The

Origin

of

Music

A Theory of the Universal

Development of Music

by
ROBERT FINK
Bach Music

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR EXCEPT AS NOTED

Qze Qfeeqwtch

(^Meridiari Co.,
Publishers
"This One
 Copyright (c) 1981 by

Grecnwich-Meridiaa
516 Ave. K South
Saskatoon* Saskatchewan
Canada

Ltd. Edition of
100 Copies.

Published originally under the title:

THE UNIVERSALITY OF MUSIC, (1970.)
ISBN 0-912424-06-0
Library of Congress #81-670095
This book dedicated to the memory of

my Mother

and without her, this book may

never have seen the light of day —

Deborah Ensign.
INTRODUCTION 7

1
PRESENTATION OF THE PROBLEM

C i 1 A PTE R I . What's R]ght With Cul t lira] Theories

of the Origin of Music? 13
Origin of music based on two elements 14
Cultural theories based on only one element 15
What's right with cultural theories 16
Notions of beauty -1

C H A PT E R 1 1 . What's Wrong With Cultural Theories

of the Origin of Music? 24
Noise and music not explained 24
The octave. 4th and 5th not explained 26
Scales not explained 31

II
THE THEORY

CHAPTER III. - Development of the Scale & Melody ... 43

Overtones and intervals 43
 Relativity of consonances *9
Consonance and beauty 53
A cultural theory of the scale 55
Noise and music 57
Completion of the scale 63
The cycle of 5ths -74
Tonality and the cycle of 5ths 76
The fourth and cadence M

CHAPTER IV. - Harmony 9*

Changing concepts of tonality 99
The 3rd - How it spurred the discovery
of harmony 106
Other preconditions to the discovery of
harmony 128
The role of discord & melodicism 129
Some other aspects of harmony 131
Some final definitions 133
Temperament 135

CHAPTER V. - Rhythm and Emotion 137

Rhythm - cultural or natural? 1 37
The esthetics of rhythm 139

HHffl

CONCLUSIONS

CHAPTER VI . - Modern Music WS

The abandonment of tradition H6
Why tradition is smashed 151
The failure of modern music 157
"Getting used to" theory 161
The human ear 167

CHAPTER VII. - Originality 169

 The duality of music and the arts compared 1 70
The who and when of art 181
Freedom of the artist 202
Music and the future 204

APPENDIX 1 Materialism & Music 209

APPENDIX II - Misc. Notes 224

The slendro: A study in equal & unequal division of
pitch 225
Two arguments against overtone theories one
old, one new 230
Method and Ethnomusicology .239
harmony in ancient and primitive music 248
The Greek tetrachord - origin .252
SUMMARY 257
IVlusic is intangible: It exists literally in the air, beyond grasp, sight, taste
or smell. We perceive it only by ear. Unlike words, it can represent nothing
exact. The idea of a man, a woman, a tree or a car cannot be expressed by
music so that all hearing it think of any of these things. Music may appear
to provoke thoughts of such concrete things, but the same music may call
up entirely different images for other listeners. Yet the effect on the listener
is not lessened by lack of concrete meaning in music: We hear it only, but
we say, too, that we understand it, feel it, perhaps even see it in the mind's
eye.

Why can mere sounds, progressing as words do in a story, affect us as

strongly as though they were a real story; as if they were a dramatic and
meaningful series of real events? For example, if we rearrange the notes of a
melody, even a melody new to us, the original form makes "sense," but the
altered version often loses it.

All these have been thousand-year-old unsolved mysteries.

To solve these mysteries, the origin of music, another mystery, must be

understood. We can understand a thing only by knowing how that thing
started and what forces shaped its development.

This book proposes a complete theory of the laws and forces governing

7
the origin and development of music. The complexity of the subject is such
that no adequate synopsis of it can be given in few words. Instead, the
reader is urged to consult the organization (given in the contents) of the
parts and chapters, while reading, to help him maintain the order of the
ideas.

No theory has much value unless it resolves problems, explains phenom

ena or predicts events. To acquaint the reader with the value of theory, Part
I first illustrates some of the problems which the theory attempts to resolve.

Not ail theories can answer all the questions. Following from this, a
general discussion of various other theories surrounding music development,
unfortunately, cannot be avoided. The reader will nevertheless be rewarded
for the patience given to mastering Part I of the book, because he will better
understand the rest of it.

Equally impossible to avoid is a degree of polemics arising from the gulf

which lies between some established current views and the theory given in
this book. For example, were early astronomers to have projected the
theory of a round world without cognizance and refutation of the prevailing
flat-earth view, the strength of their case would have been limited. To
answer the "facts" used as objections to their theory (such asKpeople on the
bottom side would fall off, the rain would fall sideways or even upward in
places"), we can see that the round earth theory had to extend into the
nature of gravity, motion, etc.

Against the theory in this work, the "facts" used as objections have been
so many and they so persevere that some of them are of the order of
fixations. They recur continually because the prejudices on which they are
based are widespread. They must be anticipated and shown to be better
accounted for by the new theory than by the established views, and so the
text will often enter into whatever related fields of knowledge are necessary
to accomplish this. The reader, who may view these digressions as un
necessary or repetitious, fails to appreciate that a theory, which can
successfully involve several angles of view, which can involve mutually
supporting facts originating from different and independent pursuits, is a
theory which is being presented to him in its fullest texture, providing its
own test of confirmation and consistency. Such a theory can satisfy, if not
the demands of literary esthetics, at least the needs of the serious scholar.

The author intended to use a style which could reach the layman. But
this work is not an easy narration. For one to whom the beauty in the
integration of complex ideas is not apparent, this book may hold
little interest. Expect no moving novel, no dramatic characterizations, out
side of that drama inherent in the discovery of truth.

8
 On the other hand, for the diligent reader, the search for the origin of
music can read like an exciting mystery story: The actual origin of music is
forever lost to our view, but it has left its mark: Everywhere that there is
music there will exist a set of conditions which are the inevitable result of
the original forces which shaped them. The conditions of music are the
clues, and from them emanates, if we can find the key, the full story we
seek to reconstruct. Each theoretical step proposed in this work is a way of
playing back part of the recorded story. Each step reveals new clues,
although some often seem to defy explanation. Then we must branch out,
sometimes into other fields, but we read on, confident this mystery,
authored by reality itself, can have no flaw in logic; that there must reside in
each new fact, however puzzling at first, part of an integral and consistent
pattern; and we can feel awe and wonder at the complete and beautiful
lawfulness which interpenetrates nature as we unfold her secret.

Part III of the book comprises the author's conclusions about the serious
music of our own era. The reader who has avoided Parts I and II can neither
accept nor reject Part III and still lay claim to having intelligent opinions.

Much of the material in Part II is not new nor contested today. Its
inclusion is mostly for the sake of completeness. However, some aspects of
this part are, although not new, rejected today. Modern musicologists have
rejected, wholesale, ideas which should have been only corrected or
modified. What is new in this book is the correction and updating of these
ideas, and the conscious application of a school of thought, materialism, to
a subject till now untouched by that school. Discussion of materialism is
found throughout the book and especially in Appendix I. Materialism, for
the author, is the key which has unlocked the mysteries and provided the
new relationships of ideas which finally make a theory of the origin of
music whole and unified.

Certain terms in this book will not be applied as they are used in current
texts. Most notable is the term homophonic , because quotations taken from
various sources use this term, as the French do, to mean monophonic music.
Only recently has the term come to mean a form of polyphonic music. In
this book the older meaning will apply and homophonic and monophonic
will be identical. To substitute for the current meaning of homophonic, the
term harmonic music will be used. Any other unusual uses of terms
probably have the same reason, but should be clear in context. All terms
part of the nomenclature of music will be defined as the book progresses,
except those so commonly understood as to need no further definition.

This book was greatly inspired by my friends, with whom I have often
had long and sometimes heated discussions on art and music. They are not
all students of music, but they have an interest in society, history and
mankind. It is because of them, too, that parts of the book are in great
9
detail, even belabored on points which to music students may seem
axiomatic. I have therefore assumed a minimum of musical knowledge on
the part of the reader, so, if given to the diligence and patience mentioned
earlier, anyone who can count should be able to follow this book. Many
people love music and should know what it is - because they will love it
more - and because it is a fascinating subject as well as a beautiful art.

Finally, special thanks to Sue Swopeand MikeHeideman.

Robert Fink
REFERENCE TABLE FOR SYMBOLS & TERMS USED IN BOOK
(Terms not shown here will be defined in book. See Index.)

Interval: Distance between any two notes.

Semitone: Smallest interval on the piano, from a

white-key note to the very next black-
key note, or from a black -key note to
the very next white-key note. Also
called "^-tone" & "Minor 2nd"
(Music which uses many semitones, or
a string of several semitones, is called
"chromatic")

12-tone series: All the semitones within scale.

Whole- tone: An interval of two semitones.

Major interval: Any interval from Do in the major

scale (the "Do, Re, Mi scale"). Any
interval may be changed from major to
minor by lowering its top note a semi
tone, & vice versa. For ex., C to E is a
major 3rd; C to Eb is a minor 3rd.

Minor interval: Any interval from Do in the minor

scale not also in major scale.
Means "flat" such as in B-flat: (Bb);
To lower by a semitone.
Means "sharp", opposite of flat.
Means "natural" Neither sharp nor
jj — flat. Means to return note from sharp
or flat to its "natural" state, such as
D# to D.
10
3PA3RX

Presentation of

the Problem
 What's Right with Cultural

Theories on the Origin of Music?

Different types of theories are the principal characters in this

chapter, beginning with a broad description of the author's own
type, and following with a description of several types of cultural
theories.
These theories are necessarily generalized according to their
common elements, because within each type, there are too many
varieties of sub-theories, each differing in purpose and scope, to
detail them all. In other chapters, some theories will be seen
more concretely. To fail to first understand schools of thought
and the types of theories within, is to later fail to understand the
meaning of more concrete facts and ideas associated with them.
For example, Romeo and Juliet were, first of all, members of
rival clans headed by Montague and Capulet. In a sense, these
clans are really the principal characters. To fail to understand the
rivalry between them is to fail to understand the tragedy between
Romeo and Juliet.
So first, let's become familiar with the larger picture, distin
guish only the principal characters within, and see what they can
tell us about the origin of music.
*3
Origin of Music Based on Two Elements
In antiquity, before civilization and written history, people
lived in small, wandering tribes, gathering food where they found
it. They had the most rudimentary knowledge of the real world
and few tools. Each day's needs were barely provided when the
next day's needs were at hand. Because of this, survival was a
full-time occupation, and all had to work together to perform
tasks that one alone could not, and for protection against
natural, animal and human enemies. (Needless to say, nobody
had any time to fiddle around.) Art, music and other activities

like them could not exist except at the risk of life itself, and
certainly not in the independent and well-developed form we
know now.
The origin of the arts, including music, was, therefore, based
on two elements in human life. One was the development of
tools, better methods of food gathering or production, learning
how to harness some of the powers of nature; and this includes
the relationships of men to each other, and their ideas, which
derived from their methods of producing the necessities of life.
In a word: Culture.
The development of these things began to free man from his
animal-like existence and made possible many things, including
the arts, which were not solely related to survival.
The second element was the nature of human senses; sight,
hearing, taste, touch and smell, and the nature of sound, color,
etc., the material of the arts. In music we are concerned only
with the nature of hearing and of sound. Our senses, evolved by
the process of natural selection, as Darwin explained, allowed us
to perceive the world in such a way that we could learn to make
an artificial, protecting environment and survive against a hostile
nature. But these senses also allowed us to perceive things which
were not necessary only for the sake of survival. Primitives could
see color, for example, even when they weren't trying to spot
their enemies among the trees and brush. They could hear song
birds as well as the nearness of a rattlesnake. We have the ability
to smell perfume as well as smoke which warns us of fire. There
fore, as these examples show, man had the potential to see
colors, hear sounds, etc., and get a variety of pleasant physio
logical effects from them, however unrelated some of these
effects were to his everyday functional needs. Without these
physiological capacities, few arts would have developed.

Cultural Theories Based on Only One Element

In many theories of the origin of music, only culture, the first
element, in whole or in part, is their basis. Some theories are
based on that part of culture dealing only with the social rela
tionships and ideas of men, and this is done without under
standing that economic forces, which caused these social
relations and ideas themselves to come into being, also play a role
in the shaping of musical art. Ideas do not drop into men's heads
from the sky. They are caused, and both, ideas and the causes of
them, can act upon the development of music and art. Those
who try to explain music by omitting or minimizing the economic
and material forces are greatly limited in their ability to explain
everything. Often theories like this will include notions of
accident, of the unknown, or of mystical qualities possessed by
men ("genius"), to "explain" things which are otherwise left
unexplained by their theories.
Other theories, based also on culture, and which recognize the
economic as well as the other forces that act on musical develop
l5
ment, fail to appreciate that the economic aspects are more
important or powerful than others. Holders of these theories may
easily find the effect of economic forces they believe are acting
in one place, but fail to see that they're acting, too, in a second
place. They don't know - or can't explain why - that in this
second place, other factors may have hidden or distorted the
appearance of essentially economic impulses. (More concrete
explanations to be found in Appendix II, "Method and Ethno-
musicology")
Finally, there are theorists such as Plekhanov, whose approach
is based on all these acting forces and who also gives proper
weight to the economic aspect. The basis on which his ideas rest
is the best basis for cultural type theories. But it still remains a
theory which is based only on culture, the first element earlier
mentioned. Plekhanov claims the second element (man's relation
to nature, the nature of his senses) has been made impotent or
irrelevant by social and economic forces, and that this element
does not play an important role in the shaping of music and art.
In later parts of this book I will try to show that this is an
incorrect claim. The impulse of nature is a very material factor,
and one which cannot be treated as if it were no longer operative.
On the other side of the coin, there are theories which rest on
ideas of "natural law" alone, and which have been called
"mechanistic" theories. Most of these theories are unaccepted in
today's academic society. In this book, I do not put forward or
defend such mechanistic theories, even though most of the book
is devoted to this "natural law" element. This is because theories
accepted today all underestimate this element, and I am trying to
make up for that and correct the fault. This fault accounts for
the failure of cultural theories to explain adequately the develop
ment of music. I'll take up the limits of cultural theories in the
next chapter. First, let's see what Plekhanov's type of theory is
able to explain about the origin of music, and of the arts in
general. All of the following serves to prove the value of a
cultural theory which accepts economic, as well as social forces,
in the shaping of things as apparently "non-economic" and
"non-materialistic" as music.

What's Right With Cultural Theories?

The development of man's productive powers allowed him to
produce what was needed in less than a full day, and in this first
leisure, the arts began. The development of the state, with ruling
16
 Types of
Eastern Hemisphere
Pan* s Pipes

Pan1 a Pipes » East & West

(VERTICAL FLUTES)
SEC P. IB

27
classes and oppressed classes, gave a great monopoly of leisure to
a section of the population, and some of the members of the
ruling classes became the first consciously "full-time" artists.
The instruments of production, when they, too, found rest
from constant use in production, were then used as objects of the
arts, and some of them developed into musical instruments. The
drum is the earliest kind of instrument. The striking of an object
by another object, in order to shape it, to make some useful
product, is an act of production which led to the development of
the drum and stick.
Originally, the drum was a method of signaling, helping in
hunting, etc., and this was carried over to the enjoyment of the
drum for the non-utilitarian rhythms which could be made on it.
The flute is an instrument of the hunter, used by him to make
it easier to communicate with fellow hunters without scaring the
hunted animals, and to make it easier to lure them into traps.
When not used in hunting, the sound of the flute lured the
human animal too, and it slowly developed from a tool into a
musical instrument. The drum and the flute have been widely
found, among the oldest of them being Pans-Pipes.
The development of stringed instruments was more rare,
because the discovery of the resonator necessary to add to the
hunter's bow was also rare among primitives. Hermann Smith, in

Primitive harp with

skull as resonator

The World's Earliest Music, points out that the "murmur" of

the bowl intrigued the primitive archer, and eventually, along

18
with the resonator, a second, third and more strings were added
to the bow. The bow is the great-grandfather of modern stringed
instruments.
Looking at the picture below, we can see the development of
the bow in historic stages as it was turned more and more into a
musical instrument. The earliest instrument in the picture, on the
top left, is merely a bow with a simple resonator. Examples (a),
(b) and (c), below it are refinements made from the bow itself.
The next two, the Arab 4-string lyre and the African harp, are
later instruments, which, while still similar in shape to the bow,
are successively less like the shape of the bow, until we come to
the two Arabian fiddles. These last 4 are not made from the bow
itself, as are the first 4, but are deliberately fashioned as instru
ments only for music.
If we were to continue along the same lines of thought, we
would learn that all the instruments of music come from the
productive side of life in the past. Of course, when music is a

African musical

*9
Arabian fiddles

20
permanent and full-time part of a culture, musical instruments
are invented, rather than evolved, but many of these are still
inspired from other spheres of human life. Even the content,
speed and melodies of song are often derived from the economic
and social processes of life, such as the rhythm in the Anvil
Chorus, I've Been Workin' On the Railroad, etc.

Notions of Beauty
How do concepts of beauty originate? Do they have a material
cause? If we examine a few concepts of beauty, we will be able
to answer these questions. While these examples are not directly
about music, they illustrate the point about the value which
cultural theories do have.
Most of us will agree that man (in most cases) considers him
self to be the best and "highest" form of life on earth, that he
tends to underline this by exaggerating what is different between
himself and the rest of the animal kingdom, and that he tends to
under-emphasize what is the same. We don't crawl, we walk up
right, and this difference is not simply noted in passing - a big
thing is made of it: The word "upright" has come to be a word
with which we praise another person. When we say: "He is an
upright fellow," we are not simply noting that one walks on two
legs. We are praising the person. "Stand on your feet like a man!"
etc., are statements which show that we are proud of the
differences between ourselves and other animals. We hide and
avoid the similarities. Even though man is an animal, the word
"animal" has a connotation which makes its use an insult.
How come this standard isn't true of savages? The Batokas, a
tribe in the upper reaches of the Zambezi, according to
Plekhanov, knock out their upper incisors in order to look
beautiful! Why do they do such a "strange" thing in the name of
beauty?* The Batokas can only be understood as products of

*This is a "strange" thing only by our standards. But some of

our own accepted practices are no more reasonable. The woman
who wears rings through her ears today has less reason than the
savage who wore them through her nose. The primitive wore
rings through her nose as a sign of wealth which really repre
sented wealth! In those days of early iron smelting, the iron in
the rings was very valuable because the effort involved in
smelting even a small amount of iron was considerable. Only a
person whose family, clan or tribe had command of a labor force
21
their society, of the hunter's way of life. Attempting to resemble
their cows and oxen, they knock out their upper incisors. So
much of the experience of these peoples' lives is associated with
these ruminating animals, that they are worshipped by the tribes
men. Other primitives wear the skins, claws and teeth of wild
animals in order to hint at their own strength and speed. If you
can catch a tiger, you must be pretty fast yourself, and strong,
too. If you clothe yourself in your conquest, you are parading
your abilities. The sight of such garments is to the hunter beauti
ful and admirable. Nowadays, we hang our conquests a little
further away from our bodies, on the wall, because we have less
experience with animals than did the primitive hunter.
The Australian bushman hardly ever drew pictures of plants.
Yet Australia is not a desert - in fact, plant life is all around. In
one exceptional case, a picture was discovered of a bushman
hiding behind a bush! But the bush itself is very poorly and
inattentively drawn. The bushman is carefully and exactly drawn.
Why? Because, again, the bushman is a hunter, and his range of
vision doesn't include that which isn't necessary to his life. On
the other hand, an agricultural society produces an art which
does reflect plant life. The great landscape paintings of all time
are the art-product of European agricultural society. Landscape
painting diminished when European industrial and trading cities
began, and surely enough, was revived in agricultural America in
the colonies and in the states afterward. America imported its
manufactured goods and was basically an agrarian country and
this was reflected then in early American landscape painting.
Today, again, landscape painting has diminished in somewhat the
same degree as American agrarianism has been replaced by
industrialism.
In this chapter I have tried to show that a concept of history
which is based on material forces in society can explain a great
deal about the origins and forms of art. Basing a theory on these
material forces is the best basis for a cultural theory. But it omits
one important material force: the effects of nature and the
nature of man's senses. Theories with this omission have this
limitation: They can explain, as we have briefly seen, the
different forms of art, music, ideas, etc., among nations, and

great enough to supply the iron could afford to wear such rings.
The modern woman with rings through her ears can make no
such claims.
22
show that cultural differences explain why the arts are different.
But in most cases, as we will see next, they cannot explain the
similarities - especially of elements of music - among nations. It
is to explain this and to deal with the effects of nature in the
shaping of music that this book is written.
Therefore, let's take up the problems and limitations of
currently accepted cultural theories on the origin of music in
more detail.
 ^5

What's Wrong with Cultural

Theories on the Origin of Music?

Noise and Music Not Explained

The first limitation of cultural theories on the origin of music
is their inability to explain the difference between noise and
music and why peoples have universally made a separation
between them.
A quote from Edgerly shows this separation.
The primitive Omaha Indian (North America) "holds the bow,
which is whitened, in his left hand and the rattle and arrow in his
right. He strikes the arrow against the bow string, as he shakes
the rattle."2 How does this show the separation between noise
and music? Let's see:
When the bowman became intrigued with the "murmur of the
bow" he began to make it murmur even when he wasn't hunting.
Why did he do it at all? Why didn't he spend his spare time
rearing more children? Or finding new gods to worship? Well, he
did, but why did he strike the bow string too? And if he had to
play with his bow, why did he choose the string instead of the
bow, or the arrow? Why didn't he become intrigued with the
sound of the bow when hit with an arrow (aside from rhythm
possibilities)? Why pick on that little string? Certainly the bow,

24
the string and the arrow each had importance in his hunter's way
of life, but nevertheless, the string became the object of his
musical aspirations.
Is it because of the climate in which he lived? Is it because
wood is really less important than string in his society? Maybe it
was an accident? If so, how can it be explained that this accident
happened both in ancient Greece and "in Omaha," North
America, where no one had ever heard of the Greeks?
I think all of us have an idea why, and that is that there is a
difference between the sound of the string when struck with the
arrow, and the sound of the bow when struck with an arrow.
That difference, recognized all over the world in all ages, is the
difference between noise and music.
But - according to cultural theories - all sounds, tones, etc.,
are equally capable of being considered musical or unmusical,
and it depends only upon social forces, habit and custom to
determine which sounds would be "noise" and which "music." If
this is so, then how can the unique and universal separation of
the same sounds for music, and all other sounds for noise, be
explained? For if the cultural theory is the correct theory, then
the selection made in history to define music from noise would
be based upon social forces, which by differing in different
societies, would cause different, not similar, concepts of what is
noise and what is musical. But everywhere in history we see man
making selections of some sounds as noise, certain other sounds
as music, and in the overall development of all cultures, this
distinction is made around the same sounds. Of course, within
any particular culture, man has temporarily called some things
noise which he later called music, and vice-versa. But in the
general development of any musical culture from one society to
the next, when the smoke had cleared, and the fires of old
discarded temples had gone out, we find, for example, that such
things as bow-string playing tended to remain as musical elements
in any new society, while such things as "bow-banging" (if ever
such things arose as musical concepts in the first place) died out.
The separation of sounds into "music" and "noise" continued
according to lawful means; according to means which had to be
outside the influence of any particular or local social environ
ment because the development followed the same way in other,
different social environments. The only effect had by the internal
forces of any social environment was to encourage or discourage
the development, but not prevent it.
25
The Octave, 4th and 5th not explained
No less an authority than the Harvard Dictionary of Music has,
in its entry under Octave, this sentence: "The octave is the most
perfect consonance, so perfect indeed that it gives the impression
of a mere duplication of the original tone, a phenomenon for
which no convincing explanation has ever been found . . . ."3
The second thing unexplained by cultural theories is, then, the
wide existence of the octave, as well as the 4th and 5th, also
"perfect" intervals. First, let me explain some terms.
In this book, there will often be occasion to refer to notes
which exist in the major diatonic scale. This scale is commonly
known as the Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do' scale. There are 8
notes in the scale (7 if you exclude the last Do'). The fifth note in
the scale is called, simply, a "5th." The first plus the 5th note is
also called a 5th, and the distance between the first and fifth
note is called the interval of the 5th. The same is true of the
other notes: The fourth note in the scale is called a 4th; the
eighth note, an octave, and so on.
26
 Therefore, the octave may be written (Do-Do'). The apostro
phe means that the second Do is one octave higher than the first.
Two apostrophes mean two octaves higher (Do").
The 5th may be written (Sol) or (Do-Sol). The 4th, (Fa) or
(Do-Fa). If you can sing the Do, Re, Mi scale, you will be able to
sing a 5th (Do-SoD, as well as other intervals. If you can't sing the
scale, examples in this book will often be furnished with a
picture of a piano keyboard. All of the several methods of calling
the notes, by letter, by their names (Do, Re, etc.) and by the
intervals they form with the first note of the scale (5th, etc.) will
be used in this book.
Although most keyboard examples herein will be in the key
which starts on "C" what is important is the relationships that
exist between the notes of the above scale, no matter what note
is started upon to make that scale. The same relationships obtain
for the scale in all keys, that is, no matter which note is Do. For
the sake of simplicity, the major diatonic scale will be mostly
referred to in the key of "C." Below is an illustration of the
keyboard and the names of the notes in this scale.

DoReMi etc
"X" • Middle C

It was the octave which led me to the study of music, and

about which I have been engaged in much debate. Therefore, I
will try to present my reasoning on it here very carefully and in
detail so that it will be absolutely clear.
If the purely cultural theory is true, then we must assume that
"consonance" and "dissonnance" (or "harmony" and "discord")
are terms which take on different musical content in different
societies. Therefore, we must assume that no note has an
"inherent" or "natural" capacity to be consonant with any other
27
note, and that any two or more notes which are considered
consonant are only considered so because cultural history and
practice dictated it. To put it slightly differently, all notes must
be, in relation to each other, considered equal, but are subject to
becoming called consonant or dissonant by subsequent human
practice and cultural evolution. Two exponents of this theory
have been Hermann Smith and A. J. Ellis. (There are more such
viewpoints as can be seen by a trip to the library. I am not here
preparing "straw men" to knock down.)
After assuming some of the basic concepts of cultural theories,
let's examine them in the light of the development of the octave,
4th and 5th.
In the past, men and women,* who wanted to sing together,
didn't sing the same note. The men may not have gone high
enough, nor the women low enough, to sing the same note. Their
voice ranges made it difficult. How then, were they going to sing
the same song? To do that, the men and women singers had to
sing notes which were different from each other. They had to
sing notes which were apart from each other. But how far apart?
Does a particular culture determine that? Is it arbitrary? One
might say, "Of course, they used the 'same' note - only higher."
The culturalists will then cry: "Why must we assume there is
such a universal thing as the 'same note - only higher?'" They'll
ask, "Why aren't the notes above and below any given note all
really different from that note? We know that some of them
sound different. If others sound alike, why shouldn't we attrib
ute the cause of this to habit and training rather than some
innate characteristic of the notes themselves?"
This is a correct question. But it is incorrectly answered by the
culturalists. The point is that history sides with those who are
prompted to think there is such a thing as "the same note - only
higher."
In history, the distance between the notes which were sung by
men and women were in intervals of the octave, 4th and 5th.
Even the names of the notes belie cultural theories. We and
others start on "A" (or some such symbol) for example, and
several notes later consider another, different note to be "A"

* In many times and places women were not allowed such

functions as being singers; boys took their roles, from ancient
Greece till lately in the Church. (Hence, "Castrati.") However, in
the earliest societies women were not always so proscribed.
28
again, and this is done almost universally regarding the same two
notes. Why is this, if as cultural theories indicate, all notes are
really equally distinct by nature; why, if no two notes have any
"natural" similarities?
If there is nothing similar about the octave, 4th and 5th
"inherently", then we should expect to find some cultures in
which these intervals were considered dissonant and not used as
the intervals by which men and women could sing the same songs
or chants. For if any two notes are consonant or dissonant only
as social conditions dictate - then some place, in the entire
world, past or present, it seems there would have been cultural
conditions such as to dictate that some other intervals.instead of
the octave, 4th and 5th, were considered consonant, and that by
comparison, the octave, 4th and 5th were considered dissonant.
But there is not a single example of that in the whole known
cosmos.
Baltzell says: "The performer while singing a melody
accompanied himself on the lute, playing the same melody a
fourth or fifth above."4
Jeans: "The early Greeks seem to have employed no other
concord in their music" (the octave) "although they were
certainly acquainted with others. Aristotle tells us that the voices
of men and boys formed an octave in singing, and asks 'Why is
only the consonance of the octave sung, for this alone is played
on the lyre?'"5
Howard and Lyons: "In the earliest attempts at harmony, the
only intervals considered consonant were the octave, the fourth,
and the fifth."6
Censorinus, who lived in the third century, "makes mention"
says Baltzell, "of a practice of using a melody in octaves
accompanied by the fifth to the lower note of the octave, which
is also the fourth to the upper."7
Max Weber: "Fourth and fifth parallels are predominant
(among the Indonesians, bantu tribes and others)."8 Elsewhere
he says, "As far as our knowledge extends today wherever the
octave has been distinguished the fifth and fourth seem to have
appeared as the first unique and harmonically perfect intervals.
This seems to be the case in the overwhelming majority of all
musical systems known to us."9
Helmholtz: "Now some of these intervals, the Octave, Fifth
and Fourth, are found in all the musical scales known."10
Meyers: "It would undoubtedly simplify matters if one could
29
adopt ... a completely cultural theory of consonance without
reservations. Yet, in spite of recognizing the social and cultural
nature of musical experience . . . viewpoints such as this ... go
too far. Such an exclusively cultural position is not only faced
with the remarkable fact that the octave is the focal point in the
music of all cultures but with the tendency for the fifth or fourth
to become substantive tones and restful, consonant intervals."11
Bauer and Peyser: "The Greeks seem to have had no harmony
outside the natural result of men's voices and women's singing
together" (in octaves).12
The New Oxford History of Music: ". . . in the vocal music of
primitive peoples these intervals" (octave, 4th and 5th) "not only
frequently determine the tonal framework of the individual
motives" (musical themes) "but are everywhere found to have
the greatest influence in the formation of scales."13 Elsewhere,
about the American Indian: "Nevertheless, even in these freely
intoned songs there is a recognizable tendency to use a clearly
defined fourth or fifth as the basic melodic formula and to group
the other tonally indefinite notes more or less freely around
it."*4
Raymond, about the octave as sung by a soprano and a tenor:
"One unacquainted with music might not suppose that the two"
(notes) "differed at all . . ,"15
We will have recourse to some of these statements later on. I
could add more, but it is not my wish to fill half this book with a
tedious list of repetitions and half with source references.
Therefore, to return to the premises we assumed about
cultural theories, we must revise them. We might still assume that
consonance and dissonance are concepts which differ in different
societies, but for now, we must make an exception of the octave,
4th and 5th.
That notes do not have any inherent or natural capacities to be
consonant or harmonious with another, we can no longer assume.
Apparently, the octave, 4th and 5th do have that capacity.
It can be claimed that perhaps the octave 4th and 5th had a
common origin, and simply spread all over the world. Although I
believe they had independent origins in different places, let's
assume they didn't for the sake of the argument.
It is true that between societies in contact with each other,
some things in one society can spread to and influence another.
Other things may not because social differences are too great. So,
if one aspect or two of a society's musical culture spreads to a
3°
second society, and if these aspects which are accepted in this
second society do not spread to or influence a third society -
then the rejection by the third society and acceptance by the
second society of these musical aspects can be assumed to have a
cultural basis or a local, singular cause. But if some things, like
the octave, 4th and 5th, spread all over the earth, and are
retained in all and different societies - even as these societies
change; while other things, like certain songs, musical rituals and
sounds, do not spread all over the earth and are not retained by
different societies - because these societies change - and all this
when many of these societies are still in contact with each other
- then how is this special ability of the octave, 4th and 5th to
spread in the face of any cultural conditions, favorable or not,
going to be explained "culturally?"
If the octave, 4th and 5th are culturally inspired and used,
why don't they disappear with the disappearance of the society
which inspired them - even in one instance? These intervals are
always retained even though every new society discards old
musical forms and styles and takes on some new ones different
from their past and from neighboring societies.
Culturalists will have to break down and admit there might be
something natural about the octave, 4th and 5th which explains
the phenomenon of its wide use - or deny that it is so widespread.

Scales Not Explained

The phenomenonof similar types of scales throughout the
world is a third thing unexplained by cultural theories. The
pentatonic (5-note) scale, loosely called the "Chinese" scale (the
5 black notes on the piano) is found in the music of most peoples
in all continents and has been written on extensively. Willi Apel
writes that this scale "occurs in nearly all the early musical
cultures, in China (as far back as 2000 B.C.), Polynesia, Africa, as
well as the American Indians," (including Mexican, Peruvian)
"the Celts, and the Scots. It must be considered the prototype of
all scales."16 Bruno Nettl: "The most widely used scale ... is the
pentatonic . . . There are . . . as many varieties of the five tone-
scale as there are possible combinations of intervals, and the
pentatonic in its varied forms is'* the scale most frequently
encountered in primitive, folk, and Oriental music throughout
the world. It dominates every major musical style except Western
cultivated music, where it is subordinate to the far more preval
ent diatonic scale." Continuing, Nettl describes the most
3*
common of the various pentatonic scales:
"The most common pentatonic form is composed of major
seconds and minor thirds, for example, c d e g a, with the tonic"
(most central or important note in a melody) "occurring on any
one of the tones. Scales that lack half steps, like this one, are
called anhemitonic."17 (The avoidance of half-tones that Nettl
mentions is also a common phenomenon in the history of musical
scales, although by no means universally true of all scales.)
Finally, Carl Engel writes: "The existence of the pentatonic
scale at a very early period throughout so large a portion of the
world as Asia, and also in Egypt, is a curious fact, not without
importance in the history of music, and, moreover, leading the
inquirer to various speculations. To conjecture that all the
different nations have derived it from one source must appear
bold indeed."18
And, proceeding boldly, Engel states his case for a common
source, claiming that if the scale were suggested somehow by
nature, then it would have developed in Africa, but he attests to
no trace of it there. Since Engel wrote (1864), however, field
research has uncovered enough data that there is little doubt of
the wide use and influence of the pentatonic in Africa. As a
result, the theory of a common source appears now even less
satisfactory than before.
Let us examine the properties of this scale and one man's
explanation of it.
The pentatonic scale is unequal, that is, unable to be formed
by a simple, equidistant division of flute holes, nor is it explain
able by a similar simple division of strings (Musicologist Curt
Sach's "divisive principle"). In other words, if cutting 5 neat,
equally spaced holes in a bamboo or cane flute (to nicely fit the
5 fingers) would have produced the pentatonic scale, then it
would not be very difficult to imagine this scale having been
independently generated by different peoples. Cutting equi
distant holes is not an act which requires any complicated social
or mental processes to achieve. But a flute, contructed in this
manner, does not produce the common (anhemitonic) pentatonic
scale, rather, it produces a scale with intervals quite different
from any with which Western ears are familiar. Neither a
common source theory, as shown above, or the ease in cutting
equidistant holes, then, can explain the widespread pentatonic.
To make a flute that will play the pentatonic, the holes would
have to be arranged according to more complex principles, and
would be askew. Such instruments are rarely found, even among
3a
the less primitive flutes, yet the pentatonic scale exists, vocally,
in these places. Dividing strings in halves, thirds, quarters and
fifths is a simple division and would produce $0M notes of the
pentatonic, but as shown in the illustration, the arrangements

I Division of string ofair

column into segments:

4
y5
7 , segments)
-Aircolurnnot* I
^ string J i
CMute length. =c) j

in
\\Flute holes:
I
(y/Koie = c) A| Si FfoEl (PFKITATOMlC)

fring- lengths (on fret):

(pemtatonic)
A| G

t^wfer pitch,
33
which result from simple division are not simple when applied to
instruments, rather, they are almost geometric:
I: Note that the lengths of strings (or columns of air, in the
flute) are simple divisions of the whole: divisions by 2, 3, 4 and
5. However, the selections of lengths, necessary to make the
pentatonic, stand in a complex, not simple, relation to each
other: II & HI: Notice the spacings on the flute and on the frets
are uneven, or complex. Now, the pentatonic has been found in
places and times which preceed the development of such instru
ments or sophisticated numerical procedures. (It would not be
surprising to learn that, in fact, the unevenness or inequality of
the scale helped give rise to sophisticated numerical systems or
procedures, which then found their way into use in other fields,
such as mathematics and engineering.)
Curt Sachs, while denying any explanation of the pentatonic
scale in "natural law," will agree: "In any case, deriving scales
from systems is putting the cart before the horse: all over the
world, scales have been abstracted from living melodies and
integrated" (later) "in systems."19 Sachs is unaware of the
contradiction between his statement and the following: The term
"systems" would also include his culturally inspired "divisive
principle." Yet Sachs would have us believe this principle is the
only possible explanation for the widespread similarity of scales
and the universal use of octaves and other perfect intervals.20
But scales cannot be caused by, and yet precede, systems; the
same being true of perfect intervals. Surely, too, a complex scale
cannot arise independently of both, "systems" on one hand (as
Sachs agrees), and also free from any natural pressures on the
other hand (which Sachs also claims). If that were so, then agree
ment of the scales in so many different areas and periods in the
world would have to be a miracle of coincidence. One cannot
exclude all the explanations of the scale.
The origin of the scale, therefore, in the face of so many other
possible (equal) scales and among peoples who have no "system"
of tuning or arriving at scales; its persistence in so many primitive
societies on the one hand and more technologically developed
civilizations on the other; its popularity against the use of other
scales or systems of music; the widespread use of its tones in
melodies even among groups who do not conceive of "scales" as
such - all these strongly indicate that formation of the penta
tonic, far from being either culturally arbitrary, or widely
distributed merely by habit, is due to the operation of more
34
universal and natural impulses.
This is especially true considering that many cultures indulge
in painstaking efforts to achieve symmetry and equality, in
design, in mathematics, and in measurement tools involved in
other human pursuits. Yet, at the same time, some of these
societies uncomplainingly maintain and enjoy the asymmetrical
series of pitch that is the pentatonic scale.
We have seen so far how cultural explanations of the penta
tonic scale are not satisfactory. And this is true also regarding the
widespread use of our familiar 7-note Do, Re, Mi scale. In Africa,
although the pentatonic is used there, one finds wider use of this
7-note kind of scale (heptatonic, diatonic), similar to our own.
Ward, quoted by Merriam, wrote, "I am not prepared to accept
the theory of a peculiarly African scale." (That is, a scale which
is peculiar to Africa and different from all other scales.) "I think
that African music is perfectly intelligible on a diatonic basis."
(Meaning that the notes are similar to those in the West.)
Merriam adds later, "Ward further points out that in his own
experience African musicians accepted African music played on
the piano save for the beginning and ending portamento ... 'In
other words, I see no reason to suppose the existence of an
"African" scale, but rather I think that African melodies are
essentially diatonic in structure, modified by a liberal, and
unregulated, use of portamento . . ."'21 (Portamento is the
sliding or slurring of the voice in singing from one note to
another; sometimes called glissando.)
Writing of the 7-note heptatonic in general, Bruno Nettl notes:
The hexatonic and heptatonic scales in primitive music are
almost always parallel to the diatonic scale: the former resemble
the hexachords of Guido d'Arezzo; the latter, the modes of
Western music." (Guido d'Arezzo was a medieval musician and
teacher who worked up a set of hexachords, or 6-note scales.)
Nettl continues, saying that neither the hexatonic nor diatonic
"are in much use, but a few hexatonic and heptatonic melodies
are found in most areas. Only in Negro Africa do they occur
frequently, and even there they do not predominate. The inter
vals employed in heptatonic scales are standardized to an
exceptional degree: major seconds are almost always included;
minor and augmented seconds are rare, as are any segments of a
chromatic scale."22
This scale, then, is also widely found, though not as much as
the pentatonic, but enough to be a problem for any cultural
35
theories to explain. It too, like the pentatonic, is unequal or
uneven. Notice that in the pentatonic scale, there are large
"gaps" shown by dashes: Do, Re, -, Fa, Sol, La, -, Do'. If one
fills in these gaps, between Re and Fa, and between La and Do',
then a number of 7-note scales may be formed (depending what
notes are used to "fill in the gaps"), among them, our familiar
major and minor scales. These scales do not now become equally
spaced by filling in the gaps in the pentatonic. Now there are
two "squeezed" areas - the opposite of gaps - between Mi and
Fa, and between Ti and Do' in the major scale, called semitones.
(The other notes of the scale are separated by a whole tone.) As
is it still unequal, then, like the pentatonic, it also could not be
expected to be found in so many nations merely by accultura
tion, habit, or, on the other hand, by accident. (A look at the
piano keyboard will show that both diatonic and pentatonic
scales are uneven, as there are different numbers of notes
between some of the notes of both scales.)
The difference between the two scales (pentatonic and the
7-note diatonic) are the 3rd and 7th notes in the latter scale.
These two (Mi andTi) are recurring as our discussion progresses
and are worth remembering. For example, another similarity
among the music of different peoples becomes apparent in the
following points, and is centered around these two notes.
In Scottish, Irish, some aspects of Eastern music, and in other
places, the 7-note scale appears to grow out of the pentatonic
and this happens in accord with a relatively singular pattern of
development: The added notes to the gaps (the 3rd and the 7th)
in the pentatonic are often tuned with either unsureness, or
variety, of pitch.* Carl Engel, quoting an example of a Scottish
Air, writes of it, "The words are more modern than the melody,
which is strictly pentatonic, with the exception of the fifth
(measure), where the minor seventh . . . occurs," and a little

*Various ethnomusicologists and others often parade this^lee-

way" in tuning as an example of the "arbitrary" nature of tones
and intervals among the musics of various people and claim it as
evidence against any kind of natural or non-cultural theories on
the causes of scales. A discussion of this properly belongs to a
later part of the book. However, the existence in general of
similar scales and of widespread justly-tuned ("perfect") intervals
is well enough established to provide reason to search further
than cultural relativism for an explanation of these phenomena.

