While I don’t spend much time acting as a musician these days, I did once study music in college and I was a particularly big music theory nerd. Despite introductory music theory being one of the most hated (and most failed) of all college courses according to many surveys of students, something about it always excited me. Theory of jazz and twentieth-centery music is especially interesting.
Theory is, in many ways, the design of music. It’s all about breaking down music into elements, patterns, and techniques, and then building compositions based on them. One technique I always found especially interesting is one many students learn about in their first theory class: dodecaphony, or twelve-tone composition.
Twelve tone composition deliberately applies constraints and rules to the choices a composer can make when creating melodies (and harmonies, for that matter). While some composers will no doubt see this as limiting, others find the challenge that is working within those constraints to be empowering.
In most Western music, including most popular music, melodies and chord structures are built around tone centers, known as keys. These keys can be major or minor, each of which has a unique and distinctive sound (note that Dorian, Lydian, Mixolydian, and the others are not generally considered to be keys, but rather modes).
Keys are established via functional harmony, in which each note or chord has a very specific role in relationship to the others. This is complicated to explain, but the important thing to understand is that every note or chord in a particular key leads to another (or, several others). Each has an individual function that it plays, and it is these functions that create the sound and feeling of beginnings and endings (or cadences) of musical phrases. Imagine jumping on a trampoline. When you start, you are at the root, or tonic function. At the peak of your jump, you’re at the dominant point. It’s a strong and powerful place to be, and it has a very intense feeling of leading somewhere — back to the root (what goes up, must come down). Tonic and dominant are two of the functions notes or chords can play within a given key (others include supertonic, mediant, sub-dominant, sub-mediant, and subtonic.)
You could think of a key as the center of gravity for a musical piece. It’s what keeps the composition grounded and gives it’s harmonic changes a feeling of motion. Each note leads to another, and some feel stronger, or more important, than others.
Twelve tone music was created by Arnold Schoenberg in the very early 1900s at least partially as means of throwing out everything we know about keys. Schoenberg wanted to created music that felt ungrounded and somewhat askew, and he did so by deciding that each note of the chromatic scale (12 total notes) would be equal — completely removing the functional harmony of traditional keys.
In order to do this, he created something known as a “tone row”. It is, quite simply, a unique ordering of each of the 12 available tones. For example, one possible row might be:
D, A-flat, B, F-sharp, C, F, E, C-sharp, A, E-flat, G, B-flat
Then, he created distinct mutations of the original row (called the Prime). One such mutations was the retrograde, in which the notes are sounded in reverse order. Another is the inversion, in which each interval between notes is turned upside down (for example, a minor third becomes a major sixth). He combined the two to form a retrograde inversion. Then, he took each of these four mutations of the row and placed them in a grid (usually called a matrix) in order to create mutations of the mutations. To see this in action, create your own tone row and see the resulting matrix.
Strictly applied, the composer must sound one entire twelve-note mutation of the row at a time, and in order. Thus, it’s impossible to go from (for example) C to A-flat and back to C again. This serves the purpose of never establishing a strong tone center that could be mistaken for a key. It also makes for some whack-sounding music — but that’s not really my point. :)
Well, besides the fact that it was simply on my mind, I think it bears relevance to the field of design. Schoenberg had a problem to solve: he wanted music to sound atonal. But rather than simply banging out notes willy-nilly on a keyboard, he devised an elaborate system. This is especially ironic in his case, as he was actually trying to achieve music that sounded chaotic and orderless.
To me, this embodies the basic difference between a designer and an artist. Designers use systems, patterns, rules, and pre-defined elements to create solutions to problems (sometimes systematically breaking the rules, as well). Artists, on the other hand, are free of constraints and are usually more interested in evoking emotions and thoughts from their audience than with solving real-world functional problems. John Cage, for example, might be a musical “artist” to Schoenberg’s “designer.” Both achieved atonal and unique compositions, but their reasons for doing so and their methods to get there were very different.
In the real world, most of us are neither purely designer or purely artist. Most of us exist somewhere in between the two ends of the continuum. But I think it’s useful to understand the difference and know what “mode” you’re in at any given time.
Thus endeth your unrequested music theory lesson.
Sorry, the time to post comments to this entry has expired.
