A Musical Genre Caught Between Rural and Urban Life

By Marcello Diomede

Jason Aldean’s newest hit, “Try That in a Small Town,” released in May 2023, initially did not create much media buzz. Still, when the music video was released on July 14th, the lyrics were put into a context many were not expecting. The video alternates between shots of Aldean and his band performing in front of a large, white building and footage from riots, looting, and petty crime in cities. His lyrics don’t hold back, including multiple threats directed towards urban communities. Lines like “I’ve got a gun that my granddad gave me/they say one day they’re gonna round up. / Well that s*** might fly in the city / good luck / Try that in a small town” portray cities as being dangerous, lawless places in comparison to rural, blue-collar towns, where citizens would take law enforcement into their own hands. As Aldean sings these lines, urban burglary and images of riots are suggestively superimposed over his face. We know what he would do, and may resort to do the same. It’s us versus them. The white building in the background is the Maury County Courthouse Building in Colombia, TN. The landmark was the site of race riots in 1946, as well as a 1927 lynching in which a white mob pulled an 18-year-old black man, Henry Choate, from jail and dragged him through the city by car. Aldean insists that the video’s main message is to remind people of the small-town values that America was founded on, but with such strong rhetoric and a setting as iconic as this, the song feeds the rural against. city narrative, which inevitably invokes issues of class and race. The semiotic lock between lyrics and visuals places the resulting meaning into a racist context, which Aldean denied (Olson). 

Xenophobic undertones are not new to country music, however. The so-called “Southern thesis”— suggesting that country music emerged from the countryside of the rural US South, linking the musicians to social conservatism and a rural lifestyle —consciously constructs rigid boundaries that define “country” in terms of geographic and socio-economic terms. As musicologists Jada Watson and Paula Bishop note in their article, Whose Country Music?, this paradigm is linked to “Jim Crow Era racial constructs that have privileged the work of white artists and marginalized the contributions of Black, Indigenous, and artists of color.” In the early 20th century, the industry’s gatekeepers, such as radio stations and record labels, handpicked the artists and songs that painted the early landscape of country music. These people, who were supposedly neutral in their choices on who they would represent, were imparting their biases that laid the groundwork for a mostly-white soundscape. The first Black female songwriter to land a No. 1 charting record, Alice Randall, shares her story about early conversations with the white men who had their grip on the industry in 1994. Effectively, these gatekeepers music acted like Reddit moderators today, controlling the flow of information. Ultimately, she was so talented that men in power had no choice but to air her music. 

Another black artist, Priscilla Renea, whom many know as Muni Long, has written and produced music since she was 18. Growing up in Gifford, Florida, a wealthy, predominantly white neighborhood, Renea recalls times when she would walk into places, and people would ask her if she was lost or needed help or other times when she was confronted with racist slurs. So, when she arrived in the country music arena, she was questioned on whether she was a country artist; being an outsider wasn’t something that bothered her. In an interview with NPR, Renea describes the strange relationship that she, as a black woman, has with the country music scene: “If you think about the kind of people that consume country music and that, you know, tailgate and go to these concerts, it’s not an environment where black people feel welcome.” Renea believes that the lack of diversity in the genre is nothing more than a result of fear. Black artists don’t want to engage in a genre that doesn’t accept them, and Aldean’s newest song is a perfect example of that. We realize that the uncomfortability of black artists to engage in a genre that hasn’t paid attention to them has resulted in country music being abandoned by many African Americans. Although Renea resides in the country realm, she admits, “I’m not going somewhere where I feel like I’m going to get beat up.” There are some stark contrasts between black country and white country, however. In her song “Land of the Free,” she sings about the dangers of being black in the era of police brutality and lethal use of force. The song starts, “Little Jimmy grabbed his toys, went outside to play. How was he supposed to know he might die today? Officer, he told the judge, Jimmy had a gun. Now another mother will be burying a son.” Notice the difference between the rhetoric in Aldean’s song and the message that Renae is trying to convey. If music is about authentically sharing your life experience, Renea is staying true to herself and her perspectives, and so is Aldean. 

Throughout the history of country music, racism and animosity towards cities is a recurring theme. These divisions spawn from the fundamental difference between rural and urban politics that have been present since America’s birth. Even today, during elections, we can visibly see the difference between the liberal cities and the overwhelmingly conservative rural communities in the United States. The Civil War is a prime example of the severity of these differences in belief and policy. Over time, the conflict over city and country has evolved and taken on its own identity within the different fabric of society, and most notably, country music. Songs that lust for a rural life have been a part of country music since the genre was first invented as a “marketing category for rural white Southerners in the 1920s.” Songs like Fiddlin’ John Carson’s “Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane,” recorded in 1923, yearning for a rustic home. Commonly performed in blackface and written in 1871, the song is presented from the perspective of a former slave who wishes for life before freedom, believe it or not. Carson allegedly performed it at KKK rallies to justify their desire for slavery by stating that slaves wanted to be enslaved more than they wanted to be free. 

Signs of distaste towards urban areas in country music grew particularly pronounced post-World War II. Ray Price’s “City Lights” and Stonewall Jackson’s “Life to Go” (both recorded in 1958) depicted cities as dirty, desolate places. Most often, the city was framed as a place that led to immorality for women, as heard in Bare’s “Streets of Baltimore” (1966) when a man takes his woman to the city, but she’s left “walking the streets of Baltimore.” Elsewhere, one could only expect to find murder, heartbreak, and decay in the city. The country, as described in hits like Dottie West’s “Country Sunshine” (1973), Merle Haggard’s “Big City” (1982), and up to more recent years in songs like Tim McGraw and Faith Hill’s “Meanwhile Back at Mama’s” (2014), continued to be depicted as idyllic, peaceful places.

How film music can lead or mislead us in murder mysteries

“The conventional narrative film constructs a diegesis- a story world, a place of action.” Claudia Gorbman in her book, Unheard Melodies, describes the role of music in films, how the music can act as a narrator and can dramatize a scene. Gorbman introduces the concept of a “narrational cue” which helps shape the audience’s interpretation of the narrative. The basic form of film music is the “cue” which can last from a few seconds to several minutes.  Film music cues can inform—”cue—” the viewer about the plot, characters, and other elements of the story.  In short,  film music cues can serve as  clues. Sometimes, however, asin cases of murder mysteries, the musical cues  can be used against the audience, as a tactic to mislead them from discovering too early on who the murderer is. 

In the cinematic realm, music acts as a silent maestro: guiding the audience through the emotions of different scenes, making it easier for the narrator to tell their story. But nowhere is this symbiotic relationship more captivating than in murder mysteries where each note and chord acts as a secret passage leading to suspense, drama, mystery, and unexpected revelations. Gorbman talks about the semiotics of music and how it functions as a semiotic system within the context of cinema: signifying emotions, themes, and narrative elements. Knives Out is a 2019 American mystery film written and directed by Rian Johnson. Daniel Craig leads an eleven-actor ensemble cast as Benoit Blanc, famed private detective summoned to investigate the death of bestselling author Harlan Thrombey. When police rule Harlan’s case a suicide, Blanc suspects foul play and examines a host of clues and dubious red herrings to ascertain his true manner of death. It is a testament to the power of music in film where composer Nathan Johnson has created a symphony of sounds that weaves seamlessly into the cloth of this whodunit. 

