I've been reading this thread with much interest, because I've been
having a similar internal conversation for some time (so maybe I, too,
should be locked away for muttering to myself -- and answering.) I think
all creators have a similar dialog, a conflict between imitation and
innovation. It's a particularly insidious problem for us modern,
post-Romantic Westerners, who've come up with the idea of the artist as
innovator, that a *real* artist is wildly unique, and an imitator is
just a poseur.
In some respects, I think this is a strawman argument. Brian's original
statements weren't at all about imitation, or, at best, only
tangentially so. As I read them, they were about building up the
greatest technical fluency possible so as to allow for the greatest
expressive possibility -- if anything, that's the antithesis of slavish
imitation. Scales are useful, inasmuch as you can hear the musical
relationships of the included tones, and learn to play them very
fluidly, but scales aren't music. It's like, back in the '80s, when
guitarists like Yngwie Malmsteen were popular -- yeah, great, you can
sweep pick harmonic minor scales a million miles an hour -- but is it
music? So you learn pieces to give those scales life, to show how notes
can work together in non-scalar ways. But those pieces aren't
straightjackets, they're signposts. You can go from one to the next, or
you can keep going, forging your own path. And, of course, the path you
take -- which pieces you learn -- also affects, and reflects, your
individual style.
The catch, of course, is that this is hard. It isn't natural; you have
to incorporate someone else's patterns, someone else's view of the
beautiful or the expressive. As an aside, in classical Hindustani music,
which is strongly improvisational, this whole argument would probably be
seen as somewhat puzzling, since students learn to copy their teacher's
playing note-for-note, nuance-for-nuance, as a means to internalize the
structures and possibilities of a given raga. Many of the Chinese (and
Japanese, more to the point) arts are the same way, from the martial
arts to calligraphy. To give an example: "The tradition of copying in
painting and calligraphy was a method aimed at the formulation of
personal style. Except in the case of intended forgeries, exact replicas
were not seen as the goal. Instead, artists copied in order to gain
techniques and to probe the essential qualities of a past master's
style. . . .Individual investigations through copying led to creative
imitations, parody, and the use of allusion. Through this learning
process the desired outcome was the synthesis of a new personal style
expressive of the individual and the copied past -- seeing double." [1]
Yet, sometimes -- to me, anyway -- it can feel as if I'm saying that my
own "natural" tendencies are too small, too limited. Which, of course, I
don't want to hear. After all, "I am large, I contain multitudes," and
all that. Sometimes, yes, there's a sound in my head, that I can hear so
clearly, and I will work to extend my playing ability so that I can get
that sound (which, at my rudimentary level of ability, is along the
lines of a fulfilling tsu-re, or a strong, open ro kan.)
Sometimes, I think this "innovation" obsession is overrated. Which is
more enjoyable to listen to, a slavish cover band or some radical
avant-garde collective that could care less about you, the listener,
except to wow you with just how New and Cool and Unique they are? (My
answer: Silence.)
Before I gathered up the gumption to give the shakuhachi a whirl, I
played Native American flute for about ten years. Five or six holes,
narrow dynamic range, at best an octave and a few upper notes. In the
same way that the shakuhachi is closely related with Zen and Japanese
culture, the NAF is associated with Native American cultures and
spiritualities. The level of discourse between the two players'
communities is different, but many of the underlying conflicts,
especially between tradition and innovation, spiritual and musical
expression, are remarkably similar. In the NAF community, with very few
exceptions, the overwhelming emphasis is on (perceived, sometimes
invented) tradition and spiritual expression. Talk about an augmented
fourth, or pair the NAF with electric slide guitar, and you'll likely be
responded to with either silence or a gruff dismissal of such
newfangled, unspiritchul gimcrackery. It's stultifying, to say the
least, and with an instrument that's got so many inherent limits, it
seems ridiculous to attempt to load it with even more. In the end, most
NAF music sounds the same -- solo flute, maybe some frame drums or a
little guitar or washes of synth mush, and a smattering of nature
sounds. It's all very peaceful and, well, past a certain point, boring.
But to stretch the boundaries, according to some (loud) voices, is
essentially sacrelige and an affront to the ancestors.
One of the things that I love about the shakuhachi is that the
traditional and the innovative don't just coexist, they are
inextricable. Even if I completely restricted myself to playing honkyoku
in the style of my teacher, I would inevitably sound different; my lungs
are not his lungs, my mouth is not his mouth, the way I hear the world
is not the same way he does. But, although I have no interest in
restricting myself to honkyoku or other explicitly Japanese forms, I'm
trying to make the effort to learn those so I can see where the
shakuhachi has gone in the past, what possibilities have already been
exploited. In some ways, it means I must adjust my way of thinking, of
hearing, of experiencing. But I don't see that, again, as a
straightjacket, but as an alternative perspective which, in aggregate,
will result in a net wider perspective, a wider expressive possibility.
Sure, play what comes naturally, play what brings you joy and completion
and fulfillment. I don't think anyone is trying to do anything else.
Increasing technical facility isn't spiritual restriction or slavish
imitation or lack of authenticity. It's an attempt to grow the
boundaries of what comes naturally. A gifted innovator may learn a lot
of the same "tricks" on their own, but why reinvent the wheel? And I say
that having done so myself; I've played guitar for almost twenty years,
but my stubborn insistence on keepin' it real has also kept me in a rut,
and really limited my own expressive potential by taking a stunningly
inefficient road to musical proficiency. It's a mistake I don't intend
to repeat with shakuhachi.
[1] http://www.princeton.edu/pr/news/01/q1/0220-artchina.htm
-- Zak Kramer Crazyquilt Arts http://www.crazyquiltarts.com/ The Truth About Cats & Blogs: art, music & spirit -- with full feline accompaniment http://www.crazyquiltarts.com/blog/_____________________________________________
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