001 // Zach Chadwick // 11.02.2006 // 9:28 PM
I am both a programmer and a musician, and I really enjoyed this post. Even the awful “mode” pun at the end. I play jazz, and a lot of the time I find myself drawing parallels between the creativity necessary for improvising with the creativity used when designing a piece of code. Just like a function or algorithm needs to work, a jazz line needs to fit the structure of the chart, or groove of the rest of the band. How you get there is entirely up to the person, and always involves creativity.
While a lot of the time code can be functionally correct, so can a solo be theoretically correct. But - it’s when the emotion of the artist gets added to the mix, we can produce beautiful elegant code, and killin’ jazz lines.
002 // Jeff Croft // 11.02.2006 // 10:21 PM
Yikes. I honestly didn’t intend that mode pun. Wow, it is a bad one, though, isn’t it?
003 // Fernando Lins // 11.02.2006 // 11:21 PM
As a graphic design student I have a Visual Programming and Color Language class at university, where the teacher shows us how to create harmonic color schemes - and not so harmonic ones too. His main example to explain how this works is exactly the same one you used: Jazz. Just like in a jazz song, we have this range of colors (notes) to play, and out of them we must know which ones to use (play) so the arrangement looks (sounds) pleasant. As a jazz lover, #1 Dave Brubeck and John Coltrane fan and an illustration artist, I noticed that close relationship between music and design, or music and (graphical) art, rather. This is a very interesting post, Jeff!
004 // Fernando Lins // 11.02.2006 // 11:23 PM
By the way, is it because I’m reading this at 2:20 am, or does the first paragraph shows up twice?
005 // Jeff Croft // 11.03.2006 // 12:16 AM
Doh! Thanks for pointing that out, Fernando. Copy/Paste foul!
006 // Kevin Hamm // 11.03.2006 // 12:34 AM
Interesting post. Having suffered through Music Theory at 8 am I always remember very little except the atonal crud that was pounded out by the “ham-fisted ‘amaestro’ of blear” (as we called the class ‘Music Bleary’, to go along with Sight Screaching and Ear Straining and the like). I like your thoughts, and you have a much more tolerant mind for this than I do. (Yes, I’m a singer, not a musician. HA!)
I want to add to the ‘design v artist’ bit, tho. Sort of. I think that designers repackage a lot of “known working” bits, which is both good and bad, while those same people, you included Jeff, become artists when they choose to not only break a rule, but to do so in a way that’s new. It’s not just breaking the rule that makes art, tho, it’s breaking it the right way.
This is the same in comedy as well. There are rules, structures, cadence, timing, etc., and they must be adhered to. You have to understand how they work to be funny, and if you don’t, you’ll pull a Kerry and muck up a good zinger.
However, once you know the rules, you know how to break them in new and creative ways. That was one of the hardest lessons to learn in improv, but once learned, it’s amazing how often the basic rules can be broken in wonderful, powerful, brilliant ways. And that’s when it’s art.
Thanks for the post, it’s a well-thought out reminder of this.
007 // Dale Cruse // 11.03.2006 // 6:36 AM
To extend the analogy, if music theory is design, then I believe printed music is akin to front and back-end code. It tells the performer (the web browser) what to perform.
But does that mean that embedded Flash is akin to, say, a prerecorded tape loop?
I knew my performance degree would come in handy one day.
I also think a further article about why so many of us in the web industry have music backgrounds would be interesting.
008 // Baxter // 11.03.2006 // 8:30 AM
Fascinating take, Jeff.
I had no idea you were a musician. What do you play?
009 // Jeff Croft // 11.03.2006 // 8:41 AM
Tim, I played trumpet, primarily, in college. I was pursuing a music education major and jazz theory minor at Washburn University (Topeka, KS). I didn’t finish, though. Something called “the Internet” came along about the same time as my daughter did, and I quit school in order to work full time to support her and my (now ex-)wife.
I almost never play any more — once in a while I think about pulling out the horn again. But, it’s been six or seven years since I played and I’m just I’d just frustrate myself if I tried. :)
010 // Sean Fraser // 11.03.2006 // 10:14 AM
My model is Music Theory + Literary Work. Specifically, Claude Debussey + Stephen Mallarme. And, as always, Thelonious Monk for breaking structures.