 As the movie begins, and the first few notes of the music are heard, the audience is immediately drawn into the Knives Out multiverse. The opening scene of the movie is a perfect example as it is in a minor key which builds suspenseful tones adding to the suspense of the discovery of the body. The music acts as a clue as suggesting the fact that something bad has happened due to its tone and the key to which the piece is played. Johnson’s  score is like a delicate dance between traditional orchestral elements and modern nuances which holds the audiences’ intrigue. The music in this movie often acts as an orchestrator of tension. As the plot thickens and new facts are discovered by the detective,  played by Daniel Craig, the music matches and escalates in harmony too. Gorbman talks about how music acts as a signifier of emotion: where it can set certain moods and place emphasis on particular emotions that are suggested in the narrative. 

The subtle strings which are interrupted by brief moments of silence act as musical punctuation marks, keeping the audience sitting at the edge of their seat eagerly waiting for what’s to come next. It’s a calculated maneuver taken by the composer, where the music mirrors the characters’ urgency and uncertainty, creating an aura of tension that keeps the audience focused on the heavily dramatic mystery. The dynamics of the music play a key role: a sudden crescendo or a jarring chord—a so-called “stinger”— serves as indication of a turning point in the narrative. “The goal of ‘classical’ scoring” Gorbman writes,  is “to place the auditor’s ears in a subject position harmonious with the spectator’s eyes: to create a unified phantasmatic body of identification, a heightened for-me-ness for the regressive ego.” She talks about how classical film scoring aims to make the audience feel more connected with what they see on the screen by providing a shared fantasy or mental image between the audience and what’s happening on the screen in front of them. Through these musical experiences, Johnson ensures that the audience is not also watching, but they feel the heartbeat of the mystery, enabling the audience to also feel emotionally connected to the movie and the characters feel the emotions the characters feel with them. 

Each member of the family talks to the detective, exposing their side of the story, during which there is suspenseful music playing in the background adding fuel to the fire, as do the clues given by each family member to the detectives. According to Gorbman, Wagnerian technique of using leitmotifs or recurring themes allows the composer to  associate music with a certain character, situation, or place. Such a theme or motif may have a fixed designation, or it can evolve and grow to contribute to the dynamic flow of the narrative. The piano may underscore the sophistication of one character, while there are electronic elements that hint at the mysteries surrounding another. Johnson is excellent at linking  specific musical motifs with individual characters which  provides the audience with a more in-depth peek into the subtleties underlying their identity, motivation, and emotion. This results in a symphony of personalities where the music turns into a language which speaks volumes about the characters and their relationship with the other characters in the movie. 

While the music in Knives Out plays a leading role in creating drama, it is also subtle, allowing other elements to shine. During moments of dialogue or introspection, the score gracefully decrescendos, letting the characters’ words and actions take center stage. This delicate balance ensures that the music never overwhelms but enhances the cinematic experience, allowing silence to speak as loudly as the notes themselves. The subtlety extends to the use of leitmotifs — recurring musical themes associated with characters or ideas. These motifs weave in and out of the score, reinforcing connections between characters and storylines. Johnson’s approach adds an extra layer of engagement for viewers, creating a musical trail that enhances the overall viewing experience.

As the plot unfolds, the music steps forward as a narrative guide, directing attention to pivotal story beats. Be it the unearthing of a critical clue, a heated confrontation, or the unmasking of the culprit, the score accentuates these moments, shaping the emotional contours of the drama. The film’s climax is a testament to the marriage of music and storytelling. As Detective Blanc reveals the intricacies of the murder, the music reaches a crescendo, creating a climax that resonates with the audience. This elevates the storytelling, making each revelation not just visual but aural, leaving an imprint on the viewer’s memory. 

Knives Out stands not just as a gripping murder mystery but as a testament to the collaboration between sight and sound. Johnson’s score emerges as a narrative companion, guiding audiences through a web of deceit, and unexpected twists. In the world of murder mysteries, where each note is a clue and every silence a revelation, Knives Out showcases how film music can elevate a cinematic experience into a symphony of suspense and brilliance. In this modern whodunit, where every sound is a clue waiting to be deciphered, Knives Out stands as a shining example of how film music can transform storytelling into an art form that resonates long after the credits roll.

The Enduring Glow of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata

by Dennis van Hoesel

Ludwig van Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata stands as a timeless masterpiece, captivating audiences with its hauntingly beautiful melodies and profound emotional depth. Composed in 1801, this iconic piano work has transcended its era, leaving a permanent mark on the world of classical music. Delving into the intricacies of this musical gem, we uncover not only the technical brilliance of Beethoven as a composer and pianist but also his ability for expressing human emotion in ways that continue to resonate. With the Moonlight Sonata Beethoven broke new ground at the time by taking advantage of pioneering developments in piano making.

Beethoven’s own description of the work was Sonata quasi una fantasia, which means that he composed it in the manner of fantasy or as a sonata that sounded like a fantasy—a musical improvisation. Published as Op. 27 No. 2, it is Beethoven’s 14th piano sonata, out of a total of 32. None of the others is as well-known, even though some have special names, such as Pathetique, Appassionata, Les Adieux, Waldstein, and Pastorale. After the composer’s death, the German critic Heinrich Rellstab (1799-1860) wrote a review of the sonata, comparing the first movement to “a boat gliding on the waters of Lake Lucerne in the Swiss moonlight.” Rellstab’s name ‘Mondschein Sonate’ stuck and its longevity proves that the title was truly fitting.

Indeed, the free-flowing fantasia-like first movement has an atmospheric allure. Other contemporary critics argued that the Moonlight sonata was hardly a sonata at all, as nineteenth-century sonatas included three movements; fast-slow-fast, with the first movement in sonata form and sometimes a minuet or scherzo added as a fourth movement in second or third place. The Moonlight Sonata itself is not completely unique here, but Beethoven surely went against the grain with the slow mono thematic first movement. 

Its ruminating and evocative character makes more of an introduction or prelude, which, according to musicologist Ernest Kramer, “eliminated the typical long, heavy, and fast opening sonata-allegro movement and began instead with a slow movement, focusing on the idea of a fantasy.” The distinct melodic line with dotted rhythms and accompanied by arpeggiated chords in triplets as well as the key of C-sharp minor create a hypnotic quality that lingers throughout the movement. The repeated notes also gives the melody a more sustained, or cantabile, feeling. Other fascinating features include unexpected harmonic changes and poignantly dissonant chromatic neighbors. The movement keeps listeners engaged to the point of asking, “well, where is Beethoven going to go next?”