36
later, he writes, "Traces of the pentatonic scale are perceptible
also in Irish national tunes, although to a less extent than in
Scottish," due to the occasional introduction of "notes-in-the-
gaps." In the Irish melody Speic Seoach, which was transmitted
to a writer in c. 1786, Engel notes the "major seventh . . . occurs
therein twice, but it does not constitute an essential note of the
melody; in fact, it rather gives the impression of having
accidentally crept in from carelessly drawing the voice over from
the sixth to the octave."23 (My em ph.)
Above, we see the seventh (Ti) of two types (major and minor)
being added to basic pentatonic melodies.
Regarding Africa, Jones writes: "I have lived in Central Africa
for over twenty years but to my knowledge / have never heard
an African sing the 3rd and 7th degrees of a major scale in
tune. "24 Merriam notes: "There has been some discussion of an
African scale in which the third and seventh degrees are flatted
or, more specifically, neutral between a major and minor interval.
This concept has been advanced especially by those concerned
with analysis of jazz music, since in jazz usage these two degrees
of the scale - called 'blue' notes - are commonly flatted and
since the third degree, especially, is frequently given a variety of
pitches in any single jazz performance."25
Sachs reports this phenomenon of the East Asians: "The ryo
scale . . ." (an anhemitonic pentatonic scale) "was heptatonized
. . by the insertion of a sharpened fourth and a major seventh: F
GAbCDeF." (However, in a slightly different species of the
same scale, beginning instead on C, this would be a 3rd and
sharpened 7th: C D e F G A b C.) Sachs continues, "The addi
tional notes kept a transitional, auxiliary character and had not
even the privilege of individual names: the Chinese called them
by the name of the note directly above with the epithet pien,
which means 'on the way to,' 'becoming.'" Notice the similarity
here, of concepts surrounding these notes, with that of the Scot
tish and Irish view of these same notes (as in the earlier quote by
Engel), in which the notes are formed by "drawing the voice over
from the sixth to the octave" and are considered inessential. In
later Western music these notes become termed "leading notes"
or "passing notes." Later, Sachs concludes: "The evolution of
East Asiatic scales now begins to stand out. It starts from strictly
pentatonic scales with thirds of any size. In a second stage,
heptatonics appear in the form of seven loci for strictly penta
tonic scales. In a third, the two 'skipped' loci are admitted to the
37
scale, though only as passing notes. Finally, they are fully
incorporated."26
Similar processes, similar scales, similar intervals, even similar
concepts as language usage shows: "passing notes" in the West,
"on the way to," or "becoming" in the East - all indicate a
lawful, rather than a culturally relative or arbitrary, development.
There is still another reason to believe that these scales have
developed independently. The Apache Indians appear to have
developed a fiddle by themselves. (The peculiarity of its con-

Apache Indian
fiddle

struction denies Asian influence.) Such a spontaneous

development in one case indicates the possibility in other cases,
such as scales. Edgerly points out that the "musical bow was
found among the California Indians, and at wide intervals
elsewhere. Even fiddles, of a kind, appeared; the Apache had a
peculiar one string fiddle, sometimes made from the stalk of a
yucca flower."27 Mrs. Jean Jenkins, member of the staff of the
Horniman Museum says that the "Chukchansi Indians of
California use" (the musical bow) "for mourning the dead."28
(Sachs says that stringed instruments are entirely lacking in the
Western Hemisphere. It is true they are certainly scarce. But their
development, however rare, is an example of the very process
(Fegun all over again by American Indians) which occurred in

38
Europe and Africa, where stringed instruments were brought to a

When all of the above is reviewed, we see a grand array of

phenomena which cultural theories cannot and have never

39
explained. But the acoustical nature of sound does explain them
(we will see next), in the most exact way and with the most
amazing parallels. This is true in spite of the fact that music was
evolved by people who until this and the last century had
virtually no knowledge of acoustics.
Of course, it is true that no matter how well a theory explains
facts, it may not be a true theory. But the theory which is
expounded in this book cannot be rejected just because a better
theory might be evolved. So far, the theory of acoustics, together
with an accounting of real cultural and social influences, best
explains the development of music, and I believe the theory in
this book on the development of the scale and harmony best
explains the change from non-chord music (homophonic music)
to harmonic music (polyphonic music). No other theories can
explain the development without serious inadequacies. A
dialectical* approach is needed in order to account for the often
contradictory phenomena.
Some writers can't think of or accept two opposing realities at
once and so they reject one reality to "explain" the other. Other
authors have touched on the answers accidentally or unsurely.
Meyer says: "Thus once we leave the octave, and perhaps the
fifth and fourth . . . cultural factors play an increasingly
important role in the development . . ."29 (My emphasis.) As for
the octave, 4th and 5th, Meyer proposes further "study." This is
Meyer's conclusion. Starting from this, we can begin the study,
with some simple fundamentals of acoustics, explaining what has
already been presented as unsolved problems in this section, as
well as going on to other aspects of music, the scale, harmony,
etc.

*Dialectics, among other things, deals with the simultaneous

existence of opposites and attempts to explain the resulting
contradictions.
40
The Theory
 Development of the Scale and Melody

Overtones and Intervals

The existence of overtones has been one of the bases on which
scales have evolved. To begin with, let's examine overtones and
the characteristics they have.
Overtones are often known by other terms, such as "partials,"
"harmonic series," and "harmonics." The illustration below gives
an example of how overtones are produced. What is shown is

^ ^ '

2^ ^
f
three of the many ways in which a single violin string vibrates,
when one note is produced. However, "one" note is really a

43
complex of many notes: Each of the three examples a, b, and c
produces a different note. Other notes are produced by vibra
tions of the string in even smaller segments producing
successively higher notes. The string vibrates in all these ways
simultaneously. All of the notes thus produced make up what is
called the overtone series. If the string in example is a C-string,
then the overtones it produces are C\ G, C", E, G', Bb and C"\

1111 11 llil 111 till 111 I 1 HI II 1111

'overtone C G C E G' C"

Series 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

All together they sound to us like one note, but this one note we
hear is really a compound thing, made up of all these overtones.
Overtones also have relative strengths of audibility. In the
example the key-board also illustrates the overtone series in the
order of strength of audibility. Each smaller segment in which
the string vibrates produces a weaker overtone until,after the 6th
or 7th overtone, they are beyond human perception. But those
shown above are the ones which are audible to the ear. "Theo
retically," says Jeans, the overtone series "ascends to infinity;
often in practice harmonics beyond the sixth or seventh"
(overtone) "are too weak to affect the ear . . ."30 The above
overtones are the ones which we hear although we are not
conscious of it. But proof that we do hear them is that, if we
didn't, we wouldn't know the difference between a note on the
violin from the same one on a trumpet, or between a plucked
string and one which is bowed.
Overtones are usually referred to by the number which is
written beneath them in the above example. However, they are
often called by the name of the interval which they form with
their original note. For example, the 2nd overtone of C is G, but
G forms a 5th with the original C when set within the range of

44
one octave. In the example below, the overtones are shown all
within the range of an octave to illustrate the intervals which are
formed.

Minor
,— 7th— Bb

I Octave -1

The more audible overtones, when played in a chord, form the

C major chord, which is the basic type of chord in Western
harmonic music.
Also, it can be readily heard, by playing the two keyboard
examples above as chords, that the first example sounds more
richly harmonious than the second. This is because the first
example is the one which represents the actual arrangement
which overtones form in relation to the parent note. The second
example, within the range of an octave, is a distortion of the
overtone series.
It is already possible to explain the prevalence of the octave in
the musical systems of all cultures, because the octave is the first
and most audible overtone of any note. If the note is C, the first
overtone is C - an octave higher. By existing in nature, it is
discovered by men in all nations whatever their culture may be in
any nation. The same is true of the interval of the 5th. The
prevalence of the 5 th can be explained because the 2nd overtone
of any note, when played an octave lower, forms a 5th with that
note.
The 4th, which we said in Part One was also present in every
musical scale known, is not formed by being an overtone of any
note. The explanation of the 4th is a little different. To begin a
partial explanation here, it should first be pointed out that there
are mathematical ratios which exist between sets of any two

45
notes. These ratios represent the vibrations of strings or columns
of air, for different notes, in relation to each other. For example,
Middle C has 264 vibrations per second. C an octave higher has
double that amount. If any starting note is assigned the number
1, then the octave to that note would be, accordingly, 2. In this
way any octave has a ratio of 2*.l. In the 5th, the upper note of
that interval vibrates 3 times to the lower note's 2 vibrations, and
so has a ratio of 2-3; the 4th has a ratio of 3:4 and the 3rd has a
ratio of 4:5. The remainder of sets have increasingly complex
ratios. Those notes which have complex ratios have wave lengths
which do not match: This causes the crests and valleys of these
waves to interrupt each other, causing rapid intermittent weak
ness and strength, and these are registered by the ear in what are
called "beats."

SOLID LINE: — One note

DOTTED LINE — Another, die sonant note

Pythagoras' question, "Why is consonance determined by the

ratios of small whole numbers?" is answered by Helmholtz who
says that the ear "regards as harmonious only such excitements
of the nerves as continue without disturbance."31 (My em
phasis.) In other words, the more complex ratios reflect
combinations of tones which cause "beats" and these are heard
as "disturbing sensations in the ear. Only those notes whose
number of vibrations can be reduced down to simple ratios, such
as those of the octave, 4th and 5th, have the least beats. That
these interruptions are unpleasant is understood if likened to the
4e
eye, which finds rapidly flickering light unpleasant. In the same
way, the ear, and the nerves within, are strained to have to so
rapidly adjust to the sudden changes in the wave pattern origina
ting from tones which have complex ratios. (The question here is
simplified. See Appendix II, the latter half of article: "Two
Arguments Against Overtone Theories.")
We can now account for the wide existence of the 4th, even
though it is not among the overtones in the overtone series. It is
widespread in all musical systems because it has a low, simple
number ratio: 3:4. This is the third simplest ratio, only those of
the 5th and octave being more simple. The history of what has
been considered consonant has been the history of those tones
with such simple ratios, in general.
The reason why the 4th has a simple ratio and is consonant is
because it is a 5th "in reverse" so to speak. What is meant is this:
If we start with C, we can produce its 2nd overtone, G, and as
stated, this G can be placed within the range of an octave and
form the interval of a 5th with the original C. However, what
note do we start from which will produce C as its 2nd overtone
(and thus, the interval of a 5 th to that unknown note)? That
note is F. That is, just as the 2nd overtone of C is its 5th (G), the
C itself is the 2nd overtone of an F below it. This F, if placed
above the C, will make the interval of the 4th to our C. The
illustration below shows this: The F produces the C as an over-

*4ths"

tone (and 5th). But when we place the F above the C, it produces
a 4th. Thus the elusive 4th is a 5th by inversion or "in reverse."
Not an overtone itself of C, the F produces the C as its overtone,
and thus, with an inverted overtone relationship, has, like the
5th, a simple ratio.
(One may reasonably ask when do we call the interval of the
two notes F and C a fourth, and when a fifth? The current usage

47
of numbers and terms in musicology is unfortunate, and leads to
this confusion. Intervals should be reckoned upward from the
note which we start from because the overtone series runs
upward. From the starting note C, F should be the "4th" of it,
no matter where the F is played after the C, above or below it.
Similarly, if we start on F and then go to C, this, then.should be
called a 5th. The numbers originally come from the number of
keys between the intervals on the piano, as we can see above. But
whether you go up or down will affect the number of keys
between C and F. If C-F was no longer called by a number, but,
for example, was called by a name, such as cadence, the con
fusion would end, and C to any F would be a cadence, and that
would be that. The importance of which note one starts from in
forming an interval of two successive notes cannot here be taken
up, but will be at the end of the chapter, in the section on
cadence.)
However, at this point, before we have gotten into any real
depth of analysis, we have a powerful indication of why the
octave, 4th and 5th are so widely used in all musical scales: No
other notes have the close overtone relations as do the octave,
4th and 5th.
Here is how Helmholtz describes the octave:
"When, then, a higher voice afterwards executes the same . .
an octave higher, we hear again a part of what we heard before,
namely the even numbered partial tones of the former . . and at
the same time we hear nothing that we had not previously
heard."32 (His emphasis.)
Helmholtz goes on to explain that the same is true of the 5th
and its "reverse," the 4th, although we hear this to a lesser degree
because the 5th is a less audible overtone than the octave.
Howard and Lyons say of this:
"The art of music and the practice of harmony have been
developed according to what has pleased human ears; they have
been evolved by musicians, not by scientists. Nevertheless, as one
compares the growth of the art of music and the extension of its
basic principles with the laws of acoustics, he finds an interesting
parallel between the two. In other words, men have found most
pleasing to their ears the combinations of those tones that bear
certain mathematical relationships" (ratios) "of vibrations to one
another, even though they may not have been aware that those
relationships existed." A little later they say:
"Authorities may differ as to the actual connection between
4s
the so-called harmonic series of overtones and the development
of tonal combinations in music. It is impossible, however, to
ignore the parallel between the two, one a science and the other
an art, and to fail to observe that the tones which have been
accepted by Western ears as producing agreeable, or consonant,
sounds in combination with other given tones have corresponded
roughly with the natural overtones of those given tones. More
over, the historic order in which these tones have come into the
musical vocabulary forms an almost identical pattern with the
harmonic series."33
In other words, it's likely that it is because of these mathe
matical ratios that man found certain notes consonant, and the
major chord agreeable, and not likely that the whole thing is a
coincidence, especially when the historic entrance of notes into
musical scales occurred in the same order as the harmonic series,
that is, in the order of the degree of audibility of the overtones.
The only exception to this is the 4th, which is not an overtone
of the tonic, but whose 2nd overtone is that tonic.

Relativity of Consonances
The consonances we have already mentioned, when they are
played in different ways, change their physical degree of
consonance.
When they are played in the bass, they are much less con
sonant, because the overtones of each note of the consonance
become more audible. The reason overtones of notes are more
audible in the bass is because they are brought, by the lower
tonic (or starting note), more closely to the center of the range
of human hearing. If you go low enough, you will not even hear
the original note, but will hear its overtones. (The same is true in
reverse with high notes. Their overtones are weaker because they
sound out of the range of human hearing, or at the edge of that
range) As the overtones get louder, some of them form beats with
the others. For example, the 5th: C-G: The overtones of C are C,
G, E, Bb. The overtones of G are G, D, B and F. Now three
overtones of G (G, D, B) are in a relation of 5ths to three over
tones of C (C, G, E). (The others are virtually inaudible.) But
these six also form a 2nd (C-D), a minor third (E-G) and a semi
tone (B-C). These are not so consonant with each other (they
cause beats), and are more easily heard in the bass, when the
interval C-G is played there.
Another way of affecting the degree of consonance of the

49
intervals is to spread them apart from each other. This can be
done by raising the upper note of the interval an octave, or
lowering the lower note an octave. This, like the range in which
consonances are played, will also perceptibly change their degree
of consonance.
For example, the C below middle C, played with the G above
middle C, produces a more consonant 5th (now it is really a
12th, 12 notes apart) than the 5th played within the range of
only one octave.

This is because the larger 5th, or 12th, is simpler than the

smaller. The larger has a ratio of 1 :3 while the smaller has a ratio
of 2:3. 1 :3 is simpler than 2:3.
The 4th, made into an 11th, becomes notably dissonant, and
its ratio changes from 3:4 to a more complex 3:8.

The only notes whose interval ratios become simpler, and

whose consonances improve, when spread over a wider range, are
those notes which are part of the overtone series of any given
note (of C in the example above). This is because by being spread
apart, the notes of the consonance approach, or match, the
50
actual distances apart which they have as overtones of their
tonic. When they are played within the range of only one octave,
their arrangement is a distortion of the overtone series, although
the general relations of consonance still remain between the two
notes. The differences in richness and sonority can be heard
easily when the examples are compared on the piano.
The 3rd, which has a ratio of 4:5, when played in its form of a
10th, has a ratio of 2:5, and in its even larger form of a 17th has
a ratio of 1:5, which makes it more consonant than either the
ordinary 5th (2:3) or the 4th (3:4).

Most primitive instruments never had such a wide range, and

only when the range increased were musicians able to produce
the 3rd in the form of the 10th or 17th. The development of
stringed instruments provided this range and allowed primitives
to make clearer and more defined low notes than on the drum.
Around the time of the development of stringed instruments,
3rds began to be included in the scale as a melodic step,
becoming slowly, by the increased range in which they could be
played, a consonance of higher merit. But this is only part of the
reason for the 3rd ultimately becoming a member of the scale.
The most important is the fact that it is an overtone of the tonic,
the original note of the scale, although a weaker one than the
5i
5th, the 4th, or the octave.
As the relative values of the consonances can change by having
them spread apart in multiples of octaves, various societies and
cultures were bound to slowly change their appreciation of the
different consonances when they developed the ability to
produce these more widely spread intervals. Nevertheless, it was
slow, and the ancient Greeks, who were able to produce the
larger intervals, and who firmly included the 3rd in the scale,
kept their music mostly within the range of an octave, because it
was always to be sung or used to accompany poetry. This had the
effect of keeping the 3rd in its least consonant form and holding
back its being included among the more important consonances
for a long time. (To be in the scale, the 3rd did not have to be
also considered a consonance of the highest order.)
The interval of the 6th, like the 4th, is less consonant as it is
spread apart. However, the interval of the minor 7th (the 6th
overtone of a note) is very much more consonant when spread
over a wider range:

What we see here, then, is not only that there is a general

historical parallel between changes in concepts as different
intervals were able to be made, but concretely, some intervals,
such as the octave, 5th, and3rd, improve with the increased range
capacities of early music, while others either become less
important in relation to the others, or retain their original appeal,
such as the 4th and 6 th, which are most consonant in their
narrower ranges. (In late medieval times, the 4th eventually came
less and less to be favored; the third, more and more.)
We can partly understand why the third today is considered as
a high consonance even though the octave and 5th, accousti
52
cally, in all these intervals' narrow range spans, are really more
consonant. However, the thoughtful reader may have realized
that the word consonance has become one which now encom
passes, in the discussion, more than one idea: that of acoustic
consonance and that of appeal, or beauty. Such a use of terms
becomes unfortunate if continued so vaguely defined.
A quote from Helmholtz reflects our modern taste, and also
begins to try to make a distinction between consonance and
esthetics. He also throws a "fly" into the ointment regarding the
6th: "Esthetically it should be remarked, that of all ... the
major Sixth and major Third have . . . the highest degree of
thorough beauty. This possibly depends upon their position at
the limit of clearly intelligible intervals. The steps of a Fifth or
Fourth are too clear, and hence are, as it were, drily intelligible
.."34
It seems natural for one to wonder, if the 6th's most "beauti
ful" range span was already at the disposal of primitives in their
music, why this interval did not find a more important place in
the scale sooner. To answer that it is necessary to further define
the differences between consonance and beauty, a most im
portant concept to our pursuits from here on.

Consonance and Beauty

There is a distinction between consonance and beauty. The
octave, when played as two notes simultaneously, is a conson
ance; it is indeed hard to tell, on good instruments, that two
notes and not merely one are actually being played. It is easy to
understand that the octave to any tonic, by being so similar to
the tonic, does not offer the musician much beauty. It is, rather,
the almost total lack ofdissonance which interests the musician in
the octave. The octave is used when two melodies cannot be
played or sung together by beginning on the same note. The same
is true of the 4th and 5th, which have been used as intervals
expressing sameness, although to a lesser degree than the octave.
On the other hand, the 3rd is less similar to its tonic than
different from it, although it is an overtone and part of the tonic.
Except for this similarity as an overtone of the tonic, all the
overtones of the 3rd are different from those of the tonic, and do
not form very consonant intervals with them. (Compare the over
tones of C (C, G, E, Bb) with those of its 3rd, E (E, B, G#, D):
The only matching, necessary to consider it a consonance at all,
is of the 3rd itself with the E in the overtones of C.) As a result,

53
the 3rd, E, lies on the border of consonance and dissonance, is
both the r^.me and different in relation to the tonic, and is to us,
especially in its wider range, more interesting and beautiful than
the other consonances. In its smaller range, such as at the
command of primitives, it is not as noticeable. Despite its
potential beauty, it had to wait until Greek times to get into the
scale. Another reason for its exclusion from the scale is given
below regarding the 6th, but also applies to the 3rd.
The 6th, which for the same reasons as the 3rd is interesting
and beautiful to us, but whose most consonant range is within
that at the command of primitives, also was excluded from the
scale until after the octave, 4th and 5th were firmly established.
The above distinction, or contradiction, between consonance and
beauty, provides the ability to explain this. Although the 6th is
beautiful to us, it is so only because of our harmonic context in
which the 6th is always placed, and this context is remembered
by us at all times. The primitive, who was without possession of
this harmony context, found the 6th more dissonant than con
sonant. To put it another way, that side of the above contra
diction which shows the relationship or sameness between the
notes of the 3rd (or 6th), is only clear, or made more apparent,
when certain other notes come before and after these intervals.
Without such notes, then only that side of the contradiction
which expresses the separateness or distinctiveness of the notes
forming the intervals can be strongly felt. In the case of the 6th,
this separateness is clear because the 6th note in the scale has no
overtone relationship to its tonic. Regarding the third, as noted
earlier, only one of its overtones match that of its tonic. (More
about the above harmonic context and an example of it will be
given in the chapter on harmony. Why primitives were not able
to provide themselves with such a context will also be under
stood in the chapter on harmony.)
The lack of means to integrate the 3rd and 6th in primitive
music is why Helmholtz reports that the 3rd and 6th were inter
vals which "all antiquity . . . refused to accept as consonances'.'35
Nevertheless, for other reasons, the 6th finally came into the
scale and was followed later by the 3rd. These other reasons will
be seen to ultimately relate to the same causes as the origin of
the octave, 4th and 5th.
So far, the whole pattern of how the notes entered the scale is
almost exactly explained by the first laws of acoustics. It is as if
the very dry laws themselves were a history of musical develop
54
ment. The further we examine this, the better it gets (or worse) -
depending what one would rather believe about the cause of the
development of the scale.
Up to now, I have tried to show how overtones strongly
influenced the discovery of the octave, 4th and 5th and other,
lesser consonances. Before we go into the theory behind the
formation of the whole scale, let's examine a cultural viewpoint
on how the musical scales of man were formed.

A Cultural Theory of the Scale

We must remember that we grow up in a culture in which the
diatonic scale is the only scale. As far as we are concerned, the
notes on the piano are the "only" notes. This is not so of the
music of primitive people, or of people with primitive scales. In
the West, we have 12 notes between an octave and in addition, a
7-note scale. Primitives usually had a 5-note scale and other scales
consisting of various numbers of notes besides. The Arabic and
Persian system of music had 1 7 notes dividing an octave and also
several 7 and 8 note scales. Many of these scales included notes
which cannot be reproduced on the piano.
Herrman Smith, author of The World's Earliest Music, explains
his version of the origin of these scales:
"Those who, seeing the holes that are cut upon a common
flute, or oboe, consider that in the origin of the instrument they
were done in order fitly to comport with a musical scale, are
wrong in their supposition . . . the distances of the holes, spaced
for the convenience of the fingers, ordained the musical
scales."36
This is undoubtedly true. However, Smith also writes:
"The holes were cut to suit the spread of the fingers, and the
scales which followed . . . were accepted by primitive man; the
ear got to like the sequence of sounds, and so it worked into the
brain of the race, that ages after, it became an intellectually
accepted musical scale or relation of notes and was varied by
evolution . . . Our so-called divine music is to the Chinese miser
able . . . and the sounds which please Asiatics . . are to us
distracting din, positively painful to listen to. The liking of the
ear in music is a liking by inheritance, transmitted as a facial type
is."37 (My emphasis.)
To conclude, Smith quotes his friend, Dr. A. J. Ellis (translator
of Helmholtz's work on acoustics and founder of modern
ethomusicology):
55
 "The final conclusion is, that the musical scale is not one, not
'natural,' nor even founded necessarily on the laws of the consti
tution of sound, but very diverse, very artificial, very captious."
Smith adds, "He has actually caught the scale in the act of
changing by a caprice at the bidding of a finger. On the lute, in
the very early Persian and Arabic scales, the middle finger had
nothing to do, and to find employment for the lazy finger, a
ligature was . . tied halfway between two existing notes . . . and
so added two notes to the scale."38
The flaws in elementary logic by these men are based in their
incapacity to generalize. They cannot generalize that an overall
process exists despite momentary and singular vagaries within that
process. On the other hand, when they do generalize, it is from
an example which is atypical.
If, as Smith says, the scale was so liked by the ear, and had
worked into the "brain of the race," then what caused its evolu
tion? That is, what caused men to like something new -
something tmworked into the brain of the race - in place of the
former, established and liked scale? Something caused it. Was it
the same "caprice" which gave rise to the first scale? Is caprice
the cause of all development?
And what caused this evolution to take place, not just any old
way, but in the long run - parallel to the laws of acoustics, after
all? Smith and Ellis offer no explanation for this. They seize
upon a peculiarity in a nation, caused by that nation's cultural
rituals, institutions, concepts or practices, and try to prove from
it that nothing, therefore, is natural about the scale at all.
It is true that the uses of certain sounds in Chinese music may
have had their origin in the chance thickness of the flute-maker's
fingers. The notes so formed often came to be used in connection
with Chinese religion or ritual, and they then became codified by
an institution or decree. All this is not a natural development,
but it doesn't mean that the scale is wholly artificial.
The notes produced by the ligature Ellis describes are not a
development which is found in every musical system. (Although
it has parallels in several.) Neither is chow mein found in every
society's cuisine. But does this logically mean that eating is,
therefore, a cultural peculiarity? Of course not. Similarly, the act
of music making: of making scales which include the octave, 4th
and 5th, is not proven to be artificial in origin because of a
possible artificial origin of the above Arabic additionsto the scale.
(Even at that, the notes produced in this case are not even by
56
"caprice" as we will see in this chapter in the section on comple
tion of the scale.)
Flowing also from ideas like those of Ellis and Smith is one
explanation of the octave, 4th and 5th, which goes like this: As
one note is actually heard as a combination of that note with its
overtones, we got used to this. Then, when we began to play
these overtones as separate notes, instead of merely hearing them
subliminally, we consciously recognized them as related to the
original note. Moreover, as any note with its overtones were in
the "brain of the race" anyway, we not only recognized rela
tions, but liked them because we had always been used to them.
Although there is something true in such an explanation, it is
not simply a question of having gotten used to notes. Man could
have liked many other sounds if it were only a question of having
gotten used to them, such as thunder, banging, howling wind,
and so on. But man has always made a distinction between noise
and music, both of which he was and is "used to."

Noise and Music

It is true that man has been able to find noise "pleasant", but
only because of what he associates with it, not because he gets
used to it. Let's look at what Smith says about the Chinese:
"One of the most curious traits in the character of the human
animal is an unfeigned delight in super-exaggerated noise . . .
everywhere we find that this sheer delight in noise, called music,
is manifest and on record. Not merely called so, but dignified and
accepted as music." Smith is here referring to ear-splitting orgies
of natives engaged in trying to scare away "dragons threatening
to devour the moon."39 But Smith is not correct when he says
that the Chinese considered this "music." (They may have called
it so only euphemistically, in the same way we might call other
people "sweet." We don't go round tasting each other, but our
descriptions a hundred years from now might make a foolish
historian think so.) Smith's own description of the purpose of
the noise-making by the Chinese demonstrates this: Notice that
the more immusical they became, the more they believed this
would scare dragons. This is, on their part, an admission of the
distinction between noise and music and is a similar distinction
to ours. We, also, believe that noise has "repelling" qualities. The
more success they had in this social undertaking in defense of the
moon, the more esthetic pleasure the Chinese got. Not their
noise, but their success, pleased them, whatever they may have
57
called it.
However, the Chinese no longer view the moon as threatened
by dragons. What happens to the above "music" when the super
stition associated with it is no longer believed? — It also is given
up. (Today, in China, the state has endorsed both Western style
harmony and Western instruments (including the piano) as
"revolutionary." In Japan, My Fair Lady was a relative popular
success.)
Smith says, "The love of noise belongs to us ... I confess to
thoroughly enjoying a thunderstorm, my nature is absorbed in an
energy greater than the individual, and I revel in it."40 I confess
the same thing too. On the other hand, some are not so happily
affected, and the thunder, which identifies the storm, as it does
wind, rain and darkness, is an unpleasant sound to them. To
primitive farmers, thunder was alternately "music to their ears"
or unpleasant, depending whether they needed rain or had had
too much of it for the sake of their crops.
There are many sounds which are enjoyable in so far as they
herald a total event, which we have reason to view as desirable or
fascinating. But the various possible attitudes to such events do
not help us to understand if the sounds in question are pleasant
"in themselves."
Can we ever separate such sounds from association with the
event? Well, Smith, perhaps, never heard of the hi-fi phonograph.
But if we could play the sound of thunder on a high-fidelity
phonograph for him (assuming he'd not be a mad-faddist about
super-frequency-modulation sets) would he have enjoyed it then?
The owner of the set will enjoy anything his set reproduces faith
fully. Realism is his watchword, not just beauty, if that. Would
Smith, however, enjoy the sound of thunder without the
accompanying grand spectacle of the clouds, colors and motion,
without the whistling wind blowing across his face, without the
cool burst of rain? To the extent he might find the remarkable
reproduction of the sounds on the set interesting is perhaps the
only way he would enjoy it. But other than that, the sound is not
the same thing. The sound of thunder is noise, which is only
beautiful (to Smith and me) in association with the total event of
a storm.
At any rate, the sound of thunder and such are not best-sellers
on records, hi -fi bugs being the main purchasers.
The Chinese (and Smith, unconsciously), make, then, the
distinction between noise and music. Why do the Chinese choose

5»
noise and not music to scare their dragons?* That is, what quali
ties does noise have that makes the Chinese think that it will be
repulsive to their dragons? If culturalists' theories cannot answer

this, we must look elsewhere. The answer lies in the acoustical

difference between noise and music. This will also help us to
understand the completion of the scale. First, here is a brief
summary and conclusion about some of the things already taken
up.
In the first part of the book we said that two things are
responsible for the overall development of music. One is the state
of economic development of society with all the ideas, institu
tions and practices which flow from this economic base. The
other is the nature of the senses and of sound.
How do these two motive forces operate in relation to each
other? They are contradictory. They combine with each other,
but like two fighters in a clinch. This contradiction causes pheno
mena that confuse many musicologists. They find it difficult to
*In Chinese temples where emphasis was on music to inspire
reverence, and not on noise to scare dragons, there are found
lovely melodies which are, if strange, still sensible to Western
ears. There is no harmony, of course, because primitives rarely
combined sounds deliberately.
59
explain one thing when its opposite exists with it at the same
time. They want history to be one way or another, but not more
than one way at a time.
The use to which music is put varies in different societies, at
different times. Its use is part and parcel of some productive
process, or part of, and subservient to, some institution which
arises in a social system, like the church, for example. Standards
of beauty, as has been shown, often originated from the produc
tive process or its institutions. As long as the ritual, religion,
institution or ceremony with which music (whether consonant or
dissonant) is associated is historically justified and is viable, then
its success and the respect it engenders are transferred to the
music, and the music is considered beautiful (or reverent, sacred,
soulful, etc.). This is the same as the hunter who finds certain
animals "beautiful" on sight, as he looks down the shaft of his
arrow pointed at the animal's heart. It means the hunter eats.
The beauty of that thought is transferred to the animal he sights.
The earlier food-gatherer hated the sight of animals because they
competed with him for food and got in his way. He thought they
were ugly. In general, as soon as one social system decays, most
of the trappings developed by that system, including certain
standards of beauty, also decay, and are replaced by other
standards, and sometimes by their opposites. It would not be
unreasonable to conclude that whatever artistic or esthetic
elements do not decay with the dying society, but grow and
prosper even more, must still have reason for their continued
existence, must have some other source of viability besides
association with any institution which may have gone to ashes
with the old society. It must have a source which is not culturally
inspired.
One of the things not decaying in the music of any people
were separations made of musical tones from certain natural and
man-made noises, which included ungraded tones, such as the
whistling of wind, splashing of water, etc., and also from those
which may have been earlier enjoyed by the same peoples
because of associations made with them. In the illustration
below, we see the reason for the separation.
The first line represents the wave of a simple musical tone. The
air carries this motion to the ear. It is musical because it is
simple. The second line depicts the wave motion of noise. The
ear picks up that complex motion and registers it, but in a
relatively confused way, because it is irregular.
60
 At what point does musical tone become noise? By looking at
the illustrations it can be seen that the pattern of the first one is
easy to decipher with the eye, the other is not. This is true of the
ear, too. When the pattern or regularity of the sound becomes
imperceptible to the ear, when it cannot be understood (and
when it produces beats), then we have crossed over into noise.
Jeans says of wavelengths, "Indeed, it is this regularity which
distinguishes music from mere noise. "41
The siren, or sliding sound, although its pitch at any given
instant is a musical one, is nevertheless avoided historically as
noise or dissonance. It is true there is the use in some musical
cultures of "speech-song," crying sounds, howling and the rest of
such sounds, and these are examples of the sliding sound. But
societies have in the long run shown a certain development from
that, and on the other hand, such things represent more a form
of mimicry than music. It is imitation and drama that count, and
not the abstract value of the sound. (Today in Jazz this has
become slightly different, but more of this later.)
"When the wind howls and its pitch rises or falls in insensible
gradations without any break," says Helmholtz, "we have
nothing to measure the variations of pitch, nothing by which we
can compare the later with the earlier sounds, and comprehend
the extent of the change. The whole phenomenon produces a
confused, unpleasant impression. The musical scale is as it were
the dividing rod, by which we measure progressions in pitch, as
61
rhythm measures progression in time . . ."
(This is easier to see by comparing to change in people. We
know from our own experience that over a period of time, the
change in a person's appearance, due to age, or gain or loss of
weight, is difficult to fully appreciate by one close to the
changed person, especially if the change has been slight, because
the association of the persons is continuous. Only the use of old
photographs (or of reports from casual acquaintances), which by
being representative of steps in the change, by being suspensions
of the continuous gradations of the change, capturing it at its
different stages, can make the actual amount of change apparent
and measurable. In the formation of scales, composed of differ
ent, but definite, pitches of notes, we see the desire expressed to
gage change in musical pitch.*) Helmholtz continues:
"We consequently find the most complete agreement among
all nations that use music at all, from the earliest to the latest
times, as to the separation of certain determinate degrees of tone
from the possible mass of continuous gradations of sound, all of
which are audible, and these degrees form the scale . . "M2,
You can try an experiment relating to this, if you have a long
cylindrical tube, about 30 or 40 inches long, and about \Yi inches
in diameter, open at both ends. Put your mouth at one end and
begin whistling upward, like a siren, without making any distinct
steps to mark change of pitch. The column of air, forced to
vibrate in the tube, will make the steps for you. It will sympa
thetically vibrate only to those frequencies which are part of the
*In every other field in which change must be measured, steps
are selected from the possible continuous lines of change. In
temperature, degrees are used, and some of these are placed at
natural points of heat and cold, such as the boiling and freezing
points of water, or at the total cessation of molecular motion
(absolute zero), etc. Those "scales" of temperature not hung
upon such points come to be less and less useful. Distance is
measured more and more by steps which are simple divisions of
the size of the earth (meters) and are more valued (except for the
weight of tradition, which keeps the use of meters from being
universal) than those measurements based on a dead English
King's hand, foot, or other length of body. We have been
showing, and will show further, that in music, not only are scales
formed from the continuous stretch of pitch, but the notes of
the scales historically come more and more to be pegged at
pitches which have natural physical relationships to each other.
62
basic tone represented by the length of the tube. Is it possible
that in the spaces of air in the cavities of the skull (culturalists'
skulls have bigger cavities than any others), and in the areas of
the inner ear, that here too is a physical lack of "sympathy" for
ungraduated changes of pitch? I believe so, and that the forma
tions of scales of any kind is impelled by this. Now let's see just
what scale emerged, and what forces molded the particular form
of it which we know today.