Twelve tone is too structured for my purposes; I choose tone-poems.
Brilliant parallelism.
011 // M. Jackson Wilkinson // 11.03.2006 // 10:23 AM
Minor quibble: major and minor aren’t themselves keys, but are modes or scales just like dorian, lydian, and the rest. They used to be called (more or less) ionian and aeolian, respectively.
Otherwise, I agree with the idea. What would you consider composers who use rather obscure techniques and theory with the direct ideal of creating an aesthetic? It seems more like an artist who uses a very specific series of brush/painting techniques to produce their initial vision…
Schoenberg probably didn’t hear the results of his compositions in his before sitting down and writing the first note of the prime, but there are composers and artists who hear sketches of the end result and use tone rows and dodecaphony to produce that result.
Obviously, things aren’t so black and white (or major and minor), but I’m curious to hear your thoughts.
012 // Jeff Croft // 11.03.2006 // 10:52 AM
You’re right, although the aeolian mode isn’t exactly the same as you typical harmonic minor scale used in most minor-key music…harmonic minor includes the leading seventh on the way up (B-natural instead of B-flat in the key of C, for example), creating an augmented second (or minor third) between the sixth and seventh tones of the scale. The aeolian mode doesn’t use the leading tone seventh.
But now I’m just showing off. :)
I dunno. The parallelism might break down at his point. But my main point, as you noted, was that difference between setting out to notate whatever you were hearing in your head versus using a devised system to create an end result.
The analogy isn’t exactly perfect, probably, but a designer laying out a precise grid and then fitting the elements of the page into it feels a Schoenberg-ish. Someone having a creative vision and putting it to paper (or whatever medium) without regard for traditional rules of grids, typography, color, etc. feels more like the artistic process.
In music, as in graphic design, most compositions are a mixture of both. A composer might set out with some basic rules in mind: This piece is going to be in 4/4 time, in A minor, and make use of string quartet instrumentation. It will be in sonata form with three movements, an Allegro, an Adagio, and a Presto. Then, as they’re writing the composition to that spec, they’ll no doubt find places where they want to deviate and break the form and rules that come with it.
Like you said, it’s definitely not black and white in most cases — but my reason for choosing twelve tone and Schoenberg for the post is that he, at least, was pretty black (or is that white? He’s German, so probably white). :)
013 // M. Jackson Wilkinson // 11.03.2006 // 11:56 AM
You’re right, although the aeolian mode isn’t exactly the same as you typical harmonic minor scale used in most minor-key music…harmonic minor includes the leading seventh on the way up (B-natural instead of B-flat in the key of C, for example), creating an augmented second (or minor third) between the sixth and seventh tones of the scale. The aeolian mode doesn’t use the leading tone seventh.
Yes, aeolian is aka “natural minor” … okay, now we can both be done geeking out on music theory— next thing you know, we’ll be moving into whole tone scales and making Debussy references.
014 // Baxter // 11.03.2006 // 3:53 PM
So Jeff, are you of the opinion that these structures and constraints, whether self-imposed or created by tradition and rules actually stimulate creativity… that by working within them we stimulate the brain to move in new ways?
To extend your analogy (albeit with a decidely non-classical example), the Raveonettes recorded a whole album (Whip it On) with every song clocking in at less than three minutes and in the key of B-flat minor - not exactly a traditional rock key - just because they wanted to see what they’d come up within their own constraints.
Good record, too.
015 // Jeff Croft // 11.03.2006 // 5:07 PM
I think that depends on the person. For me it seems to. But, I’m sure some people — probably those who are more artistic than me — enjoy the freedom of a “no rules” approach.
016 // Brian Ford // 11.03.2006 // 6:49 PM
For what it’s worth, I don’t think that “no rules” applies to what artists do when they create.
In my opinion, those who believe that there are no rules to creating art are usually the artists who create crappy directionless art.
I think it’s fairly important to know what’s going on around you and what has gone on before you when creating art. I think the idea with art is that one should innovate — and I don’t think that’s quite the same thing as “no rules”. Art constantly adapts to find new ground and the closest thing to “no rules” is that it’s not confined by the ability to be accessible — which is a big aspect of day-to-day life for as designer. Art can challenge the viewer — design probably shouldn’t.