One intriguing facet of this Adagio first movement are the pedal notations. Originally, Beethoven provided a lengthy note to the performance of the first movement. “Si deve suonare tutto questo pezzo delicatissimamente e senza sordino” (One must play this entire piece with great delicacy and without dampers). Simple, right? It would be if there hadn’t been two hundred years of modernization to pianos and how the damper pedal works. So unfortunately, it is increasingly difficult perfectly recreate the exact vision and sound that Beethoven had in mind when the Moonlight sonata was composed. Pianist and writer Charles Rosen remarks on Beethoven’s first sonata aging with time. “Since the construction of pianos changed radically during Beethoven’s lifetime, the first movement soon ceased to be heard with the particular sound that the composer can have imagined”. Thus Beethoven’s direction to release the dampeners from the strings throughout the piece only has the right effect on period pianos. Although is possible to approximate a similar effect on the modern piano, it’s hard to say if today’s performances of the piece sound anything like Beethoven what intended.

But let’s not forget about the rest of the sonata. Changing mode from the opening C# minor to D-flat major, the second movement has a more traditional ABA form, hovering somewhere between a minuet and a scherzo. The famous nineteenth-century piano virtuoso Franz Liszt (who had been presented to Beethoven as a child) famously described it as “a flower between two abysses.” This movement is primarily made up of short, two-measure melodic phrases with frequent syncopations, contrasting with the first movement.. The third movement, Presto agitato, follows a traditional sonata form finale. It begins at a piano dynamic but has turbulent arpeggios with cutting accents at the end of each phrase. The third movement is virtuosic in nature and ends with a long coda and a concerto-like cadenza. Although these movements create remarkable work, what sticks with audiences the most is the first movement.

All in all, then, the style of the Moonlight sonata was quite ahead of its time. You would more commonly find this style in later pieces by romantic composers like Schumann and Chopin, and evocative of in creating an atmosphere and mood similar to paintings like those Caspar David Friedrich. There’s a quality that Beethoven writes into the first movement where he never really lets the harmonics ‘settle’ for too long. Beethoven doesn’t even sit on the opening tonic chord of C-sharp for more than the full measure. Regardless, the way that Beethoven freely changes mode and keys through the movement-striking unexpected chords and switching to dissonant keys-creates an overarching somber mood to the first movement that is remarkably emotional and expressive. Ultimately, the fact that Beethoven engages us on so many levels (in terms of what’s happening with the melody, what’s happening with the rhythmic design of it, what’s happening harmonically, and all of this in the kind of gravitas of this adagio) is why the first movement of the Moonlight sonata has transcended to one of his most popular and well-known works.

Two Men Contemplating the Moon by Caspar David Friedrich (ca. 1825–30)

Global slam poetry with multimedia is transforming language into a universal art

By Gouwendmanegre Nikiema

Poetry was originally used by sages and griots to account for the great achievements of kings and warriors. As “communal literature” poems have addressed problems, expressed feelings, or celebrated people and events. The poet provides a message, and in return the audience is expected to listen with an open mind. Today, most students of literature encounter poetry in printed form, such as through the Norton Anthology of Poetry which appeared in 1970 and is now in its sixth edition, including no less than 1,871 poems.  However, through most of history, poetry has been an oral art form. When Marc K Smith invented “slam poetry” in Chicago 1980’—live competitions of oral poetry—he revived a tradition that had been prevalent for much of human history.  In a sense, he brought poetry back to the people.

Slam poetry is an visceral and immediate experience, reliant on the power of spoken word to convey emotion and provoke thought. The main focus of slam competitions is to seduce the audience and entice judges. Slam poets seek communion between performer and crowd. Hence the choice of tonality, rhythm, and the dynamism of the word must resonate with the audience.  Slam poetry has a deep affinity with music.  Few people know that much of hip-hop, rap, jazz, R&B lyrics are sourced from Slam.  But there are other ways in which slam and music can relate. 

In November 2019, Henrik Szanto & and Jonas Scheiner, a duo of Slam Poetry artists met the qWINDtett a group classic musicians. Together they decided to do something they had never done before: combine slam poetry art with works of classical music. During the project the artists noticed the invaluable involvement of both sides: as the slam poets tried to match their rhythm and verses to the music, the musicians sought to paint their words. The collaboration taught them two things. First, the participants valued the expansion of their horizons facilitated by the learning process on both sides, so the improvised rehearsal, though initially unsettling for the musicians, sparked a desire for unconventional concert formats and new perspectives. Second, the artists realized that their collaboration served as a conduit for bringing audiences from different backgrounds who might not have met otherwise together.

To be sure: classical music, with its meticulously composed arrangements and melodies, seems antithetical to the improvised and often confrontational nature of slam poetry. But when we examine their collaborations, a fascinating synergy emerges. The rhythmic cadence of spoken word finds an unexpected partner in the structured elegance of classical music, demonstrating the transformative power of their combination. Music structures time and expresses emotions. In that sense it can act as rails to the train of the poet’s words. Music has the power of reaching a spiritual domain that one cannot explain through words alone–you just have to feel it. The classical music played can be adapted to the cultural identity and musical experience of the type of audience the poet is addressing—with the same poem. There’s a delicate balance between complementing the narrative and potentially overshadowing the raw authenticity that defines Slam Poetry. The infusion of music introduces a rhythmic layer, potentially enhancing the emotional resonance of the performance. This is similar to what we know about both jazz and contemporary storytelling. 

Additionally, music plays an important role in the creation of memory and emotions. Hence, music takes a form that provides access to the words of the poet beyond meaning and encrypts them into a new art form. The blending of music to poetry allows communion between the artists and music lovers as well as between the artists and poetry lovers. Not surprisingly, the fusion of slam to classical music gave rise to something unique that neither text nor music could have achieved independently. Yet, this musico-poetic fusion is not without its challenges and complexities. Classical music, steeped in tradition, may risk overshadowing the spontaneity and rawness that define slam poetry. Conversely, slam poetry, with its unbridled energy, may challenge the delicacy and precision inherent in classical music. This tension necessitates a delicate balance—one that requires both art forms to adapt, coalesce, and enrich each other without diluting their intrinsic qualities.  That said, the fusion of slam poetry and classical music can elicit an unexpected harmony that transcends the conventional boundaries of both art forms. As a testament of the immediacy and authenticity of spoken word performance, slam poetry capitalizes on the raw energy of live delivery, where poets engage in a spirited dialogue with their audience. 

