I teach music for a living. At the beginning of the semester, kids who are just getting to know me always ask the same question: Mister, what music do you listen to?
I never know quite how to respond. If I say I don’t really listen to much music, I sound like the least credible music teacher in history. Occasionally I fib and name a few styles that I enjoyed . . . back when I listened mindlessly. The truth is that I still listen to plenty of music, but the way I listen is weird.
Let’s go back for a minute. Do you remember the days when the primary way to find new music was the radio? For decades, we cared about the top 40 – that is, the top 40 songs that were played on the radio, as chosen mainly by people who ran the stations. The record companies and station managers largely dictated our taste in music. They were right a lot of the time. From the Beatles to Sinatra to Journey, they placed pop music in our ears that was worth hearing. They also promoted some music that was not so great. That’s radio – delivering popular products to a large consumer base.
Fast forward to this decade. Radio is still around, but we have Pandora, last.fm, and hundreds of smaller internet radio options. Those services still take on the job of curating and promoting music, most often by genre. Although the range of options has expanded, the idea is the same: you will hear what somebody else thinks you will like – and what they think you will buy.
We’ve added deeper social connections to the process, too. Now if I listen to a song on just about any online music service, my contacts on Twitter, Facebook, and other networks can see what I heard and click to listen themselves. The addictive system is optimized for maximum consumption.
YouTube, MySpace, and related technologies have democratized music promotion a little bit. It is now possible for a kid making music in his mom’s basement to become moderately well-known (like Adam Young of Owl City); however, the big labels are still heavily promoted, and the little guys with real talent are hard to discover.
So basically, it’s very difficult to find music that I like because I like it, and not because a company is trying to sell me something.
Learn More = Consume Less
When I first began really looking at the labels on the food I eat, the immediate effect was that I consumed fewer calories. I never try to diet, and I still eat some junk, but simply knowing what is in the food I eat causes me to make conscious choices.
Music is similar. A person without a good music education may happily listen to whatever music is in the environment. When people truly don’t know about music, they can listen without listening. They can consume without caring. But as soon as they start to understand how music works, they cannot listen without noticing – and having a strong opinion about – certain components of every song.
For me, that means that much of the pop music my peers have adored over the years seems bland and formulaic. After a very satisfying half hour listening to Brahms, it’s hard to turn around and try to enjoy Taylor Swift’s latest offering. I suppose if you’re accustomed to eating handmade artisinal cheese, it’s really hard to go back to Velveeta.
That’s not to say that all people who know a lot about music end up liking the same music. Whether it’s the Foo Fighters or Stravinsky, interesting music will always have educated critics and advocates. But education always encourages the formation of an opinion, one way or the other. There is no neutral ground.
That’s why the radio (analog or internet) is hard for me to consume: if I have time to listen to music, I want to choose what I hear. The iTunes music library is already so vast that I cannot hear everything in it by the time I die. Life is literally too short to waste with music that I find annoying or uninteresting.
The Real Reason
These frustrations are not the primary reasons why I don’t listen to music nearly as much as my students. They are convenient excuses, but they don’t tell the real story.
I listen less because when I listen to others’ music, I am not creating my own. This applies to the broader scope of creative experience: When you read, you are not writing. When you watch videos, you are not creating them. Consumption and creation do not generally happen at the same time.
I have students who claim they cannot do homework without listening to music or watching TV at the same time. Conversely, when there is music playing, I cannot ignore it. I may dislike it, but my mind must dissect it. Analysis has become involuntary. That is the biggest reason I must do all of my real work in silence.
One of my kids stuck the change from my ashtray into the tape deck in my car, and the resulting electrical problems rendered my radio useless. That was about two years ago. At first, I was annoyed at the inconvenience of having to fill long drives with my own thoughts instead of having them given to me over the air. Now, I appreciate the rare solitude provided by my inability to tune in during my brief commutes. I develop my best musical and poetic ideas when I am on a bicycle, but now my car is a close second, because I have to think for myself.
Music is more powerful than we acknowledge. The next time one of my students asks What do you listen to? I’m still not sure how I will answer. But inside, I know what I will think: Less is more.
May we all consume our media with a little more attention and intent, and a little less by accident.