From: chapman@u.washington.edu (Bruce L. Chapman)
Newsgroups: rec.music.makers.synth
Subject: Re: Defending the Slugs (long)
Date: 25 Jan 93 21:59:41 GMT
Article-I.D.: shelley.1k1nsdINNbdu
Organization: University of Washington
NNTP-Posting-Host: 128.95.35.14

In article <1993Jan23.185202.4734@anasazi.com> gaf@anasazi.com (Guy Finney)  
writes:
> 
> I feel I must leap to the front here and defend all that is Good and True
> from this wholly savage and unjustified attack on us Slugs. (Okay, now
> that I've established my credentials as someone who can sling irrational
> hyperbole, on with the reasoned discourse - well what passes for it
> in my house, anyway).
> 
> ljnelson@unix.amherst.edu (LAiRD j. NeLSoN) writes:
> >
> >I hope it's just me, but I'm noticing a trend in music in general: people  
just
> >aren't spending the time anymore to learn how to play an instrument well--or
> >even passably.
> [....]
> >An *instrument* is meant to be studied, played and performed
> >*on*; it is not supposed to do that on its own.

Yeah, I've noticed the Invasion of the Slug People, too --- and it's one of the  
few subjects (well, *relatively* few subjects) that I can get really passionate  
about. And what REALLY ticks me off is that, whenever I start talking about it,  
I find myself feeling strongly both ways.

I started playing back in the Good Old Days when playing a gig meant wrestling  
a Hammond B-3 down a narrow flight of stairs and through the kitchen to the  
stage, and then stacking a cast-iron Fender Rhodes on top of that so you could  
get the *full* range of keyboard sounds.

I remember thinking and talking a lot about Music and Being a Musician in those  
days. It was clear (i.e. -- self-evident) that there was a fundamental  
difference between Musicians and not-Musicians; but somehow I could never put  
my finger on what that difference was. Oh, I could *tell* the difference right  
away --- I only had to play a few bars with someone (or listen to a couple of  
songs if I wasn't playing) and I could confidently peg someone as a Musician or  
Not. Any of the Musicians I talked to could do the same, and our judgements  
pretty much always matched. 

One of the better tests was whether or not someone could grok the difference:  
usually non-Musicians just couldn't "get it," even after the difference was  
pointed out to them in A/B trials. Non-Musicians typically wanted to equate  
Musicianship and Chops, and while there is generally a correlation between the  
two, they are *not* the same. I knew lots of people who could rip off the most  
technically-demanding passages without a flaw, and without an atom of  
musicianship. And I knew people who could barely fumble out a few notes on an  
instrument, but who managed to make those few notes Right and Magical. (There  
weren't many of the latter --- the Musicians I knew tended to do whatever they  
had to do to make their instruments Speak for them; and that meant developing  
chops.)

It finally boiled down to three things, I guess: Honesty, Creativity, and  
Synergy. Honesty, because the fundamental basis of music is emotion, and I  
could never get the emotion right unless I played the truth as I saw it. Unless  
I was honest with myself and my audience, the music seemed to collapse under  
its own weight. Creativity, because that seemed to be the source of a lot of  
the joy that made music worthwhile. Music didn't really seem worth the time if  
I couldn't find something new in it for me and my audience. And synergy,  
because nothing else could make the sacrifices worth it. You could be spat on  
and shat on by club owners and audiences, you could lose girlfriend after  
girlfriend (because, truth be told, they really *weren't* as important as the  
music), you could have your ego stomped flat on a regular basis...and none of  
it mattered when you were *on*. When you take an idea (or, heck, just plain  
make a lucky mistake) and toss it to another Musician. And s/he takes that idea  
and adds a bit and tosses it back. And you do the same. And again. And again.  
And all of a sudden you find yourself working on a whole new plane, where your  
mind is writing symphonies in real time, and your body is kicking out riffs  
*you* don't believe are possible, and it's all being driven by an endless  
source of energy and emotion, and you're surfing on top of the whole thing with  
the audience in the palm of your hand, and screaming "hey, mom, look at me!"

And, you know, I don't get that from Karaoke. I don't get it from playing along  
with records. I don't get it from playing with sequenced parts. The only way I  
know to get there is the hard way: playing everything live, so you can take  
advantage of the happy accidents as they happen. I don't think anyone who takes  
the easy path can ever get to the place where real music happens.

I'm still playing, of course: regardless of what I *do*, what I *am* is a  
musician. And I don't lug around a B-3; I've got a whole slew of modules all  
MIDIed together. But I don't sequence. Ever. If I can't do it honestly, I just  
can't do it. Yet.

At this point, it'd be really easy to sign off with a condescending statement  
of pity for all those Slugs who'll Never Know What Real Music Is Like.  
Unfortunately, this is where that "honesty" thing turns around and bites me on  
the ass. Because I *don't* pity the Slugs, I *resent* them. A lot. It really  
burns my butt to overhear someone in a club say "well, of course that stuff is  
all sequenced today; nobody can do that live." I see red when I see dancers  
posing as musicians (Why isn't lip-syncing a hanging offense, anyway?). And I  
get damn near homicidal when I see some drunk who thinks that reverb and a  
backup tape will turn him/her into a singer (though it is kind of fun to see  
that moment when they realize that Being The Center Of Attention really means  
that Everybody's Looking AT ME!).

And then I start to wonder about all those composers who wrote incredible music  
for my instruments, when I know damn well they couldn't play a lick on them.  
And I think about the time I spent (and still spend) in tears because I can't  
manage to make the music I hear in my head. What music am I missing that's  
banging around in someone else's head and can't get out?

Maybe part of the answer is to start breaking down the Superman image we've  
built around musicians. It used to be that musicians played the music that  
others wrote, and they often played that music for other people to dance to.  
Now musicians (all possessed of classical beauty and perfect bodies, natch) are  
expected to write and arrange their own material and perform it brilliantly  
while dancing in perfect synchronicity with an accompanying acrobatic troupe,  
generally within a stunning visual framework they also conceived and executed  
on their own.

I don't know about you, but what *I* am is a musician. I can't dance worth a  
damn, my compositions don't really set me on fire, and I'm as art-blind as  
others are music-blind (heck, I kind of liked velvet paintings). I'm an OK  
arranger, but I need a lot more practice to get really good. Maybe if we  
acknowledge that these are all legitimate, life-consuming skills, we can take  
the pressure off performers to be all things to all people --- and thereby  
remove the temptation to cheat when they can't live up to unreasonable demands.

> >Am I the only one dumb enough to write a 50,000 word church sermon on it?

Clearly not. :)

Bruce L. Chapman
chapman@u.washington.edu
(206)543-4605
Newsgroups: rec.music.makers.synth