Even something like “abstract” art clearly has some sort of structure — even if it’s structure through chaos. Further, that came about as a response to other forms of art — not simply to break the rules.
Art is a continuum and I think that lasting art through the ages would have a pretty linear and structured line if you talked to an art historian about how “this resulted in that, resulted in that” and so on.
017 // Jeff Croft // 11.03.2006 // 7:10 PM
You’re probably right, Brian, and you no doubt know more about art than me. Still, I think there’s a pretty discernible difference between starting with a blank canvas and starting with some inherent physical structure like a grid.
That sum it up pretty well, even if it might be an overstatement. I think design can sometimes challenge the viewer to some degree, but it’s definitely more limited than what artists are able to do.
Bottom line, in my opinion, is that design is about problem solving and communication, whereas and art is about self-expression, emotion, and the creation of beauty (i realize both of these definitions are simplifications, but still…).
I read once that someone answered the question “What is design?,” with the answer, “Design is the management of constraints.” I like that definition. As you point out, artists have constraints as well — but they definitely have less of them are are able to manage them much more “loosely,” for lack off a better word.
018 // Tim Goh // 11.04.2006 // 12:04 AM
Coder/musician here. Enjoyed this post, and thought I’d chime in with my two cents.
Agree with comment #6:
However, once you know the rules, you know how to break them in new and creative ways.
Take for example someone who can play by ear, is ignorant of music theory, and listens to Top 40 music exclusively (rather arbitrary set of constraints, I know). When he improvises, he is very likely to use descending bass lines and favor the tonic, subdominant, and dominant chords, without realizing that he does so, or why. He would not think of what he’s doing as following the rules.
Once he learns music theory, and knows the rules per se, he is better equipped to make more interesting music, whether it is the result of following the rules or selectively breaking them.
Apologies, but since it is not out of context I just have to plug progressive music here. If you’re interested in music that breaks the rules — where a single song can take you through multiple key changes and time signature changes — check out progressive metal and/or progressive rock. Many prog groups incorporate a lot of jazz elements, so it won’t be totally unfamiliar territory.
019 // Chuck Blakeman // 11.06.2006 // 8:30 AM
Great article. It is generally accepted in classical music circles that people who are very good at math and rules (engineers, doctors, accountants, etc.) can make better musicians than other skill sets if they also have any ear at all. But it is also a general rule that these same people aren’t as likely to become great musicians, only very good ones, because they are heavier on the “designer” side than on the “artist” side. And they usually make terrible composers overall (Schoenberg’s 12 tone row example - absolutely brilliant mechanically and structurally; just awful to listen to unless you are a physicist doing math while you listen).
They have learned the rules very well, have an eye for detail and technique, and are disciplined to learn and apply it. But then they hit the wall because they don’t know how to let go of all of this cognitive stuff, go “blank” and tell a story from the fuzzy places of creativity, emotion, story/narrative, and expressiveness. It’s not that great musicians no longer use the rules or disciplines, but these things instead become only subliminal foundations for artistic expression, instead of being cognitively “aware” of them all the time like a designer (Schoenberg) would be.
And then the other key is that while they know the rules usually as well as a designer, artists “know” without “knowing” (intuitively and conceptually) when and how to break them to create art, not design. it’s something I don’t believe can be taught and it’s not something that an artist can usually explain - they just instinctively “intuit” that it’s the right time to deviate.
I use audio speakers vs. receivers as an example. The Japanese have always made outstanding electronics like receivers, etc. One thing they’ve never been the best at though, is building audio speakers. The reason is that the Japanese culture is more “designer” oriented as well as “team” oriented, they follow the rules and end up with speakers that more often than not are a little “sterile” sounding. The best audio speakers have ALWAYS been designed by only one individual, not a committee, and the best ones ALWAYS break some rule of physics in their design that is counterintuitive to building a perfectly designed speaker.
A team of designers will give you a more “perfect” receiver that is closer to the “mean” than anything an individual can produce. But a single artist by themselves is more likely to break new ground by intuitively, conceptually, and unexplainably breaking a rule here and there (or a lot of them).
Designers are “innovators” not inventors - taking known boundaries and perfecting, or pushing to the max within them. Artists are inventors or creators - taking known boundaries and breaking down walls here and there and pushing beyond them so that designers can build a new wall in a new place. And we’re all a little of both.
