Meaning in Music: A Romanticist's Perspective
In his book The Romantic Generation, Charles Rosen devotes an entire chapter to fragments in Romantic literature and music. He states, “The work [of art] is not intended to convey the artist’s experience as directly as a telegram, or to substitute his memory for ours: it is made to be filled with our experience, as a vehicle for the feelings of all who perceive it.” I have yet to come across a more concise definition of the function of music (and art in general).
Many writers have tried to read in between the notes of a composer’s work. Such writers (unsuccessfully) attempt to decipher the intention of the composer in hopes that the listener will understand why the composer chose one note or chord over the others. Making unfounded claims about a composer’s intentions is misleading; it can be more detrimental to a listener than helpful; this is especially true with non-programmatic music because it suggests one correct way to interpret the music.
As much as it may offer certain insights into the background of a given composition, correlating the composer’s life with their work is not necessarily relevant to understand it. The reason is simple: music and art are not created only at the conscious level. If this were the case, it would be improbable that the depth found in a seminal piece by a composer such as Beethoven’s “Emperor Concerto” would be present. Moreover, it is impossible to know what Beethoven felt or thought at the time he wrote a particular composition, despite what may have been occurring in his life. Even if we knew the composer’s thoughts, it still does not account for the subconscious elements infused into the composition.
If a composer has a specific program in mind for a work, it provides only a general framework or background for the listener. The program itself only fills in some of the pieces which would prevent or deny the listener from forming their own impressions. A work of Romantic literature does not create a world independent of the reader. This world manifests from the imagination of the individual, regardless of how the artistic medium (e.g., literary, musical, etc.). The listener is just as much a part of the composition as the composer who conceived it; this applies to both programmatic and non-programmatic music.
If absolute music transcends the written word, as Brahms, Mendelssohn, Schumann, and others thought, is it not contradictory to attempt to guide a listener through a composition? The notion of suggesting or telling the listener what a composition is about is antithetical to the idea that the individual is the focal point, as those practitioners of Romanticism did.
The individual refers not only to the composers and virtuosos of the Romantic era but to the listener, too. The composition invites the listener to explore their personal feelings. If a piece is performed well, the responsibility of gleaning impressions is entirely up to the listener.
One great delight that art offers is its ability to undergo different stages of metamorphosis throughout the observer’s life. In this sense, the composition lives vicariously through the listener. It changes throughout time and thereby exists, as the Romantics perceived, in the past, present, and future.
As much as hearing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony at the age of ten was an ear-opening experience, the effect of the piece on me is very different for me today.
Rosen astutely captures the essence of music and art by calling the composition a vehicle for the listener’s feelings. There is no question that how a listener perceives a work is a reflection of the person. It is unlikely that someone who is vacuous and guarded will gain as much from hearing a great piece of music as someone highly aware and open. To become an empty vessel into which the composition can be poured and digested takes courage and much faith.
In response to the scientific-based philosophies of the Enlightenment that preceded it, Romanticism sought to reestablish the magic and mystery in art and life. Any attempt to deconstruct art and music to a lowest common denominator only sterilizes it. Music and art do not present mathematical equations. On the contrary, they present personal equations possessing a multitude of answers. If a single, invariable answer existed for every work of art, there would never be any need to return to it later. The vehicle of which Rosen speaks is, in turn, reduced to nothing more than an equation that has only one invariable solution.
What magic can exist for a listener if the goal is to dissect the composition into pieces without acknowledging its synergistic whole? Deconstruction strips the wonderment of a composition and denies the listener or observer the element of self-discovery (and rediscovery). Ultimately, the individual must determine what the work means on their own without any external interference.