Completion of the Scale

Music slowly developed as an art separate from the other arts,
and broke away from being used only in connection with one or
another social institution, to which it was subservient. If we go to
a concert today, it has nothing to do with making a car, or
building machines, factories or houses. Each one is a relatively
separate activity, with its own techniques and methods. This
sense of "separate " is how separate music came to be at one
point in history. When the direct influence of social institutions
was removed from music by this development, the influence of
the laws of acoustics took fuller sway and music developed more
rapidly and more consistently along lawful lines.
The fact that some religious sects still sing chants, discants,
organum and non-harmonic music is an example of the effect of
an institution in keeping music from changing there as rapidly as
it did outside these sects and religions.
The Chinese scale and music did not develop into such a
separate activity at the same time it did in the West because
Chinese society and custom did not change as rapidly as in the
West. The result of this constitutes the gulf which developed
between Eastern and Western music. Let's see how the comple
tion of the scale illustrates this point:
If we take the old trio, the tonic, 4th and 5th, and write out
their overtones, in the order of their audibility, we can add up
the different overtones of the tonic, 4th and 5th, and get the
modern diatonic (Do, Re, Mi) scale:
Tonic: C - Overtones are: C, G, E, Bb
Fifth: G - Overtones are: G, D, B, F
Fourth: F - Overtones are: F, C, A, Eb
When you add up the three most audible overtones of each
note, you arrive at the C major diatonic scale: C, D, E, F, G, A,
B,C.
When you add up all of them, you get the same scale with a
63
couple of notes left over, Eb and Bb.
The hardly audible Bb is cancelled out by the more audible B.
Why both notes, Bb and B, were not included together is because
"Many nations avoided the use of intervals of less than a tone
. . ."43 says Helmholtz. The B and Bb form a half-tone, or what
is called a semitone, and are therefore avoided by including only
the most audible of the two. The same is true of the Eb which is
cancelled out by the more audible overtone of E. This is why we
have a 7-note scale.
Of course, the E to F is a half-tone, but the presence of the E
in the scale is due to its being an audible overtone of the
important tonic note, C. The same is true of the B which forms a
semitone with the C. It is in the scale because it is an audible
overtone of the 5th, G, which is an important member of the
scale. No other semitones are admitted which are not justified by
this overtone relationship. We will see later, in more detail, why
the E and B are included despite the semitones they form in the
scale.
Nevertheless, the E and B are weak members of the scale.
The C, which appears twice in the table of overtones above, is
the strongest member of the scale, and is the tonic. The G
appears twice. The F appears twice, although the second appear
ance of the F is as a weak overtone of the G. The D appears once,
but as a strong overtone of the G. The E, A and B are the
weakest members of the scale, but the A is the strongest of these
weak three, because it forms no half-tones with any other note in
the scale. (Or, in other terms, the 3rd (Mi), the 7th (Ti), and the
6th (La), are weakest, but the 6th is strongest of these weak
three.)
Being weak members of the scale, we might expect there
would have been historic deviation or uncertainty around these
three notes. And there was. If we replace the E with the Eb, the
B with the Bb and A with an Ab, we have the minor scale:

Eb AbBb

64
 Finally, when two of these three weak notes are removed from
the scale entirely, namely the E and the B (leaving in the A which
I showed was the strongest of these three) then we are left with
the pentatonic (5-note) scale - which is the Chinese scale.

PENTATONIC

1 2 3 4 5 1

DbEb GbAbBb Db

(same Scale on Black Keys)

The differences between Chinese music and taste with that of

the West has been cited as "proof or, at least, as an example,
that there is nothing natural about our diatonic scale or about
Eastern scales. We have been told that each people uses and likes
their own scale and views the other's music as noise. But the
above explanation of the scale begins to show the contrary.
Namely, the two scales, diatonic and pentatonic, are not opposite
scales nor opposed, but rather, the pentatonic is part of the
diatonic. It is less than the diatonic by those notes which are
acoustically weak and which have been the subject of vacillation
on being settled in the scale.
To digress momentarily, with these weak notes in mind,we can
now follow up a point raised by Smith and Ellis earlier. Smith
told us that Ellis caught the scale in the act of changing by
65
"caprice," which ordained two new notes into the Arabic scale.
To be accurate, it should be said that these notes were not
exactly added to the scale. They were added to those notes
which are the Arabic division of the octave. In the West, the
octave is divided by 1 2 semitones. From these, we select our
7-note scales of minor and major. Similarly, the two notes in
question, introduced by an Arabic musician and theorist named
Zalzal 1100 years ago, were among the 17 which divide the
octave in the Arabic and Persian system. From them, 12 scales
were formed, most of them 7-note scales, some 8-note. Zalzal's
two notes found their way into 6 of these 12 scales. (The two
Arabic scales which are equivalent to our major and minor scale
do not have these notes. In addition, several of these scales
perfectly match those made by the Greeks, by beginning the
diatonic scale on each of its notes, thus forming a variety of
scales, ^or example, if you begin the C scale with A, it makes
the A-minor scaled)

The actual notes in question are not described by Smith? how

ever, the two notes which Zalzal introduced were a 3rd and a
6th. But they are called "neutral" 3rds and 6ths because they are
neither major nor minor; but between these notes. In the C scale
a neutral 3rd would be between the E and Eb; a neutral 6th,
between the A and Ab. The difference between them and their
minor or major counterpart is a quartertone.
These notes reflect the vacillation we have mentioned. They
are "compromises" based on 2 of the 3 weak areas in the
diatonic scale. In addition, one of them, the neutral third, is a
deviation of the most important area distinguishing the penta-
tonic from the diatonic scales.
So, in all, these two notes of Zalzal's are hardly "caprice!"
The impulse for this "caprice" is based on the nature of

66
acoustics and is universal wherever scales developed beyond the
tonic, 4th and 5th. The particular response to this impulse in the
Arabic system is not altogether uncommon or unjustified in
relation to the laws of acoustics and their effects on music.
In the West, such a "compromise" is represented by the
"blue" notes in Jazz, based on the 3rd, the 6th and the 7th. The
continued use of them as an artistic deviation does not appear to
me to be contradictory to the view of the scale as natural and
basic. This point will be better appreciated when we take up the
question of the role of dissonance in harmony and of tonality
before that. But here it will suffice to say that the use of these
notes is really a confirmation of this view, because by their
existence and use, they show (in a negative way) an unconscious
recognition of the influence of the laws of acoustics: This
influence is weak only concerning the area of these notes, and so
gives rise to the deviations around them.
The Jazz quartertone cannot be made on the piano but can
only be approximated by playing both the major and minor
notes together. Jazz singers, however, hit these notes directly.
But, however it is done in the melody, what is interesting is that
the harmonic accompaniment, especially in earlier Jazz, does not
generally include these "blue" notes. It remains based on the
chords of the tonic, 4th and 5th most of the time. The harmonies
are strictly major or minor, and the dissonant effect of the blue
notes against this harmonic background is of great tonal value; is
justified, because it "plays with," and thus enhances, the strong
consonances of the diatonic system. In such a system, melody is
freer to flirt with the notes of the scale, even to the extent of
quartertones and "gliding" pitches, without losing its musical
"sense," because the harmonies underneath show the relation
ships and retain the integrity of the diatonic system. (Such
deviations are more difficult in a period of music without
harmony and the diatonic scale developed in such a period. The
importance of the scale is considerably lessened today because of
harmony.) At any rate, this "flirtation" is a consequence of
accepting the diatonic scale and harmony as, in fact, standard
and basic. This acceptance is true not only in Jazz, but, regarding
the scale, true of the Arabic and Persian system. The thing to
explain is not the artistic deviations from the standard, but what
determines the standard? Is that "caprice," or is it lawful?
In general, regarding the weak notes we have been discussing,
all these vacillations and uncertainties in the past were overcome
67
only in the West, and allowed the scale, as a standard, to be
definitively settled with the present two major and minor forma
tions. The deviations which remain are now deliberate, artistic;
and not a reflection of unsureness regarding what the standard
scale should be. The reason why this happened only in the West
was because social change was more rapid than in the East. This
meant that associations, formed by connecting various "unacous-
tical" musical scales and practices with Western social
institutions, were more often changed as these institutions were
abandoned or overthrown. In the more frequent interims, or
"intermissions" between social changes, the music was able to
undergo only those changes which were inspired by the internal
impulses given it by the effects of acoustical laws. As later, music
reached the threshhold of a "separate" art, an institution of its
own, social effects and associations with them became fewer and
weaker, to the time when musical changes were almost wholly
consistent with acoustical impulses.
If, as culturalists claim, the laws of acoustics had nothing to do
with all this: with the avoidance of most half-tones, which are
the worst dissonances; with the acceptance into the diatonic scale
of only those half-tones which had overtone relationships with
the tonic, 4th and 5th, etc., - then it is beyond understanding
what did cause the scale. The diatonic scale is the basis of our
Western music and whole melodies are made out of it. Handel's
Joy To the World Christmas Carol is the C-major scale, played
from the top down (except in a different rhythm than that in
which the scale is usually played). A whole song is explained and
accounted for, note by note, by the laws of acoustics. The words,
of course, are not, nor is its use as a Christmas Carol. Later we'll
see that the chords which harmonize this carol are also
explained by these same laws.
There is still a lot to be said about the development of the
scale, but for now, a general conclusion can be made.
In the long evolution necessary for the development of the
completed scale from the tonic, 4th and 5th, some nations did
not go as far as others. The tie-up of their social institutions with
their musical scales and forms retarded the development. Every
stage in the development, instead of being seen as part of a
process by these primitives, was each looked upon as sacred and
not subject to change, or further change. The West, therefore, did
not develop "differently" from the Chinese, but only further.
And up until the recent Chinese revolution, the West developed
68
further in every other way too.
The difference in scales of the West and East, seemingly slight,
is the difference that causes the great gulf between the musics
built upon the two scales. (There is not so vast a gulf in the music
of the Scottish, who also used the pentatonic scale, because
Scottish music occasionally included the 3rd, which is missing in
the Chinese scale. We see in Scottish music the historic juncture
between the two scales.)
We cannot appreciate the Old Chinese religions and ideas as
our own; we don't have the associations they had between their
music and their culture. As a result of not being able to con
ceptualize in the same way as the Chinese, then, when we hear
their music, it is another step removed from our understanding
and appreciation.
This can be illustrated by a comparison to opera music. When
opera music is played without the words and acting
accompanying it, then often the music is harder to understand
and follow. The motion and direction of the music, the stops and
starts, the jumps and glides, are many of them determined out
side the music itself, by the nature of the opera's plot ( or in
Chinese music, by the nature of the historical ritual or institu
tion). Unless you know what is going on in the music, unless you
know the plot or ritual, the music loses its "sense," at least as a
totality.
But can the Chinese appreciate our music? Will they adapt the
diatonic scale to their music now that the old institutions in
China are dead or dying, and, as I have claimed, because the
diatonic scale is capable of being understood by any ear, Chinese
or Western? Will they take our music, which is "free" of all but a
minimum of cultural effects in its physical makeup (cultural
effects which are understood only by Westerners), and use it
from now on? I will tell you what Jeans says in his Science and
Music: "If we visited another planet, we might expect to find
them" (possible inhabitants of human type) "employing the
same diatonic scale as ourselves."44
Up to now, we have seen the parallels between acoustics and
the diatonic scale. Still, it remains to be understood how the
effects of acoustics made themselves felt upon a human race
unconscious of their action. How does the effect of acoustics
filter with such precision into the scales which men have formed
that we can now remark how exactly parallel are the two? What
is this process which can work without the necessity of human
69
awareness? On the other hand, if acoustics was exerting such a
strong influence, why did the scale based on it take so long to
form? Let me try to illustrate the process graphically. First,
about why it took so long:
If you found the "illustration" (shown below) on an artist's
scratch pad in his studio, you might assume he was either
doodling, or trying to blunt the point of a pencil which was too
sharp for his work. But now that the illustration is in this book,

70
 you are immediately aware it must be of more purpose than that.
In this, you have an advantage over the primitive, who wasn't
even aware that he was going to discover anything about music.
Nevertheless, your awareness will not dull the point I'm trying to
make. If I merely included the illustration in the book without
comment, even though you would have the advantage of
believing that there is some reason for it, it would take you a
great deal of time to realize what it is. Perhaps now you are
thinking there is no meaning to the illustration, and that I'm
playing a trick.
However, as soon as you look at the next illustration below,
which reveals the relationships that are hidden in the first illustra
tion, you can then look back at the first illustration and quickly
see all the pictures which were otherwise obscure. In the same
way, mankind, not even suspecting that there was anything to
discover about the relationships of sounds, took thousands of
years to discover them.
But when we (or primitives) are presented with the finished
music based on these relations, music which is designed to show
these relations clearly and openly, then it is more quickly recog
nized that these relationships are really there. Therefore, Western
music, so "obvious" to us now in its musical "rightness," had to
take eons to be developed. In this way I hope I have illustrated
this part of the process. The idea that men are often unable to
see, in advance, results of the process in which they are engaged
and a part of, is an important idea. It helps to correctly under
stand not only the slow, peculiar and difficult development of
the scale, harmony (the subject of the next chapter), and things
in general, but also why discoveries of things, after they are
made, are so rapidly understood. Anybody can be a Monday
morning Quarterback.
Let's remember this point as we try to follow the vagaries
within the development of harmony later on.
Another aspect of the analogy illustrates that even though the
effects of acoustical relationships takes time to discover,
especially without human awareness, nevertheless, the relation
ships will be discovered. If in the course of your life, you were to
see my first illustration (in which the horse, hand, etc., are
hidden by other lines) on trees, on the ground, in the sky, in the
corner of a page in the newspaper; over and over again, all
without explanation; although it would take time, you would,
through such constant contact with the apparently meaningless
pattern, realize the relations there. You would see the horse's
head, etc., becausethey are there, and it would all be without
prior awarness that this pattern really had those relationships.
This constant contact is the meaning of the principle I outline in
the next section, which I call "Use," and is the method by which
men were able to discover the relations of sounds in music.
Here is what Helmholtz says about the same process:
"A feeling for the melodic relationship of consecutive tones,
was first developed, commencing with the Octave and Fifth and
advancing to the Third. We have taken pains to prove that this
feeling of relationship was founded on the perception of identical
partial tones in the corresponding compound tones. Now these
partial tones are of course present in the sensations excited in our
auditory apparatus, and yet they are not generally the subject of
conscious perception as independent sensations. The conscious
perception of everyday life is limited to the apprehension of the
tone compounded of these partials, as a whole, just as we
apprehend the taste of a very compound dish as a whole, without
clearly feeling how much of it is due to the salt, or the pepper, or
other spices and condiments . . . Hence the real reason . . . the
melodic relationship of two tones remained so long undiscovered
. . ,"45 (My emphasis.)
Continues Helmholtz a little later: "We recognize the
resemblance between the faces of two near relations, without
being at all able to say in what the resemblance consists,
especially when age and sex are different, and the coarser
outlines of the features . . . present striking differences. And yet
notwithstanding these differences . . . the resemblance is often so
extraordinarily striking and convincing, that we have not a
72
moment's doubt about it. Precisely the same thing occurs in
recognizing the relationship between two . . . tones." 4^ (My
emphasis.)
It has been my experience, just as often, that I was surprised
to discover that two men were brothers, because the differences
between them were so strong; but once I was told they were
related, it was then easy to see the resemblances, and they
became so obvious that I wondered why I hadn't seen them
earlier. However, either way, this analogy reflects the un
conscious and vague aspects in the history of the discovery of
relationships of sounds.
To conclude this section, Jeans outlines the history of the
development, saying that ". . . vast numbers of tribes and peoples
. . . developed music independently, and in the most varied
surroundings . . . and the principles which guided them - to
choose pleasant noises rather than unpleasant, consonances
rather than dissonances . . . led" (them) "to much the same result
. . . and this with a unanimity which is remarkable. They exhibit
enormous differences in their language, customs, clothes, modes
of life and so forth, but all who have advanced beyond homo-
phonic" (one note at a time) "music have, if not precisely the
same musical scale, at least scales which are all built on the same
principle." (Jeans is referring to the "cycle of fifths" principle
which is next discussed.) He explains: "The main differences are
found in the numbers of notes which form the scale. By stopping
at different places in the sequence F-C-G-D-A ... we obtain the
various scales which have figured in the musics of practically all
those races which have advanced beyond the one-part music of
primitive man. "47
The principle of the scales mentioned by Jeans at the end of
the paragraph quoted above, the "cycle of 5ths," is the stumbling
block which both he and Helmholtz did not overcome. Because
of it they could not fully explain the development of the scale, as
we will see next. Jeans also seems to think that "pleasant" and
"unpleasant" are the guiding principles in music. It's true that in
the development of music and the scale they are basic principles,
and at that, the most important too, but they are not the only
ones.
It is apparent that I use the tonic, 4th and 5th to explain the
development of the scale, and not the cycle of 5ths. This latter
principle plays a role, but a smaller one than supposed. As a
result of this different approach, things which were before
73
unclear will become clear, and things which could not before be
explained will be explained. The two approaches will be
examined and compared together.

The Cycle of Fifths

What is the cycle of 5ths? If, for example, you start on note F,
the 5th of that note is C. Then, if you play C and after it, its 5th,
which is G, and its 5th next, D, and so on, playing the 5ths of
each preceding note, you will wind up with all the notes, passing
first through all the notes of the pentatonic scale, then through
all the notes of the diatonic scale, and finally through all the
notes in the 12-tone system. The fact that each sounded 5th is

Cysts of fifth* r F#

t-5th4-5th«4-Etc-H

simply the repeating of the 2nd overtone of each note before it

(which, next to the octave, is the most audible overtone), is
among the reasons why many musicologists have assumed the
scales to have been formed by this succession of 5ths. But there
are problems about this: First, it seems unlikely that the cycle of
5ths could have played more than an incomplete role in the
development of scales until stringed instruments had been
invented. Wind instruments earlier than this didn't have the range
necessary to make the whole cycle. Nevertheless, we know the
pentatonic and other similar scales were formed in this period.
Secondly, as Helmholtz complains: "Finally there is no
perceptible reason in the series of Fifths why they should not be
carried further, after the gaps in the diatonic scale have been
supplied. Why do we not go on till we reach the chromatic scale
of Semitones? To what purpose do we conclude our diatonic
scale with the following singularly unequal arrangement of
intervals -
I, I, Vz, I, I, I, Vi"
(What he means by his illustration "I, I, Vz, I, I, I, Vz" is that in
the diatonic scale, the distances between notes are in an arrange
74
ment of both whole-tone intervals and half-tone intervals. On the
other hand, in the pentatonic scale, (T>elow) a different arrange
ment of intervals is formed by the notes of that scale and is
shown beneath those notes:) Helmholtz continues: "The new

Intervals of Pentatonic

Intervals of Diatonic

1■l ■ JL I M
Of 't 1 1'» JL
O

tones introduced by continuing the series of Fifths would lead to

no closer intervals than those which already exist. The old scale
of five tones appears to have avoided Semitones as being too
close. But when two such intervals already appear in the scale,
why not introduce more?" 48
Helmholtz sees no answer.
(As a result of the fact that no note of the pentatonic scale
forms an interval closer than a whole tone to any other note, it
has often been called the "whole-tone scale.")
Now, as Helmholtz asked, if there are 2 half-tones in the
diatonic scale, why stop with only two? Why wasn't the cycle of
5ths continued further (making the following equal arrangement
of 12 half-tones) in the same way the same people equally
divided their measurements of time, distance, temperature, etc.?
CTDbTDTEbTETFTGbTGTAbTATBbTBTC
Vx Vi Vi Vi Vi xh Vi Vi Vi Vi Vi Vi
75
 (The above is the 12-tone series or system. It is all the notes in
the Western system of music, between an octave. The above
begins on C, but by its nature as a set of equal divisions of the
octave, it can be played beginning on any note and will sound the
same. The diatonic scale, on the other hand, cannot be started on
any of its notes except C and still produce the Do, Re, Mi scale.
A start on any other of its notes will make a scale which sounds
different from all the others (the start on A making the A-minor
scale, as was shown earlieT). The Greeks as well as the Arabics
and Persians, made a set of scales in this way, but most have been
abandoned in Western music and sound distorted or incomplete
to us.)
There is a reason for the cycle of 5ths to be stopped at
different stages. The reason is due to tonality. If the avoidance of
half-tones was responsible for the stop made at the pentatonic
scale, that alone cannot explain why a stop was made at the
diatonic scale.

Tonality and the Cycle of 5ths

Tonality is a musical form.
It is analogous to nature in many ways: For example, the
seasons appear, they change, and they return. Things thrown up,
come down. The sun rises, it sets. People are born weak and
helpless, grow strong, and become weak and helpless again. They
are born, live and return to non-existence. The rain starts, stops,
and the cycle is repeated. All around us we see a starting point,
departure or change, and then a form of return to the starting
point. This is not universal, but it is all which men can grasp so
far. It has always been difficult for people to imagine infinity,
although it is recognized. There is for us always a beginning,
middle and end, and the end often appears similar to the
beginning.
In music, to let Helmholtz describe it, tonality is "that the
whole mass of tones and the connection of harmonies must stand
in a close and always distinctly perceptible relation to some
arbitrarily selected tonic, and that the mass of tone which forms
the whole composition, must be developed from this tonic, and
must finally return to it." Helmholtz adds after this, "The
ancient world developed this principle in homophonic music, the
modern world in harmonic music. But it is evident that this is
merely an esthetic principle, not a natural law . . . The origin of
such esthetic principles should not be ascribed to a natural
76
necessity. They are the invention of genius . . ."49
It would have been better to say that the ancient world
discovered, not "developed," this principle, because it does
appear to be the result of natural necessity, as we will see in a
moment. But not thinking so, Helmholtz doesn't find its
presence in the earliest development of the scale, but only in
ancient forms of art-music based on the already developed scale,
beginning around the time of Aristotle. Helmholtz writes:
"It is indeed remarkable that though the musical writings of
the Greeks often treat subtle points at great length . . . they say
nothing intelligible about a relation which in our modern system
stands first of all . . . The only hints to be found concerning the
existence of the tonic are ... in the works of Aristotle . . . 'Why
do the other tones sound badly when the tone of the middle
string is altered? But if the tone of the middle string remains, and
one of the others is altered, the altered one alone is spoiled? Is it
because all are tuned and have a certain relation to the tone of
the middle string, and the order of each is determined by that?'
... In these sentences" (quoted by Helmholtz) "the esthetic
significance of the tonic, under the name 'the tone of the middle
string,' is very accurately described." 50
Aristotle may have been the only one who mentions the idea
and shows a level of consciousness of it, but that doesn't mean
tonality wasn't already in operation for centuries before that.
If tonality isn't the result of natural necessity, it must be
culturally inspired. If so, what culture gave rise to it? To what
culture does it "belong" (as the language of French belongs to
France, etc.)? But if it belongs to all cultures, why? Back in
chapter II, under the Octave 4th and 5th section, we read that
the American Indians, too, had a tonal concept of notes (even if
they had no Aristotle to ask why or even notice it). We know, of
course, that modern cultures exhibit tonality in music as well. So
did the Feudal musical system, and so do Chinese, Scottish,
Arabic, African and Greek musical systems, ancient and modern.
If Helmholtz hadn't passed it off as "the invention of genius"
he could have explained everything, including the whole develop
ment of harmony, which to him seems to have simply happened.
He offers no explanation of the cause for its arrival at the
particular time that it did arrive. He understands the function of
harmony in music, and he often points it out in places, but, as we
will see, he missed the connection which tonality has in the
origin of harmony and why the diatonic scale marked the end of
77
the cycle of 5ths in the formation of scales.
Not only will an understanding of tonality explain things
hitherto unexplained, but the origin of tonality itself will be
explained.
We have read that two things determined the history and
development of music, and other arts. The one we are now
concerned with is that of the nature of sound, of man's senses,
and their relation to each other. Within this category are two
aspects which work in the shaping of this relation. They are USE
- or PRACTICE - over eons of time, and TONALITY. If
Helmholtz failed to see tonality in antiquity it was because the
effects of it were sometimes hidden by the greater effects of
Practice, or Use.
By Use is not meant the various uses to which music is put,
but simply the actual using of sounds, however they are used. In
general, by using a thing, one becomes familiar with that thing,
and slowly this thing reveals its traits, properties or qualities, and
its inner relationships, to the user. They are discovered simply
from enough use, just as facts are eventually uncovered by
pursuing an investigation of any kind. Until the inner relation
ships are clearly brought out, the forms of music (such as
tonality) do not always reflect these relationships and the music
appears haphazard. From this one could incorrectly conclude, as
did Helmholtz, that tonality never existed at all in early periods.
In antiquity, the influence of tonality in the shaping of scales
was weaker than that of Use. (Use can be taken to include the
cycle of 5ths, although it includes more than this.) Use of a note
revealed its 5th (its 2nd overtone), and use of that 5th revealed
the next 5th and so on. Tonality originates as a result of the
discovery that these kinds of relations exist. The existence of
these relations causes tonality to develop as a necessary method
by which primitives could record and present to themselves and
to each other these relations of tones. By originating as an effect
of the natural relations of sound, it is proper to view tonality not
as the product of culture, or "genius," etc., but as the product of
natural necessity. // an art of music is a necessary result of the
existence of men, then tonality is a necessary result of the
existence of an art of music.
In other words, use engenders tonality; but tonality, once
developed, begins to overcome Use as an effective operating
principle. Tonality puts an end to the cycle of 5ths at certain
points by demanding that all notes relate to the tonic; that is,
78
that no new 5ths can be added to the scale unless they have a
relationship of some kind to the original tonic. What kind of
relationship is determined by the level of sophistication which
the concept of tonality achieves at various points in history as it
is developed by Use.
We can see this process more concretely below step by step in
the formation of the scale. The reader should note that the
following process is proposed by the author as an abstraction of
the real events; a generalization culled from an average of the real
events. The reality may not, in one or another specific case of the
music of any nation or people, exactly follow this process in all
its particulars. The process is proposed as an underlying tendency
which helped to determine the development of the scale. It is
proposed as a main impulse, originating in nature, or acoustics;
but in specific cases, other social and cultural peculiarities were
also at work, however minor, and these altered the process to
varying degrees. (Although it may have been distorted or
retarded, the basic process, however, did take place.)
"In the beginning" . . . was the octave. Also in the beginning
there was no applied notion of tonality, although a similar
principle may have existed in other art-forms. Each note was
taken separately, as something in its own right, so to speak.
Melody, if it can be called that, showed no disposition to have
been formed out of recognition of definite relations of notes.
Notes were as haphazardly placed together almost as if they had
each been separately taken out of a hat. Gongs in the East were
an example of this. We know this must have been partly true
even as late as Aristotle, with whom tonality was becoming a
conscious element, because the fruit of tonality - melody - was
but little known. Helmholtz says of Aristotle's time, ". . .
homophonic music . . . played an utterly subordinate part" (to
poetry and epics). "The musical turns" (the way the melody
"went") "must have entirely depended on the changing sense of
the words, and could have had no independent artistic value or
connection" (between notes) "without them. A peculiar melody
for singing . . . throughout an epic, or . . . throughout a tragedy,
would have been unsupportable," if played apart from the epic
or tragedy. 51 (My emphasis.)
Also, the tuning of the lyre, down to the time of Orpheus, was
of an octave, 4th and 5th, "which," says Helmholtz, "certainly it
was scarcely possible to construct a melody ... a lyre of this
kind might possibly have served to accompany declamation." 52
79
(Declamation is the ending of a sentence or verse.)
As the octave was used throughout antiquity, the ever-present
louder overtones, such as the 5th (and the 4th, which is seen as a
"backward" 5th) were discovered, and seen as consonant rela
tions to the original note or tonic which was compounded of
these overtones. As melody could not be constructed, and as
other notes were still viewed as unrelated to the tonic (such as
the 3rd, 6th, etc.), we had scales based on what we will call Early
Tonality, or homophonic, non-melodic tonality, which means
(one-note-at-a-time) (non-melodic) (notes-only-in-relation-to-the-
tonic) musical scales. Such a musical scale would have been
exactly the notes of the above mentioned lyre. In the key of C, it
would be C, F, G, and the octave C\
As a result of the emergence of the 4th, 5th and early tonality
from the Use of the octave, the very first step in the cycle of 5ths
was also the last one for a long time. No other notes seemed to
be related to the tonic note. More use of the tonic, 4th and 5th
was needed to discover the less audible, or subtle relations to the
tonic. (For example, the 5th of the existing 5th was probably
audible and known, but it could not be seen as related to the
tonic until the first 5th was so firmly rooted to the tonic by time
and association that it seemed inseparable from the tonic.)
Use of the octave, 4th and 5th in time allowed all three to be
seen as basic notes around which other notes could be grouped if
they related to any one of them. In this way, the 5th of the 5th
was eventually seen as closely related to the tonic via the first
5th. Then it was added to the scale. Here is how the scale would
stand at this point:

MOTES of SCALE oveeTONES

(The 5th of the 5th, note D above, is called a 2nd, because it

forms an interval of a 2nd with the tonic note. C. It also became

8o
the second note in the arrangement above, although I listed it in
the order in which it was often likely included.) An interval of
the 2nd (whole tone) is not very consonant, but as the 4th with
the 5th already produces such an interval, the addition of the D
is not a radical one. It can be seen that not only does the
principle of the cycle of 5ths indicate D is next (F-C-G - D), but
if we were to use the principle of Use based only on the existing
first three notes taken together, and whose overtones are above
written in the order of their audibility, the D stands as the
loudest overtone of these three, and this principle, too, without
sole reliance on the cycle, can explain the D as next (circled
above).
Immediately upon adding the D, observe that the 2nd over
tone, or the 5th of this D, is A, which is also an overtone of the
4th, F. Soon the A (circled below) became appreciated as a tonal
relation, not directly to the tonic, but to F, which is directly
related to the tonic. This A forms a 6th to the tonic, and both
this 6th and the 2nd appear to have come into the scale at about
the same time because they are the most audible tonal relations
to the tonic, 4th and 5th taken together as a "trio." What the A
lacked in strength as an overtone, it made up for by the relative
consonance which it formed with the tonic. All of the notes now
add up to the pentatonic scale, as follows:

NOTES of SCM£ OVERTONES

c> K K
Second? J> J>> (AJ B*
Rsurtti- T* fry ®
WtK: G
A, 1 ZV G*
(nowadded)

Although these notes, the 2nd and the 6th, had weak and
indirect relations to the tonic, they were not dissonant with the
tonic or the other existing notes, as they are at least a whole-tone
away from all of them.
So far, the cycle of 5ths can also explain all the added notes,

8i
and is an important influence up to this point, although not the
only influence, for it alone cannot explain why the additions
stop at certain points.
For example, the "next" note, E, which is the 5th of the
newly added A, and which also has a direct relation to the tonic
as its 4th overtone, should come next in the scale. But Lo! It
doesn't, because at this point, the addition of the E will form a
half-tone with the 4th, F, which, by being a strong consonance, is
a "big wheel" relation to the tonic. It has priority, so to speak,
and it remains while the E is left out. Besides, even if "Use"
revealed the E as next in the 5ths cycle (that is, the 5th of A), it
probably didn't reveal it as also related to the tonic (that is, as
the 3rd of the tonic, C), and so it isn't added.
Early non-melodic tonality reflected the outlook that notes
must relate to the tonic only, giving us the 5th, 4th and octave.
But as Use further revealed tonal relations among notes, then
notes were allowed which related not only to the tonic, but to
the 4th and 5th of the tonic. But not all such notes were allowed,
such as the 3rd, E, but only those which did not form disson
ances with the other notes. This represented another halt in the
process for a long time: The Pentatonic.
Tonality was further developed by Use of the pentatonic scale
and became what can be called Melodic Tonality. The formation
of primitive melodies, possible with the notes at command in the
pentatonic scale, created a need to fill the gaps in the pentatonic
scale for the sake of further melodic formations. Use provided
the notes for these gaps as it finally revealed relations between
the existing notes. As we will see, these "missing" notes came to
be looked upon not as individual dissonances with one or two
notes in the scale, but as melodic steps of a tonal character
grouped around all three, the tonic, 4th and 5th.
This newer and later concept of melodic tonality demanded a
note between the Re and Fa (between the D and F in the
pentatonic C scale). The gap was too big for the increasingly
melodic musician. (Such a note appears to be caught in the act of
being added to the Scottish pentatonic, where it sometimes
appears and is sometimes avoided.)
What note will fill the gap? The Eb? Something between the E
and Eb? We know that the discovery of the third note in our
scale was hesitant: The "history of musical systems shows that
there was much and long hesitation as to the tuning of the
Thirds," wrote Helmholtz.53
82
 The E stands high on the list of candidates for the third note
in the scale, if we review our table. It is an overtone of the tonic,
as well as of the 6th, A, and it forms various consonances with
the other notes. But what about the half-tone it will form with
the 4th, F? Well, that is overcome by the growing view of the
note as a melodic step to the 4th. Any note in the gap would be
viewed as such, but the E is finally settled upon because Use
reveals over a period of time its above additional and subtle
overtone relation to the tonic, as well as its more obvious over
tone relation as the 5th of A, in the cycle. As an overtone, E
appears twice in the pentatonic scale, and forms consonances
with the other notes, except for the 4th. Melodicism thus over
comes) the half-tone and makes it acceptable by considering it a
note in a melodic sequence. The E is then added, and likewise,
the B, which fills the gap at the other end of the scale. Finally we
have, with the addition of the major 3rd and the major 7th, the
full diatonic scale.
If here, the only operating principle was the cycle of 5ths,
these notes would not have been the last added. But a new halt is
called to the cycle of 5ths, and the reason is tonality, or melo
dicism. Even though other notes may be added as melodic steps
to some of the other notes, such as an F# as a step to the 5th, no
other notes which can be so added have any audible overtone
relation to the tonic, 4th or 5th. (For example, the last note
added, B, is an overtone of the 5th, G.)
Helmholtz understands only part of the reason for the
addition of only these notes in the scale when he explains the
concept of the "leading note" which is the newly added B in the
scale.
". . . the interval of a Semitone plays a peculiar part as the
introduction ... to another note . . .
"Hence the major Seventh" (B) "in its character of leading
note to the tonic" (C) "acquires a new and closer relationship to
it, unattainable by the minor Seventh" (Bb). "And in this way
the note which is most distantly related to the tonic becomes
peculiarly valuable in the scale. This circumstance has continually
grown in importance in modern music, which aims at referring
every tone to the tonic in the clearest possible manner; and
hence, in ascending passages going to the tonic, a preference has
been given to the major Seventh in all modern keys, even in those
to which it did not properly belong. This transformation appears
to have begun in Europe during the period of polyphonic music,

»3
but not in part songs only, for we find it also in the homo-
phonic" (music without harmonies) "Cantus Firmus of the
Roman Catholic Church."54 (My emphasis.)
The "preference" Helmholtz wrote of meant that singers made
a habit of writing and singing a sharpened major 7th, all the more
to show its relation as "herald" of the tonic. Even when Pope
John XXII in 1322 made an edict against this sharpening, and
music writers could no longer indicate it in the written music,
singers persisted in supplying the sharpness. Today it is still a
practice.
The keys in which this leading note found itself and where "it
did not properly belong" is, for one, the minor key. When, in that
key, the minor 7th (Bb) is replaced with the major 7th (B) as
leading note, it forms what is called the "harmonic" minor scale,
and is very much more beautiful than the ordinary minor scale
with the Bb as leading note:

Eb Ab

To sum up: The overcoming of the existence of semitones in

forming the diatonic scale from the pentatonic scale is rooted
historically in the increasing concept of tonality and melodicism.
This stemmed from ages of Use of the pentatonic scale. In the
same manner as Use of the tonic revealed the existence of the
5th, Use of the pentatonic scale revealed all the notes related to
the tonic, 4th and 5th, and gave rise to melodicism, which
allowed the weaker relations of notes to find their place as strong
melodic consonances, if not as strong individual consonances, of
the tonic, 4th and 5th. The semitone was overcome and modern
tonality, or Melodicism was born. A look at the cycle of 5ths
when compared to a list of the overtones of the tonic, 4th and
5th below, shows the areas where the two principles, the cycle of

s4
5ths and tonality, reinforce each other and where they conflict:

ONEBTONSS of
TONIC, 4tK} Jth,: F-C-G-D-A-B-B

Crete of piFms*. F-C-G-D-A-E-B "(H£

K°7

In the early period of the formation of scales, the principle of

the cycle of 5ths played an important role, and represented the
easiest discoveries led to by Use. These are the most audible
overtones (5ths) of each preceding note (that is, most audible
except for the octaves of those preceding notes). More Use of
these discoveries led to further discoveries of additional, although
more subtle, relations among these notes. This bred tonality as a
means to integrate all the relations into one whole. Tonality
eliminated all those notes not able to be unified with the others.
If still another note was to be added to the diatonic scale, not
stopping after 2 half-tones were in it, melodicism, the highest
expression of tonality in non-harmonic music, would demand the
addition of only a note which had both: a tonal relation to the
tonic, 4th or 5th, and which had a melodic usefulness. Further
Use would not reveal any more such relationships, with the
exception of the very weakest overtones of our "trio," which
would be Bb and Eb (circled above). But these had no melodic
usefulness. The only other audible overtones which could be
discovered by further Use would be those next in the cycle of
5ths, the F# and C# (circled above), but these had no tonal
(overtone) relations to any strong notes in the scale; and are, in
fact, dissonant:
The F# is the audible 5th of the 7th (B), the leading note in
the scale. But the F# is not related to any other note besides this
weak B in the scale, and forms a dissonance with most of them,
especially with all the strong and most tonally related notes, the
tonic, 4th and 5th. The lone quality of the F#, that of possibly
serving as a "leading note" to the 5th, was not enough to justify
its addition. Not consistent with tonality, it is therefore left out,
as is the C# (a "downward" leading note), and tonality stops the
85
cycle of 5ths. As a result, Use wears itself out, so to speak, after
being earlier, through its vehicle of the cycle of 5ths, the strong
influence. The strong influence remaining to develop music
(toward harmony) is the highly developed tonality.
The reason why the Eb and E, or the Bb and B, alternate with
each other, forming two scales, major and minor, instead of both
being included together all in one grand scale, is because the Eb
and Bb, if included with the E and B, would form dissonant
intervals with each other in the scale, but the E and B alone (or
the Eb and Bb alone) form dissonant intervals with few notes.
Also, the addition of all four notes would make an unmelodic
scale preponderant with half-tones:
CT-Dr-EbT-ET-F-r-G-pAT-Bb-rB-rC
1, V2, V2, Vi, 1, 1, V2, V2, Vi
The very fact minor scales are formed by the alteration of the
weakest overtones (E and B) of the tonic, 4th and 5th, and not
around the next two notes (F# and C#) of the cycle of 5ths, is
further proof that the scale is based primarily on the tonic, 4th
and 5th and not only on the cycle of 5ths.
Regarding the cycle of 5ths, as each note is presumed by
Helmholtz to have been added to the scale by this same method
each time, then each should have equal value in the scale, as
indeed, have all the notes of the 12-tone series, which is the full
outcome of the cycle (See illustration of this just prior to this
section). If all the notes were equally derived, then the diatonic
scale would not have been historically seen as having "strong"
and "weak" notes in it. But the historic fact that the scale does
exhibit strong and weak notes (as shown by the vacillations in
the tuning of the 3rd mentioned earlier) must be explained.
Therefore, to view the scale basically as the addition of the over
tones of the tonic, 4th and 5th, does explain the relative values
of strength that are and have been attached to notes in the scale
as they were added, and explains why these additions stopped at
certain points.
In addition, notice that the overtones of just the tonic, C,
which are, in the order of their audibility, C, G, E, Bb, came into
the scale in this same order. (The Bb never entered the major
scale, but it came into the minor scale.)
Again, if all the notes in the scale were really equally formed,
then the chords necessary to harmonize the notes of the scale
would be major chords, each one derived from the note it is
supposed to harmonize with.
86
 For Example:

The Scale: c
(C Maj) (D Maj) (B Maj) (P Maj)
C D E F
£ F# G# A
G A B C

(G Maj) (A Maj) (B Maj) (C Maj)

G A B C
B D# £
D £ F# G

(The chords named in brackets are those derived from the

notes of the scale (shown above the chords). Below the brackets
are the notes which make up each chord.) ~
This harmonization can be heard to be unsatisfactory when
compared to the harmonization below, where the scale is
harmonized only by chords of the tonic, 4th and 5th. This
second harmonization reflects the fact that all the notes in the
scale are derived from the tonic, 4th and 5th.
C D B F
(C Maj) (G Maj) (C Maj) CP Maj>
C G C F
£ B B A
G D G C

(G Maj) CP Maj) CG Maj) CC Maj)

G F G C
B A B 8
D C D G

The method of harmonization in the first example above has

also been rejected historically as we will see in the chapter on
harmony. Let's remember that the latter, modern system was
developed not by people who wished to have all the aspects of
this system neatly fit a preconceived theory of music, but by
people without, for the most part, conscious knowledge of what
they were doing.
By not seeing tonality and melodicism in operation from the
beginning, Helmholtz took the notes of the scale as all equally
formed by the cycle of 5ths, and consequently could not under
stand why the cycle stopped at the diatonic scale, after half-tones
had once been included. Seeing the scale as an unequal arrange
ment of whole-tones and half-tones which have "no reason" to
be that way, explains why the scale appeared to Helmholtz as
arbitrary, as a product of Western culture, or "genius," with no
foundation in any natural laws or necessity.
Finally, let me summarize the three stages of the development
of the scale and modern tonality, or melodicism:
Early tonality: Notes must relate to tonic only.
Melodic tonality: Notes must relate to tonic, 4th and 5th,
except those which form half-tones with
other notes in the scale.
Melodicism: Notes must relate to tonic, 4th and 5th, but half
tone dissonances are allowed when they contrib
ute to the overall melodic unity of the scale.