020 // Jeff Croft // 11.06.2006 // 9:09 AM
Great comment, Chuck. Reminds me of an old Charlie Parker quote, which went something like this (I’m paraphrasing):
“I do my time, learning all my chords and scales insides and out…so that when I’m on stage I can forget all that shit and just play.”
021 // M. Jackson Wilkinson // 11.06.2006 // 1:11 PM
After reading this thread, attending a concert of Elliot Schwartz’s music Friday night at the Library of Congress, I began wondering if the Schoenberg = designer analogue really works.
Like Schoenberg, Elliot (a former teacher of mine at Bowdoin) uses techniques unfamiliar to the listener to create his works. The end results of both of the composers’ works are, well, rather academic.
I think that a composer like Bach may be a more relevant subject for this analogy, as he has a strong combination of accessibility, art, and technique to his work. His respect for the “rules” rarely wavers—in fact, in many ways he codified much of the harmonic theory we observe in western music today. Yet, at the same time, he stretched these boundaries from time to time to create works that are quite artistic (though perhaps not seminally artistic) and also appropriate to the audience of the period.* In short, his pieces do their jobs (as masses, liturgies, or two-part inventions) very effectively, and with a flair of style. That seems the role of the designer to me.
Schoenberg, like Elliot Schwartz, both produce works that do a very specific job—a job that is important and valuable to very few people, and perhaps important only to themselves. While their dilligence, detail, and innovation are respectable, and obviously require great insight and intellect, they aren’t about design as much as they are about academic achievement.
All this makes me wonder who the great composers of the twentieth century classical tradition will be once history shakes them out. We can name those of every century going back to the 1400s, but there seem to be few since 1960 who could even be considered a substantive nominee. Are there any more recent than Copland, Bernstein, Cage, and Shaw, or will the great composers of the 1900s be children of the 1800s?
Or will they be people who were only peripherally connected to the classical tradition, but brought the design of their music to the audience of our time—the masses?
022 // Sascha Brossmann // 11.12.2006 // 1:28 AM
Interesting, though I think your article unfortunately misses the point. ;-p It is not the constraints (whether inherent in the material or derived from a formalism), that differentiate art from design. Design is driven by a (specified) purpose that lies outside the realm of design, and its goals is to provide a solution or at least an attempt at one. It is a means to an end that serves primarily other people than the designer. Art is/does none of these (maybe with the exception of certain edge cases, but not in general). There are some other points that may further help to differentiate both, but the given ones seem the most important to me. And neither constraints nor formalisms of any kind have anything to do with the others.
023 // Jeff Croft // 11.12.2006 // 1:34 AM
You think I completely missed the point? You said:
I said, “Designers use systems, patterns, rules, and pre-defined elements to create solutions to problem.”
Hmm, seems like we pretty much are saying the same thing — doesn’t it?
024 // James Darling // 11.14.2006 // 11:31 AM
I’ve recently been playing around with Ruby’s Midi library to create little mini arrangements. Currently they are very simple random arpeggiators, where they pick a key, then sequence and then pick notes from that array. Continuing on I then started work on a chord sequence generator, very simply pick a base note, then playing around with inversions, and making it 7th for the penultimate chord. Although this sounds very basic, I was wondering how far this could go. Would a Ruby script be able to create whole tunes (not songs), each as individual as the ones we create ourselves. When we write a tune are we not picking from a known array of nice sounding options based on our previous decisions in that piece?
I wouldn’t call myself an expert in either music theory or programming, so don’t know how correct I may be, but I know a bit of both, and have been interested in where they cross.
025 // Joe Dolson // 11.14.2006 // 8:41 PM
Ironically, the one time I’ve ever been in your neck of the woods was while I was working as a chamber music coach and performer at the Midwestern Music Camp at the University of Kansas, in 1999…
I do also work as a musician still, although certainly my primary income is from the web - but I really enjoyed this article! The comparison between Schoenberg and web design is rather unexpected…
That “mode” pun, though…whew. That’s a stinker :)
026 // nigel richards // 11.18.2006 // 9:08 AM
I came across this thread completely by chance (of which more later) not being a web designer (or artist) but having a couple of music degrees and having Googled ‘dodecophony’.
