1e Avant-garde and Beyond
mn The Avant-g Py
ively limited group of works of importance; nevertheless, they
7] ater tur of the wheel. Y also ay,
‘in addition to these connections with European modern
there are ail more diect connections with the American expt
tradition American music has always ben essentially synertie: grt
aierging a whole variety of coltural source material, tachyn SE
development, non-Western ideas, ethnic sub-cultures, folk and pose
ture have all helped form a distinctive American experience whi
had continuing signifieance for new music. The global impact of a1,
can commercial culture may be a reflection of American economic pont™
but the development of alternatives or antidotes—beyond a mere Sen?
into traditionalism—has had a significant testing ground in the net
World. Even the young anti-American European radical is, in yo”
“American” in his culture. This is really only a way of saying that nt
creasingly, we all live ina single super-culture and that we all face gn
‘mon problems.
st culture,
IVES
Charles Ives was the first important Western composer to stand
ccsentially outside the mainstream of European culture, and he was the
first to propose—with no direct influence of technology—the totality and
unity of the human experfence as a subject matter for art. Ives could do
this because, although he was brought up on New and Old World cul
ture, he kept an essential distance from received tradition and its domi-
nant professional activities. This is the essence of Ives’s “amateurism” and
the source of hs originality and unique position.
Ives worked far from the European centers and, in many exses,
years ahead of his European contemporaries. He composed proto-serial
{and proto-aleatory music; he invented block forms and free forms;
used tone clusters and structural densities; he wrote in poly-meter
1¢ composed spatial music and music that could be realized
ity of ways; he anticipated recent improvisatory works-n-
progress, assemblages, and “pop-art” ideals—in short, just about every
important development of the last sixty years and some of the most
notable of the last twenty. Yet Ives was also aware of the past, and he
used aspects of Amcrican and European tradition throughout his eret-
tive years. In one sense, he stood so far outside of these traditions (al
though he understood them perfectly well) that—unlike Schoenberg and
" But see discussion at the beginning of Chapter 17.
Introductton: Before World Woy 1
isky-he did not have to overthrow the,
suv Fle knew and used what he Mea 2 then bor mighay
rained Way he used any idea or material that ,
Nant #0 what he had to say. Ives felt no “ersses SPDOpeate of
jon tonality (or anything ele; his muscu OM to
i process in the conventional sens; its tendency is a ave
Gr even rovels in contradictions. Like Whitman, ves eng absrx
himself, he could a multitudes, mld contradict
Nothing in haman experience was alien to Tves, but th
ean that he was a “primitive.” There is a myth whick qugt °° 2
imatored pioneer in the New England wildemess eit aan
YF musical Grandma Moses; a rugged individualist works jet = Kind
isolation, utterly lacking in technical skill and sophistication bar eae
oxginal in a rough and ready way; a kindof inspited nif pheson
sf nature. In actual fact, Ives's father was a wellinown bantnectee ne
id many experiments in acoustics and temperament. ver stelhal te
ished Horatio Parker. He had extensive practical experience with hi
father's band, arranging for it and playing with theater orchestras and on
church organs in New Haven and New York. ll of Ives’ mature life and
most of his composing years were spent, not in the wildemess, but in
New York where he embarked on a double earcer as an extremely sue
‘cessful insurance broker and a composer. Most of his musie was actually
‘written between his arrival in New York in 1898 and the early 1920s; he
spent the later years of life arranging, putting in order, and preparing for
performance works from the enormous mass of material he had produced
None of this is meant to detract from Ives's stature as an innovator
or as an individualist; quite the contrary, it should emphasize his real
achievement by taking it out of the realm of nature mythology and em-
phasizing its origins in conscious decision and choice. For example, Ives
was always able to use tradition—classical tonality, sayin exactly the
same way he used his own new tonalities, poly-tonalities and non-tonali-
tics, as @ kind of special case, as it were, of his total experience of mean:
ingful sound, It was this range of activity, this totality of ee a
infersted Ives and it was out ofthis tality Se Ge
plicity and complexity, coherence and contradiction—that he mate
ices, One of is ‘potknown pieces, The Unonacered Queich font
shows his technique of deriving a completely new form ovt 7 ST
contradictory clements. A small group ofstrings~it can be Mat St
uartet—is seated of-stage or away from the other insu | My
Vides an obsessive, endless rotation of a simple —-
rele
abandcant-garde and Beyond
i The Acantgarde and Bey
On another level, entirely detached from the gt
arn specie thythmic co-ordination, a trumpet reijen®
a ie Opp flutes (possibly mixed with an ctee 3 a
Seer eet a ott ea
into a terrible tangle. , in the end, no answer, no resolu
sete question unchanged and the distant string “harmony oa
spheres” fading out to infinity ean
“This tiny conception s fll of prophetic Ivessms: the literary dg
which generates a form; the unification of seemingly contradictory mart
Tal though the very expltatin ofthe fat of contradiction; the exy
perceptible extemal references; the spatial arrangement of the nag?”
Frents; the projection of distinct layers of sound with informal verge}
arrangements, What is not so obvious i just how all these elements ore
together to make an expressive form which communicates on a subi
level by no means equivalent to the verbal descriptions (see Appendis,
‘Example 12-1). "
‘The Ivesian view of art and life has to do with the value of
poetic idea realized asa human action or activity. In spite of all his pre
sumed impracticality (but many of the old difficulties of performance, of
notation, and of general comprehensibility have vanished over the year),
Ives thought of his music as a kind of non-passive, performance-practice
activity; he meant it primarily to be performed, only secoudarily t0 be
listened to. He seems to have had the idea that audiences might, at some
point, sing along or that someone might jump up with a flute or a har
‘monica and join in. Ives wanted to transform even the passive state of
xeception into positive involvement, which accounts in part for the inten
tional use of familiar and popular music to produce a shock of surprise or
amused recognition. Yet, on the other hand, he hardly even “composed”
‘music in the usual sense. During his creative years, he poured out a con-
tinuous stream of musical expression—works for chorus and organ, fe
symphonies, four sonatas for violin and piano, two string quartets, many
piano works including the massive “Concord” Sonata, a large number of
Songs, and extremely important works for chamber orchestra or chamber
gremble: the sets of Tone Reads (1911-1915), Three Places in New Ex
Hora a, Cental Park in the Dark (1898-1911), Over the Pavements
isis, an ‘is no question that Ives knew what he wanted in these
ane = to have tried many of his ideas out in practice during
Wat he wast d organist days and, by accounts, he could sho
often intentional sph sie On the other hand, what he wanted was
he played hi ala? OF imprecise, and he himself changed the ¥3Y
former in the se at he years. His idea was to involve the pe
form 2 Kind of an tot cresting the music, and the works themselves
tinuous stream of musical expression, portions
triadic harmonies.
Introduction: Before World Wer It -
sich have coalesced indeed all are still coalescing nto individual
S00FCS. 45 disliked and distrusted the conventi
jomaking; he wanted to get back to some
puna at shout the phil realty of
iinmediate and almost tangible experiences-even eperia
588 plexity, contradiction, and incoherence. He wanted a speaking bod