If slam poetry rises in the power of language in convincing audiences, is it possible for all cultures to trust language? At its core, slam poetry is a visceral and immediate experience, reliant on the power of spoken word to convey emotion and provoke thought. It endows the poet with enormous power—slam artists are modern griots—to showcase their cause before their audience and be more convincing.  But can this genre address global issues and reverberate the same way around the globe? This seems unlikely, as people have different experiences and use language differently to engage and convince a wider audience about various perspectives.  Here is where adding another medium can help. The infusion of multimedia elements, encompassing visuals, music, and technology, have reshaped slam poetry, offering a multi-sensory immersion into the poet’s narrative, and broadening its impact.

In “Sale Temps” the collaboration between Smarty  and Awadi  utilizes multimedia to address corruption, climate irresponsibility, and wars in Africa. Through a blend of the visual elements of these societal issues and the culturally empathetic sound of the “Kunde” the artists employ a multi-sensory approach, conveying their message powerfully and effectively beyond words. This dynamic fusion enables them to engage with a wider audience, emphasizing the versatility of slam poetry as a vehicle for global discourse.

Similarly, Malika La Slameuse , in her piece “Mon@”   uses romantic piano music and close-up shots to articulate her vision of an ideal lover while providing guidance to African women. The flexibility of multimedia allows her to explore cultural nuances, daily habits, and ideal attire, connecting emotionally and culturally with her audience. She harvests the power of words and visual memories to empower her narrative, demonstrating the effectiveness of multimedia in expanding the reach of slam poetry.

Further exemplifying this trend is DONSHARP DE BATORO , who has been called “the Great Lyricist of contemporary time.” He employs multimedia elements to interpret the story of ‘ SUNDJATA  King of the Mali Empire.’ Traditional woodwind instruments and dried drums accompany his narrative, creating an indexical language around cultural elements, such as the “clack of fingers,” forest landscape, and attires. This multimedia-rich approach allows the artist to forge a profound connection with his audience, conveying not just a story but an immersive experience rooted in his West African tradition.

Thus combined with multimedia slam poetry reaches beyond the stage. As it evolves into a digital format, it has become more accessible and inclusive, allowing the artist to be in communion with their audience, locally and globally. Compared to combining text and music as in classical and popular songs, the use of multimedia in slam yields an new form of affective engagement by the audience.

How music becomes a vehicle for memory

By Regan Ball

Early on in David Lean’s classic 1945 melodrama Brief Encounter, the main protagonist Laura is tuning her radio to find music that fits her mood, eventually stopping when she hears Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2. Laura is a married woman in middle-class Britain who was living a monotonous life until she met Alec (a handsome doctor who was leading an equally dull life) at a commuter station on an ordinary Thursday. Over the course of seven weeks, they fall in love and have a romantic affair before realizing that they cannot escape the lives they have already chosen for themselves. At the end of their romance, their final goodbye at the train station is interrupted and the two of them part ways, never to see each other again. Back home with her husband Fred, Laura recounts the affair in an interior flashback tinged with bittersweet and slightly regretful feelings. The movie’s main music is Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2, an intense yet recklessly romantic piece that seems to call up her memories and underscores Laura’s inner monologue. Throughout the film, music is used as a bridge between memory and emotion.

The film is an emotional rollercoaster, and because it is being told as a flashback, there is a close relationship between Laura’s feelings and her recollection. After Laura and Alec see each other for the last time, Laura’s emotions are running high, causing the memories to come rushing back. Her inner turmoil influences the retrieval of her memories and send her into a state of nostalgia. Here Rachmaninoff’s music becomes the emotional milieu for remembrance. In his BFI guide for the film, Richard Dyer calls music the “sound of reverie” and a “well established device of interiority and emotional expressivity.” Indeed, music is often used in film as a way to express the mood of a scene and outwardly portray the innermost feelings of a character. It is also used to accompany flashbacks and often triggers them. For Laura, the concerto plays both on the radio and in her mind, a soundtrack to her memories, fading in and out as her thoughts are interrupted by her reality. Dyer describes the concerto as “turbulent, yearning, and melancholy… expressing the idea of the individual seized by overwhelming emotions.” The music certainly matches Laura’s intense inner turbulence caused by an incomplete goodbye to Alec. The piece starts off very angsty but soon turns into a flowing melody that reminds her of falling in love. As the piece goes on, the music becomes very passionate before sounding more wistful, like a desperate plea to preserve this one good thing in her life.

Besides paralleling Laura’s emotions, Rachmaninoff’s concerto acts as a trigger, transporting Laura into her memories. After she returns home from saying goodbye to Alec, she searches on the radio for music, stopping when she hears the piece—as if seeking and finding the proper soundtrack for her recollection. The music then transports her into the state of remembrance and she is completely immersed in the flashback until Fred’s voice cuts through her reverie and brings her back to the present. Film Music scholar, Berthold Hoeckner has noted that “As a vehicle of images, music jogs our memory; but in the moment of transport, it makes us forget, perhaps even ourselves.” Laura is so “lost” in her memories, that Fred notes how she’s been “miles away.” Here, kissing Alec for the fist time, Laura’s flashback is at the peak of emotion with the music reaching the climax to match. It seems that Rachmaninoff’s theme is playing only when she is immersed in her fantasies. When she is with her friend at the beginning of the film, Laura’s internal soundtrack is interrupted by the jabbering of her companion. Later, when Laura calls Fred saying she missed the train, Dyer notes that “the music stops the moment she gets through to Fred and starts again the moment she hangs up. In both cases, the music is associated with her and positively dissociated from anyone else.” In as much as Music is a catalyst for recall, but recall is also a conduit for music.

Lean’s film revolves around the central setting of the train station. Trains are a common literary symbol for “brief encounters” before people continue on their set path. Musicologist Michael Halliwell observes that “Alec and Laura are constantly aware of the clock and how little time they have to express their feelings for each other,” almost as if they were running on a train schedule. Trains and music are parallel modes of transport in and out of the love affair. While Alec and Laura are still seeing each other, trains shuttle between their real-life fantasy and the reality of their lives. Similarly, when reminiscing on her romance, music carries Laura into and out of her daydreams. Over the course of the film, music makes commuter trains morph from means of transportation into a medium of transport.

The cinematic voiceover has long been used as vehicles for such trains of thought—giving the audience access to the safe space that she has created in her mind, sharing her imagined confession of an illicit affair tormenting her conscience. The tone of her voice is very sad and longing, mourning the happiness she had briefly known with Alec, yet also mourning the life she had known before that happiness. Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 also acts as a form of narration, connecting her unspoken feelings with reality. When she is sitting on the train at the very beginning of the film, the melody begins to play in her hear as she starts to think back on the affair. Later that night, when searching on the radio, she selects that concerto for her confession. She must know that piece well. And knows what it is good for—to carry and accompany her trains of thought.

A new app proposes musical pieces for personalized prayer.

By Emma Elizabeth Hudkins

We use music in the gym for motivation when lifting, as background music while cooking dinner, and to create a calming atmosphere when studying. Personal devices allow us to carry our soundtracks in our pockets wherever we go. Secular music has offered entertainment, motivation, and background noise to the mundane activities of everyday life. Why not use it for prayer? 