The Fourth and Cadence

If a man who lives in a room upstairs from us decides to go to
bed, the first thing he will do is take off his shoes. When one of
them is off, he drops it, and we hear it downstairs in our room. If
he never drops the second one, some of us might not sleep for
the want of the second shoe to fall.
In the same way, should a capricious pianist, just before the
final notes of an exciting performance, decide to forsake these
final notes, stand up and take his bow early, and then retire
to his dressing room, he might find a few dozen people from his
audience waiting for him in the alley of his stage exit, prepared
to realize the unfinished notes upon his nose.
Both examples above are of frustration resulting from anticipa
tion and expectation having been betrayed. In the case of the
missing shoe, no one can deny that expectation of two of them
falling is what causes frustration when only one of them does
88
fall. But suppose the person downstairs is not ourselves, but an
Australian Aborigine. Obviously, not a wearer of shoes himself,
he won't expect two of them to fall, nor even one. It is because
we know that shoes come in sets of two that we expect two. In
other words, our anticipation and expectation is culturally
conditioned. It is a learned response for us to expect to hear the
second shoe fall.
How about the case of the capricious pianist? Is the source of
disappointment due to the fact that certain standard cadences
(final notes) are prevalent in Western music, and by this, we are
taught to expect them, and irked when they don't occur? It
might seem so. But if we examine the cadence, the 4th, we will
see it is endowed by nature with physical qualities which make it
very suitable for being a cadence, and all the other questions
raised before about the 4th will be answered too.
First of all, the idea of "cadence" is "a coming to rest" in
music. Many intervals, such as the 3rd or 5th, etc., are examples
of motion away, or separation, from the tonic. So is the 4th, but
it will be seen that the 4th represents the least motion away from
the tonic, and because of tonality, is able to represent "close
ness" to the tonic; a "return" to the tonic.
Let's compare two intervals, the 5th and the 4th:
1 . ) If we play C and then G, we make the interval of the 5th.
We are also going from C to one of its overtones, G.
C: Overtones are C, G, B, Bb
When, after playing the C, we play G, then the overtones of G
become audible too, and are different (except for G itself) from
all the overtones of C:
C: Overtones are C, G, E, Bb
G: Overtones are G, D, B, F
Because G's overtones are all different from those of C, a
certain sense of dissonance, or motion, or conflict, sets in. (Of
course G forms with C a powerful consonance, but the only
perfect consonance, without any dissonance at all, is silence.)
This conflict, however weak, is nevertheless the beginning of
movement away from the first note, C.
2. ) If we reverse the interval in example 1., and go from G
down to C (or G to C above - it's no different for our illustra
tion), it follows that the overtone relationships are also the
reverse of those in example 1 :
G: Overtones are G, D, B, F
C: Overtones are C, G, E, Bb

89
 By reversing the interval we are also making a 4th, and not a
5th. It would appear that the order in which the notes are played
should make no difference. But there is a difference, and it is
this: In example 1., starting on C, we see that in the after-
sounded G, no overtone C is present to help us remember the
prior C. All effects of the C are blotted out when we hit G. (Of
course, we heard the G in the overtones of the first-played C, and
this indicates the relationship between that C and the G follow
ing.) But once the G is played, we feel we have left the C behind.

tA STILL WITH YOU, FKi£NP C,

YOUCKN'T 6ET VEKYjj
fMS FROM ME.!' /s\ , WT KEEP FOKMER.
OVERTONE Of* C

4tF
5th (ex.*)

By comparing to example 2, we can hear the difference: In

example 2, the reverse is true. By starting on G, although we
hear no C in advance of playing it, as no overtone of G is a C,
when we do hit the C next, we are still able to hear, in C's
overtones, the first G. (See example 2 above.) The G is "carried
along" with us as we go from G to C, so to speak, and we can feel
that we have not left the G behind in example 2 to as great a
degree as we left the C behind in example 1 .
The interval of the 4th (G to C), therefore, has less separation
from the starting note than does the interval of the 5th (C to G).
The 4th then, can be said to be more restful than the 5th,
because it has less conflict than the„5th.
Further, the interval of the 4th can be said to have a smaller
separation to the second note of its interval than does the 5 th,
because, by its overtones, we have seen that it "carries" the
starting note with it. Whatever interval represents less separation
from its starting note would, accordingly, represent less separa
tion to its second note.
Which side of the above relation is more important to view in

9°
any given instance depends upon whether the first or second note
of an interval is the starting note, or tonic. (Usually the first note
in an isolated interval is taken to be the tonic, but within a
musical context, either note of the interval may, by that context,
be the tonic.)
Looking at the intervals below, let's assume the first note of
both intervals is the tonic.
C to G (5th)
G to C (4th)
If the first note of both is the tonic, then the C to G (5th)
represents a greater separation from the tonic (as we have shown
by the overtone structure of this interval) than the 4th.,
If the second note of both intervals is the tonic, then the C to
G (5th) represents a greater separation, or distance, to the tonic
than the 4th, because in the 4th, G to C, the first-played G is
found again in the following C and in this sense only moves - to
itself. (Of course, in C to G (5th), the G in the overtones of the
first-played C is also moving to itself in the next played G, but
this is less audible, less apparent, than in the 4th, where the first
G is a played note and not just an overtone.)
Therefore, the interval of the 4th, regardless of which note is
tonic, is by its physical nature, absolutely suited as a restful, or
cadence-like interval. Whether going to its second note, or from
its first note, the interval expresses least separation, and so both
its notes appear close to each other.
A number of questions may have entered the reader's mind
and anticipating some of them, I'll take them up here.
First question: Why, when in all the preceding pages of the
book where I use C to F as an example of the 4th, do I now use
G to C as an example? The answer is that what is true of one 4th
is true of them all, whether C-F, G-C, E-A, etc. But for the
purpose of illustrating the relationship between example 1 and 2,
it was better to keep the same two notes because this shows that
there is a difference made by the order in which 2 notes are
played. This also answers the question raised at the beginning of
the chapter why intervals should be reckoned upward. The
interval of C to the F below it (or above it), in that order, has all
the qualities and relationships which sound like a 4th; and even
though C to F below is a distance of 5 notes, it is nevertheless
properly called (in isolation) a 4th, or "cadence." (Likewise, the
reverse interval of F to the C below it, should be called a 5th,
even though it is 4 notes wide.) The order in which notes are
91
played is more important than the actual number of notes
between them. There is a little more to say about the question of
reckoning music upward and downward, but of that later.
We can now transpose the 4th used in the above examples (G
to C) and say that the 4th note and interval in the scale, C to F,
is a more restful, cadence-like interval than the 5th in the scale, C
to G. (Play these two and the sound difference between them is
even more apparent, in relation to the tonic, C.)
In addition, the above approach of using the same two notes
to illustrate the difference between the 4th and 5th also illus
trates what probably happened in history concerning the origin
of the 4th. I believe that the 4th was discovered through use of
the sequence below:

p-jtti-jj— 4^ —1
Cupte G,do*mtoC (ovuptoC*)

This sequence is a combination of a 5th and then 4th.

After this first historical step came the 4th which entered the
scale, C-F. This took place in a second historical step which may
have happened as follows:
The C-G-C' sequence gave the primitive a 4th in the last two
notes of this sequence. As said, this was not the 4th (C-F) which
we know in the scale. But when he heard this latter 4th, among
the general mass of tones and sounds which he and others made,
he soon recognized in it a similar relationship of notes which he
knew in G-C, and he began to take special notice of it too,
because the F also had a C as an overtone. This 4th, C-F, has the
characteristic of having the same first note as the already
discovered 5th, C to G. In the first case, G-C, this 4th is a return
to the tonic in the above sequence. In the second case, C-F, the
4th, by beginning on the tonic, provides a new, related note, (F),
one which "leaves" the tonic, but less than does the 5th, C-G. As
both 4ths are consonant, both came to be used, and finally the
4th came into the scale. All this, of course, probably took a
zillion years.
Second question: Why do I, in example 1 and 2, earlier, allow
myself to switch tonics around? How is a tonic determined? Isn't
it always the starting note? If not, how does a musical context
determine it?
92
 Often the tonic is a starting note, but more accurately, it
should be said that it is primary in a piece, which means that it
can be other than a starting note, without losing its basic
importance.
How the tonic is formed is clearly evident in an analogy to
rhythm. Let's take a given rhythm: (7, 2, 3, 4, _/, 2, 3, 4,) etc.,
with the heavy accent on the first beat, as underlined above. If
we were to tap out this rhythm a few times, we would find our
attention drawn to the first beat. Then, if we begin to omit this
beat, that is, (- 2, 3, 4, - 2, 3, 4,) the silence in place of this
heavy beat in no way detracts from our attention to it. The other
beats, 2, 3, and 4, by the way in which they define the empty
silence, keep us aware of the missing beat. The first, heavy, or
"missing" beat is analogous to the tonic in a piece of music.
Whether it is actually played, or started upon, or whether its
existence is only known through the behavior of other notes, it
is, in tonal music, always defined and an ever-present point of
reference. In a piece of music, the tonic is either being empha
sized, as at the end of a piece, or obscured, as in the middle. The
cadence, which here interests us, comes at the end. What matters
in our comparison of intervals is not which note of the interval
may be the tonic, but which, of all the intervals, has the greatest
effect in "coming home" to the tonic at the end of a piece. The
4th is better used to define the tonic than any other interval,
historically, and for the physical reasons I have attempted to
make clear.
The tonic, or any note, is not simple, but compound. It is
made up of overtones, etc. If a piece of music is in motion away
from its tonic, any of the notes, which as overtones comprise the
tonic, can well serve as graduated links via which to leave that
tonic "behind." As these "exit" notes are played, they in turn
provide their own overtones and more links by which to vary
from the tonic. (Including the use of rhythm, harmony, etc., the
possible ways to vary from the tonic are virtually infinite.)
But at some point, according to the historically developed
esthetic of tonality, you must return to the tonic. If the over
tones of a tonic are part of those notes which can serve as related
links by which to leave the tonic, it seems reasonable that the
return to the tonic would be the same process in reverse. And it
is just that way, in general. When returning to the tonic, in fact,
the tonic note is rebuilt by the use of notes representing some of
the overtones of which the tonic is compounded. In the return,

93
the closest one can get to the tonic without actually playing it is
the note of which the tonic forms a 4th. If the tonic is C, then
that note is G (G to C is a 4th), which represents the most
audible overtone of the tonic besides the octave of the tonic
itself. In such a musical "return," the G, when heard, makes the
tonic push its way into our consciousness. We are always aware
of the tonic as a reference point throughout the music, but the G
represents the closest of a series of notes which are aiming to
bring that tonic most to the fore. Finally it is played, and the
sequence comes to an end.
Again, the ways in which this can be, and has been, done in
music are limitless. The above is a super-simplified version of
what is happening in the process of forming a cadence. Harmony,
which has made the physical relations within the 4th much more
apparent, is responsible for the almost universal use of the 4th as
cadence in Western music. It is difficult for us to take any other
interval for a cadence. In harmony, the 4th as cadence is done as
follows: G to C is harmonized respectively by the chords of G
and then of C. To give the expression greater power and clarity,
add an F to the chord of G (G, D, B, F) and the whole chord
leads more urgently to the following C chord (C, E, G). This is
because the F produces a loud C as an overtone and forecasts the
ensuing C.

Without the P With the P

Not only is the G "carried along" when the C is finally played,

as has been shown earlier, but adding the F makes a C overtone
(of that F) which also forecasts the tonic and the C, too, is like
the G, "carried along," as if from a vague, dark corner in the Q
chord, into the light, when the C chord is played.
In primitive music, in which no harmony existed, the relations

94
of the 4th are less apparent and it is less directly used as a
cadence. But it nevertheless has been used immensely as a
cadence. Below is an example of a pentatonic folk-melody which,
when we examine it, will show the 4th as cadence, and which
also illustrates the variety and capacity for creativity which can
be used to form a cadence. First, the melody, without any
harmony, as it was meant:

f2_
f—|
1 ^

Now the ending again, and in the bass I have added a

harmony: (The three notes I have added would, together, make a
D-minor chord, which, by harmonizing well with the melody,
shows how the notes of the melody maintain reference to its
tonic, D.) ^+ ■

The last four notes are the cadence. The first two of these,

95
added to by the harmony of A beneath, are two notes which are
part of an A-minor chord, which provides the start of the 4th.
The D following, the tonic, (D-minor, actually), makes a 4th to
the A-minor before it. And, even though indirect, the 4th is
nevertheless present here as a cadence. This type of ending
cannot be harmonized any other way without destroying the
mood and integrity of the melody. It is a typical ending in many
of the early folk-songs of Scottish music.
One last point on the upward or downward effects of music.
In musical terminology, intervals are calculated upwards, because
the first known intervals came from the overtone series, which
goes upward from the original note. Tonality expresses this too.
Motion away from the tonic tends in musical works to lead
upwards, and the ending, or return to the tonic, tends to be
expressed downward, and intervals are therefore reckoned in
"reverse," in this return.
Aristotle asked, in his Problems, "Why is it more convenient to
sing from high to low than from low to high? ... is it because the
low note after the high one is nobler and more harmonious?"55
Bauer and Peyser report: "When the" (American) "Indian
sings, he starts on the highest tone he can reach and gradually
drops to the lowest."56
And Smith, discussing the cycle of 5ths, says, "Moreover, our
modern method of counting from the low note upwards seems to
be an inversion of the more primitive method, which proceeded
from above downward."57
Of course, in the cycle of 5ths, we count upward, but in most
Western musical compositions, we are like our predecessors. Our
music ends most often on notes lower than the general range of
the piece of music. Examples of this are legion.
Why is landing on low notes from high notes an expression of
tonality and cadence (or "return") in American Indian music or
Greek music, if they don't start on low notes first? It is true, in
the above examples, the start is not on the tonic, or low notes,
but already on the high notes.One reason for this is that the tonic
came to be "understood" before starting on the high notes and
returning down.* This is much the same as words in language are

*The use of this technique by Beethoven is done in the first

part of his 9th Symphony, only here a whole theme is worked
toward, instead of just a tonic, and is done before the theme has
even been played once. He puts together bits and pieces of the
96
"understood" without being spoken. For example, the title of
this book is "The Universality of Music." But the words: "The
title of this book is" are all understood when you look at the
cover. Years of tonal practice can bring the same thing about in
music.
Another reason you can "return" to a tonic which has not
been started upon first is because the ear, upon the playing of
combinations of high notes, will produce, by the very inner
construction of the ear itself, the lower tones; will produce the
tonic in instances, and "call for it," so to speak, after high notes.
The tones so produced by the ear are called by Helmholtz,
"Summation tones" and "Difference tones." But these are
produced only by combinations of higher notes, and so,
strengthens the cadence feature of lower notes only in Western
harmonic music.

theme to come, as well as hinting at its key, so that one feels like
a land-hungry sailor aboard ship who sees bits of wood and
debris, flotsam and jetsam, floating in the water, which signifies
the whole land mass of which these bits are a part. Below is the
piano score for the introduction of the first movement of
Beethoven's ninth symphony. The ominous entrance of the low
D in the 5th measure tells you that this is the key of the
impending theme, which, if one hears the piece, will be seen to
be accurately described by Meyer: ". . . the music moves on
without pause, without pity, to its stark and awful
declaration."58

97
 Harmony

Jeans says, about the evolution of harmony from homophonic

music, "ridiculous though it seems," (it) "remains one of the
unsolved problems of music. "59
Since 1937, when Jeans wrote the above lines, there have been
no notable advances on Helmholtz's theory of harmony, which
he admitted was incomplete. It is the purpose of the following
theory to completely explain the development of harmony with
out sacrificing the ability to explain other facts of music. Old and
new cultural and psychological theories, whatever else they can
explain, are unable to explain even the Octave, 4th and 5th, as I
have shown.
The reason why harmony has not been explained even by the
best of theoreticians is due to a number of errors.
One error is the belief that the scale was formed only by the
cycle of 5ths. This error has been avoided in this theory, replaced
by the concept of the "trio" — tonic, 5th and 4th - as the main
impulse.
Another error was the failure to appreciate the change in
musicians' concepts which were due to each new musical
discovery and the ensuing "Use" of each discovery. The main
change necessary to harmonic development was from the
98
position of "melodic tonality" (which allowed melodic steps
between the Octave, 4th and 5th, but allowed only those steps
which formed no dissonances with any other notes) to "melodi-
cism" (which allows all tonally related steps between the Octave,
4th and 5th even though some are dissonant to each other).
The concept necessary to melodicism is willingness to view the
whole as more important than any of its parts.
Finally, harmony remained unexplained because of lack of
understanding of the reason why early attempts at harmony
failed. This is a judgement based on admissions by early writers
thruout the centuries that their own music was less than satis
factory. Concrete evidence of this will be seen as we review the
development.
We wili examine each of the main items more or less separ
ately. "More or less," because these currents overlap and are
interdependent.

Changing Concepts of Tonality

The first of the preconditions for harmony to develop is the
change in the concept of music. Curt Sachs gives an example of
the earlier concept which we have called early tonality:
"The single note actually counted for more than melody;
chimes, numerous in all kinds of" (primitive) "orchestras, were
merely sets of single stones, metal slabs, or bells, united in one
frame, it is true, but not in any scale arrangement . . . Cosmo-
logical connotations were given individual notes, not, as in the
West, to melodic patterns. And notation consisted in separate
pitch symbols." 60
This did not mean that interest in scales was altogether
lacking. Sachs assures us that "the opposite is true." However,
the single note, up until Greek times, counted for more than
melodic sets of notes.
The change to when melody began to count for more than
single notes was due to years of "Use" of existing music, which
revealed that many actual relationships existed between different
notes. Each new awareness of these relationships in turn
increased the tonalism of the musician.
What this change in concepts has to do with the development
of harmony is this: A chord, however consonant, is always more
dissonant than a single note.
The reason why a chord is more dissonant than a single note is
99
this: A single note produces overtones which are audibly
consonant with one another, although we don't hear them
consciously. When all these overtones are played out loud in a
chord, even though the result is bound to be consonant, there is
an added element of dissonance because each of these additional
tones in turn produces its own overtones, many of which are
not consonant with each other. These elements can be easily
heard upon comparing a chord to a single tone.
Only the highly melodic musician can overlook the dissonant
elements in a major chord. He does this because his demand for
melody and tonality needs the tensions, dissonance or unrest that
a chord has, and which it has more powerfully than a single note.
These tensions are like hooks, which catch hold of notes before
and after them, helping to relate these notes to each other
melodically. This satisfies the melodic musician and at the same
time makes the chord acceptable in the light of this use to which
it is put. This is the function of harmony, as it historically
developed.
The primitive musician didn't find any chords consonant or
useful to him compared to his single notes. (This is assuming he
may even have stumbled across these chords.) Neither did he
have the knowledge of, nor the ability to make, all other chords,
whose relationships to even the most consonant of chords, in a
tonal or melodic pattern, could make any of these chords
acceptable and meaningful to him. An analogy might help here.
I hope all my readers have seen motion pictures. We have no
doubt experienced, at one time or another in a movie show, a
part when the projectionist has to bring the picture into focus.
Imagine the picture-in-focus as the consonant major chord.
Imagine the picture-coming-into-focus-but-not-yet-in-focus as
another chord, more dissonant than the major chord, but related
to it.
Both the second, more dissonant chord and the picture out of
focus, have qualities in common. One is that they reveal what
they are an imperfect example of: The basic elements of what
you are trying to see on the movie screen are still on the screen
even though distorted and out of focus. You see what is
"almost" there, and you want it to be there. Similarly, our
second chord, even though, on one hand, it is a distorted, dis
sonant form of our first chord, on the other hand, it has the
capacity to reveal and keep us aware of that first chord. This
two-sidedness of the second chord gives it the appearance of
100
being in "motion." This creates the desire for the completion or
resolution of that motion, just as we desire a rapid and full arrival
of focus of the elements on the screen.
It seems clear too, that if the chord is too dissonant, or the
movie too much out of focus, we lose our perception of just
what the thing is that is out of focus, or out of "harmony."
Without that perception, we don't know what we want of the
blur on the screen nor of the dissonant chord. We don't know,
because "motion" is lost for lack of apparent destination by
which to measure the motion. We are "repelled" instead of
"impelled."
(Of course, the analogy should not be taken as perfect. We go
to the movies to see the story and characters in it, not to enjoy
the abstract pleasures of watching the film get into focus. How
ever, it is just this abstract element of coming-into-harmony that
we seek out and enjoy in music for itself. The reason why the
same is not possible in movies is twofold. If the movie were
abstract (in order not to distract us with some story or character)
we would't know if it were out of focus or not, only our know-
ledgeof real things being the measure of that. Secondly, both,the
physiological capacities of shapes and colors,andthe number of
ways to "get into focus'/ are more limited than the number of
ways to resolve harmonies in music. That's why several such
attempts at "abstract" movies have failed even to approach the
popularity of musical concerts.) But to return to the analogy :
The pleasure we get when a chord resolves into harmony,
similar to the relief we feel when the movie image "resolves" into
focus, indicates that neither the unfocus of the film nor the
dissonant elements of the chord can be meaningful in themselves.
They can take on meaning only because they are ultimately
resolved. Vice versa, the thing they resolve to becomes more
meaningful because of the prior dissonance or unfocus. These
serve as a created frustration, which by being resolved, provide
relief. This seems to be the principle about which the esthetic of
harmony and melody developed, historically. As shown above,
however, this principle cannot be arbitrarily applied to just any
art.
Both the artistically created need and the fulfillment of that
need are possible in our diatonic harmony system. The consonant
major chord, formerly rejected by primitives (because the
method by which to resolve to that chord was not known, and
because it therefore stood in unfavorable dissonant contrast to
101
single tones), later takes on value for the more developed melodic
musician: All of the various types of chords can be put into a
sort of "spectrum" of chords, growing one out of another, and
varying by degrees of consonance and dissonance. In this
spectrum some types of chords are the most consonant. These -
although in relation to single notes are dissonant - in relation to
the spectrum are acceptable as a new, although more complex,
form of single "note" or "pure" consonance. Below are examples
of the process of harmony. First, a musical example:

$ 1
9
rw—
n

The chord shown above is an example of a very dissonant

chord. So dissonant, it may seem that it has no quality or side to
it that shows any relationship of notes. But the notes do have a
relationship to each other, or would, if a proper context brought
them out. Supplying the context below, we see that our chord,
marked (*), shows that the relations within it were ones in

suspended motion, which are here continued and completed:

(The example also shows that sound and the art of music
based on it may have qualitative differences from arts based on
other senses. No disagreeable smell or taste can be made more
102
acceptable by any added context of smells or tastes. Color, in its
way, doesn't seem to have any shade which can be considered
disagreeable to begin with. But I am getting ahead of myself. This
question can only be touched upon here.)
Secondly^- a graphic example of the process of harmony is
shown below, illustrating that what is taken for granted (focus),
becomes a downright pleasure when it is challenged.

^It^Nor music

Without the spectrum of chords necessary to justify the

simplest of chords, there can be no role for the consonant chord.
What is this spectrum of chords? The most noticeable lead in
the search for an answer is what music has become today: All the
popular music, folk songs, and literally millions of other types of
music, from classical to jazz, illustrate one glaring phenomenon
common to almost all of them today: The music is basically (not
entirely) harmonized by chords of the tonic, 4th and 5th.
In the last chapter we learned that these same three notes
produced a combined list of overtones which produce the notes
of the scale. As the scale is a reflection of these overtones, we can
say that the scale is tonally organized, that is, organized in
reference to a tonic. As most melodies are formed from scales,
especially major or minor, we can say that the scale itself repre
sents the first melody (speaking only in formal terms. The scale
was really developed from melodies and later codified as an
abstraction which represented all melody.)
Therefore, to harmonize this "scale—melody," if we were to
invent a harmony system for it, we would assign to each note a
chord which reflects that note's role in the scale (relative to its
tonic). The tonic, then, would get its own chord. The next note
(which would be D, in the scale of C) derived from the 5th of
the tonic, G, and it would get the chord based on the 5th. The
3rd, which derives from an overtone of the tonic again, would get
the tonic chord again, etc. (See last chapter, under "Completion
of the Scale" for the diagram illustrating the derivation of the
notes of the scale.)
When we look at our invention, we see that we have perfectly
matched the existing phenomenon of harmony in so much of f
today's music. In fact, we have matched that of music for several
hundreds of years. (It is true that most art-music is more
103
/
harmonically complex than this, but later on in this chapter, as
well as in the "Summary" in Appendix II, the reader can learn
that our basic scheme is not contradicted by the historic use of a
variety of other chords as well as those of the tonic, 4th and
5th.)
The condition which impelled the scale, then (tonic, 4th and
5th), is seen to also be reflected in harmony. We can see that it
does this, but the problem is to understand how this process took
place, considering that harmony was evolved, not invented, and
evolved by musicians with no "theory," as presented here, to
guide them. Understanding the change in musical thought,
historically, from non-melodicism to melodicism, may explain
why the melodic musician can appreciate harmony once he has
it, for harmony serves to strengthen the tonal relations of notes
in melody. But changes in concepts alone do not tell us how it
was discovered. Such a harmony system would not be "obvious"
to any ancient musician, as we will see next.
(With the wrong theories, a search into history to trace the
evolution has proved frustrating for many researchers. But, now
that we see the tonic, 4th and 5th is everywhere to be the core of
the matter, like red permeates the colors of the sunset evening,
our search again into history promises to be more rewarding. We
know what we're looking for.)
Max Weber tells us that "no evolution toward harmonic music
could have begun ... if other conditions, especially pure
diatonicism as a basis of the tone system of art music, had not
. . . existed." 6*
In other words, only after the diatonic scale had been formed
and used for a long time could harmony have developed. Why is
this true? Why was the development necessarily prevented from
occurring earlier? Why couldn't the primitive musician have
stumbled across chords just by the laws of chance, without the
big process outlined above, and have recognized or learned, from
these chords themselves, the role that chords could play, and also
have learned from them to earlier have become more tonally or
melodically-minded?
The chords necessary to justify the use of even the most
consonant major chord, against the use of more consonant single
tones, which were readily available, needed all 8 diatonic tones to
form them. All these notes may have. existed in vaguely defined
form at a very early period. Couldn't a thousand years of music
have accidentally and occasionally produced some of these notes
in just the right combinations to form the needed chords?
104
 The answer is that not only these 8 tones, but many others
just as vaguely defined were in use too. From such a world of
notes the possible combinations are limitless. The permutations
are so great that even the laws of chance would be hard put to
have provided by accident even a couple of consecutive chords in
just the right transpositions necessary to reveal the possibility of
a workable harmony system. (Most other progressions have
proved, historically, to be relatively unsatisfactory as we will see
later.) Secondly, to find such chords, or pay attention to them,
one must first be disposed to think they can be found, or that
study of them, if they are found, would reveal something. Even if
this was thought, a deliberate process of elimination, of trial and
error, to find such a system of chords (even from among only 8
well defined notes, not to mention the dozens which existed then
in a poorly defined state) would have been more than two
lifetimes of work.
Again, if the primitive had all the above lucky happenstances,
including two lifetimes in which to work at it, such events would
have had to happen many times before the significance of them
could be felt in the development of music. No "genius" can be
responsible for a thing, unless that genius is a reflection of a
commonly-inspired development. (And in general, no commonly
inspired developments can have more than temporal and local
meaning without being backed up by natural, or at least techno
logical forces, which continue to exist even as social conditions
change.)
Finally, the lone major chord itself cannot be too easily
assumed to have been known of by primitives. The only major
chord that can be formed from the tonic of the pentatonic scale
would have been (in the key of C) C, F, and A - which is really
an F chord - but in an upside-down, more dissonant form: the
tonic of this chord itself, F, is not the bottom, most audible
note.
As the rise of the diatonic scale from the pentatonic scale took
place at the same time as the change from melodic tonality to
melodicism (which is our first precondition for harmony), then
the musical difference between these two scales may provide us
with a clue about how harmony was discovered by the more
melodically-oriented musicians.
The difference between the 5-note pentatonic scale and the
7-note diatonic scale is the 3rd and 7th (Mi and Ti in the Do, Re,
Mi scale). Therefore, let's look at these, especially the 3rd.

105
The 3rd - How It Spurred the Discovery of Harmony
The 3rd was allowed into the scale because its relation to the
tonic was realized by the principle of Use, as I mentioned earlier.
(Long after it was in the scale it was later officially declared by
the Church to be a strong consonance as well as a melodic step.)
The initial dissonance of the 3rd with the 4th, the note after it,
and with the 2nd, the note before it in the scale, was overlooked
by the growing melodicism of the time. However, it became,
first, only a "consonance" as part of a successive melodic phrase
- C, D, E, F (Do, Re, Mi, Fa) or Tonic, 2nd, 3rd and 4th - before
it became a consonance in harmony with the tonic.
(The 7th was also viewed as a melodic step. But it never became
a consonance to the tonic, because it is only a half-tone away
from the octave of the tonic. This fact made it a special melodic
step however, as "leading note," shown in the preceding chapter)
When stringed instruments were developed, it was possible to
produce lower notes than before, and to do it with a higher
degree of quality than those which could be made on a primitive
drum. It was then possible for the 3rd, accepted as a melodic step
in the scale, to eventually become more of an isolated harmonic
consonance of importance too, for, as is shown in the section on
"Relativity of Consonances" in Chapter I, when the notes of the
3rd are played as a 10th (by using a tonic an octave lower) they
are more consonant - more so than the 4th. (If any musician had
ever heard this 10th earlier, he was never able to hold onto it, its
production probably occurring occasionally when a drum beat
hit the low tonic, and a singer or flute, by chance, the 10th. It
seems to be a law of development that things must be discovered
over and over again in primitive times for them to be considered
discovered.) At any rate, only hundreds of years after the 3rd
was included in the Greek scale, was man able to get a good
enough look at it, and he may have then cried (in Medieval times)
"Just what I've always wanted!" For here, indeed, did man have
a peculiar consonance: Other harmonic consonances to date were
consonances of "similars" as explained in Chapter IB. Nothing of
special attractiveness exists by playing the octave to a note. It is
only noted as "the same note, only higher." The 4th and 5th too,
are more similar to the tonic than different from it. But the 3rd,
we can say, is a consonance of "difference" and implied the
possibility of a workable harmony.
"The most attractive of the intervals, melodically and
harmonically, are . . . the Thirds and Sixths, - the intervals which

106
lie at the very boundary of those that the ear can grasp" as
consonances, says Helmholtz.^2
The history of music illustrates that the first clearly recorded
forms of harmony began to develop in the Church at least as
early as the 9th Century. But this was long before the 3rd was
admitted into the family of the "official" harmonic consonances
of the Church. The 3rd was in the scale from early Greek times,
but because it was not an official consonance until very late in
Medieval times, the new attempts at harmony (called "organum"
- a word to remember) could not at once use it. The harmony
that was developed was based on 4ths and 5ths; on consonances
of "similars."
One may naturally wonder how the 3rd spurred the develop
ment of harmony when for hundreds of years it was not used as
an harmonic interval. The 3rd, by making the major diatonic
scale (the first melody as we know "melody" today) contributed,
thereby, to the development indirectly. For, as harmony can be
used to strengthen the relations of notes in a melody, then with
out the advent of melody in this form (familiar to our own
concepts of melody) harmony would have had little function.
But this is only half an answer.
It is necessary now to learn that there are really two histories
of music (and of the 3rd) in this period: that of Church music
and that of Secular music. The Church kept records of much of
their music. Secular music was vocal and spontaneous, and little
of it was noted, even for the sake of history, by Church
historians.
It's important to be careful not to take written church music
or its own history of music as too accurate in these matters, as
the anti-paganism of the clerics surely affected their objectivity.
From St. Augustine on through the various meetings of the
Council of Trent to the present day, we read of sporadic diatribes
by the church condemning "wantonness," "vulgarity," etc.,
picking at certain rhythms and harmonies which have insidiously
crept into the music. And in many cases, until these fits of pique
occurred and were recorded, historians have had no other way of
discovering exactly what had been going on in the music up to
then; for surely, while these evil practices were done by
musicians on a daily basis, no one ever was allowed to write
about them nor justify them in any theoretical writings. The
written music most often did not reflect what the real sound was
like.
107
 As secular music had no recourse to written music or written
history, therefore, we may, in most cases, only infer, too, what it
was like, but later we'll see that we can infer a great deal without
fear of missing the mark by too much.
The history of the major diatonic scale, whose distinguishing
characteristics are the 3rd and 7th, is divided into these "two"
histories. Let's examine this history in more detail.
The scales most tonally organized (previous chapter) and
which imply the ingredients of harmony are the major and minor
scales. It has been claimed by some historians that the major
diatonic scale, as part of the "major-minor system," was well on
its way to predominance long before recorded history would lead
us to believe. We know that the medieval church basically relied
upon a system of modes, that is, scales formed by beginning on
different notes of the diatonic scale. For example, beginning on
D, we have DE*FGAB*CD, a scale known as the "Dorian" scale or
mode. (Others, beginning on other notes, have names like
"Phrygian," "Mixolydian," "Lydian," etc.) The difference
between these scales is the arrangement of tones and semitones.
In the Dorian mode, the second and third notes (marked above
by the asterisk), and the sixth and seventh notes, form a half
tone. The other notes form whole-tones. In the Phrygian mode,
beginning on E, the first and second, and the fifth and sixth,
notes form the semitones. Our major mode or scale has half-tones
between the third and fourth, and seventh and eighth, notes.
Melodies were written in these modes, and each had its own
characteristic sound or emotional quality. The Greeks had a
similar set of modes. The names were the same, but the names
were applied differently, and several ways, as their music evolved
into these modes, than the way they were applied during the
middle ages. Although we don't know for sure which series of
tones ("harmonies" — prior to Greek modes) was Lydian or
Phrygian in ancient Greek times, we do know that they, too, had
an emotional quality and were written about by Plato and
Aristotle. We know the later Greek modes, but little is written
about their effect. In most cases, the effect of the music was
mainly due to different arrangements of whole and half-tones.
Among these modes in the middle ages, we know that accord
ing to Church-recorded history our minor and major modes were
absent until a medieval theorist, Glarean, added them in the 1 6th
century, calling them Aeolian and Ionian. But were they really
"absent" until then? No one knows if the late Greeks or early
108
 Romans likewise omitted these modes or relegated them to a
status of lesser importance to any other of their modes. There is
no reason why they would have, but the church may have had a
reason to slight them if they had been in vogue: As they opposed
all pagan devices, among these may have been the major and
minor modes.
Grout says about the "tracts," which are the longest chants in
the liturgy, and among the oldest in the Christian church: "There
are certain recurring melodic formulas which are found in many
different tracts, and regularly in the same place . . . These
features - the construction of so many melodies on only two
basic patterns ... all suggest that in the tracts we have a survival,
probably in elaborated form, of some of the most ancient music
of the Church. If this is true, it would suggest that originally
there were only two modes . . . and that these two original modes
were what we should now call 'minor' and 'major' in
character."63
In the name of anti-paganism perhaps these modes were
eventually and successfully organized out of the official music.
However, we know that accidentals (Bb) were allowed in church
music. "The only accidental properly used in notating Gregorian
Chants is B-flat. Under certain conditions the B was flatted in
modes I and II, and also occasionally in modes V and VI; if this
was consistently done, these modes became exact facsimiles of
the modern . . . minor and major scales respectively." 64
Prior to church organum there were "troubadours" and
"trouveres," traveling musicians, whose music Grout describes:
"The modes used were chiefly the first and seventh . . . certain
notes in these modes were probably altered chromatically by the
singers in such a way as to make them almost equivalent to the
modern minor and major."65 (That is, tending away from
modality.)
In other words, the claims of an early popularity (or at least
persistence) of minor and major scales isn't unfounded.
The history of the 3rd itself, like that of the scale, is also
involved in the dual accounts about early harmony. The desire
for combinations of tones had already been partly developed
before Christianity: I believe that very early, despite the lack of
success or even of developed melodicism, man often wanted to
make harmony. This is evidenced by the very early occasional
uses of simultaneous 4ths and 5ths, from the uses of various
rhythm patterns in combination (as we will see in the chapter on

109
Rhythm), and from such things as the very ancient "drone"
accompaniment of bagpipes in Scottish music. (See Appendix II,
"Harmony in Ancient and Primitive Music" for a fuller discussion
of this question.)
In these earliest attempts at harmony, the Secular history of
the 3rd figures much more prominently than it does in Church
music.
"The practice of singing a given melody in thirds was called
gymel or cantus gemellus (i.e., 'twin song'). This practice seems
to have had no connection with ecclesiastical developments in
organum and it may have existed prior to organum. It was
probably of Welsh or English origin."66
No one knows whether any such use of thirds existed in the
Roman-early Christian areas. Also, no one knows that it didn't
exist then in some form or other either. But the widespread use
of 3rds melodically; and, in almost all places untouched or not
under the strongest influence of the church, the non-modal
character of secular music indicates that one of the "pagan"
aspects banned by the church easily could have been thirds in
harmonic form.
Sachs wrote of the relation between Church and secular music:
"Contemporary sources, written by clerics and for clerics, did
not condescend to mention it;" (secular music) "and folk music
itself, depending on oral tradition, seldom availed itself of
notation. All conclusions must be drawn from indirect evidences
- from a few songs of the time preserved in later notation, from
the popular music of jugglers and minstrels from ages after A.D.
1000, and from the folk-songs of today, with their amazing
tenacity.
"All these evidences bear witness to one fact: The non-
Mediterranean secular music of Europe did not follow the
tetrachordal and modal style of the Church (except in cases of
willful imitation). Instead, it organized its tunes in thirds: their
framework consisted of one third, or of two, three, four and
even, as in today's folksongs of Iceland and Scandinavia, five
thirds heaped one above another. Such chains complement each
two consecutive thirds to form a fifth. Therefore, the thirds are
major and minor in regular alternation.
"The resulting 'chains' were not scales, but loose organiza
tions, pieced together out of single elements without any thought
given to higher units beyond the fifth. The decisive change
forward came from the organizing power of the octave . . . For
no
we find tertial chains in which the third of the thirds, a seventh
away from the groundtone (as C-E, E-G, G-B), was sung but was
at once pulled up to make an octave. Wherever this happened,
the third-fifth-octave skeleton of later Western music was
established . . ."67
With these reservations about the two histories in mind, we
can now trace the development of harmony in the Church,
according to the Church's own history and records. And we will
see, nevertheless, that things like the 3rd, the harmonic system
(based on the tonic, 4th and 5th), and other such aspects of
music, all fought their way to the surface through the Dark Ages,
and created, despite the originally powerful social pressure and
bans against them, an almost "acoustically perfect" music.
As was pointed out, the first Church harmony was called
"organum," begun around the ninth century. Initially, the
introduction of the 3rd allowed this new attempt at harmony to
take place by forming the first real melody: the diatonic scale.
Also developed from the scale itself were the remainder of notes,
the 12-tone series, which made possible the relating of whole
scales to each other in keys* of the 4th and 5th. Let's examine
this process in more detail.
Because the diatonic scale and modes were the "first" real
melodies (and new melodies could be arranged from them), they
were wanted in transposed keys, that is, starting on other notes.
Here the aim was to transpose completely, not just start on
another note and get another and different mode with a different
pattern of whole and half-tones. For example, in order to have
the major scale (starting on C) transposed so that it will start on
G, a new note is needed.