While Schoenberg certainly put the 12 tone system on the map with his pupils Berg and Webern (and adopted later by Stravinsky and Pierre Boulez) his earlier compositions were Romantic - a little beyond Wagner - and therefore definitely artistic. If an artist plays with systems - or even chooses to use the constraints as an artistic discipline - does he stop being an artist and suddenly turn into a designer? Not for me. Berg’s opera Wozzeck, largely atonal, has a completely tonal orchestral interlude in D minor shortly before the end. Benjamin Britten (whom I would add to the list of 20th century greats) also mixed tonality with atonlity and complete serialsm.
Cage has been mentioned earlier as an artist (with which I certainly would not disagree, though I think Schoenberg was one too) but the following quote is quite interesting:
‘In 1951, the depersonalisation sought by Boulez in ‘Structure 1a’ came close to the concept of chance that Cage had yet to adopt for himself.’ This is from the 1991 biog of Boulez by Jameaux. I personally don’t agree with it as there is a lot of evidence that Cage was experimenting with chance well before that time but he’d also tried out serialsm. Chance as a design concept anyone?
Sorry if this has been a bit long - a Saturday afternoon indulgence.
027 // nigel richards // 11.18.2006 // 11:04 AM
I see I cannot spell dodecaphony - apologies. Also may be of interest that Jameaux suggests that Boulez got serialism from Cage and Cage got chance/aleatorism from Boulez.
Cage used the I Ching a lot whereas Boulez wrote out every different path and left the performers to choose. He also wrote a very famous article - Schoenberg is dead - in which he argues - among other things - that in some of his American compositions, Schoenberg incorporated cadences into his so-called serial music, a complete contradiction for a purist or designer ( but maybe not for an artist?).
028 // Jeff Croft // 11.18.2006 // 12:01 PM
Definitely not — but I would say the pendulum swings over to the “design” side for that particular project. As I said in the article, most artists or designers are never exclusively at one end of the continuum. Us designers certainly put artistic elements into our work and sometimes artists use design elements, as well.
But art and design are not the same thing, and I think the more use of systems and patterns and tools you’re rolling with, the more your work is probably leaning towards the design end.
029 // Estevan Carlos // 11.18.2006 // 1:31 PM
I think everyone has said what I would have liked to, so I’ll just add that more discussions about music theory, design, art, and programming need to come about.
This post is appreciated.
I am currently a graduate student of design and media arts with bachelor’s in music technology. It seems too often that people who are unfamiliar with music, overlook it and do know it can be an accessible language. A language that tells us a lot about the points you are making and more. It’s no surprise to me that there are a programmer/jazz musicians in our midst and correlations between design, Cage, and twelve-tone matrices.
030 // nigel richards // 11.19.2006 // 11:29 AM
Like Estevan, I think this is a most fascinating thread and thank you, Jeff, for sharing your questions and thoughts with us all. I have already passed on the site to my younger son (Toby) who is a web designer and learning guitar - who asked me to give him the essence of harmony in 5 minutes. Jeff, you did a much better job of explaining the fundamentals than I could have managed.
My counterpoint tutor was heavily into the Pythagorean School - punctilious about not attributing the finding to Pythagoras himself because of course there is no proof of his personal involvement. (This is string theory ie you strike a string halfway along its length and the different ratios produce different elements of our well tempered major scale - sorry not trying to show off - just to explain) and at that time in Greece, Music was a subset of Mathematics. I have no doubt that it still does. Example - new book called ‘Bang! - the complete history of the universe’ co-authored by Patrick Moore of whom you’ll never have heard probably but is massive in astronomy in the UK and Brian May who stopped his PhD in astro-physics to start Queen. Ever wondered why Galileo gets a mention in Bohemian Rhapsody?
I am greatly interested in the idea that the arts - broadly - move together. For example the fin de siecle changes in visual art, music, poetry, writing were all huge - no matter what the medium , step changes were afoot.
It’s a fine question - that of a difference between art and design - but, apart from exercising a few minds, is it as useful as trying to gauge how many angels can dance on a pin head? How will the answer - if there is one - help?
Fantastic blog, Jeff - it’s really made me think, for which I thank you. J