The recently launched Hallow App does just that. The app includes a relatively large musical selection for users seeking to develop a personal relationship with God. What is the significance of such a feature and why is it important? Shortly after its creation, Hallow quickly rose to become the number one Catholic app on the market introducing a revolutionary one-stop shop for digital meditation, access to scripture, audio-guided prayer, and curated music. Unlike any other app currently offered, the organization makes use of thousands of different sessions, prayers, and conveniently located resources transforming the concept of  accessibility for today’s day and age. User testimonies and countless reviews have supported Hallow including the Bishop of Fort Wayne – South Bend who praises it as  an excellent resource for people searching for deeper spiritual lives, especially the younger generation of Catholics today. It helps make clear that a relationship with God is and can be extremely personal and can be a great source of peace, joy, and strength.”

Production music has long been used for  soundtracks in films and other commercial purposes . It has evolved from being singularly known as library or stock music for silent film and specific tracks used in television and online services to becoming an integral part of individualized and personalized  creative projects. Since the mid-20th century music of this music was known as Muzak: generic pieces that  served as  background music in workspaces or were piped through speakers in elevators (hence the name “elevator music”) and are now heard in department stores and other commercial spaces everywhere. 

Today, however, the highly differentiated online libraries of production music are offered by companies such as De Wolfe  or Mood Media, as production music has become pervasive and shaped audiences through movies, TV shows, and social media platforms. Originating during the era of silent film in the early twentieth century, De Wolfe starting with a ‘sound-on-disc’ method, transitioning to the use of vinyl, and now offering  a fully  online website whose  tracks reflect the globalization of the music business and ease of searching for specific musical tracks for unique desired purposes of media clients all over the world.  

While this commercial use of music for specific purposes has been a business model for more than a century, the intersection of technology and spirituality is a new concept. This connection is made easy as it is found on an app on a smartphone. In an age of digitization, the Hallow app provides users with the power to take their faith lives into their own hands, physically – making a use of the device that occupies so much of our population’s time and making use of the universal power of music to better our lives and serve our souls.  “Pray”, “Sleep”, and “Meditate”—the variety of music offered within the Hallow app helps to facilitate these actions from the effortless touch of the play button. 

Selections are “catholic” indeed: they Gregorian chants, traditional hymns, and instrumental soundtracks are designed for different prayer activities. Whether sitting in a Holy Hour or jumpstarting the day with a morning prayer routine, this category of songs are intended to aid people not just in prayer, contemplation, and reflection, but also help do daily activities with devotion. Not much different than learning the alphabet through an extremely catchy and memorable tune, familiar musical styles can bring back fond memories of going to church with the family or hearing the same closing song at the end of mass. Music can invoke memories through the targeted use of these specific genres of traditional and more modern ‘Church’ soundtracks.  Noah Bongiovanni, a graduate of Notre Dame and Hallow employee, emphasized that, “music has a unique ability to invoke emotion in the human spirit – [that] is something the Church has recognized for thousands of years”.

Numerous research studies have revealed that music has the potential and power to be an effective treatment for emotional instability. In a clinical trial facilitated by Katie Bautch, it was observed that therapeutic music playlists had positive effects and a high impact on decreasing multiple types of anxiety. Her study tabulated whether curated playlists based on the variety of musical styles and genres affected levels of anxiety in participants, specifically looking in depth at brain activity. Bauth states, in regards to the content of the music within these specific playlists that, “Structural components of the music refer to characteristics that are inherent to the music itself. These include things such as tempo, instrumentation, and pitch.” It would make sense that in the world today, music can be used as a powerful tool to combat, soothe, or overcome feelings when one is amid adversity facing death, loss, illness, or loneliness. 

Research conducted by Makoto Takeuchi, Soichiro Morishita, and Yukie Sano  reveals that there is an internal expectation from an individual when selecting songs for a playlist, that they are simultaneously constructing part of their identity. Many factors play a role in this recognition as personal playlists are unlimited and available at, “a low-cost means of song discovery.” Evidently, tailored ‘praylists’ on Hallow allow for one to design their personalized style of communication with God. The variety of Catholic influenced music allows for a more diverse group of users as there is a soundtrack that aligns with church for everyone.  In that spirit, Hallow also offers music that is catered to conjure a peaceful environment for the soul. For example, the Catholic Lofi playlists promote stillness and peace in one’s life. The calming music improves internal reflection. Hallow harnesses these musical benefits for relaxation of not only the body but also the mind. A study done by John E. Lothes II, Sara Matney, and Zayne Naseer illustrated that both mindfulness and music mediation reduced levels of overall anxiety in a random college student population. The availability of ambient sounds and soothing melodies encourages the slowing down contemplation in the context of one’s faith, a practice that can calm a restless mind, one much like the one of an overloaded 19 year old. 

Everyone has a rhythm of life – a disguised cyclical nature of a daily routine of needs, desires, and stages of emotions. Not too different, a similar cycle takes place in the Catholic church known as the Liturgical Year. It is an organization of the church calendar that structures worship and spiritual life throughout the year. Currently, as Christmas nears, the Catholic church is in the Advent season of the Liturgical Year. Fun and festive music choices such as Ben Rector’s versions of Christmas classics or tunes performed by the Bocelli Fam can be accessed. In the words of Bongiovanni, “While those songs may not create an environment of contemplative prayer per se, they lift the spirit towards feelings of joy, which is an expression of glory to God.” 

The Hallow App has revolutionized the way we approach spirituality; it challenges the rigid stereotype of isolated, individual prayer as the only way to pray. Instead, through Hallow, one joins a community around the world that is listening to the same sessions concurrently while still maintaining their own individualized experience through expressed preferences. There is a union of users fostered through the use of music that pursues inner peace and spiritual growth. Hallow successfully harnessed the profound impact of music in our world to elevate our personal prayer and meditation experience. 

Who knew that prayer could start with the push of a play button?

Hint: Music Helps to Know the Difference

By Ryan Zambrano

Some people wake to the noise of birds chirping with leaves rustling. While getting ready for their day, we hear the sound of the shower head. During breakfast, the popping sound of the toaster goes off. Driving to work comes with the car engine revving, the scraping of tires on the asphalt, and the honking in heavy traffic contributing to the soundscape of the morning commute’. Unfortunately, others start their day with harmful noises, such as those of war. Fear strikes at the sound of an explosion or shots popping in the distance. Cries of the wounded begging for help. We live in a world of noise, beauty, annoyance, and distress. For centuries, music has been inspired by this world of sound. By taking what seems to be just noises and systematically organizing them. Some musical works may be aesthetically pleasing, while other pieces are not. As music seeks to mimic or transform noise, we have come to know noise—and the world— in a more profound sense. 