The scale in the key of G

"Key" is similar to tonic, in that it is the note around which

in
 The note needed is F-sharp. F# is not an already existing note
in the scale from which we wish to transpose: CDE FGABC. To
play the scale in the key of G or in any other key, F# and all
such "new" notes are needed. These notes, together with the
scale, formed a 1 2-note series, or a 1 2-note division of the octave,
such as all the notes, black and white, which we find between C
and C on our piano.
(Another reason for the additional notes was the desire to alter
existing modes and melodies to suit them to a minor or major
sound, or for causa pulchritudinus (for the sake of beauty).
These alterations are known as accidentals, and throughout the
Middle Ages, were often not written in the music. The result was
that the real sounds were called musica ficta (ficticious, or false
music). Much of our knowledge of what music was like is
speculative due to several centuries of unfortunate things like
that.)
Just a side point: Prior to the diatonic scale and the desire to
relate the scale in keys, the 1 2-tone series, which had been earlier
discovered, had no use until melodicism was highly enough
developed to use them for the above reason. Forsythe points out:
"Chinese theorists also invented a chromatic series ... in
which two whole-tone scales were twisted together like the
strands of a rope to form a complete whole."
^One scale

D P G A C

C# D# F# G# A# ~C#

"Another scale
"But," he adds, "this remained a theory and no more. It was
absolutely unused in both ritual and popular music."68
Smith wrote, "The Japanese have twelve semitones to the
octave, as the Chinese have, the root of their civilization being
the same . . . The scale, however, is not used to play music
proceeding by semitones, but is used for the purpose of trans-

all other notes are centered, but the word key also implies all of
these other notes. Hence G can be considered a note in the key
of C, because it is related to C. If all the notes of a chord are
related to a tonic, then the chord is said to be in that key.

112
position of melody to high or low position . . ,"69 In other
words, this series (which may have been arrived at in other places
through the cycle of 5ths) was rarely used and nowhere was it
used as a scale. Even in Greece, it was a set of auxiliary notes plus
the diatonic scale, not a scale by itself.
But to return: How did the 12 notes and the ability to play
the scale in various keys contribute to the development of
organum? That is, to the beginning of harmony?
We know, as was mentioned, that Aristotle and Plato wrote
much concerning the effect (ethos) of different modes in their
music. In any poem which was sung, often one line may have
required or been appropriate to one mode, and another line to
another mode. Hence, (if our modern notation of the few Greek
fragments of music is correct), a song would be in and out of
different modes, successively. (It is well established that in
medieval times, even in early chants, "multi-modalism"
formed a part of the construction of these melodic lines.) This
represents one reason for transposition of the modes and the
extension of the scale to include the auxiliary notes we have
already discussed.
To give a melody to another voice, higher or lower, or to a
particular instrument, modes and melodies were for this, too,
transposed.
(One may easily believe that, "Well, now we've got a melody
or two. What does it take to have someone, experimentally or
accidentally, find out that a few more notes might be added and
sound good? Or try to play two different melodies at the same
time?"
(Ah, but that is asking too much. It would have taken a great
deal. To do that would have been a great historic leap in the field
of music, skipping over many steps.
(In those days, music was still inseparably bound up with
words. Instrumentalism was extremely rare. Often the words and
their meanings had more to do with the shaping of the music
than anything else. In any "short" stretch of history, especially
when an art is not yet an independent art, social aspects strongly
intervene.)
The next step was a long time in coming, but resulted from
what was brought into existence by all this transposing: The
same melody began to exist in different keys. Once it so existed,
in whatever crude notation may have existed, then it is not
asking a great deal for someone to have thought (albeit
113
cautiously) about taking the same melodies and playing or sing
ing them in the different keys together; simultaneously.
The earliest known harmony consisted of occasional 4ths and
5ths played simultaneously with the tonic. Forsythe says that in
China, "At most the guitar-player is occasionally allowed to
touch a fourth, a fifth, or an octave when accompanying the
voice."70 As a result of the use of the 1 2-tone system, the end of
the Roman empire saw this old harmony give way to organum,
the playing of whole scales and melodies, not just occasional
notes, in 4ths and 5ths simultaneously.
The melodicism of musicians allows them to do with whole
melodies what they formerly did only with single notes: the
playing of them in harmonies of 4ths and 5ths, using the 12
tones to form these melodies in the different keys and modes.
This actually represents the first stage of the influence of the
3rd. By completing the diatonic scale and melody as we more or
less understand it today, it led to organum, the earliest recorded
form of harmony on any broad scale.
Now, if the 3rd hadn't been introduced, forming the scale and
the various modes; if among these modes the major and minor
modes hadn't been of some importance (how important they
were or would have had to be may have to remain speculative),
then even the beginning process of harmony so far outlined
above might never have been continued. Any forms of harmony
attempted earlier would have been done without possession of all
the notes necessary to form "consonant" chords, that is, chords
which also have the potential of being part of a spectrum of
chords. As has been said, without such a context or "spectrum,"
no chord could have been accepted as "consonant."
However, the process had only begun. It was not finished with
the advent of organum. Certainly, the first organum did not
provide our "spectrum." While it was possible because of the
diatonicism of the period, it was, I believe, another "failure" at
harmony. (I use the word "failure" advisedly and only in a long-
range historic sense.) Its duration was due to its techniques
having been frozen by church regulation. The evidence for this
belief is that music outside the church, to a greater degree than
within, was developing the 3rd as a "consonance of difference,"
and may actually have been an unrecorded influence which
spurred the church to its own "non-pagan" harmony in organum.
A reason to suppose the possibility that organum was a
"failure," is admission by churchmen themselves from time to
time concerning the course of their organum. Speaking of a later
form of it, Franco of Cologne was not unaware of the cacophony
of the sounds emanating from the faithful in praise of the
Almighty. "He who shall wish to contruct a quadruplum or
quintuplum" (4 or 5 voice writing) "ought to have in mind the
melodies already written, so that if it be discordant with one, it
will be in concord with the others." 71
There is less testimony regarding the early organum, but the
parallel 5ths involved in it were soon discarded. "Strict organum
was probably still used in the 1 1th century, although the interval
of a fifth was no longer permitted in parallel motion." 72
(Secular music might have earlier developed a more successful
harmony system except for lack of a method of notation, which
was available only to the church, and which was another pre
condition for the real development of harmony.) The point here
is that if the music was in good measure admittedly discordant
(saving us from imposing this judgment of it from our own
prejudiced modern ears), for what reason did the process
continue? One can infer that a good reason was the existence of
the practice of a somewhat sweeter (although undoubtedly less
complex or sophisticated) form of harmonic activity in the
secular field. Although the church may have decried secular or
pagan influences, it is well known that despite such attitudes
throughout history, often the things disdained by some are never
theless unconsciously adopted by the disdainers themselves. In
this case, if such a secular influence existed, it was much
modified. If it moved the Church toward harmony, the harmony
initially used was modified to exclude the "secular" 3rd.
However, organum itself, which began in the 9th century, by
the 11th century began to finally develop the 3rd as an
harmonic interval.
The increase in harmonic activity, causing a growing
cognizance of the 3rd as an harmonic consonance as well as a
melodic one, gave rise to the next stage, which I shall call "poly-
vocality," and which happened around the 11th century. This
stage, lasting several centuries, was to pave the way to the
discovery of chords and chord connections (our spectrum). Poly-
vocality means the playing or singing of different melodies at the
same time (compared to organum, which presents the same
melody, but starts it simultaneously from notes a fourth or fifth
apart). Other terms applicable to this in general are "counter
point," "polyphony," etc. I believe polyvocality is a more

"5
accurate and descriptive term. The first simultaneous 3rds, in any
quantity that havebeen recorded, were produced by this poly-
vocality, and this is the initial success necessary to really inspire
continued efforts at harmony. Although it was hardly clear to
musicians then, a small part of the spectrum of chords, in their
proper acoustical order, began accidentally to be formed. Social
custom can keep many aberrations going for a while, but not
forever. From this point forward, the history of music represents
a thread toward finished tonality in both melody and harmony,
and any socially inspired retrogressions from this thread, after
having been introduced, were ultimately shunted aside later, or
completely abandoned.
I would like to introduce here an example of polyvocality. It
isn't an historical example, but one by the author in a style
illustrative of the idea.
In the example below, voice 1 and voice 2 represent two
different melodies. Notice how the accidental dissonances

FINK
Voice 1
Slow
S

zp
si

Voice f

116
 formed by the two melodies can be viewed as if "in passing" and
are not upsetting in that light. In fact, they add the necessary
contrasts to the harmonies which make such pieces even more
interesting than if there were only consonances in them.
Around the time of the 11th century, it was noted that the
playing of entirely different melodies could be done and could
sound good too. The simultaneous 3rds created by this poly-
vocality was only one step forward from the playing of 3rds in
the melodic scale. (Men — at least churchmen — have proceeded
at a pace which consisted of the tiniest of steps.) Until the 3rd
was long accepted as a melodic consonance in the scale, it could
not be accepted as a harmonic consonance. Sachs has pointed
out: "Whenever a musical style demands accompanying notes, it
prefers them at intervals similar to those it favors as melodic
steps." 73
Helmholtz writes as follows of the beginning and history of
polyvocality, which he calls polyphonic music.
"The oldest specimens of this kind of music which have been
preserved are of the following description. Two entirely different
melodies . . . were adapted to one another by slight changes in
rhythm or pitch until they formed a tolerably consonant whole
. . . The first of such examples could scarcely have been intended
for more than musical tricks to amuse social meetings. It was a
new and amusing discovery that two totally independent
melodies might be sung together and yet sound well . . . Different
voices, each proceeding independently and singing its own
melody, had to be united in such a way as to produce either no
dissonances, or merely transient ones which were readily
resolved. Consonance was not the object in view, but its
opposite, dissonance, was to be avoided. All interest was
concentrated on the motion of the voices." 74 Here we see
melodicism as the moving principle. And yet, although

"7
Helmholtz could describe it, he failed to realize its importance in
answering the question he posed on why chords were not
discovered sooner:
"It is scarcely possible for us, from our present point of view,
to conceive the condition of an art which was able to build up
the most complicated constructions of voice parts in chorus, and
was yet incapable of adding a single accompaniment to the
melody of a song ... for the purpose of filling up the harmony.
And yet when we read how Giacomo Peri's invention of recita
tive" (half-talk and half singing) "with a simple accompaniment
of chords was applauded and admired and what contentions
arose as to the renown of the invention; what attention Viadana*
excited when he invented the addition of a Basso continuo for
songs in one or two parts, as a dependent part serving only to fill
up the harmony; it is impossible to doubt that this art of
accompanying a melody by chords . . . was completely unknown
to musicians up to the end of the sixteenth century. It was not
until the sixteenth century that composers became aware of the
meaning possessed by chords as forming an harmonic tissue
independently of the progression of parts . . ."7^
"Since the involved progression of the parts gave rise to chords
in extremely varied transpositions and sequences, the musicians
of this period could not but hear these chords and become
acquainted with their effects, however little skill they shewed in
making use of them. At any rate, the experience of this period
prepared the way for harmonic music proper, and made it
possible for musicians to produce it . . ."76
So from the 11th century, when polyvocality began, to the
16th century, when chords were finally accepted in isolation, we
see that the melodicism of musicians had to be whittled down a
bit by the consonance of the individual chords which they
accidentally formed in the progression of parts. It took this slight
retreat for them to pay attention to and discover the relations
that existed between various isolated combinations of notes that
were formed by polyvocality; that is, for them to discover
chords. If Helmholtz had been able to give due importance to the
melodicism of the period, he could have understood part of the
reason for the failure of musicians to quickly abstract chord
combinations from music which was conceived and viewed only

*Viadana is no longer credited with inventing the Basso

Continuo.
118
as a progression of parts, or melodies.
When Helmholtz could have talked about the cultural causes
of things, of social effects in music, he doesn't. For here, the
time span between polyvocality and the discovery of chords also
has social causes. If abstract and isolated chords were wanted, the
3rd had to be used to form them. The 3rd was in the scale, but if
the 3rd was not an officially approved consonance according to
the Church, then musicians had to wait until it was before they
could use it as one in harmony. To do so beforehand would have
been as gross in taste then as to hav^ a church choir singing
bawdy songs and doing the can-can at solemn Mass today.
It took time for the 3rd to be viewed as a consonance in
harmony as it already was as a melodic step. "It was not till
towards the end of the twelfth century that Franco of Cologne
included the Thirds among the consonances . . .
"It was not till the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries that
musicians began to include the Sixths among the
consonances."77 (Here, of course, Helmholtz is referring to
simultaneous combinations.)
However, as has been mentioned, earlierusages of 3rds and 6ths
are on record. "In the 11th century, a method of combining
sounds, called the New Organum, was developed. This kind of
organum admitted thirds and sixths."78 What seemed to take so
long for Helmholtz, who I think relied too heavily on official
church edicts for his estimate, might have been less of a question
for him had he paid attention to the possible secular influences
and to the "premature" activity of some church musicians who
experimented with methods not yet officially approved. It
should be stressed however, even had he understood this, that the
process still was one which required more time than a first glance
would expect, and this, again, was because having become highly
melodically oriented, musicians did not concern themselves over
ly with vertical harmonic structures. In addition, they also
had no idea that they were "supposed" to discover and isolate
chords, in order that they might "file" them away and pick them
out to harmonize melodies as these melodies were composed and
as they might require certain chords.
At any rate, by the 16th century, the way was finally cleared
for church musicians to use the 3rd "legally" in the writing of
chords, and as an important consonance (at cadence points and
on strong rhythmic points).
The basic theory regarding harmonic structure (known as
119

\
harmonic rhythm) during these 400 years was often changing and
nebulous. There seemed to be no definite notion of chord
progression for the most part. As long as the movement of voices
produces a tolerable whole, many unusual chord movements are
found. Certain conventions arose concerning the cadences, and
these tended quite directly, more and more toward the tradi
tional V—I (that is, the 4th relationship) cadence. It seemed to
have been more or less founded in the Burgundian school in the
middle of the 15th century, and has lasted 500 years. And for
several hundred years before that, the cadence was a bastardized
incomplete form of the modern cadence, VII - I (Or, vii°- I,

that is, f to 9.
D £

In so far as any chords were thought of at all in an attempt to

apply them deliberately at any given points, to bind two melodies
together, or to alter them to suit a melody, one trait stands out in
almost all the music in the 400 year span: Notes of any main mel
ody were often harmonized by their own chord. More concretely,
notes were frequently harmonized, one after another, with
chordal structures which consisted of the 3rd and 5th of each
note of the melody. (The illustration below is only an extension
of the idea to the diatonic scale in order to illustrate the point.) In
addition, this method was eventually rejected, although like
everything else in history during these early periods, centuries
went by as these things were modified. (It should be noted how
ever, that the ultimate modifications conformed to natural laws,
and followed them closely. Social events and influences of the
time, which "should," according to cultural theories, have given
rise (and did in the other arts) to modifications; in music, often
found no reflection at all in any change in the music, and vice
versa: the music made great historic junctures at a time when
little else was changing.)*

*Grout says: 'The period from 1450 to 1600 in the history of

music is now generally known as 'the Renaissance . . .' Renais
sance was first used by art historians'to designate fifteenth-and
sixteenth-century styles of painting, sculpture, and architecture;
its use was gradually extended to all cultural manifestations of
these two hundred years, including music ... As the word gained
in content, it lost in precision. Its literal meaning is 'rebirth,' and
120
 The example below represented what was historically a "false
harmonization technique.

(C maj) (D maj) (£ maj) (F maj)

C F
£ F#(«rtj) A
G B C

(G maj) (A maj) (B maj) (C maj)

G A LX B h C
B D#(ortl) £
D £ F#(ort|) G

The top line is the scale, the next is the name of the chord
which was used to harmonize each of its notes, and the notes
forming each chord are listed below it.
In this progression, mostly rejected now, none of the chord
notes or overtones of, say, the D chord (2nd from the left above)
"forecasts" any overtones or notes of the next scale note or its
chord. In fact, the whole harmonic progression is one of
disruption of relationships among the notes of the scale, even
though the chords making up the progression are each major
chords, the most consonant of chords.
The more melodically-oriented musicians were, the more

many writers and artists of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries

viewed the achievements of their own time as a revival of the
glories of Greece and Rome, a revival stimulated in part by
discoveries of many ancient works of art and literature. But no
comparable discoveries of ancient music were made . . .
Renaissance, then, in the sense of a rebirth of ancient art, is all
but meaningless when applied to music of this period . . ."79
The reason for the mismatch is due to an earlier mismatch
between society and effects on music: The "classic" age of
architecture, sculpture, and later painting had already been (or
were being) achieved long before the "classic" age in music was
even on the distant horizon. There was nothing in music to be
discovered from ancient times; nothing to be "reborn" and
"revived."
121
unsatisfactory was this early attempt at harmony because of its
disruptive character to melodic unity.
One might ask, if forgetful of the previous chapter, why the D
is in the scale at all, if all its overtones so poorly relate to those
of the notes before and after it in the scale. Besides the role of
melodicism, making the D a melodic step, there is this reason:
is because D is an overtone of G, the 5th of the tonic, that it is in
the scale, * and this, in spite of D's overtones. Therefore, if we
use the chord of G, instead of the chord of D, to harmonize the
D, we will have a better and smoother harmonization of the
c —— D — E —
[C maj) (G maj ) (C maj] CP maj)
C G C P
E B fi A
G C
(ibnic)
tes)

— g —— A - B —— C
CG maj) CP maj)<^G maj) CC maj)
G P G C
B A B E
D C D G
(5tH) (4*0 m

"When you grow up and become a)

Chief note in another scale,
you'll get your own chord.
Until then, my children,
^harmonize with nine."

Big Chief 'gth*

'2nd' little Indian

7th9 little Indian

*Similarly with the A, which derives from the overtones of the

4th, F, etc.
122
scale. In fact, the whole scale, being a product of the overtones
of the tonic, 4th and 5th, is best harmonized only by chords
derived from the tonic, 4th and 5th.
Upon hearing and comparing the two methods of harmonizing
the scale, it is easy to hear the superiority and agreeableness of
the latter method. To 1 6th century musicians like Palestrina, the
development to this latter method came slowly.
The chords of the tonic, 4th and 5th, are, of course, not the
only chords which were eventually discovered, nor are they the
only chords which should be used in music for good effect. But
they are the skeleton base of Western harmony. Their repeated
recurrence in polyvocality, their usual presence in important
passages or sections of this music, led to their discovery, and by
the 18th century, to the view that these were the basic trio of
chords. Other chords can be found to be mostly refinements and
sophistications of these three basic chords. Simple popular songs,
and most folk songs, early and modern, divide their harmonic
structure among these three chords. One or two of these three
are sometimes made minor instead of major, but the relationships
among them, of tonic, 4th and 5th, remain.
So then, despite Church decree, despite the inventions of
"genius," music eventually followed the laws of acoustics, in the
latter example of the harmonization of the scale and in its
general development, and overcame the edict-fixed practices of
centuries, which would have determined Western music, if no
natural influences were in operation. Even the churchmen didn't
get too used to their false harmony system: to their intellectual
concept of what the reality of consonance was. The reality of
acoustics finally impressed itself upon musicians, despite the
concepts held about that reality. As the development stands
historically, it could not have happened unless musical tones did
have the physical, natural relationships that I have written about.
It has not been uncommon for many people to assume that
harmony first developed as chords, and that after that, poly
vocality was the result of conforming the notes of different
combined melodies to each other in order to create these already
conceived chords.
But having the finished system of harmony before us, it is
possible to discuss and understand directly the question about
why chords were discovered from polyvocality and could not
precede this musical form (and to sum up this chapter so far).
As I mentioned earlier, I believe that the early musician
123
desired harmony long before he discovered it, and was forced to
reject many of his early attempts because they didn't add either
melodic or consonant advantages to the music of the time.
Primitive musicians were oriented more to the single note than to
melodies or groups of related notes. If they ever ran across
chords, they rejected them on the grounds that their single tone
was more consonant. Such chords were viewed as an unresolved
mass of tone, however consonant these chords may appear to
sound to us. (They appear so to us because we know how they are
resolved, or that they will be resolved, one into another, for the
purpose of expressing the relations within a melody.)
Palestrina's method too, was ultimately rejected because the
melodically oriented musician is interested in the relations of
melody notes to each other which allow them to form an inte
grated whole - a melody. He increasingly disapproved of
anything which disrupted these tonal relations, and all early
methods of harmony did just that.
Attempts at harmony which Palestrina perfectly culminated,
for example, were earlier originated because their techniques
were the most simply arrived at: "The harmonic rhythm of a
motet was . . . after the middle of the (13th) century, that . . .
each note of the tenor" (main melody) "carried its own
chord."80 We have seen that this was not completely satis
factory.
On the other hand, our Western system of modern harmony
developed since Palestrina, has rules which are not based on such
a simple, direct approach. Rather, it is based on the existence of
inequality among the notes of the scale or any melody, and on
the application of only those chords which reflect this inequality;
on a basic chord structure of the tonic, 4th and 5th. (See illus
tration earlier.)
As I have pointed out, the scale, like any melody, has "weak"
and "strong" notes in it, that is, has notes some of which more
strongly relate to the tonic note than others. (These others relate
not to the tonic, but often to the 3rd, 4th and 5th of the tonic,
and to other intervals of the tonic.) For this reason, the chords
necessary to harmonize the weak notes, without disrupting their
original relationships, cannot derive directly from the weak
notes, but must come from the strong original notes from which
these weaker notes themselves derive.
It doesn't seem likely that such a complex, and unobvious
method of harmony could have been discovered accidentally,
124
except after a long period of trial and error, because it doesn't
lend itself to being a method which anyone would have tried as a
first, or early attempt. This is especially true as there was no
conscious or consistent knowledge of any inequality among the
notes of tonal melodies or of the scale.
Conscious knowledge of the unequal strengths of the notes in
the scale could not be had until taught to musicians by the
accidental discovery of a harmony system which was based on
that inequality.
So it should be more apparent why polyvocality had to be the
means by which this complex harmony was developed. Only by
the accidental harmonic combinations, and by the relationships
among these combinations, which were formed by melodies
which sounded well together, could just those harmonies and
chords which make our now standard system of harmony be
discovered. Today, these chords are deliberately put to melodies
to harmonize them.
Conversely, that certain melodies sounded well together was
the lure which led to the examination of the combinations
formed by these melodies, and to the discovery of a harmony
which would "work" after eras of failures. The fact that certain
types of melodies could sound well together was because the
notes of such melodies were combined not by the rules of any
preconceived or arbitrary method of harmony - such as that used
by Palestrina - but because the notes of these melodies formed,
without conscious design, only those chords which didn't disrupt
the integrity of either of the melodies. Such chords were
basically those of the tonic, 4th and 5th, and of sophistications
of this 3-sided relationship. (In well-developed music, chords of
many keys are used besides the tonic, 4th and 5th, but each key
change tends to contain within itself this triple relationship, with
each new key playing the role of a new, though secondary,
tonic.) Not all melodies when combined will produce this
relationship, but these are also not harmonious, and would never
have lured musicians to an examination of them.
We can see here why even the developed melodic musician had
difficulty in abstracting such a complex relationship from the
music of polyvocality.
I have tried to trace all those necessary steps which make it
possible, in fact, inevitable, for the discovery to have been made,
as it was, by people without knowledge of the existing relation
ships, and even without the necessity of a desire to have
125
harmony.
The melodic musician at least knew the chords could be
found, because he actually produced them - he had them before
his eyes in polyvocality. Finally, polyvocality could not have
produced a workable harmony unless formed by the use of
diatonic melodies.
All these reasons should suffice to explain why harmony
developed only when it did, without going into the additional
reasons about the lack of an adequate system of notation until
very late; and the fact that social change was typically slow in
every other area of primitive life.
This explanation of harmony should forever banish the
culturalist's argument which goes as follows: The major chord is
not "natural," because the primitive rejected it (and all
harmonies, including those we use today) for so long, and that
therefore, our practice of harmony must be socially and
culturally inspired, completely.
The reverse of this is much truer: The later Western acceptance
of harmony confirms that there are natural, understandable
relations among melody notes, which, when they are again
discovered among chords, serve to form a spectrum of chords by
which chords justify each other. That is, it wasn't social
conditions, "genius," etc., but the internal development (or
sometimes, the lack of that development), which caused both the
rejection, and later the acceptance and use, of chords and
harmonic combinations.The role of cultural society here was not
in determining the ultimate content of the discovery, but only in
speeding up or slowing down the ability for some aspects of the
discovery to be made. Even so, society is limited in the capacity
it may have to speed up the process and must bend to the natural
time requirements necessary for certain discoveries to be made.
That's why, for example, the primitive or Oriental person is
initially unfavorable to harmonic music, although in time, the
reaction sometimes changes to its opposite. (Further, this process
less often works the other way. I'll say more about this point
later.)
The whole process can be likened to the shape of the earth.
The "shape" and nature of the art of music, with the exception
of only the slowing effects of social conditions, is pulled by the
laws of acoustics, and this is like both the law of gravity, which
pulls all things toward the center, and the law of centrifugal force
(of the earth's spin) which pushes out at the equator, thus giving
126
the earth its shape as an ellipsoid. As an examination of the earth
so shows the reasons for its shape to be the laws above, so the
examination of music as it stands, here mostly concluded, shows
the reasons for its shape to be the laws of acoustics.
In short, harmony, to define it, satisfies the desire to express
tonal relations among the notes in any melody in a more
perceptible way, by actually playing, in chord combinations,
those overtones which (as parts of the single tones) are the cause
of tonal relations in melodic music. Harmony makes "conscious"
what is only barely audible in unaccompanied melody.
"Harmony has become ... an essential, and . . . indispensable
means of strengthening melodic relations,"81 says Helmholtz.
This is so much true, that any melody which may appear to
have no relationships at all among its several notes can, by means
of harmony, be made to relate its notes to each other by making
audible (in chords) what otherwise may be its least audible over
tone relations; and thus this chord -addition overcomes the
otherwise more audible overtones which originally contributed to
the sense of lack of relationship among the notes of this melody.
Below is an example of this. The lone melody on the top, if

played, will easily sound as if it is unglued, and seems relatively

haphazard. But on the bottom, the harmonies beneath will graft
the members into one healthy whole again.
127
Other Preconditions to the Development of Harmony
There were two other factors of major importance without
which themature development of harmony was impossible. One,
which needs only brief mention, was the invention of notation.
In order to learn from what had been done in polyvocality and
earlier organum, notation played an indispensable role, and was a
thing which was developed in the Church. Had it been possible
for notation to have been developed in secular music, the
development of harmony might have taken place even sooner, as
the discussion of the second factor below might indicate.
This other, and more important, factor was the growing
freedom of music from direct subordination to specific institu
tions or functions. Although much of music was developed in the
Church, an ever increasing amount was developing outside the
Church and apart from other such institutions. In the Church, up
to a late point, music was bound up with dogma and poetry, and
in primitive times, too, music was always part of some ritual,
function, or institution. But the overcoming of this bondage was
expressed in "secular music" which in turn influenced the music
in the Church. Helmholtz wrote that in the Church, "it became
possible to compose musical pieces on an extensive plan, owing
their connection" (among notes) "not to any union with another
fine art - poetry, but to purely musical contrivances."^ (My
emphasis.)
It wouldn't be removed from reason to submit that without
the influence of secular developments, especially of the 3rd, on
the music in the Church, harmony would have been developed
even later than it was, or perhaps not even to this day. (Gregorian
chants, for example, are still sung today in places.) Could one
imagine any clerics championing the use of jazz and popular
music today in holy songs if it weren't for their popularity in the
secular world? I'm sure we have all heard of many of these
proposals by religious men who wish to be with the times.
Similar secular influence must have existed at that earlier time.
Not only were some of the musicians in the Church ahead of
its high officials, but musicians outside the Church were ahead of
both, being freer in their ability to develop music by "purely
musical contrivances," that is, according to the laws of sound
which acted upon these musicians, however unconscious they
were of them.
With the development of harmony we are on a new and higher
level of existence. The laws of relationships formerly governing
128
single tones, namely the relations of the tonic, 4th and 5th, now
become the relations governing harmony; chords of the tonic,
4th and 5th.
These three chords, as often said, form the basis of modern
harmonic, tonal music. They are the basic chord structure of
almost all folk-songs in the West, and they are the basic chord
structure in popular music.
But these three chords are not, with all their refinements, the
only aspects of harmonic music. There is also the role of discord,
or dissonance.

The Role of Discord and Melodicism

The same melodic thinking which allowed the more dissonant
notes to find their place in the scale, now, in harmony, allows
dissonant chords to find their place within a spectrum of
graduated chords. What was formerly the "role of dissonance"
can now be called the "role of discord."
We have already given an example of this and an analogy
explaining the role of discord at the beginning of this chapter.
More concretely, some rules or practices can be shown to
illustrate the process below. The explanations below are of
concords, but are just as true of discords. The process is more
complex in discords, and more difficult to show. But for the
purpose of this section the explanations below will suffice.
The major chord is a concord because it is based on the over
tones of a single note. However, in a chord, the overtones are
sounded, while in a single note they are only subconsciously
audible. What is implicit in a single note becomes explicit in a
chord. Helmholtz expressed this:
"The relationship of . . . tones depended upon the identity of
two or more partial tones, that of chords on the identity of two
or more notes. For the musician, of course, the law of relation
ship of chords and keys is much more intelligible than that of . . .
tones. He readily hears the identical tones, or sees them in the
notes before him, in the chords he makes." 83
Raymond says "chords too, may be consonant with others
that . . . precede and follow them. A chord composed of C, G,
and E, may thus be consonant with one composed of G, D, and
B, because G, after the octave C, is the nearest" (most audible)
"partial; and it may be consonant too, with one composed of F,
C, and A, because after the octave F, C is the nearest partial of F.

129
The two latter chords, therefore, are the ones most nearly related
to the chord of C."84 (The three chords which Raymond shows
are those of the tonic, 4th and 5th.)
Again, he says, "now it is often the case that . . . the musician,
without using all the chords necessary to connect keys . . . can
establish a connection sufficient for the purpose by interchange.
To do this, he introduces into a chord ... a note that belongs
only to a chord in another key. In this way he prepares the ear
for this other key."85
For example, the chord of C, E, G, and Bb, which often moves
to the key of its 4th, F, can also go on to other keys and chords,
such as those of Bb major (D, F, Bb), or Bb minor (Db, F, Bb); B
major (Eb, Gb, B); E major (B, E, G#, B') and others, although
not all others.
Some of the above changes are not as strongly related as
others, but the relationships are audible. However, if a third
change were to be made after the first two, it would be more
limited in choice of chord than if it were to be added beginning
only from a single chord: Above, in the several examples, it
can be seen that Raymond's principle of interchange is based on
using different notes of the first chord, sometimes the Bb, some
times the E, etc. When this is done the note used tends to define
a tonic within the progression, and so, as by inertia, demands
that this be continued in later chords, or at least not abruptly
interrupted, and so, fewer choices are available for making the
third chord in the progression. This limitation is increased as each
chord is added and as the progression begins to define direction
in various aspects; upward in general, or downward; toward a
tonic or away from it, etc. The whole process would be a
challenge to any mathematician to analyze, but the ear can more
easily make the judgment as each chord is attempted. Other
factors are involved in the progression, which begin to give rise to
expectations of what is to follow; which define before hearing it,
what must logically follow. One of these factors is the rhythm
pattern of the music. But the relations between all these aspects,
which may seem almost computer-like in their ultimate restric-
tiveness, are really capable of virtually infinite variety, as the
wealth of tonal music proves.
The above, in addition, shows that the progressions of tones
and chords, which historically exist in real music, are able to be
explained by musical means, and make cultural explanations
(which are less explanatory anyway) superfluous.
130
 In like manner as with concords, the relations between
discords are made by interchange, and the beats produced by
discords are graduated out of existence into concords by a
variety of proper progressions. The role of discord has made
music the exquisite thing it is. For the same principle which
allowed dissonant intervals to be viewed as part of a unity within
the scale, rather than as isolated individual dissonances, also
caused discords, from their discovered relationships to one or
another concords, to be seen as motion toward or from those
concords - as an embellishment of that concord - so that the
most miserable, beat-bleating, individually dissonant chord can
be melted with rare beauty into successively greater concords. As
such,t the discord is viewed as part of a unity, a concordant and
highly esthetic musical whole. This role of discord was implied
by George Santayanna when he wrote about the "pure"
consonance of single tones and the "interesting" combinations
and variations of many different tones:
"This may be called the principle of purity." (The use of single
tones.) "But if it were the only principle at work, there would be
no music more beautiful than the tone of a tuning-fork. Such
sounds ... are soon tedious. The principle of purity must make
some compromise with another principle, which we may call that
of interest."86
Some Other Aspects of Harmony
Won't the principle of melodicism admit what were formerly
discords into the present and future as concords? Won't the
principle of Use, which discovered for musicians the overtones of
single notes, now extend itself? Won't the music of the future
consist of larger chords based on the overtones of the chords now
used - just as today's chords are based on the overtones of
single notes used previously?
This is what some people have assumed. But just a minute.
Let's take a look at what the musician has done through history.
He has taken the sound and noise of nature, separated the clear
units - single tones -and rebuilt them into music. He has
traversed one distance, and partly returned, but with a new,
organized view of his starting point. But if he mechanically
continued the rebuilding process, he would rebuild the very
physical constitution of noise and anarchistic sound. If he
continued endlessly with the process, he would make a reductio
ad absurdum. At a certain point, he would be going backward
again. Below we see why:
131
 To play one note, then its overtones, then the overtones of the
overtones - all of which, it is true, we would successively,
although unconsciously, hear - and play them all in one chord,
cannot be claimed as a basis for music in any new system or
style, as if it were consistent with the facts reported up to now.
Such a gigantic chord, for example, begins to destroy earlier
relationships among the first notes, as notes based on their over
tones are continually added. (Actually, a whole piece of music
could be such a chord, if its parts were not stretched out in time
to make the relations among them perceptible.)
The fact of relationships of notes does not, and can not,
depend upon audibility alone, in that all that is required to give
the appearance of related notes is that these notes always come
as if in a set, or family of tones, and that to hear them
consistently together, is to consider them related. Scientifically
of course, they would be related. But the question here is one of
esthetic relationship. Maggots follow death, but that relationship
has not given rise to any art. Even if consistent togetherness were
all that were necessary to viewing tones as related, such relation
ships would have to be more audible than the apparent lack of
relationships which would also be heard. Such a chord would
predominate with this lack no matter how devoutly each added
note was "founded" upon preceding overtones. The relations
which exist must be of a simple enough nature to be capable of
understanding by the brain and held in its grasp as a perceptible
unity.
But as I said, just the hearing of sounds which may always be
in proximity with each other is not enough. True, it is the
existence of the natural overtone series that tonality rests its
origin on; that musicians have rested an appreciation of relation
ships on, but this is only because they heard these overtone notes
as degrees of consonance, which affected their ears in a distinct
way. Only in so far as notes are consonant, can we tell that the
sounds do relate to each other; they sound similar to each other.
In the above theoretical chord, although its notes may be
"based" on overtones, consonance is destroyed and beats are
produced in abundance.
If man had developed a more sensitive ear, able to pick up the
higher overtones, and the resulting dissonance of them, he may
never have even developed speech, let alone music, so unpleasant
would sound be to him, for, to such a sensitive ear, except for the
sound of a tuning-fork, there would have been no consonance
132
possible, no recognition of relationships among notes. To such an
ear, all music would sound "thick" as if it were played in the
extreme bass, only the highest notes being tolerable, but
therefore limiting in the things which could be done with them in
terms of an art of music. Conversely, a less sensitive ear would
still have discovered consonance, but the first important elements
of it would only have begun in our scientific age, and our scale
would probably still have consisted, at most, of the octave, 4th
and 5th only, at this time. But it is not coincidence, luck, nor an
"act of God" that man's ear is so suited to the nature of sound
itself, rather, the complex process of Natural Selection must have
had a great deal to do with it.

