Humour in New Music
Author: Blogger in Residence, Anna Disley-Simpson
When writing music, oftentimes it has required forcing myself to sit down with a frown on my face, reluctant to make the effort to write yet another piece. Maybe there’s an impending deadline, maybe you’re writing to a brief that shifts you out of your comfort zone, maybe you’re just plain stuck, or a combination of these elements, and more.
Whatever it is, time and time again the thing that drags me out of the pit is a sense of humour. The notion that composition can actually be the silliest, most absurd practice ever was a huge discovery for me.
I get it though, it’s tricky. Whatever your composer niche may be, if you’re writing music in the present day, it is likely to be described as ‘contemporary classical’ music, and this phrase alone provokes some considerably serious associations. The term ‘classical’ implies something old, solemn, and strict, something that should be treated with care and reverence due to centuries of tradition. Similarly, ‘contemporary’ can often generate ideas of the unfamiliar and alien, but also something intellectual, and highly respected. These pre-conceived connections aren’t inherently a negative necessarily, but they can indeed contribute to the daunting nature of new music.
Now don’t get me wrong, your craft should absolutely be taken seriously, composition is a wonderful skill that requires thorough hard work. However, this doesn’t mean it can’t be both playful and ridiculous. I don’t believe there’s any reason why the two should end up being mutually exclusive. In fact, I really feel that silliness should be encouraged. Some of the best works of art and music exploit humour, adding new layers that enhance the outcome of the piece and, by extension, the audience’s experience.
Do we always have to be so profound and philosophical? Do we always have to convey a sobering, thought-provoking message? I don’t think so. Where’s the fun in that?
Humour in music can bubble to the surface in a multitude of ways. For me this comes naturally to a lot of multimedia pieces, as there is direct scope for the juxtaposition of the serious with the preposterous. Of course, the first example I think of is the hippos in Disney’s Fantasia dancing nimbly to Ponchielli’s Dance of the Hours.
John Cage’s theatrics in his piece Water Walk leave his audience in fits of raucous laughter. His sincere and earnest performance adds to the jovial charm. Watch here!
Maybe the fun comes from the process itself. How much of the outcome is decided by you and how much is decided by the performers, or even the audience? Perhaps you make recordings of a set of conversations with friends which are then incorporated into a piece for five bassoons and antiphonal choir. Perhaps you write in collaboration with another composer and layer your creations on top of each other in order to develop an intimate lifelong friendship. Perhaps you treat the process as a treasure hunt and make a piece that requires a life-size model of a pirate ship made from solid gold. I don’t know, this is your piece, not mine.
You might be inclined to add to the catalogue of the best (read: worst) puns in modern musical history. You’ll be up against the likes of David Rakowski (Fourth of Habit), Milton Babbitt (The Joy of More Sextets), and that one time I almost titled a piece of mine Flight of the Tumbleweed. Dark times.
To end on a serious note (I see the irony); adulthood, politics, climate change, you name it, are all realities we deal with every day. It’s arguably vital that we cling on to an element of lightness in this compositional craft that we love so much. The industry alone already takes itself far too seriously sometimes, it’s so easy to feel swallowed up and bogged down. Wit, creativity, and humour are like gold dust. Now, go and write a piece based on memes. Would recommend.
P.S. The masters of humour in composition for me are György Ligeti and Unsuk Chin, who was taught by him. Go to Ligeti for the dark and morose, and to Chin for the cheeky and whimsical. Happy listening!
Written by Anna Disley-Simpson