The Italian composer Luigi Russolo (1885-1947)was an early champion of noise-music whose works mixed different sounds made by special devices or instruments. In a 1913 letter titled The Art of Noise, Russolo writes to a fellow musician, Balilla Pratella, of the need to revolutionize music through “noise-sound”—which “paralleled by the increasing proliferation of machinery sharing in human labor.” Russolo recognized that this new music style reflected how modern society was changed by modernity. Noise-Music is a particular example of how music mimics the noise, but this can also be applied to other forms of music. Later in the letter, Rusollo notes that this is why we receive “infinitely more pleasure imaging combinations of the sounds.” We hear noise daily; it is inescapable, but music brings awareness to sound itself. When a person listens to music, it should be a pleasurable experience, an experience made from a combination of noises. People come to know and appreciate noise more through the music. Music allows people to feel specific emotions or even convey certain ideas. This enables people to realize what real effect noise has on themselves. 

There are many examples of how music attempts to engage with the noises of our world. American composer John Cage (1912-1992) became a innovator by opening music toward noise in unprecedented—even radical— ways. In 1959, he performed his work  Water Walk, which was made up of objects around an average person’s house, for example, radios, a toaster, and a bathtub. Using these items, he would make noises systematically, telling how long and when to make each sound. This is what noise-music is. Music assembles the noises we hear in our everyday lives, which, by extension, reflects on those lives. Nearly none of our daily activities occur without some kind of noise (even sleep). These noises shape us as people. Noise impacts the way we think and do. Noise is part of our existence, and for Cage, this existence was existentially musical.  

If Cage proposed an extreme musical aesthetic with his all-and-everywhere sounds, the question whether noise is good or bad remains valid: noise can be disruptive and destructive. People should be careful with harmful noise and seek noise that is beneficial. Understandably, any distinction between good and bad noise can be difficult, given the inclination to control and curb noises—bad noise—that people hear. In his 1985 book Noise: The Political Economy of Music the French economic and social theorist Jaques Attali writes that noise has the potential to be subversive and that it can bring about change. This is why knowing the differences between bad and good noise can serve as a way of analyzing human behavior and understanding social norms.

Just as noise can come from good places, noise can come from bad ones. Certain noise-music is created to represent the demonic. The band Whitehouse specializes in a type of music called Power Electronics. The group creates disturbing pieces with names such as “Ripper Territory,” named after the serial killer Jack the Ripper. These songs contain very harsh, unsettling noises and very vulgar lyrics. An example of an album is Colour of a Man’s Skin. This album includes many songs that have racial slurs in them and propagate stereotypes. If these songs use extremely grating noises, the intent was to make them sound abhorrent. Included in these songs are sharp, loud, and other unpleasant sounds. In his 2023 book Becoming Noise Music, Stephen Graham wonders whether the “good thoughtful intentions behind such works” actually justifies them. Even though such works create noise to raise awareness of, say, the horrors of crime, he asks, “Are they worth the risk?” Perhaps not. This kind of music might be found enjoyable for people with destructive ideologies, reinforcing their beliefs. Music holds immense power to influence. Even in a legal environment of free expression, individual listeners might want to be cautious with what they listen to. 

An interesting example of how music shows us the difference between noise and music are the sounds of cells. Jim Gimzewsk, a professor Chemistry of Biochemistry at UCLA, recorded the frequency of yeast cells and amplified it, claiming that when yeast was in alcohol, the increasing pitch of vibration made it sound as if “it screams. It doesn’t like it.” This raises the question whether such noise is in the ear of the listener or whether yeast can be hear to have emotions and experience distress. Yet we have an eerie feeling when we hear a sound like screaming. Anne Niemetz and Andrew Pelling complied audio samples of yeast “screaming” so we can hear for ourselves. In any case, already with the organization of these samples, one could argue that the resulting sounds are “music” that create a sense eerieness and may even remind some of a horror film. Context helps turn noise into music; with music, we can understand and even appreciate noise.

We live in a world of noise; nearly everything creates a sound. Through music, we can get to know noise in ways that might help us differentiate. The difference between music and noise is not necessarily one of a kind but rather a degree. Music is made to guide us through noise and walk us through time.

The treasure trove of song lyrics in other languages

By: Yaritza Padilla

How can you listen to music in a language you do not understand? In regard to the language of music, oftentimes we may only really need to understand the feelings behind the sounds, rhythms, notes, pronunciations, and such to grasp the overall theme of a song. However, increased global interconnectedness allows for easy access to a wide variety of translations. But which translation is most correct? Many people have heard the phrase “lost in translation”, but what if we are finding it by looking through a different lens. The message tends to be lost when something is transcribed rather than translated. Where a transcription is the literal word-for-word translation rather than a new and creative way to relay meaning. Each language is unique, and the same words may play distinct roles when put together within a conversation. A good translation focuses on the message intended to be relayed rather than the original words. The best translators are unafraid to utilize different words that better capture the sentiments behind what the artists truly want to communicate to their audience.

In the realm of K-pop the growth of the global market has created a higher demand for translations. While companies have implemented teams of official translators, a wave of creativity from the audience themselves has led to a wider variation of both translations and meanings. Fans often employ social media platforms to search for and discover a translation or translator whose creative approach to language renders best their own understanding of the meaning behind a song. If the official translation released by the company does not evoke the same feelings within the fan as the original song itself, then translation accounts within various social media platforms may offer more creative and meaningful interpretations. 

An English cover for “Fake Love” by BTS was produced by the youtuber JLyrics Official, in which they strayed from the company’s official translations in order to discover a more profound meaning. The original translation, although effectively communicating the song’s message, does not succeed in creating that extra layer of sentimental depth that a translation whose lyrics match the music can produce. Official lyrics: “Mold a pretty lie for you Love it’s so mad (x2) Trying to erase myself and make me your doll” versus unofficial: “A perfect illusion created for you Love you so mad (x2) A beautiful doll thrown away when you’re through”. The ending rhymes alone create a stronger appeal to the ear and overall greater emotional passion is sparked when lyrics do not awkwardly miss match the rhythm of the music. In regard to language, multilingual fans may find a greater intensity of meaning and understanding in a particular language’s translation over another. The song “I NEED U” by BTS carries immense power within the English translation, yet in Spanish the song is given an entirely new life in which the emotions are truly raw and fresh. Official lyrics: “You’re beautiful You’re so cold” versus unofficial: “Y es que me encantas Tu a mi me matas”. Despite both translations relaying the same message, each language has drastically different forms of communication and words of expression. Unlocking several new words that yield extraordinary emotional value to that particular audience. In the English version the lyrics compare a person’s beauty to their cold behavior, while in Spanish it expresses the person’s ability to have the artist completely under their spell and kill them with ease. The word encantas comes from the root word encanto which directly translates to charm, often associated with magical spells and such.

