Re: Quick guide to postmodernism and toroidal klein bottles


Subject: Re: Quick guide to postmodernism and toroidal klein bottles
From: Dennis Bathory-Kitsz (bathory@maltedmedia.com)
Date: Sun Oct 02 2005 - 21:31:41 EDT


At 09:07 PM 10/2/05 -0400, Kevin Austin wrote:
>Do you mean Boulez or Babbitt, or both? Or Berg?

Moi? All of the above and dozens more for beauty and thrill. Maybe it can
be explained as lack of discrimination as a kid listener back in the 1960s.
They were just names that attached to record jackets, just like the colors
that helped me remember which album was which. Then, of course. Now it's a
friendlyfuzzy memory.

>Perhaps it is partly a function of the precision and (pitch-based
>depth) of an individual's hearing. I read the above as a proposition
>that somehow "twelve-tone music" exists in some way such as
>"tonality" exists.
>For me, tonality is a "structural process", and is about
>relationships, and the perception / mapping / interpretation of these
>relationships. Sounds a bit psychoanalytical, but in post-modernism,
>the cause is the effect hidden inside itself.

I was a *kid.* My reactions were unthought and uncolored by much
experience listening to music. Never a lesson, bad schools with no music
programs, no radio or record player. Television commercials at my
grandmother's house, yes. I could sing "Carpets from the Looms of Mohawk"
when I was 2, or so I'm told. I can remember the Castro Convertible theme
note/word-for-note/word 50 years later ("Who was the first to conquer
space? It's incontrovertible! The first to conquer living space was the
Castro Convertible. Who conquers space with fine design? Who saves you
money all the time? The first in the convertible line -- Castro
Convertible!") Incontrovertible. Good word. So I was a sponge for music and
sound, little that there was of the former. I liked the "Our Gang" theme
song and figured out a way to recall it using dashes of different lengths
and positions written on paper, friggin neumatic notation at age 8. But
aside from these few bits & pieces, there was nothing substantive that
resembled my friends with transistor radios and record players. Notes hung
together because of words, and I had no idea there was such a thing as
harmony (no word = no existence?). The change from non-listener to listener
was over a few weeks, when a radio and record player appeared in the house.
I discovered the big noises of classical music, and headed for the cutout
bins at a chain store called 2 Guys From Harrison. No discrimination --
just 59- and 99-cent LPs. I listened to & loved it all. I have no
philosophy or mandalas.

Dennis



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