Some Final Definitions

Man originally made notes as individual tones and did not hear
at first the relationships among them. But as a billion ears heard
and thousands of years of listening went by, the relationships
were divined, scales formed and a musical art developed from the
myriad of natural sound.
In so far as man discovers, or hears, the physical relations
between notes and makes melodies and harmonic progressions,
he develops tonality, an inevitable consequence of his discoveries.
Tonality is the means by which he is able to keep these
consonant, related notes in a state of remaining related in
perceptible form.
Similarly, dissonance serves to provide a means, in addition to
tonality, and that is contrast, by which to point up and make
even more perceptible those relationships. Dissonance makes
consonance stand out as if in relief by being its opposite but also
by being relative to consonance by degrees of beats:
". . . the essence of dissonance consists merely in very rapid
beats. The nerves of hearing feel these rapid beats as rough and
unpleasant, because every intermittent excitement of any
nervous apparatus affects us more powerfully than one that lasts
unaltered . . . The individual pulses of tone in a dissonant
combination give us certainly the same impression of separate
pulses as slow beats, although we are unable to recognize them
separately and count them: hence they form a tangled mass of
tone, which cannot be analysed into its constituents . . . The
meaning of the distinction may be thus briefly stated: Conson
ance is a continuous, dissonance an intermittent sensation of
tone. Two consonant tones flow on quietly side by side in an

133
undisturbed stream; dissonant tones cut one another up into
separate pulses of tone."87 Adding to Helmholtz:
Individual dissonances can dissolve into an overall consonant
stream only if they are physically related to consonances and
accordingly organized by tonality in the following way: The
motion to the tonic, just like the motion away from the tonic,
must proceed in a continuous stream, the motion away from the
tonic representing, as a whole, a weakening of relations of notes
to the tonic, getting weaker as they get further from the tonic,
and the return to the tonic representing, as a whole, a strengthen
ing of relations to the tonic, getting more apparent as they come
toward the tonic, culminating in cadence or rest, concord or
perfect consonance.
". . music affects a purely musical internal connection among
all the tones in a composition, by making their relationship to
one tone as perceptible as possible to the ear."88
The history of music has shown these definitions, culled from
that history, to be the unconscious goal of all the greatest
musicians as they made music grow and develop from one age to
the next. The conclusion therefore, is that modern, polyphonic,
tonal music is a physiological phenomenon, contributed to by
the actions of men, but which spurred many of those actions.
Once this harmonic music is developed, we can not go back,
say, to the less adequate, less usable, less flexible pentatonic scale
and the music restricted to that scale. It cannot serve the ends
which our music has taught us to desire. Hence the difficulty of
even consciously trying to understand foreign or ancient music
based upon older scales and earlier tonality, and hence the
apparent one-way cultural influence which moves only from West
to East, while other cultural influences, political and social, are
either reciprocal, or lately, beginning to go from East to West.
Naturally, a person to whom Western music is foreign, or a
child, who has not heard much music, will take time to under
stand and appreciate the relations between notes which music
attempts to make as plain as possible. But the child or foreigner
is not "getting used to" the music. Relationships between things
are not usually conceived only by staring at a thing for a period
of time, nor by things just being around each other. Sun spots
and insanity, however "used to" them we may be, do not have
cause-and- effect relations, nor do most people attribute such
relations to them. The relations of things are observed only if
they are really there. If they aren't really there, any false notions
134
arising about them will not be universally recognized, nor will the
strength of conviction people have about them historically
increase in the long run.
Perhaps the relationships of notes in Western music are not
always obvious. Certainly no child likes Western music at birth.
On the other hand, such music is not forever in getting its appeal
and purpose across. A primitive, often, may understand the
nature of Western harmonic music in a few months, because the
relations within that music, by being there, become apparent in
short order. He recognizes in Western music the full-flowered
adulthood of some elements of his own more "primitive" music,
although in other ways, the two cannot be compared.
If it is thought that the general social influence of the West
over the East may be the cause of this (and this influence is no
longer one way today, as I said), remember that Brecht &Weil's
music under Hitler, or Rock and Roll in Russia and China, was
and is not less liked because of claims by powerful men that such
art is "bourgeois" or "decadent;" vice versa, Wagner's was not
hated because the Nazis glorified his music. That is, it is not less
liked because social conditions may be made to militate against it
by governments or by powerful individuals and sentiments. The
overall political influence of the West is resisted in the East, yet
our music flows in as water over a burst dam. Similarly, whether
the influence of the East in the West is resisted or not, its music
doesn't enjoy adoption in the West, in general, with some
exceptions.

Temperament
One last small point. I have little to say about this subject, but
I include it to answer an argument presented to me about it. First
let's see what temperament is. If the cycle of natural overtone
5ths were carried out until it came to the tonic note (several
octaves higher, of course), we would find that it "misses" the
tonic note by approximately % of a semitone.
This is because natural 5ths, as well as other intervals, are not a
simple division of the natural octave, mathematically. As a result,
natural 5ths are each considered (from the point of view of
making them mathematically simple), about 1/96 of a tone
sharp, which after the whole cycle runs through, would buildup
so that if you had started on C, you later hit a higher C which is
sharp by about % of a semitone. Thus, to get the 5ths to fit on
fixed-key instruments, such as the piano, thev are all flattened by

*3S
about l/96th of a tone. (This produces a 5th with one beat per
second, not perceptible in short notes, and not disturbing in
sustained notes.)
I have been told, wrongly, as will be seen, that this is done
because musicians like the flattened 5th better than the natural
5th, but actually the opposite is true. If the piano were not so
"tempered" but tuned to perfectly natural 5ths, then the C
major scale, whose notes are all at the start of the cycle, would
sound positively brilliant and lovely, as all its notes would be
more properly related to each other. But on the same piano, the
Eb major scale, composed of some notes further along into the
cycle, as well as of others near the beginning of the cycle, would
sound livid. It would sound "out of tune" and not like the scale.
If all the 5ths are tempered, then all the keys will sound at their
maximum best, if not perfect, rather than only a few of them
sounding perfect while the rest of the keys are terrible.
Temperament is not needed on the violin, because unlike on
keyed instruments, Eb and D#, for example (which are the same
fixed note on the piano), can be played in their natural relation
to each other as different notes on the violin, merely by moving
the finger a hair's breadth on the string. Musicians are known to
play (and prefer) the natural relations of tones on non-keyed
instruments, such as the violin, and singers in various cultures
sing the natural intervals too.

136
 Rhythm and Emotion

Rhythm: Cultural or Natural?

Repetition and rhythm are things which every musical culture
has. Most people will agree that rhythm is a powerful stimulus
for bodily motion. The fact that rhythm is invariably linked with
every nation's art of dancing demonstrates this. But what is the
reason for this? Is the relation between body motions and
rhythm learned, that is, a cultural thing?
All of our activities and movements each has a rhythm. Is it
true that when we hear a rhythm similar to that of one or
another of our activities we are prompted to think of and
imitate that activity by dancing? There is no denying this. But is
the similarity of a rhythm to a real event the only reason for the
tendency to motion that we feel when we hear that rhythm? In
many cases, when rhythm suggests no specific event or activity,
we are still impelled to match it with rhythmical motions of our
own. This is true not only in our own society, but in all societies.
In fact, the tendency to match rhythms is so strong that it is
difficult not to do it, and even more difficult to maintain a
rhythmical motion contrary to another one which is heard.
"It often happens among Indian musicians that a vina player
and a drummer will engage in a friendly contest to see which can

137
confuse the other into losing track of the sam (the structural
beat). The vina player will improvise a melody. The drummer, to
whom the melody is of course unfamiliar, must discover where
the sam is. Having discovered it, he starts his drumming. For a
while everything runs smoothly. Then the syncopation and cross
rhythms become very complex. The vina player uses all sorts of
ruses to disguise the sam . . . The drummer will meanwhile seek
to confuse his opponent by insisting on his cross rhythms as
though they were the true basic meter, playing meters of seven,
or five against the latter's four or three and so on. Each strives
with might and main to retain his equilibrium. Eventually one or
the other misses the sam and is worsted."89
The musicians described above are East Indians. On the other
side of the world, the American Indians had the same sort of
contest: They "seldom strike the drum and sing a tone at the
same time. In fact, the drum and voice seem to race with each
other. At the beginning of a song, for example, the drumbeat is
slower than the voice. Gradually the drum catches up with the
voice and for a few measures they run along together. The drum
gains and wins the race ..." 90
Obviously, if it wasn't the nature of rhythm to almost forcibly
draw a physical response, there could have been no such contests
as described. Here are contests of will against rhythm. The desire
for a people to compete at all may stem from their cultural
environment. But once they have decided to compete, the
specific content of these contests comes from a recognition that
rhythm, on its own, without the help of any social conditioning,
is a powerful stimulus to bodily motion. The question in the
participant's mind was "How long can you hold out against my
rhythm?" That is, how long can you withstand the natural power
of rhythm to make you beat time with it, and not against it?
If it isn't fully understood why the physiological mechanics
involved with rhythm causes this reaction in us, we know at least
that the cause is physiological and not cultural. One could object
and say that a man could be trained not to beat time with
rhythm, and that this fact "proves"there is nothing natural about
bodily motion to rhythm. But this is a false argument. For
example, we can agree that it is natural for a man to recoil from
pain. But the fact that a man can be forced, or trained to
deliberately maintain or cause his own pain is no proof that his
reflexes - to avoid the pain - do not exist, or that what we call
reflexes are really all only socially conditioned responses. The
i38
point is not that with training one could do the opposite of what
is natural, but that without training, men will respond in a
certain, consistent way to certain stimuli. This is demonstrated
by the examples of the same kind of contest involving rhythm
developed by both East Indians and American Indians.

The Esthetics of Rhythm

If we recall the difference between noise and music, we will
remember that sounds have wavelengths, simple and complex.
When the pattern in sounds is too difficult to perceive, and we
therefore call it noise, then in rhythm, when the pattern or
"sam" is too difficult to perceive, we are repelled or indifferent,
because there is nothing about the rhythm to which we can
respond. The existence of simple form and repetition in the
rhythm systems of all peoples demonstrates that they prefer
some pattern to none at all, and of those patterns, the most
simple has been the starting point of their music. There have
never been people who have had an a-rhythmical musical art.
Today, there are some people who like a lack of rhythm and
order in music, but they themselves recognize that it is a lack of
rhythm and order, thus at least admitting that there is such a
thing as rhythm and non-rhythm. Also, for them, I suspect, it is
not so much the lack of order that is really pleasing to them, but
the knowledge that they are exceptional and perverse that pleases
them. This shortly becomes transferred to be a rule of their
"art."
Variations of rhythm are in all cases the substance of musical
art. Once a rhythm is established as a standard, then variations of
it, or from it, take place to the great delight of audiences. The
variations are nothing in themselves, but are always viewed with
the standard rhythm in mind. The same is true, as I showed
earlier, in the tonality of music. Without motion away from or
to a tonic, there can be no interest in the music. Without a tonic,
there can be no sense of motion to or from anything, no interest
ing variations, because there is no way to measure what is being
varied.
These variations and the way in which they are perceived give
us an insight into the reason for the general appreciation of music
and its ability to evoke emotion. Whatever specific emotional
content we may read into music depends upon our social
conditioning. But the framework into which we read our specific
feelings is a general physical response caused by the music.
139
Without such an initial response, we could read our feelings into
rhythm and sound as much as into a stone on the ground. (That
should be easy to remember because it rhymes.)
If we examine the above contests among the American and
East Indians, we notice there is a certain pull of the rhythmic
pattern toward its imitation. When imitation does take place, it is
easy, and there is no feeling of "might and main" to maintain the
imitation of the pattern. However, a counter-rhythm is a
different story. Here, a counter-rhythm requires might and main
to prevent its conformity to the underlying rhythmic pattern.
Clearly there is a struggle. The two rhythms present themselves as
in battle, or "against" each other. The effect is one of tension,
and the audience reflects this. They are most on the "edge of
their seats" so to speak, right at this point. They relax, or
consider the tension over, when one or the other musician is
"worsted," and finally has to conform to the other's rhythmic
pattern.
Now, it is not the knowledge that a contest is going on which
causes this tension, or excitement. If it were only this, then the
tension in the audience would either not abate at all, or might
abate at different times for different individuals in the audience.
But, we were told right at the beginning of the contest: "For a
while everything runs smoothly," and the audience reflects this.
How did the audience know that everything was running
smoothly? How do they know when to get excited? It is only
when the rhythms themselves become counter to each other;
when they are perceived as different and in conflict, that then, in
the audience, tension and excitement begins, and not at all
because they knew a contest was taking place. And it is this
tension aspect, both in rhythm and in dissonance, which
contributes to the sense of motion and direction in music and is
responsible for its ability to arouse emotional states in listeners.
Let me quote a few examples of this and make even clearer
this idea of how emotion arises from variations of a given
standard.
"The vina player delights in apparently losing himself in the
most abstruse counter-rhythms, leaving the listener with a sense
of utter bewilderment, only to issue forth triumphantly at the
saw. again without a hair's breadth of inaccuracy, and with a
sparkle of obvious satisfaction. The effect, to one who is
accustomed to this idiom of expression, is that of being hurled
through chaos, and then suddenly landing right side up on terra
140
firma again with no bones broken and a feeling of intense
relief." 91
A second example: "He'll'tthe Italian musician) "have passages
of such an extent as will perfectly confound his auditors at first,
and upon such irregular notes as shall instill a terror as well as
surprise into the audience, who will immediately conclude that
the whole concert is degenerating into a dreadful dissonance; and
betraying 'em by that means into a concern for the music, which
seems to be on the brink of ruin, he immediately reconciles 'em
by such regular cadences that everyone is surprised to see
harmony rising again, in a manner, out of discord itself and
owing its great beauties to those irregularities which seemed to
threaten it with destruction." 92
A third example: ". . . with astonishing and carefully studied
elegance, he has thrown the phrase into violent disorder, usurping
the leap of the Lydian" (name of a Greek musical scale) "now
that of the Ionian, until at length, by means of these beautiful
refinements, he glides . . . from the Dorian to the Phyrigian."93
And finally: "In music and speech, pure tone, true pitch, exact
intonation, perfect harmony, rigid rhythm, even touch and
precise time play a relatively small role. They are mainly points
of orientation for art and nature. The unlimited resources for
vocal and instrumental expression lie in the artistic deviation
from the pure, the true, the exact, the perfect, the rigid, the even
and the precise. The deviation from the exact is, on the whole,
the medium for the creation of the beautiful - for the conveying
of emotion . . . The variation from the exact which is due to
incapacity for rendering the exact is, on the whole, ugly. The
artist who is to vary effectively from the exact must have
mastered its attainment before his emotion can express itself
adequately through a sort of flirtation with it."94
I would add that the variation from the exact due to a refusal
to play the exact, even if it is mastered in theory, is no longer a
"variation" of anything, and is, on the whole, also ugly.
But such conclusions properly belong in the next part, so here
I end my theory of music.

141
Conclusions
 6

5^5

Modern Music

Originality as an esthetic virtue is the moving force of art in

Capitalist society. The basis of modern music, as we shall see, is
the adoption of a so-called entirely "new" system of harmony,
melody, rhythm and even of musical instruments. It is not
merely a question of additions to the old system, but of complete
abandonment of tradition; of a revolution of the whole concept
of what music is and what it is for. But this revolution, as I will
attempt to show, is not really new, original or creative, but is
really a "counter-revolution" so to speak.
The so-called modern revolution in music is the overthrow of
music in general. "Atonal" music is really "A-music."
I will try to prove all of this, not just by what I write, but by
what the modernists themselves say. Of course, their word, like
the word of many artists, is not necessarily the basis by which
their music should be judged. In fact, I believe that it should not
be the basis for judging their music any more than music should
be esthetically judged by the name of the work, or its composer,
or by the lack of that information. However, the words of the
modernists give an insight into why their music has already been
judged (although "passively") to be preposterous by many
people, whether or not these people have any knowledge of the

M5
composer's thoughts and aims.
On the other hand, if one believes that the ideas and aims of
the composer are an important element in the judgment of the
music by these composers, then my case is made easier. For the
words of these composers are truly astounding, and they show
that the major part of their aims has not been fulfilled in their
music, and they also show in fact how "childish" is the modern
musicians' creed.

The Abandonment of Tradition

The idea of "key" or tonality in music is the thread that runs
through a tonal piece, is the reference point from which every
thing begins, and to which everything relates and returns, or
appears to return. This very fundamental, thousand year old
idea, among the very causes of art-music itself, is looked upon by
the modernists as the fundamental obstacle.
Rudolph Reti quotes Schoenberg: ". . . an emphasised tone
could be interpreted as a root or even as a tonic; the conse
quences of such an interpretation must be avoided. Even a slight
reminiscence of the former tonal harmony would be disturbing,
because it would create false expectations of consequences and
continuations." Reti then says, himself, "This strict ban on all
features through which even a trace of tonality could re-emerge is
one of the basic tenets which the twelve-tone composer was
supposed to heed."95
On the other hand, some modernists, according to Howard and
Lyons, "resent the term" (atonality). They claim "their music is
not lacking in tonality; far from it, it has twelve tonal centers
instead of only one . . ." 96
The idea of the "twelve-tone" composer is that in his musical
works, there are twelve different notes to be played before any
of them are repeated. The reason for this is because to repeat any
note before all twelve different ones are played would be to do
what Schoenberg warned against: emphasizing a note, which
might lead back to the idea that such a note was the tonal center.
Now, Schoenberg says avoid tonality, Howard and Lyons say
that there are twelve tonal centers. In order to try to square the
two views, if both are to be presumed authoritative, we have to
say that the tonality to be avoided is only that of one single tone,
and that, as there are twelve tones possible before repetition
must take place, then one can create twelve tonal centers and still
avoid a single tonal center.
146
 Therefore, to reproduce a twelve-tone composition, with each
of the twelve notes acting as a tonal center, and with the notes
that follow all acting tonally around each of these twelve tones
respectively, then,one could take twelve compositions by Mozart,
each in a different key, and each of which is tonally grouped
about one of those keys, and play them simultaneously on 12
phonographs. The resulting sound will surely be similar to
twelve-tone music.
Of course, Howard and Lyons would say that to think such
music is composed as haphazardly as that is "not fair." Here is
what they say: "To the novice it seems that the same effect
could be gained by taking a brush filled with ink and spattering it
on a fresh page of music paper. Perhaps the result would be no
more difficult to perform or listen to, but the works . . . are
produced . . . with . . . thought and labor . . . "97 (My emphasis.)
But after saying that, the modernists want to know why their
music is called "atonal." They say that only to a "novice" would
it seem haphazard. (But the music is definitely not written for
novices and "non-specialists.")98
One cannot doubt the veracity and authority of Howard and
Lyons. They are truly "specialists." John Tasker Howard is "one
of the leading authorities in the field,"99 and James Lyons is a
publisher of The American Record Guide.
These men are not struggling souls or garret-starved fighters for
great new strides in music against narrow-minded reactionary
powers. They are the powers. They have made their fame and
fortune. In spite of it all, they say they are still not treated
"fair," at the same time they say that music-paper spattered with
ink would be no more difficult than 1 2-tone music.
The first rule of modern music, that no note should be
repeated until each of the twelve different ones is played once,
presupposes that there are only twelve different notes. Why is
this assumed by modernists, who, with a cultural theory, should
believe that all 88 notes on the piano are "different?" Let's look
at this another way: After the twelve note melody is played, the
only things that can follow is a repeat of one of those twelve, or
the octave of one of them. Now, one can avoid repeating any one
of the twelve notes within the melody. But why avoid the
octave? Why is it considered a "repeat" too? According to Reti,
Schoenberg frowned on it as if itwerea repeated note. But what,
according to modernists, would make the octave a "repeated"
note? It doesn't square with their theory that all notes are really

H7
innately different from each other, for them to admit that the
octave is a "repeat" of one of the previous twelve. But it is on
this admission that they supposed that there are only twelve
different notes, and not more.
Perhaps I'm not altogether fair to the modernists by sticking
them with the above contradiction. Do they avoid the octave for
other reasons? They sometimes say that they do it for this
reason: In order to break people of their "habit" of viewing the
octave as "the-same-note, only-higher," (which is "bad," not
"good") Schoenberg and the modernists will henceforth avoid
the octave, and all such habit-caused consonances.* Let's
assume, then, they are not avoiding it out of any inadvertent
admission that it is really a consonance by virtue of any
"natural" similarity to another note. This gives them the benefit
of the doubt.
But any attempt to bend their see-saw theory to earthly reason
only raises another side of it to similar dizzy heights of fantasy.
Because if avoidance of "habit" is what is sought after, then
any use of the octave is going to reinforce that habit - even if
done after twelve different notes are played. This is true for two
reasons. The "habit" which caused the octave to be considered as
a repeated note is what caused the number of different notes to
be limited to twelve (for victims of that habit). To readmit that
there are, in fact, only twelve different notes, as Schoenberg does
in his system, is to reinforce the octave habit, only here, from
another direction: He is admitting that the corollary habit to the
octave-habit - that there are only twelve different tones - is true.
Besides this is a second reason why Schoenberg's method will
not really avoid the "octave-habit." To allow the octave to be
played after twelve tones are played is to say that twelve tones
are enough notes to play in order to prevent recognition that the
thirteenth note is a "repeat" of one of the former twelve. On
what grounds can this be said? From what source comes the
magic number 1 2 as that number of notes after which repetition
is OK?
Another principle of modern music, relating now to harmony,
as Howard and Lyons express it, is that "atonal music must be

*According to Reti, Schoenberg's theory was that consonance

and dissonance "is only a question of habit, of convention,
almost of fashion."100 That is, all notes are really "different"
except for this "habit" etc.
148
written with extreme care to avoid any combinations that would
be pleasing to the ear. "101 (My emphasis.) The "reason" for this
is as follows:
According to Reti, Schoenberg said that in the future,
consonance would become dissonant-sounding, and vice-versa.
But before that happened completely, the old habit-caused
consonances would be introduced again when they and the "new
harmonies" (today's dissonances) were just about equal
sounding, so that in the future, all sounds, today divided into
consonance and dissonance, would be all "consonant," - for a
while. Schoenberg made the following prophecy, explains Reti,
that "the habit which for one age endowed the fifth, third and
similar intervals with the effect of a consonance could be
reversed in another age to a habit which would make these
intervals sound as frightful dissonances. Vice versa, those
intervals that appeared earlier as dissonances could emerge as
smooth, pleasing consonances. " But even Reti, a great admirer of
Schoenberg, and himself a modern composer, can't accept that.
"This idea," Reti adds, "constantly pursued by Schoenberg, was
later tacitly accepted as a matter of course and retold and
reprinted by many of his adherents. Alluring as it may have
seemed around the turn of the century when the musical avant-
garde searched for a way out of the old restrictive tenets, it can
hardly from any sober historical or musical point of view be
maintained as a serious thesis."102
Reti recalls that Alban Berg made the same prophecy. "This
author remembers how some thirty years ago he was told by
Alban Berg-and the words still ring in his ears-that in a few
decades, 'our music will sound as natural and simple as Mozart's
sounds today.'"103
It hasn't happened.
The twelve-tone system did not last long. Reti tells a long tale
of how even its rules became "restrictive." (Progress marches on.)
Alban Berg, a pupil of Schoenberg's, began to reintroduce, says
Reti, "tonal features" into his works. (in fact, many modernists,
who still claim to be twelve-tone composers, have long since
abandoned many of the rules of the twelve-tone system.) Berg,
even though creeping tonality was rife in his works, never, it
seems, permitted the "atmosphere" of twelve-tone music to
escape. Reti says that "he never for dogmatic reasons shuns any
chordal, melodic or rhythmic shaping which his musicianly
instinct urges him to apply." This is the only extent of Berg's
149
repudiation of the now dogmatic rules of the twelve-tone system.
For, Reti adds that this un-dogmatic Berg also "never allows the
tonal elements which he includes to determine the compositional
course directly. Through this he produces a mood of pale beauty,
of humanized atonality, as it were." 104
Since then, many composers have followed in Berg's footsteps.
Reti quotes one of them, who, after pledging allegiance to the
twelve-tone system in theory, says, ". . . the inexperienced
composer should not emulate the 'sophistic' twelve-note
composer, who would have little - if anything at all - to say if
his powers of invention were not goaded on by complicated
tables of permutations of the series."105 (He means by a "table'/
a list of the number of possible ways, mathematically, to
arrange the twelve notes without forming any consonant intervals
and without repeating any of the twelve notes.)
What do we call what has replaced the already old twelve note
system? Reti says "Pantonality." This he claims, is a return to
tonality on a higher level. "In the music of our time, whatever its
individual style, there will be long stretches where true conson
ances hardly appear. Yet there is a basic difference. In the
specific atonal sphere the dissonances appear without being
identified as dissonances - as though there were no tension, no
'longing to be resolved' inherent in them. But in the 'pantonal'
musical utterances of our time, which at their face value may
appear just as full of dissonance ... we see quite a different
tendency . . .
"The principle through which this structure grew now
becomes clear. It" (pantonality) "is based on constant tensions,
i.e., dissonances which, however, are constantly resolved - yet
whenever a tension seems to abate, a new dissonance is again at
work."106 (My emphasis.)
Of course, "pantonality" is not the only derivation from the
old system. There is also poly tonality, electronic music, and all
the rest of the so-called systems.
Howard and Lyons tell us about Hans Barth who wrote a
quarter-tone work: ". . . he composed a quarter-tone concerto
. . . once performed by the Philadelphia Orchestra under Leopold
Stokowski. It has not been repeated." 107 We are told about
some others: "The American, John J. Becker . . is another . . .
who is seeking . . . new sounds . . . Thus he explains that certain
. . . combinations will produce an effect like the cutting of steel.
His opinion of tradition is expressed in his own words: 'Laws are
150
made for imitators; creators make their own laws.'"l°8 And,
"There will always, we hope, be dedicated men like Charles Ives
who keep on composing with no thought of whether their music
will ever be heard . . ."109
And so, we are given this advice, by Howard and Lyons: ". . .
when the strange idioms are no longer strange, the emotional
pleasure will come automatically. Tomorrow you will come to
like the best of today's . . . music." 1 10
This was written in 1958. It is now 1970. Remember the
prophecy made by Alban Berg, too, forty years ago?
It needs no genius to see, from the little presented above, the
truth that modern music is the complete abandonment of
tradition. Modern music is not an addition, not a refinement, of
the past. It is a denial of the past. It derives from the past like the
stereotyped child's actions - like those of Dennis the Menace -
are "derived" from parental advice. Dennis does the opposite.
To be a slave to tradition is not proposed here. But to
irrationally attempt to "ignore" it is silly, to say the least. The
twelve-tone system of atonality was originated as the direct
negation of all that had come before. It would have been the
opposite of whatever had come before. If a rule of traditional
music had been to avoid 3rds, the modernists would be using
them today, probably. As it is, the modernists are the first
musicians in history to have access to knowledge of the laws of
acoustics. It seems that in so far as they know them, they do
exactly the opposite of what these laws might indicate should be
done.
The modernists offer no reason for their system which
explains its "superiority" or its justification. It is simply
announced as a system, and proudly too, whose tenets are against
the old ways. It is not for anything. Even if they claimed that the
twelve-tone system and all the miscarriages that followed it were
their own justification; were based on positive reasons or
advantages (which they don't say), the peculiar, singularly
consistent pattern of a system whose rules and tenets are exactly
opposite the old ones would be just a little suspicious.
How did such a sorry state of affairs come about?

Why Tradition is Smashed

Music slowly worked its way out of the direct involvement
with social institutions and rituals and methods of production
151
until it became an independent institution of its own. This
occurred in Europe and Greece and reached full maturity at the
time just before the French Revolution, which ushered in
capitalism. But the subsequent development of music was
strangely affected by capitalism. Just as everything came to be
treated as if it were a commodity, music too was treated as such.
It was cornered on the market and grabbed up in order to be
sold. Composers less and less were able to rely on the old Feudal
aristocratic patron system. Many composers were involved at the
same time with both the Feudalists and the new Bourgeoisie, both
classes sponsoring the artist and the arts. But whereas the
Feudalists used the artist for their own pleasure consumption,
the Bourgeoisie were out to sell him. If the artist didn't sell, he
was cast off into what might be called "no-classwland. Composers
who sounded too much like the last one were stockpiled as over
production after the public was saturated with the prevailing
styles. The only way back into favor was for the artist to come
up with something new which might be salable. You have to
have a new product - you have to be different - if you want to
go into business and beat the competition. The ego permeated
the sphere of art as a result of this.
The capitalists wanted a new music to herald their "coming"
and to sing the praises of the epoch of their rule. They knew they
could broaden interest in their arts by publicity and beef up
attendance at theaters with members of their own newly
liberated class. They also knew they could beef up their purses.
Each new bourgeois "patron" wanted to make money from his
composer protege as well as be identified with him. Competition
and originality were encouraged in each new period of fashion as
a drawing card, using the artist as a means by which each
bourgeois patron could make himself unique among his own set.
For such a process to take place, a unique style was demanded
of each artist. If he was not wont to be unique, he was not
allowed into the bourgeois circles. If he ran dry, he was pushed
out. Such artists came to be men without a home base,
belonging to no group or class, except in a technical sociological
sense. Their musical tastes could not develop from the mass of
any community around them because they were outside that
community when they didn't "sell." Their tastes had to, and did,
develop in isolation - subjectively - from within their own
imaginations or from within their own artificial "community" of
"Bohemians," which developed in this anti-social atmosphere. No
152
wonder they became "way out" as they continued ever to
compete, to invent, to search always for something "new." To a
degree, capitalism also tuned audiences to the new and bizarre,
both by saturation and "mass-production" of art as well as by
the effects of its social system:
During the Middle Ages, the world was, if not pleasant, at least
relatively consistent: From the Almighty came down the
franchises to the Kings, the Pope, to the Nobles, Counts and
countless Lords of the manors, to be the guardians of all the
earth. Below them, born to their variety of different statuses,
were the artisans, workers, and types of serfs, some of whom
belonged to the land and lived off it according to a share, which,
they were often told, was computed somewhere in heaven and
permanently ordained (except when the Lord decided to take a
bigger share for himself). The world made cruel sense, but sense,
nonetheless. But there were changes, and the order began to
disintegrate.
As technology developed, so did cities, and soon new ideas and
wants no longer fit the old scheme. Abuses developed as the
rulers moved against the new ways and to resist the new
influences. People began to break out of the old system. Then
the cry was for Liberty, Equality and Fraternity. God had been
misrepresented: "Now," it was said, we were all "equal in His
sight." And the Revolution came.
But Liberty, Equality and Fraternity did not come. If
technological and human progress came in some areas, it didn't
come in others. Capitalism proved to be a peculiar system:
Writing poems under capitalism, Stephen Spender, and others,
noted that in this system, the tailor went home in rags; the
cobbler went barefoot; the baker went home without bread.
Even today, less "poetic," but still true, is want midst plenty,
support to dictators of the "Free World," hunger while food is
destroyed, and other marvels of logic a la 1984. The world may
have earlier made some sense, but to make sense of it now
required a turn of mind unknown before capitalism. How much
of this miraculous illogic many of us could accept without a
second thought is today finally reflected in the statement: "We
had to destroy the city in order to save it," made by an American
militarist in Vietnam. (Feb. 24, 1968.)
If one tried to maintain such a rationale, one could give
himself a tic. When people must live under a system with such a
rationale, it affects the tuning of their minds. In other words.

»53
with the beginnings of capitalism, the world was clearly getting
drastically out of tune, and reflecting this, the arts, including
music, were similarly affected.
That music could be so connected to the well-being of our
environment is an ancient and widespread idea. In India, the
myth is still believed that holy men were able to bring on dark
ness or light with the daily tunes they sang and which controlled
the universe. In China, the Emperor Huang Ti, after he heard the
music of the Se, ordered the number of its strings reduced by
half, in order that he might thus reduce by half the sorrowfulness
of the music it gave forth (and thus, by half, the sorrow in the
land). I have read that in China, when the cosmos went "out of
tune" and insanity seemed to grip the land, as from flood, or
death, disease, famine or earthquake, the cause of this was not
only attributed to some mad musician somewhere, but it was a
practice to deliberately mistune the gongs and to play mistuned
instruments throughout the country to reflect this: thus to rejoin
music and nature; or at least, to bring into harmony a disjointed
music with the disjointed universe, lest further calamity result
from the breach.
So, too, in the West, the new social order seemed quite early
to be going badly. Balzac wrote damningly about it and longed
for the past. Other artists reacted in various alienated ways. Just
as inevitably as in the ancient East, but less directly, the official
music of the West, too, began to go "out of tune."
Beginning with Beethoven, we can see a slow, but steadily
increasing destruction of tonality; a destruction, so to speak, of
the "harmony" of music with its own acoustic nature, so pains
takingly arrived at so slowly over the centuries. We see that many
individual artists responded against this society, and their
response was healthy, at least at first, but it led some of them to
isolation, or to elitism and cynicism; and rather than reflect the
nobility of man in an ugly society, many of the later Romantics
merely reflected the ugliness. Many of the artists had one foot in
the classic age, and one in the later periods, and not all of them
are easily categorized as being perfect representations of the
whole development. But each is a part, along with his own
contradictions; and over the long span' whatever the intent, we
can see the building, finally, of a system of music in direct
opposition to the very nature of music itself, to where, for some,
like Boulez or Stockhausen, the antithesis of music, noise, is now
"music."
154
 Of course, this is not the whole picture. We also noted that
what fails to be carried in the traditions of "serious" music, is
carried down to us in popular music, jazz, folk-songs, off-and-on
Broadway; even classical music and Bach still thrive. Nevertheless
the trends of official music must be explained, and the
beginnings of that development came with the beginnings of
modern capitalism.
Of course, the art "ideologists" of the time never put it in such
mundane terms as I have here. Their rationale was a new
esthetic trend known as Romanticism. The struggle of man,
against nature, against the old monarchy, against himself -
reflected itself in art as the ideal of "self-expression" and that
one's conflicts, inner and outer, were the source of art material.
The great names of the romantic period, according to Henry
Pleasants, read like the list of inmates from some sanitarium.
Most of them were at least "eccentric" and many were actually
insane.
Pleasants writes: "History has treated their infirmities with
sympathy and indulgence . . .
"It is suggested that there is something superficial about the
man at peace with himself and society, and something inferior
about music which has no other purpose than to please. It is
rather more implied that some sort of maladjustment is a
prerequisite for creative greatness, and that such self-expression is
music's noblest purpose . . . The composer is represented as in
conflict with his society. His greatest music is seen as a product
of this conflict . . ."*Of course, the fallacy of the esthetic
rationalization is easily pointed out by Pleasants: "Society, in
turn, is pilloried for having presented the obstacles without
which greatness is assumed to be impossible." H I
* For Schoenberg, this conflict was expressed in the greater use
of dissonance. However, he also tried to explain such use away
musically by saying that his were simply chords based on the
more "remote" overtones in the overtone series. Schoenberg's
ideas are like a Mickey Finn: He adopts a cultural theory at one
point and a physiological theory at another, and mixes the two
into a knockout blow for logic. Reti, his admirer, had to correct
Schoenberg. He said Schoenberg was right about reflecting the
increased morbidity of our age with greater use of dissonance to
spice up the harmonic "palette" but was wrong regarding the
"scientific" justification: ". . . it is very doubtful whether in a
musical sense we hear these further intervals as overtones." 112

155
 The modern form of this esthetic has come to be "art for art's
sake." Before the French Revolution, the artist was a craftsman,
like the village blacksmith. (The degradation of the artist - or the
false, fawning "respect" given the artist - is a phenomenon only
of our modern day.) Many people at that early time were
musical, and the artists, troubadours and folk-singers played an
important role in the community, meeting the needs and tastes
of the people. Even the more developed traditions of the Church,
through Bach, Handel and even Mozart - were popular and
widely respected among their own class of music lovers.
Today, because the artist has been separated from the main
stream of life, he cares nothing for the audience, the public or
society. He is an anti-social product of an anti-social society.
Being apart, finding no inspiration among the activities, feelings
and tastes of the mass of people (not necessarily to be dictated to
by these tastes and feelings), he invests his art with "meaning"
from a secret, private source. In the beginning this source was
from inside himself, and his art was "self-expression." But that at
least implies a receiver of the expression. But the later, and still
current development, "art for art's sake" doesn't even need an
audience. One can invent the meaning of music and it needs
nothing more than private approval. To find this meaning, the
artist is thus permitted to seek within the bounds, and even
outside the bounds, of infinity itself for the "styles" of his art.
(And then he demands that all of us consider the result "great.")
Aristotle said, ". . art that is not a means to an end, but an
end in itself, has no limit to its aims, because it seeks constantly
to approach nearer and nearer to that end, while those arts that
pursue a means to an end, are not boundless, since the goal itself
imposes a limit upon them." 113
The artist who would make his way had to be an innovator. He
had to ever build new systems and works before last year's model
became obsolete. Music could no longer develop along the lines
dictated by tradition for thousands of years. It had now a new
direction in this competition. But there can be no answer, no
reaching a solution in the current direction. One does not reach
the infinite.
Instead, it should be the ordinary mortal "from whom music
derives, by whom and for whom it is produced, and," Pleasants
concludes, "without whom it cannot and does not exist."114
Whatever its shortcomings, compared to the modern trend,
there is no finer music produced today than what is familiar to us
i56
in such productions as My Fair Lady, Porgy and Bess, some of
the Beatles' songs, and similar individual, but numerous works.