When translating a work, the translator is responsible for ensuring that the text is able to “function at its best in its new context.”. The new context being a new language that may differ in sentence structure, word variation, and letters. There are cases in which there is no equivalent term or words “are just not sayable in certain languages.”. Consequently, “translating makes us more aware of language, of its possibilities and its limitations. Translation enables us to see sometimes with sharpness things we have always taken for granted.”. For example, the Korean alphabet consists of 10 vowels and 14 consonants with a total of 24 letters, while English consists of 5 vowels and 21 consonants for a total of 26 letters. In regard to basic sentence structure English follows a subject-verb-object structure and the Korean structure would be subject-object-verb. Moreover, certain phenomena within a language’s culture may have a word that within another language does not exist. Take the Korean word aegyo, which refers to acting super cute and adorable. English does not have a direct translation, thus in order for a translator to fulfill their responsibility they are allotted the freedom to make drastic changes. Essentially creating a whole new piece of text, yet remaining true to the original text’s intentions. A translator is “not merely copying or reproducing a text,” but rewriting it. 

“Translation and creation are twin processes”. The meanings behind lyrics to a song are only truly lost when solely transcribed: copied into another language. Responsible translation however, involves a rewriter: one who filters the work of another through their own artistic mastery of language. Translation is more of a “collaboration between writers, as a relationship that spans time, place and linguistic difference.” It is also the means by which people worldwide are able to connect with one another, especially artists reaching out to wide audiences. Incredible pieces often go unrecognized simply because of their creation in a language others are unable to understand. Nevertheless the responsibility of a translator is to create the piece within languages that the artist alone could never produce. The only way for a translator to be truly responsible is through the freedom of recreation. When done right nothing is lost in translation, rather new perspectives, deeper meanings, and a greater understanding of the work is found. With something new to be discovered within every language’s translation.

However, there are also “dangers of error” for fan translators who are not working directly with a company and do not have access to the artist or song writers. Without such accessibility fans are unable to ensure they have the right interpretation of a song’s original intent. Relying on their abilities to interpret the meaning behind the original lyrics through their own feelings and research, which may lead to incorrect translations. Additionally, when making a translation of a translation it becomes easier to venture astray from the original interpretation. A person who only speaks English and Spanish, for example, would need to wait for someone else to translate a K-pop song to English before translating the song into Spanish. While not impossible, the second translator must find a fully reliable, or responsible, first translator to ensure their own translation aligns with the messages behind the original song. Nonetheless, language is a barrier that can be overcome. Emotions are universal and the power of music to evoke them transcends words. Translations are not impossible, but necessary to unlock worlds and ideas we never knew existed. As long as they transmit the correct message, how it is relayed should be explored by the translator, responsibly and creatively. In doing so nothing is truly lost, but found.

Songwriting, Poetry, and The Irishman Who Blurs The Line

by Ben Warren Flynn

“Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you
my life.”

These lines from “Take Me to Church” by Irish folk singer-songwriter Andrew Hozier-Byrne are evocative and rich in symbolism. He pulls us into the terrifying reality of a gay man living in rural Catholic Ireland. Comparing his worship to a dog at the shrine of lies illustrates a sense of blind devotion and vulnerability; and the contrasting act of confessing sins to the sharpening of a knife suggests a ritualistic and sinister relationship between narrator and subject. Finally, a culminating plea for a “deathless death” as an offering is brutally intense, potently intertwining  love, sacrifice, and spirituality. These words resonate as poetic expressions that transcend mere songwriting.

Can lyrics be a form of poetry? Oxford Languages defines poetry as a “literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm.” Lyrics certainly have characteristics of  poetry: the creation of imagery through words, the use of rhyme, the expression and evoking of emotions, the storytelling voice, and plenty of symbolism. But would Justin Bieber’s “baby, baby, baby, oh” find its way into the venerable Norton Anthology of Poetry, which appeared first in the 1970 and is now in its sixth edition. The NAP has been seen as creating a literary canon: its inclusion of Bob Dylan’s song “Boots of Spanish Leather” was anthologized before he won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2016.

Lyrics are intended to be sung. Hence melody, rhythm, and harmony play a crucial role in their overall artistic experience by listeners. Song texts often have a broader and more diverse appeal, while poetry may have a smaller and more specialized readership. When comparing the poems of classical poets with the lyrics of today’s pop singers, the differences can be vague or drastic. In the rare case where lyrics closely resemble traditional poetry, the line between them may blur.

Andrew Hozier-Byrne, of Bray, County Wicklow (Ireland), has made a name for himself in mainstream music with his signature alternative-folk sound and eccentric vocals. One of his most noteworthy characteristics as a songwriter are his abilities as a wordsmith. Would his loyal fans agree to put his lyrics into the next edition of the Norton Anthology of Poetry and might he win the Nobel Prize in Literature sometime in the future?

The poetic quality of Hozier’s lyrics come from their critical commentary on significant issues such as religion, challenges of human connection, social justice, human rights, nature, and existentialism, as well as his use of evocative imagery, symbolism, metaphor, and economy of language. His breakthrough hit, “Take Me to Church,” is a powerful examination of organized religion and social issues. The introspective lyrics raise social consciousness through their distinctly poetic treatment. 

Hozier has been influenced by Dante, Yeats, and another Nobel Prize-winning Irish poet, Seamus Heaney, celebrated for his deep connection to the Irish landscape and his ability to capture the essence of human experience. Heaney often drew inspiration from rural life, history, and mythology. His poems are marked by their lyricism, profound reflections, and keen observations of the natural world. While Heaney is primarily known as a poet, musicians like Hozier often find creativity in his verses. His work highlights the Irish tradition of storytelling and its deep connection with songs. Hozier’s ability to craft evocative narratives reflects that tradition. The blurring of lines between poetry and songwriting rests on the shared emphasis on narrative, emotion, and a deep connection to the cultural and natural landscape. Both Heaney and Hozier, each in their own way, exemplify this connection.

In an interview with radio presenter Zane Lowe, Hozier notes how Dante’s Inferno allowed him to understand how life moves in circles and contemplate how humans can persevere through social strive and struggles. His newest album, Unreal Unearth, chronicles recent years of personal and global loss, heartbreak, and isolation as a soul-searching odyssey through Dante’s notorious nine circles of hell and coming out the other side. Listeners will encounter a new song corresponding to each circle, for example, the rock track “Francesca,” inspired by Francesca da Rimini, who was condemned to the second circle in Dante’s poem for having an affair with her husband’s brother. Although he employs Dante’s original text as a writing device, Hozier’s ruminations on love, death, and life after death were born of very modern struggles. “It’s a way that I could process some of my personal experiences in that period of the pandemic and to credit walking through a very changing time, a very challenging time for me,” he says. “I think we all walked, individually, our own path through that pandemic, and we all found ourselves in very strange circumstances where things changed or we were confronted with things that weren’t working for us. We lost something, whatever it is, and we came out the other side.”

“My life was a storm, since I was born/ How could I fear any hurricane?”

