s all of those things. But what also struck me about Goldsworthy was his absolute engagement with his sculpture. His concentration is immense. He is completely engrossed in the moment while at work, highlighting both the beautiful and ephemeral in his pieces. Time seems suspended even though as the sun comes up or the tide comes in you are acutely aware that time is indeed elapsing, while also threatening to destroy his creations.
Goldsworthy’s appraoch to his art reminded me of Slowness by Milan Kundera. In the novel, Kundera proposes that we not race from one thing to the next to the next to the next to the next and eventually on to “no thing,” as Eric Owen Moss puts it. There’s no focus in that race. No satisfaction. No destination. Only the next destination.
It’s important to be in the moment. To be completely immersed in and devoted to the task at hand whether it’s practicing, writing, composing, painting, sculpting, reading. If you ever have the sense that you’re becoming a part of the race—as I sometimes do—watch this film. It’s inspiring.
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