The Failure of Modern Music

Pleasants says:
"In former times, contemporary music survived despite
opposition from critics and professional musicians because the
public liked it." He adds: "Today" (contemporary music)
"languishes despite critical and professional support because the
public will have none of it."H5
While I believe Pleasants overemphasizes the role of mass taste,
or oversimplifies it, he is nevertheless right when he says: "In the
seventeenth, eighteenth and even the nineteenth centuries gifted
composers were numerous. Their purpose was to please, and to
prosper from approval." (That they were so often cheated and
exploited to be kept dependent was because of their precious
talents with which patrons and aristocrats wished to be identified
in the public image. The independent and royally hated Mozart
was popular enough to become great in his time despite loss of
aristocratic and clerical class sponsorship.) Pleasants goes on:
"Bach, Handel, Mozart, and even Beethoven all worked at
composition for a living. They were expected to give their
employers and benefactors what the latter wanted. They did, and
without compromise." H6
The modernists, on the other hand, refuse to allow their sacred
calling to be sullied by "mass taste" - not just by the mass taste
of the juke-box maniacs, but not even by the mass taste of the
smaller group of lovers of the classics and serious music. They
won't "compromise." As Aaron Copland said: "The thought
that my music might or might not give pleasure to a considerable
number of music lovers has never particularly stirred me." 1 17
Modernists do not imagine that the lack of love their music
provokes is perhaps due to them. Their "trump," according to
Pleasants, is recital of the superstition that the artist is never
appreciated in his own time.
For example, at the first performance of Beethoven's Ninth,
which the critics "panned," Beethoven himself was the
conductor. When he was done, he had to be turned around to
face the audience because his deafness was too far advanced for
him to know that he was getting a cheering ovation. Yet we more
often hear about the few critics who didn't applaud it, and are
told on the basis of these few, that even Beethoven "wasn't

*57
appreciated in his own time."
Again, it has quite often been proposed that certain works in
the modern idiom have proven such contentions true at least for
modern music, such as The Firebird, Petrushka, Rite of Spring,
Pacific 231, and others. These, we are told, are virtually
"standard" and accepted works today, but they were "at first" a
bone of contention and controversy, and badly received.
Pleasants' The Agony of Modern Music and Constant
Lambert's Music Ho! both contain a wealth of information
illustrating that these works' history can actually refute the
modernists' claims rather than bolster them. Pacific 231 was
never a popular piece because the onomatopoeics of an express
train in this piece are so realistic as to make it difficult for the
listener to respond. Instead of a musical impulse, he receives a
visual one whichmustbe traced back, recreated and sorted before
any response can be made. The composer has given the raw
material, undigested, to the audience. But when the music was
coupled with the Soviet film The Blue Express it had a remark
able effect. The Rite of Spring, which all of us learn was a
scandal on the first night in 1913 (fistfights broke out in the
hall), and which is now just an "ordinary standard work," was
actually performed in Paris, also in 1913, but in concert form,
rather than as a ballet, and it was a relative success among the
critics, there, "at first." In addition most of these works were
actually more popular in the 20's and 30's than they are today,
not less so - all, thus, a reversal of the myth that the works
cannot be "popular" in their day.
But it must be repeated that the popularity they ever had was
still usually that of professional high regard rather than that of
public acclaim. In the end, none of these works is that popular
except that they were driven down our throats as "necessary if
we were to consider ourselves 'modern,' etc."
But despite the pressure, the music of the past lingered on to
compete against this, and to compete successfully. As a result,the
vast effort of competition among artists has become so
alienating, so disappointing, that the only way today ' to
"compete" is by avoiding any public judgment at all: "He" (the
modernist) "refuses to believe that the audience prefers the
familiar only because it is still the best that can be had . . ."I*8
and he would rather not face the fact that his chosen musical
pursuits were false. Instead he vilifies the audience as stupid.
The utter failure of modern music is recognized by a few of
158
the modernists, however. For some of them, it has become a
skeleton in their closet, something not to be revealed. They are
too deeply involved in the process, and can not gracefully say
that their career was useless. Others, however, try to sneak back,
some in their thinking, others in their music. Still others tell the
straight truth.
Reti, repelled by the separation of the artist from society,
wrote: "Of course, when observers warned that modern music, if
it were to continue on its present road, would find itself banished
to an ivory tower, the estheticians of the alleged avant — garde
promptly picked up the gauntlet. The modern composer, they
declared, must not only realize that the ivory tower is his lot but
he must strive for it, and rejoice in it. Such a separation of art
and life, they held, may actually prove one of the great catalysts
of the coming age, through which human evolution will
mysteriously progress into a higher and unknown existence . . .
"In a sense, such an attitude is almost understandable as a
reaction against the contrasting contention that genuine art must
have an immediate appeal to everyone, that the 'masses' are the
final judge of artistic value. Unfortunately, however, such a belief
is no less questionable or, at least, is a vast oversimplification.
But its being questionable does not render the theory of the
ivory tower more convincing. For the ivory tower which sur
rounded some of the truly great art of the ages was not sought by
the artist but was imposed on him by the outer world. The artist
suffered from this agonizing isolation."119
Arthur Honegger is quoted by Pleasants: "The collapse of
music is obvious . . . Nor is anything to be gained from resisting it
. . . The profession of composer discloses the singularity ... of a
person who troubles himself to produce something for which
there are no consumers . . . The contemporary composer is a
gate-crasher trying to push his way into a company to which he
has not been invited." 1 20
Hindemith, too, is quoted: "Finally, never forget to assert
your modernity. The proclamation of one's modernity is the
most efficient cover for a bad technique, unclear formulations,
and the lack of a personality . . .
"Thus a solitary, esoteric style will be the result, the well-
known secret language understandable only to the initiated,
removed from any musical desires of the ordinary music lover . . .
The so-called modernist composer and the ordinary concert goer
... are drifting apart, and the gap between them is widening with

159
 each further performance of an obscure piece.
"If you want to follow the practice of most of your
colleagues, you will not ask what are the facts that caused this
deplorable situation. Never will it occur to you that the
composer may be guilty, that the consumers are not the only
ones to be blamed . . ."121
Aaron Copland, the Norman Rockwell of music, said, "It is
rather difficult to foresee what the future has in store for most
music written in the atonal idiom . . . But for a long time to
come it is likely to be of interest principally to specialists and
connoisseurs rather than to the generality of music lovers."122
Finally, how the "connoisseurs" view each other is wonder
fully expressed in a quote by Pleasants from a review of an
Anton Webern work in a newspaper article by Virgil Thompson.
It should be borne in mind that this review is intended as one of
praise of Webern's work.
"The audience effect on this work attested also to its vitality.
Not only were repeated bows taken by the conductor, Dimitri
Mitropoulos, and his excellent musicians. There was actually
booing in the Hall, a phenomenon almost unknown at the
Philharmonic . . .
"The first movement ... is something of an ultimate in pulver
ization - star dust at the service of sentimentality. Each
instrument plays just one note, at most two; then another carries
on the theme . . . The texture is thin, too. One note at a time,
just occasionally two or three, is the rule of its instrumental
utterance. And yet the piece has a melodic and expressive
consistency . . .
"This movement (there are only two) is a set of variations on
the work's whole twelve-tone row, first stated completely at this
poin." (sic) (- or sick?) "Rhythm is broken up into asymmetrical
fragments. The melodic pulverization is less fine, however, than
that of the first movement. Occasionally an instrument will
articulate as many as eight or ten notes at a stretch. Some of
these are even repeated notes. Metrical fragmentation has taken
the place of melodic. The sonorous texture becomes even thinner
at the end than anything one has heard previously. A tiny
sprinkle of sounds; two widely spaced ones on the harp; and the
vaporization is complete . . .
"The rendering was clear, clean, tonally agreeable, and
expressive. Expressive of exactly what would be difficult to say,
as it is of any work . . . The rest of the program, standard stuff,

160
sounded gross beside Webern's spun steel."123
One word missing in the description above of Webern's
"Symphony For Chamber Orchestra" is supplied by Pleasants:
"Decomposition."

"Getting Used To" Theory

As this idea, that we like what we like because we are used to
it, has been often mentioned in this chapter, and as I have mostly
avoided confronting it directly throughout the book, I would like
to take it up here now in detail.
There has been a hesitation about relying upon one's own ears
to j*udge whether music has a "natural" foundation or not.
People are wont to say about Western music, "I grew up with this
music, I'm used to it, and so naturally it sounds right to me. My
judgment would be altogether useless in trying to determine such
a thing." I can't help but to mostly agree with such people, who
are products of this society and whose tastes are products of
growing up with Western music. Even if there were nothing
"natural" about Western music, they might still like it.
But with a little digging and careful analysis, the fact that
there are things natural about music can be demonstrated even to
our Western ears, things which cannot be explained by our ears
having been trained or conditioned, or by our having "gotten
used to" certain relations of tones in Western music.
If I play a G and the F next to it, on any instruments, or even
on tuning forks, which have no overtones, no one can mistake
that there are two notes (or more, if we are "untrained") being
played.
But if I play an octave on a piano which is well tuned, only a
semi-trained ear, used to hearing these sounds, can always tell
that I am playing two notes, and not only one. Many will think it
is one note being played.
And if I hit two tuning forks which make this octave, no one
can tell that I'm playing two notes. They will sound like only one
note. In fact, if I hit four notes on tuning forks, C, G, E and Bb,
all in the range and intensity in which they would appear as
overtones of C on the piano, not a soul can tell that I'm playing
more than one note. It would sound like one, lone C sounds on
the piano.
Now how are the reactions described here in the above three
paragraphs to be explained by our ears being a product of
Western music?
161
 Better yet, if I play a G and F together, most people, who are
not out to "get" me and my theory, will admit they sound
relatively dissonant. (You might like this sound, but you will
have to admit the two notes sound very different from each
other.)

But if I play the same two notes, G and F, and add to them a
B and D and an octave of Gs in the bass, then they sound, not
dissonant, but very harmonious.

The above chord includes the F and the G, and in addition, an

octave, G-G, and other intervals. I could, and expect to, be told:
"We are used to hearing the combinations in the context of that
chord, so it sounds better to us in that context and worse in
isolation." OK, G and F sound good in context and bad in
isolation. (G and F are played together and sound good as the
beginning of that old saw "Chopsticks.")
Continuing with this, suppose I play the octave, and the G and
F, which is in the above chord, "in context?" - That is, in the
above chord? And then, suppose I play them out of context,

162
each by itself? If both, this octave, and the other harmony of G
and F, were consonant because we are used to hearing them in
the context of the above chord, because this context is
responsible for our "expecting" them and their sounding good to
us - then why do not both intervals, G plus F, and the octave
G-G, sound dissonant out of context? Why does only the G and
F harmony sound dissonant out of context? Why does only the
octave sound consonant out of context as well as in this context?
Taking the above chord itself, we can ask, why does the whole
chord sound consonant outside the context of a musical work,
while other chords do not? If all chords, according to a "getting
used to" theory, are innately as consonant as any other chords,
that is, all capable of being considered consonant or dissonant at
society's dictation, making us "used to" some chords and not
others, then why aren't all the chords we are thus used to also
consonant sounding to us when they are played by themselves?
Why aren't they as consonant sounding as they seem to be when
so beautifully placed in the familiar context of a musical work?
Or why isn't every one of them dissonant sounding to us when
they are played by themselves out of the musical context which
presumably is responsible for our having gotten used to them?
Why are some of these chords always consonant, in and out of
context, and others consonant only in context, if we are "used
to" all of them?

nI like it because
I'm used to it,"

The "used to" theory on which a cultural theory is based

163
cannot even explain the judgments made here by our limited
Western ear. Our very own tastes in things do not conform to the
culturalists' suppositions about how we got those tastes. They
might retort, "Well, there's no accounting for taste." But that is a
retreat into mysticism.
In experiments conducted by scientists in the Thirties,
students, selected at random, were seated and various musical
pieces and progressions were played for them. They were
encouraged to judge the music by their own subjective responses.
They listened to different styles of music, foreign music, classical
music, popular music, etc. They were subjected to cardiograph
tests, and so on. Different types of students were also chosen to
see if either personal temperaments or being from another
country affected their appreciation of the music. Repetition of
musical selections was also tried. The students were to write
down what ideas or images the music provoked in them.
The results of the test were what one would have expected.
Different people got the most amazingly different images. They
did, however, respond to speed and slowness in a generally
uniform way. No one got an excited type of response or emotion
from a lullaby, and no one got sleepy to pieces like The Flight Of
The Bumblebee. In this respect, their response was due to the
natural effects of rhythm.
But the most interesting tests were those in which the
repetition of pieces was done, allowing lovers of "pop" music to
hear classical selections over and over again, as well as their
"pop" songs over and over.
Here are the results (In this 1927 quote, the selections of
popular music are called by the author "jazz," which is not
exactly an accurate term for the songs he played.):
"The data here presented tend to show that an unselected
group of college undergraduates inclines to prefer the best
classical music to the average jazz selection. And this preference
increases rapidly as the two types of selection are repeated again
and again. Indeed the experiment was seriously endangered at
one time by repeated threats of a few of the subjects that they
would break the jazz records if they were to be required to listen
to them many more times. It is not, however, so evident that the
twenty-five hearings made the group as a whole love jazz less, but
rather that it made them love Beethoven and Tschaikowski
more." 124
What does all this prove? To a superficial mind, it may prove
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that simple chords in popular music, without any dissonance,are
boring, and that the dissonance of Beethoven is not so boring,
and therefore dissonance is better.
But that is not what it proves at all. It proves that "getting
used to" a thing doesn't have all the effect it is reputed by
culturalists to have. Getting used to the popular songs only
increased the misery of them, while it helped the enjoyment of
Beethoven. But, of course, if you repeated the Beethoven
selection enough, it too, would become intolerable.
In other words, our concepts of isolated consonance and
dissonance are not necessarily founded in having "gotten used"
to certain sounds, because there are many good folk-songs, which
have nothing but consonance in them, and they are far from ever
becoming tiring, and there are many dissonant works which all
the hearings in the world will not improve.
What then, is consonance and dissonance founded upon? One
can get tired of a whole form, or of a whole musical context,
whether consonant or dissonant. But what determines the initial
response?
That is the question, for apparently, repetition will ruin every
thing in time. It remains unanswered why we are "tired" of some
things on first hearing. Some things never have to be repeated to
get ruined.
And those students who got used to Beethoven's dissonances:
Would they now like a piece which was composed of those
dissonances only, and on the first hearing? Would they like it as
quickly as they will like a different consonant pop song again?
After all, these students are now "used to" Beethoven's disson
ances as well as the pop consonances, when they weren't before,
presumably. But these dissonances, taken in isolation, which may
now be familiar if the student has a half-decent memory, will still
be dissonant to him - in isolation.
"The vividness of each discord may cause an unpleasant effect
as long as we respond to each chord separately." This is what
Otto Ortman says, in the same book containing the various tests
of students and the results of those tests. He was referring to a
musical progression in which there were some discords.
Of course, there is some effect of repetition on getting some
dissonances to appear less dissonant. But only after "several
hundred repetitions," according to Ortman.126
The student may get to like the Beethoven dissonances when
repeated, especially as they remind him of the context in which
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he first learned to like them, but again: Why do some isolated
sounds take longer to get to like than others, if they are all about
equally as familiar, and if they are theoretically none of them
"natural" but subject to social environment?
If you want the culturalists' last ditch answer, "there's no
accounting for taste," you can have it. I have tried to give a
better answer in this book, and similar to that answer is
Ortman's, reflecting both the natural effect of consonance and
the role of dissonance, or Santayana's "principle of interest."
Speaking of the results he obtained from the playing of various
intervals for students, he says: ". . . the distribution of feeling-
tone" (his results) ". . . is much too pronounced and too closely
in agreement with the facts of physiology and physics, to be
explained on other than tonal grounds . . . This affective charac
teristic of the tonal stimulus is, other things being equal,
independent of the individual . . .
"In spite of this general physiological basis, however, the . . .
effect is not entirely independent of past experience . . . This is a
necessary result of the essentially physiological basis of this
response. Varied effect, or its equivalent: organic adaptation,
which is a fundamental characteristic of all animal behavior, is
responsible for this . . ."I27 What Ortman means is that variety is
the spice of life. He means that any deviation from pure conson
ance is for the sake of intensifying and varying that consonance,
and that an "adaptation" to dissonances is because of the
physiological existence of consonance in the first place.
The acquiring of a like for something does not, in itself, make
that thing an art. The psychology of sadism and masochism
shows that with "training" any of us can aquire a like for almost
anything, even pain, once the apparently "natural" inclination to
avoid it is overcome. Of course, if people were somehow trained
to like modern music, it wouldn't hurt anyone. But real art
consists not only in the acquiring of a like for something, if that
at all, but in the ability to transmit beauty and profound - if not
original - meaning to those who want it, and with enough depth
that such a work withstands the tests of time and repetition, ever
providing satisfaction. For example, Mozart has probably been
played and replayed at least a billion times since he lived.
I predict that man will not spend his time in the future trying
to overcome his natural response to consonance in order to love
dissonance. The effort will breed little fruit if any at all.
Even Reti, the modernist, is forced to admit that the future of
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modern music looks bleak for this reason.
He says, "The composer . . . will have the possibility of trans
forming into musical reality combinations of a structure so
complex that today he would not even be able to notate them.
Then, one might surmise, the time for a-thematic composition,
for a-rhythm and atonality would have arrived. Here however,
comes a surprise . . .
"Whenever that age of infinite pitches and infinite colours may
come - be it by means of electric devices or in any other foresee
able way - many conceptions which today appear as self-evident
properties of the daily musical routine will become obsolete or
even vanish entirely . . . But there is one element which cannot
become obsolete, because it is based on a natural, unchanging
phenomenon. This is the overtone series and the harmonies
deriving from it. " 1 28
He admits it even though it contradicts everything else he says.

The Human Ear

I feel sorry for the modernists and their hopes. The principle
of the avoidance of tonality and consonance is somewhat circum
vented by the ear itself. The ear, according to Helmholtz,
produces Difference and Summation tones because of the
asymmetry of the ear. Jeans tells about an experiment made by
the Bell Telephone Company concerning these "ear-tones."
"The Bell Telephone Company of America has constructed
two sets of gramaphone records which shew this very clearly. On
the one set we hear a singing voice, a speaking voice, organ tone
and so forth, all faithfully reproduced. On the other we hear the
same voices and instruments with the fundamental" (lowest, or
tonic) "tones deliberately cut out. Yet the second set of records
sounds almost exactly like the first . . . although all the funda
mental tones are missing, except in the form of difference tones
created by the ear of the listener.
"We find much the same thing happening in the loudspeakers
of our radio sets. Many are designed deliberately to cut out all
frequencies below about 250, the frequency of about middle C,
and so transmit no bass or tenor tones at all. Yet we hear the
double bass strings, the basses of the brass, and male voices with
absolute clearness. The explanation is, of course, that all these
sounds are rich in harmonics. Out of these" (harmonics, or over
tones) "our ears create the missing . . . tones." 129 (My emphasis.)
The tones are replaced by the ear, not out of knowledge of
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what is missing, but naturally, due to the natural construction of
the ear. Most of the tones so formed are consonant with those
which stimulated their formation in the ear.
Modernists! If you want to succeed, if you want to produce a
twelve-note melody without consonances and repetitions of
notes until all the different notes have been played; if you want
to de-habitize listeners from the ravages of concords, you must
not only invent a new music - you must invent a new ear!

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 7

Originality

Nowadays, unless someone composes music that is "new" and

"different," unless he has "something new to say," then his
music is not considered "good" by the so-called experts. This is
the fable of our times. "Newness" has practically become the
sole criterion of music.
That this is really the least important basis for music, or any
art, is difficult to show because there are so few good serious
"traditionalists" in the music world today. But as an indication
of it, it is notable that those few "traditional" (or "classical")
musical pieces, by modern composers, satirizing or mimicking the
old styles, have, to the possible surprise of these modernists, been
taken more seriously than they may have meant them to be
taken and have become the most popular of their works:
Classical Symphony and Peter and the Wolf by Prokofiev, Clair
De Lune, by Debussy, etc.
One outstanding example of the fallacy of originality as an
esthetic virtue is in the comparison between Haydn and Mozart.
When Mozart composed what is today considered some of the
greatest music in the world, he sounded like Haydn, wrote in the
same general style as Haydn, used the same methods of orchestra
tion, harmony, melody, rhythm and phrase formulations that

169
Haydn used. Only those acquainted with each and every piece
written by Haydn or Mozart could get away with the claim that
they could tell the difference between them by their "style." But
those who do not know every one of the pieces cannot make this
claim, because the claim is impossible. Only the later works by
Mozart show a tendency to some changes, but these are not the
only works felt to be great. The whole line of music written by
these two men could have been the work of one man if it were
not for the prodigious amount of musical pieces written between
them.
In other words, the greatness of Mozart had nothing, or very
little, to do with his originality. His greatness lies in the very
music he wrote, in its beauty, its skillful use of sounds to evoke
in listeners the most pleasurable of feelings.
To explain the phenomena above, and the relative
unpopularity of modern music, has been one of the reasons for
this book. The theory of the origin of music in the preceeding
chapters ought to explain it from a number of angles. But I want
to take it up from another angle here, as old arguments have a
way of reappearing in new clothes. To prevent this, although it
may be somewhat pedantic and repetitive, each and every avenue
of escape for culturalists must be closed.
To take up the question of originality, it is first necessary,
therefore, to emphasize again the duality of music, the different
forms which it takes, and the distinctive differences between
music and the other arts because of this duality. Formerly, we
have called this duality "nature" and "society."

The Duality of Music and the Arts Compared

It has been argued that music can't be appreciated except in its
historical context, that is, according to who wrote it and when.
Actually, there are two ways to appreciate music. One is as an
historian, the other is as a music-lover. The historian is interested
in the things he might be able to learn about a past society from
its genuine documents, including musical documents, and this is
true no matter how little he may personally like the music of the
past as a music-lover. It may, in fact, sound awful to him.
On the other hand, the music-lover cares how beautiful the
music sounds and whether it is esthetic, regardless (it seems to
me) whether the music is old or new.
Of course, the same people are often interested in both
methods of appreciation at once and different people's interests
170
have different proportions of these two approaches. However, to
confuse the two methods leads to faulty analyses and conclu
sions. Smith, in the following, consciously illustrates both
methods of appreciation (but at times, also confuses them). He
tells about the ancient Greek musical work Hymn to Apollo. It
seems that it was performed after being harmonized by a
musician in conventional harmony. Apparently it was successful
and enjoyed in this form. But Smith believes that a true historical
reviewer must be against such "restoration." Here is what Smith
says about this hymn in its original form:
"The melody as melody does not attract us . . . and therefore
that is all the more reason why I plead for sincerity in treatment.
Not a note should be altered, not a note should be added to
make the flow more agreeable, not a sign or modification be
permitted for the sake of smoothness or grace. How eagerly we
read a child's letter; how much such young effort interests us
because it is the genuine presentment of a child's thoughts; how
utterly insignificant it would be to us if we knew that it had been
vamped up by a teacher. So with this hymn; it came into
existence, when music as an art was young, and we want to
understand it purely and simply in its youthfulness; and for no
other reason than that it was a participant in Greek life . . ,"130
Smith here makes the distinction apparent, and the two ways
to appreciate music are both presented: esthetically and
historically. But Smith's later confusion leads to absurdities. Not
everyone in the audience is the historian to the degree Smith is.
(Of course if the piece were falsely touted as genuine, that is
wrong.) Apparently Smith doesn't care what music sounds like as
long as it is historically genuine. "Good" and "Bad" esthetics,
then, are determined for Smith, often,by this criterion. Anything
done by a child, then, is good, if genuine; anything done by
anyone is bad if ingenuine. But obviously, while we enjoy a true
child's work, the child is not also a great writer, for all his work's
trueness. There certainly must exist a method for judging
artistic greatness other than this, or we could not deny a child
the honor of greatness in his art endeavors. Of course that other
method is esthetic judgment, and has little or nothing to do with
"genuineness," or originality, if you please. But these two
outlooks have not only become so confused with each other that
this truth is hard to see, but the confusion of the two is
encouraged today by modernists and modernist theoreticians.
Are we no longer permitted to enjoy "jazzed up" Bach or
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Bach on modern instruments, for example?
The two methods above (esthetic and historic) are just another
form of the duality I have earlier discussed, that between
"nature" and "society."
If we now take up some of the general differences among the
arts, and show the unique character of music in this duality, then
the meaning of this duality will become clearer and all its other
possible forms will be recognizable. The existence of the duality
itself will become more convincing, as we follow the general with
a more concrete discussion.
A while ago the Detroit News printed the following dispatch:
"NEW DELHI, Nov. 29-(Reuters)- Does a sweet potato grow
faster and fatter to tne sound of classical music?
"Does tobacco prosper to the tune of a violin?
"Is a radio in every cornfield the answer to India's food
problem? . . .
"Dr. T. C. N. Singh, head of the department of botany at
Annamalai University in Southern India, says that 8 years of
experiments have shown that music excites plants and makes
them grow faster . . .
"Tapioca and sweet potato which grew under the constant
bombardment of recorded music showed a 40% increase in their
yields. Rice treated to Indian classical music produced 50% more
than a similar crop grown away from the influence of music.
"Recorded violin music broadcast to standing tobacco plants
resulted in a similar increase . . ."131
Again, this appeared in the Detroit Free Press:
"HORNCHURCH, England - (AP) - The Hornchurch Drum
and Trumpet Corps went for a weekend rehearsal in Peter Read's
pasture. Read's 50 cows lifted their heads with interest as the
bandsmen unpacked their instruments and bandmaster Brian
Keeler raised his baton for John Philip Sousa's 'Semper Fidelis.'
"The drums crashed out and the horns blared.
"Five cows dropped dead. The rest stampeded.
"Keeler apologized profusely.
"Read said he wouldn't sue because 'these things happen.'
"Everywhere we go someone objects,' said Keeler." 132
That's what happened (allowing for exaggeration) in India and
Hornchurch, England. If one had shown a painting by
Rembrandt or any other artist to these plants and cows, no such
increase in growth of the plants would have been noted nor
would the cows have been so stricken. If one had performed a
172
poetry reading, or put on a play for these plants or cows, there
would have been no such results as with music.

Music, unlike the other arts, is special, different. Sound, the

only material of music, is natural. Words and events, the basic
material of literature and representative art, are social.
Consider: If an art could be made out of the material of sound
and the sense of hearing on the basis of social inspiration, then to
what do we owe the disproportion in the development of "arts"
based on the sense of touch, taste and smell? Why didn't some
society or social conditions give rise to an "art" of smells as well
developed as the art of music - if society, and not nature or the
senses, is the main source of the cause of meaning and response
in any art? Obviously nature, and not society, is responsible for
this disproportion in that the sense of hearing and our responses
to sound are naturally more powerful than these others.
 I believe that all the arts can be explained, as they are at any
given point, and as they developed, as the marriage of the two
elements given at the beginning of the book, "nature" and
"society," or "biology" and "learning," etc., and all the arts are a
"unity of opposites" of these elements, with varying proportions
of each element in the different arts. It is both of these sides in a
unity of opposites which is the kernel for the understanding of
the art of music. The history of this unity of opposites has been
the growth in influence of the natural side, and the diminishing
of influence of the cultural side. The fact that man lives in
society, has experiences, will always serve to invest his art and
music with some associations from this experience. But in music,
the alteration in history giving preponderant weight today to the
natural side of this unity, if ignored, will be the cause of failure
to understand facts, history and the art of music.
In this lop-sided unity in which nature heavily prevails, a
number of additional and important differences between music
and the other arts can be shown.
The first and most important difference is that music is
necessarily and almost completely non-representational or
abstract. This reflects the weighted influence of nature on music.
All the other major arts have both a representational, or
cultural side, and an abstract, or natural, side, and they have
them in different proportions.
For example, literature, the art which is most uniquely
representational, has a more abstract side in poetry, in this: that
without knowledge of the meaning of the words (and unlike
prose), the rhymes and rhythm of it can be understood by a
foreigner. Even more abstract is the use of "nonsense" words,
such as the lyrics in many folk-songs, like "Finiculi," Finicula,"
"Ti, Yi, Yippee, Yippee, Yay," etc. There are many such
examples of this. This, of course, is a very minor "art" if one at
all, and only some "avante — garde" writers such as James Joyce
and Virginia Woolf have tried to make it a more important "art."
Painting and sculpture has its non-representational, abstract
side, which we all know. But these properly should belong to the
arts of design rather than of meaning or emotion. Whatever
popularity they have gained is due to the love of colors and
pleasant shapes. Other than this most people see nothing in them.
The most abstract besides music is architecture, which deals
more with lines, colors, shapes and design than traditional
painting or sculpture. The representational or social side of

174
architecture is better expressed by the word "utility" which can
differ in content in different societies: The Romans never had
public museums or railway stations and we don't have vomi-
toriums or overland aqueducts. In addition to architecture is the
related minor art of interior decoration and design which deals
even more with lines, colors and shapes, patterns and such.
That utility, for example, is a smaller side to architecture than
meaning is to literature, is shown by the relatively immediate
appreciation we have of ancient architecture with its lovely
symmetry, despite lack of knowledge of the particular uses of
the buildings. This can be compared to the lesser appreciation
of ancient literature and philosophy in general, although a little
of it is just as well received in the West.
Other "minor" arts, like cooking, if you want to call it an art,
are based mostly on sensation and have a small utilitarian side
instead of a "representational" side. (Eating is a necessity, but
the monster effort made to appeal to our tastes is not able to be
properly called "utilitarian.")
The utility (or representation) sides of the arts are aspects
which are capable of being affected by different social environ
ments and ideas. In this respect these arts are not like music,
which has reached the point of being listened to for itself,
without words, without any connection or resemblance to any
social activity.
Sir James George Fraser, Helmholtz and Aristotle, to pick
three most unmatched characters, have each recognized the
difference between music and the other arts and they pegged this
difference on emotion, which music alone seems to directly
simulate despite its abstractness. In addition to this, a number of
important reasons for this are very well expressed by Helmholtz.
But first, Fraser, from his epic work, The Golden Bough:
"Indeed the influence of music on the development of religion
is a subject which would repay a sympathetic study. For we
cannot doubt that this, the most intimate and affecting of the
arts, has done much to create as well as express the religious
emotions thus modifying . . . the fabric of" (religious) "belief to
which at first sight" (music) ". . . seems only to minister." In
another place he says, "We shall probably not err in assuming
that at Paphos as at Jerusalem the music of the lyre or harp was
not a mere pastime designed to while away an idle hour, but
formed part of the service of religion, the" (emotionally)
"moving influence of its melodies being perhaps set down," (that

*75
is, explained) "like the effect of wine, to the direct inspiration of
a deity."133 (My emphasis)
In this connection, mention exists of the "sacred" nature
which primitives attributed to the sound caused by the rapid
swinging through the air of a twig or switch from a tree, thinking
the sound to be issuing from a spirit of the tree, or twig itself, as
a cry of some meaning.
Aristotle asked, in his Problems, "Why do rhythms and
melodies, which are composed of sound, resemble the feelings;
while this is not the case for tastes, colours and smells? Can it be
because they are motions, as actions are also motions?" 134
Helmholtz attempts the answers: "When different hearers
endeavor to describe the impression of instrumental music, they
often adduce entirely different situations or feelings which they
suppose to have been symbolized by the music. One who knows
nothing of the matter is then very apt to ridicule such enthusi
asts, and yet they may have been all more or less right, because
music does not represent feelings and situations, but only frames
of mind, which the hearer is unable to describe except by
adducing such outward circumstances as he has himself noticed
when experiencing the corresponding mental states. Now differ
ent feelings may occur under different circumstances and
produce the same states of mind in different individuals, while
the same feelings may give rise to different states of mind. Love
is a feeling. But music cannot represent it as such. The mental
states of a lover may, as we know, shew the extremest variety of
change. Now music may perhaps express the dreamy longing for
transcendent bliss which love may excite. But precisely the same
state of mind might arise from religious enthusiasm. Hence when
a piece of music expresses this mental state it is not a contradic
tion for one hearer to find in it the longing of love, and another
the longing of enthusiastic piety. In this sense Vischler's rather
paradoxical statement that the mechanics of mental emotion are
perhaps best studied in their musical expression, may not be
altogether incorrect. We really possess no other means of
expressing them so exactly and delicately."135 (My emphasis)
Earlier he says:
"Music was forced first to select artistically, and then to shape
for itself, the material on which it works. Painting and sculpture
find the fundamental character of their materials, form and
color, in nature itself, which they strive to imitate. Poetry finds
its material ready formed in the words of language. Architecture
176
has, indeed, also to create its own forms: but they are partly
forced upon it by technical and not by purely artistic considera
tions. Music alone finds an infinitely rich but totally shapeless
plastic material in the tones of the human voice and artificial
musical instruments, which must be shaped on purely artistic
principles, unfettered by any reference to utility as in architec
ture, or to the imitation of nature as in the fine arts, or to the
existing symbolic meaning of sounds as in poetry." 136
Except for reference to painting and sculpture, to which
Helmholtz gives as fundamental the imitation of nature, instead
of the representation of things and events, his distinctions
between the materials of the arts and the significance of those
distinctions appear to me to be mostly correct.
Because of these distinctions, Helmholtz says that music
"arrogates to itself by right the representation of states of mind,
which the other arts can only indirectly touch by shewing the
situations which caused the emotion, or by giving the resulting
words, acts, or outward appearance of the body." 137
The commonness of these observations among writers and
philosophers is not due to a thread of learning, but are both
independently arrived at and at the same time remarkably alike.
Many of us have, no doubt, been able to make many of these
observations, but without the labor of research the significance
of them is often lost.
If one claims that language, too, is abstract, as is music, in
that words themselves are formed of a process which shapes its
own material, and are only arbitrary symbols of meaning, he
would still have to admit a difference between music and litera
ture, because notes in music, and words in literature, maintain
this distinction: The words used in different languagesare socially
inspired, causing different languages. But the notes of music, in
general, are not different in different societies.
The way for music to be "representational," if such an art
were to be attempted, is if music were, as it was in the past,
merely an accompaniment to the rhythms of certain activities,
and made to be seen, by repeatedly and formally mixing certain
music with only certain social activities, as a symbol inseparably
associated with those activities. But music has ceased to be only
this, and is rather anything but a symbol for concrete meanings
and activities today, except for such things as the national
anthems of countries, etc.
The only other way music can be made to have a representa

177
tional side today is if it were a collection of "sound-effects;" of
the sounds of recognizable events like that of closing doors,
footsteps, etc., arranged so that their order tells a story or has
some meaning. Such "stories" have actually been done once or
twice on the radio, but they are not called music, and besides,
few stories can be told relying only on sound effects.
Such an attempted "art," however, would certainly be
representational, and also, necessarily restricted to the society of
its origin. For example, the Eskimos could not understand the
sound of footsteps across a wood floor, or that of a refrigerator
door being closed, a bottle cap being opened, a package
unwrapped, etc.
But no such art of sound exists as "music." Music alone, as a
major art, has become necessarily abstract.
Because the other arts must continue to deal with materials
which are social (events, languages, situations, utility, etc.), then
they are capable of representation of specific ideas and things,
and in turn, are easily subject to the social environment which
imbues these arts with its own social characteristics. For
example, because language can depict marriage in its monoga
mous form, then a society which practices such marriage will
produce plays about marriage. That society's pictorial art will
also reflect this in marriage scenes and domestic representations.
But what of that society's music? How does monogamy affect
it? How can monogamy affect harmony, rhythm or the way the
melody goes? Musical tones cannot represent the idea of
monogamous marriage (unless you take the first few bars of
Mendelssohn's wedding march and use it as you would the word
"wedding." But that would make musical sounds into a language,
which is not in itself an art, and the arrangement of musical
tones to form a "sentence" could have no artistic connection on
the basis of tonal logic).
It is safe to say, and not to be wondered at, that of all the arts,
music is least subject to being a mirror of social life and relation
ships; its development today based on natural effects almost
entirely.
The other arts have a different proportionof nature and society
acting as influences upon them, and this explains the general
differences among the arts.
Anyone who claims that music is culturally inspired must find
in the music itself the effects of society, and must show how
these effects are due to that society and not other causes, just as
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one can find in Shakespeare's plays many references to ideas,
manners and customs which existed only in Shakespeare's time,
which helped to shape the plot and the actions of the characters,
and some of which even prompted the writing of the plays.
It is true that one can find differences between Scottish,
Chinese, African and Western music. But how can these
differences be claimed to be culturally inspired when the
differences within the same society are also as great or greater
among the styles of music? For example, note the difference
between Rock-and-Roll and Waltzes; between Folk-songs and
"Modern* music; Jazz and Montevani; Aaron Copland and
Frederick Loewe of My Fair Lady; or the differences between
Mozart and Beethoven, who were both of the same general
period and country. On the other hand, note the similarity
between Mendelssohn and Verdi, each of different nationality
(German and Italian); or between many folk-songs, even as old as
those of the 17th century, with the popular and folk-music of
the 20th century. To what court can culturalists claim their view
point is relevant, in the face of differences within cultures, and
similarities among different eras and nations?
I think the claim it is all socially inspired, when such a lack
of evidence exists for this claim, is based in some kind of blind
faith in cultural causes for things.
Those with such blind faith have more questions to answer
than those above.
Why isn't design (in patterns, on building cornices, etc.) an art
which is consciously looked at to the same degree as music is
listened to? The number of paintings, abstract or otherwise, or
pieces of literature too, which are to be found in people's homes
is nowhere near the quantity of musical records and the use of
them. What is the cultural "cause" for the superior appeal of
music?
Why can the same melody be given new words, with different
social content, without the necessity for a similar alteration in
the music? Many labor unionists enjoy Solidarity Forever, and
some might even think the Church took their melody and used it
to make Battle Hymn of the Republic.
Why can an atheist enjoy the music of Bach, although he gains
little esthetic pleasure from the literature of Bach's Church?
Why can't the same play, South Pacifictbe appreciated as much
by segregationists as by integrationists, although the music from
that play can be?
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 Why can "commoners" like the music of "aristocratic" origin,
such as Handel's Royal Fireworks, although these same
commoners might read an attack on The Divine Right of Kings
by Thomas Paine with great pleasure and read the King's diaries
with disgust?
Why could both English loyalists or Tories as well as American
revolutionaries, who shed each other's blood and hated each
other's flag design, both swell breasts to the sound of the same
music to which the respective words God Save the King and My
Country 'Tis of Thee are put? Why are only the words or lyrics
the subject of change? Has there ever been a case when to make a
song acceptable to opposing societies, the music had to be
changed, but not the words? Of course not - and everyone will
agree to the obvious difference between words and music. But
the correct conclusions must also be drawn from agreement to
that fact. The social content of the lyrics God Save the King no
longer applied to both sides in the Revolutionary War. Why
didn't the "social content" of the music - which it is supposed to
have, according to culturalists - also not apply to both sides?
What qualities does music have that allowed it to pass over the
social differences which the lyrics reflected? The answer, of
course, is that music has no social content as do words.
Why do racists enjoy Negro jazz, when they can't stand to hear
or see Negroes in their precious neighborhoods?
Why can many anti-segregationists enjoy the melody to which
Dixie is put despite the strength of its association with slavery
and oppression? ("The devil has the best melodies!")
The associations which the song Dixie carries for many Black
freedom fighters is not conducive to their liking it. But if new
words were set to the tune, in mock and derision of racists, the
tune itself, being in itself not a final declaration of the old South,
could support the new words. In fact it would quickly divest
itself of all its old mental associations once set to such new words
and the anti-racists would enjoy singing it. The lyrics, as poetry,
are capable of carrying social content. Change that and every
thing changes. The music, with no social content, needs no
changing. I once saw a movie in which prisoners of the Nazis put
on a prison show. Until the Nazis learned that one of the songs
being sung (in English) in this show was a traditional Jewish
favorite, the Nazis in the audience enjoyed it, tapped their feet
and clapped. No one watching the film could have doubted the
fact that such a reaction is totally believable. Nothing about even
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the oldest Jewish song conveys anything of Jewish belief and
religion, if done without the words, or as above, in words not
understood.
It's true that every art contains some modicum of both an
abstract and representative side; has both a "natural" and
"social" side, because all deal with the senses, with life or events.
But the proportion is so different in music that examples of the
other arts being appreciated outside their social context, as music
is, while not absent, are less in number than those of music.
Certain literature, or dramas, graphic arts, etc., are common to
all Western men, even to the world, but most are not. Even
Michelangelo is marveled at as much or more for his technical
skill than for the actual religious content of what he painted.
It is true, however, that in music, certain rhythms forbid all
attempts to change their meaning. One cannot put the words of a
lullaby to a jumping Frug. But this only reflects that the
"broadness" of the various "frames of mind" caused by music is
not so broad as to include every possible interpretation. (Some
churchmen wish to "update" religion and use Rock-and-Roll
"hymns." But the physical "rhythms" of meditation, reverence,
awe, prayer and such, all slow-paced activities, aren't com
patible with the frames of mind, or the rhythms, brought on by
Rock-and-Roll. The state of mind necessary for religious
experience apparently has a "rhythm," which even if sometimes
fast, must nevertheless be somewhat regular, and certainly not
playful, and therefore cannot be induced by most jazz, no less
Rock-and-Roll. (All this is said Baptist revivals notwithstanding?))
But even in the above, the restriction of rhythms to certain
emotional states is a "natural" restriction, not a social one: Slow
inspires slow; fast inspires fast.
There is more to be said in order to illustrate the various
concrete forms of what we have been, so far, discussing only in
general terms.