– Hozier, “Francesca”

As listeners wade into the depths of Hozier’s psyche, they may discover Greek mythology in the soaring acoustic ballad “I, Carrion (Icarian),” which reimagines the myth of Icarus, who is so enchanted by the sun that he doesn’t notice it has melted his wings and brought forth his demise. The play-on-words title, ethereal poignancy of the lines, and astute application of intertextuality make this song stand out as a technically advanced piece of literature. “If the wind turns, if I hit a squall/ Allow the ground to find its brutal way to me.” In this powerful line, Hozier confronts life’s inevitable collisions and crashes by welcoming them. In another lyric, he captures, with extraordinary poetic skill, his weightless happiness which contradicts the emotional burden of the other: “You have me floatin’ like a feather on the sea/ While you’re as heavy as the world.”

So what’s the verdict? It remains open for debate whether or not lyrics and poetry are truly one and the same, or whether some artists, with gifted lyrical sensibilities, may find their way into the exclusive group of celebrated poets. Perhaps the two are to be kept separate, with lyrics treated as an honorable piece of literature in their own right. 

Regardless of one’s stance, it is clear that the lyrics of some songwriters, such as Hozier, should be respected for the finely-tuned artistic expressions they are. He emerges as a unique case of someone able to weave poetic depth into mainstream music, tackling social issues with introspection and evocative language — not unlike Dylan, but with a different voice. In the world of mass-produced one-hit-wonders and AI-generated songs, Hozier has found a way to do something different, make a statement, and push the boundaries of literary genres.

“You don’t have to sing it right
Who could call you wrong?
You put your emptiness to melody
Your awful heart to song.”

– Hozier, “To Noise Making (Sing)”

A songwriter thinks about riffs and refrains

By Catherine Viner

Guitar in hand, I am pondering my next steps. Writing songs has always been a relatively easy task for me, but this time I am stuck. Should I repeat the same phrase in the refrain or not? Am I too repetitive? Would this appear boring or redundant? I have been a songwriter for about ten years and in total have written about 250 tunes. The challenge is always the same: how to keep my songs fresh, unique, and engaging. This often comes down to repetition.

In his book, Play it Again Sam, British music scholar Richard Middleton notes about repetition “…’it’s monotonous’; ‘it’s all the same’; ‘it’s predictable.” This predictability is essential in understanding the way repetition works within not only music but society. He states that “…repetition is simply a fundamental characteristic of all cultural production under contemporary capitalism…”. There are two sides of repetition, as exemplified in language which can have, on one hand, immense complexity and on the other hand be quite redundant and simple. Similarly, repetition in music can be varied or straightforward. Repetition is what allows us to apprehend and understand songs, including their style and genre. Repetition is essential to musical syntax, which is “unusually predictable”. The analysis of this predictability in a song structure can help determine what a composer is attempting to convey for example by creating expectations and then either fulfilling or not fulfilling them. Making sense of repetition in a syntactic way helps us to understand how productive repetition can actually be.

To that end, Middleton distinguishes between “musematic” repetition and “discursive” repetition. A museme is “a small, syntactic unit” such as a riff of lick. This type of repetition is normally unvaried and recurring, like an underlying beat. Discursive repetition, by contrast, is “the repetition of longer units, at the level of the phrase, the sentence or even the complete section.” This can be mixed with various types of units. Terhi Nurmesjärvi, a musicologist from the University of Jyväskylä, explains that the pair of musematic and discursive repetition enable analysis “…on both macro and micro levels of a song’s structure.” Analyzing the interplay of these two types of repetition, as well as the role they play in the structure, can help determine whether or not repetition is effective. He notes that “[u]nits of discursive repetition can be argued to be more informative because of their linearity and processual character, which is usually realized by the melodic line combined with verbal lyrics.” Musematic repetition, by contrast, ” is not informative […] because it includes a great number of repetitions of the unit. It is quite obvious that the more repetitions there are, the less attention is paid to what is repeated, and the less information is delivered.”

I’m back at the guitar, now making pivotal decisions. There’s an innate pressure on songwriters when crafting this particular piece to create something memorable. In my most recent song Head Over Heels, released late November, I wrestled with the element of repetition in the chorus. The chorus is what sticks with people after they listen to a song because it is typically repeated (and it also tends to contain the song’s memorable “hook” which is meant to replay the song in our heads). Now after looking back on the choices I made, I can see the clear distinction that explains the type of repetition I used.

I begin to play the chorus with a simple strumming pattern. It produced the sound I hoped for, but something is missing. There is no urgency, no drive. My goal for this song is to render excitement, yet I didn’t feel that. I am stuck once more. Should I add a riff that reflects the thrill of the message? Trying out different strumming patterns that might shake up the chorus, I end up adding an extra “stir” at end of the strumming pattern. The riff now alternates between a regular strum and a stir that doubles the strumming for a moment. The resulting intensity creates a sense of restlessness. This repetition is a driving force that pushes the song forward. This guitar riff is an example of musematic repetition.

I have a melody and I have a strumming pattern. It is musically expressive, but also indicative of the question I want to raise in the chorus—which is of course where the message of the song becomes clear. It’s my chance to convey what I’m truly feeling of being ‘head over heels.’ I want audiences to know that this feeling is so strong it might seem fake. Maybe I’ll just ask this. I think about it for a moment and then land on the question of ‘is this real?’ However, is asking the question only once enough? I repeat the phrase and this time it satisfies my needs. Along with the repetition, I add an ad lib in the background that echoes the question. In the end, I ask the question a total of four times to make it just “nagging” enough. This an example of discursive repetition.

Once I am done, I wonder: is the repetition I use in Head Over Heels redundant or effective? Middleton has helped me to grasp what I did. Discovering the nature of repetition and the differentiation between the types aided my comprehension of effectiveness. It’s circumstantial and dependent, but if used correctly can greatly contribute to a song. Repetition has the potential to demonstrate a composer’s feelings and message. I understand this now after reflecting on my own songwriting process. In addition, I can appreciate my own decisions of repetition because they coincide with scholar’s theories of effectiveness.

Middleton explores the effectiveness of repetition by stating that music has “self-reflexive character”. Repetition is a tool that can makes a song self-aware. When listeners understand that songwriters are intentional about sometimes very detailed choices, knowing different types of repetition can provide access to a deeper understanding. One should also consider the context of the repetition. Middleton brings attention to the fact that it may just be a “substitute for the subject”. Context matters.

The discursive repetition I use in Head Over Heels is informative. Asking the central question multiple times relays the excitement of the song. Including a stir with a musematic guitar riff is also effective. Although not informative like the repetition of the question, it adds to pushing the song forward. It creates the urgency I wanted to portray. Now that I’ve analyzed the repetition in Head Over Heels I feel as though I succeeded in correctly utilizing musematic and discursive techniques. I’ve created something that I view is effective. Whether or not you agree, let’s keep in mind that, according to Middleton, an important aspect of effective repetition is pleasure. So I hope you had fun listening!