Personal taste in music is often discussed through genre terms, which by extension creates labels for music that resonates with us; someone likes rock music, another likes rap. But the features that draw me towards certain artists, irrespective of genre, are illusive. I like Philip Glass, Mogwai, Thelonius Monk, Horace Silver, Brian Eno, Debussy, and Quadron, but they occupy different genres, and I’m left ruminating on the causal links. It feels inaccurate to say I love jazz music—I do like jazz artists, but not all of them—just as it’s odd to say I love pop music when I listen to a handful of pop artists.
Brooding over this topic leaves me grasping at qualities that connect my musical tastes. When I say qualities I mean subjective descriptors of music; words like dynamic, chaotic, linear, even, odd, atmospheric, icy, ethereal, high-energy, minimalistic, calm, exciting, scary. Broadly speaking, though, I focus on dynamics and narrative.
Dynamics refers to change and progress, whether gradual or constant. I like tunes that explore different levels of engagement through tempo changes, rhythmic complexity, and density. Tunes that begin simpler or calmer and progress towards chaos resonate with me, likely because it’s a representation of the emotional swells of life, but it’s aesthetically captivating as well, and it follows a familiar narrative arc.
Narrative is a cohesive story, where the melody, beat, and various accompaniments iterate on an idea so as to stretch it gradually over time. In music, it’s referred to as motivic development, the idea of taking existing elements in a tune and iterating on them through repetition or subtle changes, an idea we can trace back to dynamics. This could be any idea, like having random volume swells get more intense over time, or increasingly complex rhythms, or contrasting sections which alter existing material to change the mood. In essence, I want the piece to be painted with broad brush strokes so I can make connections from one part of the tune to another, much like we trace the development of character in movies and literature.
Life is unpredictable, calm, chaotic, and ever-changing, which is, perhaps, why I’m drawn to stories and music that mirror this ebb and flow. Music that is calm or minimalistic can’t hold my attention as long. They represent other emotional states—tranquility, for one—that I find hard to inhabit as my mind spins around all day long. I love tunes with stark changes such that it’s nearly too intense, but I also gravitate towards subtle change and development, so that small ideas are explored to their full potential.
Jazz is a genre concerned with dynamics, as well as narrative, which explains my attraction to it, but not all jazz artists focus on these qualities. In general, jazz starts low energy but slowly (or quickly) becomes intense. There may even be complete changes in groove, like switching from a steady eighth note to bouncy swing, or increasing rhythmic complexity that fills in any possible breathing room.
Horace Silver’s Mary Lou highlights these qualities well, with catchy riffs, catchy melodies, and high energy walls of sound. A visual representation would look like a rising and falling line, but despite the complexity, the melody is clear and singable, and the underlying groove is nearly dancing material as the drummer keeps the beat chugging along. Horace’s piano accompaniment feels good too, as it lines up with the drummer. The tune emphasizes two dotted quarter notes in 3/4—which you can hear in the pianist’s left hand—and this idea gets stretched out over time. Listen at 2:55 how every band member comes together to lift up the sax solo with higher rhythmic intensity, dissonant chords, and increased volume, after which everyone comes back to Earth.
The post-rock band Mogwai, although in a different genre, is similar. Notice the gradual build on Christmas Steps towards a climax of sound. The build is slower—much slower—but the goal is the same: A gradual increase in loudness/intensity, energy, and motivic development. Mogwai takes the concept of dynamic range and pushes the limits of the listener’s patience, but I’m still drawn to the narrative they’re building, despite the distance from Horace Silver.
Ambience is a genre in particular which puzzles my tastes, but it too contains the qualities of dynamics and narrative. It’s welcoming in the sense that many qualities are permitted under its umbrella. Melodies can be present or not; texture can be emphasized over form; there’s a rhythmic pulse, or a purposeful absence of one. The term ambient elicits sounds meant to flood the room and set a mood. Other times I hear it described as background music, but turn down music low enough and it’s in the background. I latch onto the atmospheric label since it does evoke moods, but so does heavy metal or jazz. Regardless, I’m drawn to the broader story and clever use of dynamics.
Debussy is an evocative composer who borders on ambience since the music is based around ambiguous harmony that creates an emotional impression. I say ambiguous in the sense that it’s hard to feel grounded in his music. In Images 1 & 2, I’m left with a wandering or searching feeling, but there’s still a sense of narrative, as the tune gradually shifts and builds towards a climax by adding complexity and tension through dissonance. From 2 minutes onward, the piece drifts from reverence to anxiety and back to fanfare, eventually settling down to a contemplative tone. The analogy to story is clearer here since it feels like music synced to a silent film, and that’s what I appreciate: The emphasis on broad dynamics which tell a story.
Philip Glass’s album Vitreous Body is labeled classical, but I can see it labeled as ambient or electronic—just add one synth in there—since it evokes texture and mood rather than a narrative, but it does have dynamic focus. Music in Similar Motion is a slow build much like Mogwai’s Christmas Steps, as it adds additional voices and rhythmic density over a long period of time, eventually reaching a dense climax. Mad rush intersperses moments of calm with chaotic flurries of fast moving lines, creating a sense of direction and mood akin to the title. Vitreous Body, then, shares some of my desired qualities, and perhaps that’s the attraction seeing as I rarely find classical music I enjoy.
Brian Eno’s Music for Airports challenges my conception of narrative since nothing in particular demands my attention. Oohs and ahhs drift in and out in an unpredictable fashion, with an occasional punctuation from a piano, which itself has an indifferent presence. It bears a resemblance to meditative music that is designed to instill contemplation or nothingness, and it draws on the mood of the listener and relies upon our mindstate to fill in the gaps, but the sounds themselves are content, and not necessarily the larger form, tonality, and narrative. Notably, it lacks predictable rhythms, dynamics, or emotion, seemingly drifting in and out of my awareness, and thus it’s an experience focused on sounds themselves.
John Lysaker in his book Brian Eno’s Ambient 1: Music for Airports, quoting Michael Nyman, notes that we expect to control sounds with music, subduing them for our own bidding, whereas ambient music allows sounds to exist. The artist is like a gardener, establishing certain growing conditions. Ambience, then, embraces subtle change through systems work, and this can entice me if I immerse myself into it; otherwise, repetition wears me out, and I lose the bigger picture.
The labels of ambience, jazz, classical, and post-rock serve to group music with similar qualities, but I see this as imperfect. For me, the focus on change and development draws me into many genres, making sense of my tastes. Sometimes I think genre serves to inform how the music is mixed and recorded, such that classical tends to be dynamic—to the point of extremes—and electronic is more compressed to bring every instrument closer in volume. Nonetheless, people do use these labels to evoke certain qualities. Ambience I’ve heard used as a synonym for atmospheric, minimalistic, or meditative. Mogwai is post-rock, which is essentially rock focused on timbre rather than melodic and harmonic progressions, but it also has ambient/jazz qualities. Jazz is also a dynamic genre and it shares that quality with classical, although classical music is stretched out to the point where I have to turn up the volume to hear the quiet parts.
Ultimately, there are overarching elements that I carry with me from genre to genre. Even experimental or ambient music interests me if there is subtle change and development. However, I know that sometimes the point is to challenge expectations, even narrative and cohesion, and listening in this way requires dedication and patience. The insight is that this idea connects music to well understood concepts such as space and time, which itself represents life as I experience it. Stories have a beginning, middle, and end; things change; there are times of chaos and of calm—all mirroring life. It’s like Eno says: “The problem is that people don’t realize that music actually does things to them, not just entertain.” Not everything needs to make sense, but the drive to order is strong; maybe I need to let go and listen.