The Who and When of Art

The philosophy which today demands the absolute necessity
of orginality in art is due to the belief that the times and author
ship of art are bound together with every other aspect of the arts,
thus limiting the esthetics of art to the age of its origin. This is
said despite all the observations which can be made to show the
contrary.
Keeping the foregoing section in mind, we can again take up
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the question of the "times" of the arts and now see that the
aspect of "who and when" is only part of the social side of the
duality which defines the arts. This will help us to understand,
using the examples of several arts, why originality has, in fact of
practice, been historically unimportant and why it remains so
today. We will also be able to estimate the relative importance, or
lack of it, of the "who and when" to each of the arts arising from
the different compositions of their duality.
First, music: Mozart, it is true, was of his time, but it is not at
all for that reason that we appreciate his music. We don't have
the "historic" approach to listening to it, as if we were all archae
ologists, but mainly, we have the esthetic approach.
Suppose, for example, the Jupiter Symphony by Mozart had
after all not been written by him, but by a much later composer
- after cleverly, scientifically simulating the age of the manu
script, handwriting, etc., and placing it where it could be found
and assumed to be Mozart's. Would that great work of art, with
its great polyphony, harmonies and exciting fugue (among the
greatest ever written) - be dumped as not so good or enjoyable
after all, just because a later composer wrote it, and not Mozart?
If so, then many people, now dead, who may have gotten great
artistic pleasure from what they thought was Mozart, don't
"know" that they really didn't enjoy it at all - they couldn't
have - because the work wasn't "original."
If merely the knowledge that something is original is the
source of pleasure; or that such pleasure is impossible without
knowledge of the who and when of an artwork - then why listen
to music? Why not just read about it, or instead of looking at
paintings, read about them? Shouldn't that be almost as good, or
at least most of the enjoyment?
Of course, the question could be put the other way: If the
artwork itself is all that is necessary to esthetic experience, then
why bother to learn anything about it, or about art at all?
If the knowledge of the artist's name and when he did the
artwork would make no difference in our ability to see esthetic
beauty in a work, then the answer is yes, why bother?
But if knowledge is sought to understand related questions to
art, with the understanding that art and esthetic experience is
one thing, and that learning and knowledge is another, different,
thing; then as all knowledge is good, so is knowledge of art.
To have to explain art to someone isn't bad, but it doesn't
mean that without such explanation the art is lost upon viewers
182
and hearers. To point out what to look for, and what is aimed at,
etc., more quickly helps others to appreciate what there is in art,
as good art cannot always be as obvious, by its nature, as one
might like. But to be going around pointing out all kinds of
things that aren't there in art to be beheld, except by the
pointer-outer; to talk about all kinds of mystical and subjective
aspects, which really aren't there, leads me to no longer wonder
why so many people have come to the conclusion that they will
never understand art, or that all artists are temperamental nuts,
with a queer "deep vision" unpossessed by mere mortals.
Why bother to learn about art if what one learns is nonsense?
If one were today to write in the same general style that
Mozart used, on what basis could one refuse to enjoy it? By what
reasoning is the pleasure of a work of art based on the knowledge
or the existence of its originality? On the other hand, if the
pleasure is not denied of such a work, of what value is the virtue
of originality?
Didn't Mozart "copy" too? In the first instance, he copied
from himself. If he had died sooner than he did, and never
written the Jupiter Symphony, would the same music by another
composer make it superfluous? On the other hand, had he lived
longer, would it have been impossible for masterpieces which
might have been written by him, in the same style, to be
considered beautiful additions to the musical repertoire? Might
not another (as capable as Mozart) write what he might have
written, or could have written?
Maybe music isn't supposed to be for enjoyment? Is it only for
Paleontologists and museum curators to study for educational
value? Only if Mozart wasn't enjoyed or popular today would it
be silly for anyone to copy a style which has gone out of style.
But apparently Mozart hasn't gone out of style yet. For example,
at this writing, Mozart has made it on the "hit parade" with his
piano concerto #21 in C (K. 467), the second movement of
which - in original form — although shortened, is played on juke
boxes regularly. It goes under the name of music from "Elvira
Madigan." Imagine: When talking, the culturalist will point out
that such music as that of Bach, Mozart, Vivaldi, and that of
more ancient men, is a "music of another time, not really
relevant, not of today's social scene with its conflicts, pressures
. . . etc., etc.," and then, while talking, drop another dime in the
box to play Elvira Madigan or Greensleeves (even more ancient a
melody than the Mozart of the 1780's), and then stay over

i83
coffee to hear Qassical Gas written in a classic style by a modern
composer, or Yesterday, written by the Beatles in a medieval
style all through - with no "updating;" etc., and then ask later,
about the Mozart concerto, if it was written for some new movie
or show!
We are not really out of Mozart's "times" today, anyway.
Mozart, as well as Stravinski or Schoenberg, is of our time.
Within a whole historical period, which can and should be viewed
as a unity, such as that period from Mozart to now, there can be
many differences, none of which are glossed over or ignored by
putting these differences within the same epoch.
People who have complained to me that Mozart is not of our
time, also, in the same breath, say that the serious modern
composers of today are not recognized, starve, or are otherwise
malodorously treated, because the "old" methods and traditions
are "reactionarily" held up and oppress the "new" and "progres
sive." Not only are these two statements contradictory, but both
are wrong:
If the old traditions popularly persist among music-lovers, such
as those of Mozart, etc., then they can't be traditions which are
altogether of another "time^' can they? Or does the "time" of an
art end automatically and mechanically at the death of an artist?
Or does it expire in 20 years? Or 40 years and 6 minutes?
On the other hand, the modernists, far from starving, are the
teachers, professors, department heads and critics in universities
and on newspapers. Their rehash of Schoenberg's theories are
explained over and over to what they think must be dull-witted
students and laymen. Those who agree with the modernists are
encouraged to continue writing music, get the grants and scholar
ships, and the others, who may want to write "traditional"
music, are bluntly discouraged, told to try "plumbing" for a
living, and are branded as reactionary, benighted, needle-minded
people.
Only the masters of the "past" like Mozart and Beethoven,
who are "beyond" being discouraged, keep alive the music which
is not supposed to be of our "time." Never has such a music as
modern music been so explained, been so unpopular (particular
works notwithstanding), been so successfully competed against
by composers who have been in their graves for years - and all in
spite of big promotion jobs, in spite of the fact that many of its
exponents sit in the seats of powerful institutions like the schools
and press. And these institutions also serve the really reactionary

184
forces in society today. (So far. For example, what were those
modern "progressive" artists doing on the White House lawn with
statues and other works in June 1965, invited there by that great
"art-lover" President Johnson? Were these the "progressive"
artists who opposed Johnson's medieval, inhuman foreign policy
in Vietnam and elsewhere? Few beside poet Robert Lowell
(and later, in September, Arthur Miller) had the guts to refuse to
attend because they found Johnson, and what Johnson stands
for, incompatible with the ideals of beauty and art. For whatever
it may interest readers, there is nothing innately "progressive"
about modern - or traditional - art.)
It's true that there are some modernists who are not fairly
treated and who suffer, or live on love, but they are also in a
blind alley for having adopted atonality, poly tonality or
pantonality, etc., for the same fate is more true of traditionalists.
But we are now far afield, and should return to the point.
Not only did Mozart copy from himself, but he, like others,
copied from Haydn, and Beethoven copied from both, and all
copied from Bach. The following are only a couple from
thousands of examples:
COMPAQ;
yrd, symphony

Overture to BocJtien. et BastUn

OK:

"Don. GtiotiBHiV
1EZ
—i i * ,.

r ! B B 1

185
 If originality is so important to a work of art, then the lack of
it should seriously affect the beauty of an artwork. But as the
examples above show, and as we will see regarding the other arts,
the lack of originality doesn't seem to be measurable except by a
trip to a library and a look in a book. (That should be easy to
remember because it rhymes.)
As we will see, if so many people can enjoy and marvel at the
beauty of a piece of architecture without knowledge of who
designed it, or even when it was designed, or even if it was a copy
of an older style; if people can enjoy literature without knowing
that some of it was cribbed; then we should have the right to
similar enjoyment of music without having to "know" if it is
"original" - or to not like it, without that knowledge too.
The purpose of a building is how well it serves its use, and how
beautiful it is to see. Music should be beautiful to hear, and
literature should have some meaning.
In literature, there is the example of the great and famous
author of the Three Penny Opera, Galileo Galilei, and other
works, Bertolt Brecht. Here was a man who did write for "the
masses," and he wrote so that most people couldn't fail to under
stand what he was driving at. He had nothing at all "new" to say.
As a Communist, much of what he wrote had been said again and
again. But the difference is that he had something to say and said
it well. Herein lies the greatness of Brecht. John Willet, a critic,
writes much on Brecht, explains why his writing had appeal:
"Brecht uses a vocabulary which people will understand . . ."
Earlier Willet points out that "as soon as anyone is moved by a
communicative impulse that is stronger than himself, then he can
forget about 'originality': that pathetic ideal of the arts in our
time." In another place, too, Willet says; "The highbrow artist
has become scared of being 'contaminated,' whether by
commerce or politics; it is 'reactionary' not to be 'original'; and
originality is still seen as a matter of finding new and esoteric
forms . . ." (One could hardly accuse the unoriginal Brecht of
being "reactionary.") Willet draws this conclusion: "No man's
inventiveness and creative power are unlimited: if he spends them
all on the evolution of a private language he may run dry when it
comes to having something to say." 138
In commemoration of the 175th anniversary of the first U.S.
copyright law, the Detroit News pointed out the facts below,
which show the relative unimportance of originality in history:
"Charles Dickens is known to have 'borrowed' here and there
186
from Washington Irving. Oscar Wilde took a large part of his
famous lecture 'The English Renaissance in Art,' from James M.
Whistler. The painter of 'Whistler's Mother' observed that Wilde
'had the courage of the opinions - of others.'
"The English author Samuel Taylor Coleridge copied whole
pages from the writings of others. So did the French novelist
Stendahl, who used a pen-name to cover up his thefts." 139
Coming lastly to the example of architecture we come across
another form of the duality of the arts, that of "subjective" and
"objective," representing aspects of the social and natural
elements in this art.
It is important that the artist separate subjective and objective,
and be aware of the capacity of art which allows associations
to be "attached" to it. For example, the Doric column of the
Greek Parthenon (which is the embodiment of Greek discoveries
about esthetics in architecture), is in most minds associated with
the Greek Golden Age.
But this association with the Greek age doesn't exist every
where. Many Americans, seeing a picture of the Parthenon, might
actually believe the Greeks copied it from the First National
Bank Building (except "something happened" to its roof and
most of its columns).
Of course, mammoth ignorance is no excuse for anything. But
the point is that there is nothing about the shape and design of
the Parthenon, or of the building shown next, which would

188
indicate the social times of its origin. If there were, even an
ignorant person would have seen something of that when
perceiving the Bank building, which seems as much in place on its
street in the U.S. as its counterpart does on the hill in Greece.
But without benefit of historical knowledge, the association to
the times of origin is not made, as it is not carried on the face of
the building or its columns. All such associations are carried in
the mind, and as society changes, these associations are also
subject to change and replacement with other associations. Few
people think of Greece when they pass a public library or bank
building today. But when they get a post card from Athens, then
the association starts to switch on, so much so, that the picture
post card of the Parthenon doesn't even make them think of the
bank or the library any more. Now it all looks "Greek."
The only associations not so easily subject to change are those
which are prompted by certain aspects of a building itself, such
as the sculptured reliefs, the statues, etc., which are not abstract,
or objective.
Until we adopt the style of dress, or lack of it, shown in old
statues of men and women; until we start riding around in two-
wheeled horse-drawn chariots, then of course, no one can
imagine the building shown above having been built by anyone
except an earlier people who dressed and traveled in that manner
(unless the statue is an historic shrine). These, like the gargoyles,
goblins and Virgin Marys in Gothic art, are all subjective aspects
of the building.
Other aspects, such as the columns, the repeating designs on
the frieze of the buildings, etc., are abstract, or objective, and by
looking back at the Parthenon and the building after it, which
has been deliberately unnamed up to now, one cannot tell
without prior knowledge what the separation is in time between
these two structures, because, except for the statues and other
representational aspects, all forms on both buildings are of this
"objective" type. Is the second, more expanded building, built in
Roman times? Or is it a copy of Roman architecture? Is it an
"indigenous" copy (done by people near in time to the Classic
Romans), or was it built in England or the U.S. as a library or
city hall only decades ago? Is the building beautiful? Or do you
first have to know the "who and when" of it? To enjoy looking
at it, do we have to know if it is "original?" The building is the
shrine to Victor Emmanuel II, built in Rome around the turn of
the 19th century. None of this information exists upon the face
189
of the building, with the exception of a statue in front of a
frock-coated horseman, which could not have been conceived by
the early Romans. This building is considered a work of art and is
a tourist spot. It is, nevertheless, a copy of the same general
architectural style which is hundreds of years old.
It should be conceded that as a whole, architecture will never
be taken (except by the ignorant) as originating in any other age
than in the one it did. That association with true fact is
unconquerable. The question is whether such an association,
based on historical knowledge, has any effect on the esthetic
beauty of the building, and whether copies of an older style lose
their beauty because they are copies.
Few buildings can have much beauty if they are done subjec
tively, except for the people who lived at the time of their origin.
These people were "at one" with whatever subjective attitudes
are celebrated on, or by, the building, and they held dear the
meaning of them. This meaning (at that time) overcame the
poorest architectural design. But we today, who are not so much,
or at all, in accord with the attitudes and views of the older
societies, see only the poor designs where they exist, and they
look poor to us even after we come to know why they were done
subjectively. Our appreciation would then consist more in an
historical view than an esthetic one regarding such buildings.
Associations are subjective, and cannot well serve as part of a
foundation for esthetics, whether the associations in question are
in the mind of the viewer, or part of the architect's plan or
viewpoint. They are an especially poor foundation for esthetics
for the architect, considering that his building may be seen for
ages after.
When designers have employed their subjectivity, or that of
their age, on the building's design, and at that, in defiance of the
esthetic discoveries of form and line, etc., such buildings are not
copied in later ages. We copy the columns, the arches, etc., but
not the statues, usually, nor the gargoyles, goblins, witches and
fairies or manners of dress which may be part of the building's
decoration. We copy the objective, not the subjective. We copy
the esthetic, not the historical, except to be "historical."
Associations are the content placed in the esthetic forms
which have been handed down from one age to another. That's
why, in general, we copy the style of the Greeks and Romans
more than the work of a more subjective age, such as that which
inspired Gothic and Baroque art. Exceptions duly noted, these
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latter styles of architecture provide little of the general type of
esthetic forms into which we may (or may not, as we please) put
our own associations and social content. As the views of the
people who created this art are incorporated on their architec
ture, it is not a question of only mental adjustment for us to
replace their views with our own content, which we hold dear to
ourselves: Even if we wish to add nothing specific of our own, a
pick and chisel is needed to avoid those concepts placed on
Gothic and Baroque architecture by its originators.
Raymond points out: "The world may improve in art as in
other things. Yet, as every thinker knows, all improvements are
in the nature of developments that are made in strict accordance
with fixed laws. We have found that scientific classification, as
well as artistic construction, demands that like be put with like.
This demand is beyond the reach of any human power that may
seek to change it. It exists in the constitution of the mind. No
architect can disregard it, and produce a building satisfactory to
men in general. No building has ever obtained and preserved a
reputation as a work of art, in which this requirement has been
neglected. As proof of this statement, . . . notice the classic build
ings in all styles . . . The true reason, therefore, for not
introducing the forms of Greek, Romanesque, and Gothic
architecture into the same building, is that, as a rule, such a
course is fatal to unity of effect ... to blend them is to cause
confusion in the form where the mind demands intelligibility,
which, so far as our present line of thought is applicable, means
something in which many repetitions of similar appearances
reveal that all are parts of the same whole. Buildings in which
there are very few, if any, forms alike, such as we find
exemplified in . . . this chapter ... are not, whatever else they
may be, works of art."140
One of those buildings mentioned by Raymond is the "Church
of St. Nizier," in Lyons, France, and which is shown below.
Compare this real "collage" in architecture to one of similar style
shown after it, and the point Raymond makes is clear.
(We can see from the examples, and from what Raymond says,
that a similarity exists between harmony in music and "like" in
architecture. Also, lack of unity, lack of intelligibility and
relationships of parts -to -the -whole in architecture, is similar to
dissonance, interruption and beats in music. That the principles
are similar among two different arts and among the works of
those arts which have been historically viewed as classic, gives

191
i93
credence, first, to the existence of abstract, non-socially-inspired
esthetic principles or laws (perhaps Raymond overstates them as
"fixed laws 'I); and secondly, to the correctness of those
principles, or laws, in art.
(It also further shows that music, which is uniquely different
from the other arts in its proportion of the two elements (nature
and society) which make up the duality of all the arts, is not
itself opposite to the other arts, and hence some kind of "freak"
to which no commonly-used laws and principles of history,
esthetics and development apply; as if music alone had its own
special orbit. Rather, music is only different in the quantitative
amounts of the two elements which make it up and which make
up all the arts. However, this quantitative difference gives rise to
a qualitative esthetic difference between music and the other
arts.
(If the same principles of all the arts could not apply, in their
way, to music; if I made music appear as a separate species all its
own, then such a presentation would be suspicious, automatically
raising the question of why music should stand outside the
ordinary realm of science and history. However, it is not that
way.)
It appears quite often that the purpose of architecture, or at
least, the cause of its beauty, is the way it defines space, whether
the open air or an enclosed space. The massiveness of the
monument to Victor Emmanuel II is made manifest not just by
mere size, but how much sky can be made to appear enclosed or
framed within its uppermost borders, and also by how well the
eye is led to these points. The building, by so measuring space,
gives us an appreciation of the size of the universe which is
otherwise overlooked because of its constant presence. But by
graduating a number of shapes and sizes both in an upward and
lengthward direction, like steps, which get larger as they go, leads
ever more to the monumental size that space, sky and the
universe really is. It also seems that the rules of architectural
design which survive the ages, are those which aid this clean,
clear, exhilarating illusion (or if the space to be emphasized is an
interior one, those which aid the smoothness by which the walls
rise to form a graceful, serene blanket of the enclosed space).
For the rulers of ancient Rome, the massiveness of their
architectural design lent itself to the creation of the belief that
those who sat in its chambers, those who gave pyrotechnics
before its columns, were themselves government of an empire
*94
as massive as the universe which such buildings appeared to
define. How much less important and noble or heroic would
Roman deeds and words have seemed without the immense
canopy, which was the Roman capitol, to echo them through its
halls.
But for us, the same buildings could contain the great fictional
plays and dramas of the ages, or the great sport events, or
educational facilities; or if we choose not to replace associations
of power and grandeur with any others, we can enjoy the scope
of the architecture for the beauty of its definition of space alone,
which brings home to us the thrilling size of our natural environ
ment.
In summary, let it be said that a new style of architecture, or
of music, or of any art, is not a bad goal, as if copying had to be
the lot of the artist. To those who wish to innovate, those who
would rebel against tradition - then rebel against the subjective,
not the objective. Use "originality" in the area in which society
has formed restrictive, subjective associations. If a Greek temple
can now serve as a public library, then any architecture,
"original" in style or not, if done according to objective laws and
principles, can most beautifully serve as a home, a marketplace, a
community area, playground, etc. The old associations will give
way to the new, and beauty need not be restricted to city halls
and tourist-trod ruins.
Do I hear culturalists speaking? Are they saying you can't have
the outside of a new house look anything but "modern?""You
can't have a sports arena like a tudor mansion, etc., it would be
silly, a laughing stock. You can't do that any more than it would
be possible to continue to make and drive around in 1934
Packards, Model A's and T's today, without looking out of place.
We must have new designs which suit the age."
I will say this, to press home my point: If we kept making
model A's today, or 1940 Fords, hard to believe as it seems - it
would be as acceptable to be seen in one, on our modern express
ways, as it would be to be seen in a 1937 Volkswagen! The only
reason the VW is not absurd to be seen in despite its 1930's
design, is because it is still made today and driven all over. This
doesn't prove that all new designs must be avoided. It proves that
old ones are possibly still good.
Associations with artwork are not bad in themselves, but they
should be known for what they are. They cannot be considered
the source of esthetic pleasure. This is the cause and "justifica

195
tion," however, of the desperate encouragement of originality in
art: "Old works also have ' olde,' 'fixed,' 'passe' esthetics!"
The culturalists, for all their oppositon to believing in "fixed
laws," for their love of "all is relative," have made a fixed law
out of the temporal associations which are made between art
objects and a particular historical period, and they transfer this
fixedness to the area of esthetic appreciation. In those areas of
art in which there are no laws of real necessity, they make them.
It's silly, they say, to imitate something which we may think
beautiful, because we really shouldn't think it so if it is of
another age, because its enjoyability should be limited to that
other age, etc.; but in those other areas of art in which there are
aspects of natural necessity or "fixed" laws, then here, they
preach relativism: It's OK and serious business, they say, to play
music off key all day, to write books which cannot be understood
and to paint pictures which cannot be determined with any
degree of certainty whether or not they have been hung upside
down! How wrong can you get?
As the practice of originality has found its form, in most arts,
in rebellion against the objective, and not the subjective, aspects
of art, we have today some pretty awful places in which to live
and work and study, some terrible sounding music, and plenty of
/ifferature.
It is to be hoped, that if one of the causes of originality as an
esthetic virture is in the belief that all art, esthetically speaking, is
indelibly stamped with only the age of its origination, and that
therefore, we must have our own "original" art; then here
perhaps, the weakening of that belief will reduce the need for the
kind of originality which attacks the objective, the beautiful, and
which tries to pawn off ugliness with the lame excuse that
modern art is not appreciated now because no art has ever been
appreciated in its own time. It is false for us to believe that we
should expect never to like our own art, and to be quiet in the
"ignorance" for which later ages will presumably ridicule us. It is
as false as believing past art was not appreciated in its time, for
the truth is that much of so-called modern art has had a negative
reception the likes of which no other age has ever really known,
regarding it s own art.
Bringing all these lessons back to music: Just because Haydn
and Mozart used the diatonic scale and system then, is no reason
for us to abandon it, or to view it only as an historical "curio
sity." Modern composers, to defend the use of a so-called original

196
twelve-tone "scale," claim the fiction that the greatness of past
artists was likewise due to their originality. Actually, the Greeks,
not Mozart or Haydn, were the first to use the diatonic scale as it
is. As this is so, then how did Haydn ever get anywhere without
inventing his own scale, or Mozart his own, or Beethoven, Handel
and Bach their own scale? They all used the same scale and the
same general system of music. Is it just "style" which must be
original, and which made them great? Not even this, as compar
ing Haydn and Mozart will show. But even so, is it now somehow
established that only a few dozen-odd styles are possible within
this system? Who set the limit? What causes this limit? If Mozart
hadn't lived, then modernists would have made Haydn the bearer
of the honor of having brought this "style" of music to its
"greatest height," instead of Mozart. And had another lived after
Mozart, then the excuse, or claim, that this general system of
music was "exhausted," would have fallen to that other to have
"exhausted."
This is not to say that only variations of this diatonic system
should be tried, even though so far there has not been much
success possible any other way. But it is to say that those who
wish to try new systems should not claim any untruths to justify
their failures, or to discourage tradition, as if it were wrong to
not be original.
In fact, the big campaign to denigrate traditionalism as if it
were a waste of time, without taste, superfluous, etc., wouldn't
have to exist if originality produced a really successful "modern"
system of art: That success itself would be enough to put
tradition out of court. But without that success, there is always
the possibility that traditionalism, if not somehow discouraged,
will be modern music's gravedigger; will apply the coup de grd.ce
to modern music. It's bad enough that dead genius, like that of
Mozart and Bach, can outcompete the modernists. A live one
would be just too much for words.
For culturalists to argue as they have been, especially
against the background of facts which here have been resurrected
from the discoveries of years ago, as well as from those
discovered lately about the natural causes of appreciation in
music (and about certain natural aspects of the other arts), puts
these culturalists in the position of one who might argue that the
non-flatness of the earth is a purely social custom from old
Portugal, initiated by Columbus, and is true of only that age and
place. They would say that each age must in its turn develop its

197
own concept - original concept - of the shape of the earth. To
be sure, most things are limited to their past, but our system of
music, physiologically based, like the ellipsoid shape of the earth
is physically true, is not one of those things limited to its past as
if it were a social custom.

The thing that is amazing is that classical music is enjoyed

today despite the associations made by us with the era in which
it was written. In fact, classical music has greatly overcome this
association because it is more a product of natural necessity or
natural law than of any particular culture or time. It has become
an institution in itself.
What really is tied to its age is the mystique of originality. Our
age will go down in history as having fostered the almost
impossible artistic goal of originality. (The only reason we still
use the colors red, blue, green, and all the combinations of them,
without hearing complaints that by using them, we are living and
thinking like regressed barbarians and slaves of tradition, is
because this mystique, no matter how piously believed, cannot
inspire any "original" colors.)
It is possible that there might be complaints about my defini
tion of what others have meant by "originality;" that what I have

198
been refuting it as is not exactly what it is; that I have deliber
ately made it simple and crude in order to easily refute it.
Those who strongly tout originality ought to define it better.
Philosophically, and according to the whole meaning of the
word, originality is an impossibility in art. Since the discovery of
the wheel, if even then, all things seem to be a rearrangement or
expansion of old elements. Since the discovery of the cone, pyra
mid, cube, sphere and cylinder, no "original" shape has been
discovered which cannot be disassembled or reduced to these
primary shapes. Since red, blue, yellow (and beige), there seem
to be no "original" colors. Since consonance and dissonance have
been discovered, no one has really been able to discover any new
ones, or to reverse the existing definitions.
But the use of the word originality by others may be more
limited in meaning. Perhaps it only means a new arrangement of
old elements?
However, under this definition, all but identity is then original:
Mozart, all of whose pieces are valued, is original, in that each
piece is another, different, arrangement of old elements.
But it is absurd to think that such a definition is useful, be
cause everything that is not an exact copy of something before
it would then be original.
How different must one be, therefore, to be "original?" Those
who would have us gage, as a final basis, by each person's own
personal judgment, cannot claim to have a very worthwhile,
communicative definition, as others will not always have the
same view of things, and each will have his own "original" defini
tion of the word.
Until it is better defined, it can have no use. But I cannot bring
myself to complain about its lack of definition, because I don't
think, relating to art, it can be better defined. It doesn't even
properly apply to art in the first place. Its definition should be its
"original" one; that of an act of creation; of beginning. Other
than that it can have only metaphoric meaning: An original work
of any kind can only mean one which cleverly disguises old
elements, so that it appears new. In this, however, is the supposi
tion that old elements are still used and accepted, and is not
"original" in the same sense that modernists have been using it,
whatever sense they do mean it in.
Clever, original use of materials is one thing; Original ma
terials is another, entirely.
It should be understood that certain arts, by lacking the ability
199
and power that sound has in music, or that shapes and lines have
in architecture, cannot successfully be made to have the same
proportion of esthetic -values to social-content as do music and
architecture. To therefore attempt to make literature "beautiful"
without social content; without meaning, is as foolish as the
earlier mentioned "representative" art of music which would
consist only of socially recognizable sound-effects. In the
discussion of architecture, we have seen that unlike music, it is
restricted, by its need to have utility, to those societies which
need that use. In this sense, music alone is unique because its use
is self-inspired. Its very beauty is its usefulness, and it stands
alone as the most universal of the arts. "Abstract" sculpture,
lacking the effective esthetic power of music, which can simulate
emotions, is better appreciated when combined with a utility, as
the base of a lamp or bookend, so that both, form, line, as well
as utility, can together add to its effective power to be
appreciated.
In music, whoever composes deriving his style in recognition
of the unity of opposites which make up the arts in general, will
compose music. Whoever invents a style derived from his own
wishes as to how the parts in this unity of opposites should be
distributed will be an historic absurdity, doomed to ridicule and
final oblivion. Truly, society may create the inventor of such a
style, but history and natural law are not bound to accept
society's own creations. That is one of the contradictions found
in all ages.
Look at the difference in outlook between the artist of today,
and that of one like Mozart. In a letter reputed to be by him, he
wrote, ". . . why my productions take from my hand that
particular form and style that makes them Mozartish, and differ
ent from the works of other composers, is probably owing to the
same cause which renders my nose so large or aquiline, or in
short, makes it Mozart's, and different from those of other
people. For I really do not study or aim at any originality."141
Haydn also, in a letter, revealed that among the most
powerful of incentives for him to write music in the face of
obstacles, was.rather than originality, the possibility that his mu
sic would bring pleasure to others.
This is just the opposite of notions that exist today. Here were
artists who were concerned with writing music and pleasing
people, not concerned just with themselves. Today, the modern
ist is attentive to himself being somehow reflected in his
200
compositions. He is concerned that he has a style that others will
recognize as his and no one else's. The logical conclusion to this
has been the production of fantastic sounds, simply because they
are, by their newness and startlingness - and regardless of who, if
anyone, likes them - specifically associated with their producer.

I believe that in the socialist future which is in the making,

relations of people will be renewed on a healthy basis and people
will turn their attention away from their egos, and from destruc
tive, internecine competitiveness, toward each other instead and
to the social enjoyment of their life and art. Plekhanov
recognized all this when he said:
"It is not good that man should be alone. The present
'innovators' in art are not satisfied with what their predecessors
created. There is nothing wrong in this. On the contrary, the urge
for something new is very often a source of progress. But not
everybody who searches for something new really finds it. One
must know how to look for it. He who is blind to the new
teachings of social life, he to whom there is no reality save his

201
own ego, will find in his search for something 'new' nothing but a
new absurdity. It is not good that man should be alone."142
In other words, the separation of the artist from the mass of
people, caused by capitalist society, has left the artist "alone" to
his own devices and evolution. But by being alone, and not part
of the mainstream, he will come up with an evolution that is
purely subjective, private, and without meaning to that main
stream. The artist lost interest in the mainstream of capitalism
because that mainstream had little that was social in it.
Feudalism, no matter how brutal it was as a whole, was still more
"social" than the individualism and competitiveness which
followed. Understandably, the artist may have been repelled by
such a spectacle of competition, and was led to turn in on
himself for "inspiration." But it hasn't worked out. In his turn
inward, he was encouraged by the new bourgeoisie, who cared
nothing for "art," but who wanted an art identified with them,
even if it may have been inferior to the hated Feudalists' art.
(Besides, they could "sell" anything - so they thought.) The
monstrosities this has led to must have even surprised the
bourgeois culturalists.
In the separation of the artist from society to where he is
practically an outsider lies the artist's real lack of originality ; his
lack of meaningful variety. His "originality" is an absurdity.

Freedom of the Artist

Modernists are aware of the unpopularity of their music, and
Reti fears that some might actually want to put a ban on it: ". . .
many people . . . renounce modern art as a whole and, in fact,
would like to impose a moral or even a legal ban on it."143
It is not strange that modernists in general should fear this.
Hearing talk from some quarters that stresses the incapacity for
art to be "original;" for certain elements of art to be considered
standard by necessity - due to a "natural" origin or basis - then,
modernists, while they do not believe this talk, and because they
don't believe it, feel that its existence is just a way of hiding an
insidious desire to artificially suppress modern art.
Let us all come out four-square against any restriction of the
artist and his attempted methods, by either other artists or the
state, or by anyone.
However, even though it would be wrong in principle to
outlaw any art-form, especially in the schools, where one can
"officially" discourage it with greater devastation than any

202
"legal" ban could, the suppression of "modern" art (whose
exponents are currently doing this to traditionalist art) is
unnecessary. Let modernists be encouraged to try ever newer
things; to be brought before audiences and allowed to be heard
with a fair ear. We should be in favor of that.
I am in favor of letting anybody try to get Pepsi-Cola from a
cow. One only asks that those who wish to get milk from a cow
be likewise permitted to try.

It's good to have a creative drive. But that drive itself does not
by its intensity make it automatically omnipotent. To point out
that one cannot be arbitrary is not to wish to oppress free
endeavors. But let there be warning that the consequences of
impersonal history will be oppressive to one who arbitrarily
ignores the lessons of history. The artist must recognize the laws
of necessity (whether these are natural or social). If he doesn't,
these laws will not cease because of the artist's wrath. The laws
of this world do not feel bad if they are called "reactionary
Philistines." They operate anyway, and their effects are felt.
If one wants to go sailing in a boat which has holes in it, one
can, but will sink. That's the law! Saying it is not an expression
of any desire to see one drown. One can claim that in thirty or
forty years we will all sail happily with holes in our boats as we
once did without holes. But the laws of music, like those of
203
sailing boats, as shown in this book, are self-enforcing. History
has recorded the bending of men to their obedience and no
successful art can ignore them in the future. Those who do ignore
them - will sink.

Music and the Future

It will be important for artists and composers to develop a
class understanding of society, because the theories they build
and work from will benefit from such an approach. Even if "mass
taste" is more or less easily separated according to class, the
conception of what this taste will be in the future is necessarily
vague for the artist without a class conception of society and the
history of his art. The time is gone for the artist who is an
uneducated but "intuitive" genius, articulate only in colors,
sounds, etc. Today the artist has to be a thinker, must know how
to speak, and must know what he is talking about.
Henry Pleasants, however correct he may have been in his
appraisal that art should be of and for the masses, has seen these
masses in only their current, limited condition. While Jazz and
Rock-and-Roll is mostly bad, a great deal of it is real art. (This is
more than can be said for the former "popular" song.) But
artisticness can not be measured today solely by current
"majority opinion" of different music. The history of music and
men must be taken into account. Less than a "majority" like
classical music today, not because it is of another time, but
because it requires a certain amount of leisure time to understand
it, and a certain unalienated frame of mind to attempt the under
standing. But the music is nevertheless an artistic one. The lower
classes, despite the great value of the tonal musical traditions
they may have preserved in jazz and some popular music, are
today in really no position to have a more complete art. Not
because they are "low" class, but because by being in the lower
class, they are most alienated from society and haven't been
allowed thought or time for producing any consciously
developed art. Their grind of life forbids their having a broad,
objective culture. But this class must be seen in perspective: it
will not always be oppressed, in my belief. Part of their tastes,
too, are sometimes determined by class prejudice. Some working
people in the world feel that liking "high-class" art is the
province of those who are high-class, and out of resentment for
their own lower position dislike the likes of their overseers and
lords.
204
 And so we see that good, artistic music is not necessarily
measurable by the current majority feeling of what art is,
although it is not a contradiction to feel that "mass taste" should
be the most important factor to be considered in the creation of
art. The whole history of mass taste is part of this factor.* Know
ledge of it will aid the artist to look ahead and see what will be in
the future, when all humanity will freely and objectively partici
pate in the arts, and the artist will be viewed as a wanted type. In
my view, this future will be a socialist one.
The artist who really wants to be "ahead of his time," without
at the same time severing all contact with reality and real people;
who wants to have "something to say," should cast his art and
his life, like Bertolt Brecht, to this future, not when strange,
private squeaks and peeps called modern music will then be
"appreciated," but when a universal, social revival of the arts will
take place. Possibly the role of artist separate from his audience
will disappear. The practicing musician will still exist, but as he
will be part of society, and not separated from it, his art will be
"humanized," consumed, and added to by all human beings,
different human beings from those which, formed of an unhappy
society, are the ones we know today.

*Another example illustrating this point is that of folk-songs.

They are real art, but their popularity today is not completely
widespread. However, the history of them does show their
"long-range" mass popularity. It also shows how each succeeding
age of subjective people can produce an objective art in time. If
folk-songs, based on the same simple harmonies as popular songs,
have the capacity to endure longer, and are truly artistic, it is
because of the constant refinements — a sort of "natural
selection" — they undergo from age to age. This process has
added beautiful turns to words and melodies; subtracted all the
trite and subjective aspects which may originally have been there
by the individual composer. As it belongs to the people them
selves, the folk-song had its several points of imperfection
removed, leaving us with an objective work of art, necessarily
pleasing to many people, and used, often with different words,
again and again. On a higher, conscious level, perhaps this will
be the process of the future.
205
AEeEKTGOOCE
^
 Materialism and Music

]YJaterialism is a body of thought whose premise is that only

real, knowable laws and forces exist and operate in
the universe, and not that imaginary, mystical or "un-knowable"
forces and laws exist. Materialism does not attribute the causes of
things to fate. It views ideas, inspiration or personality, taken by
many to be the ultimate causes of things, as themselves caused by
real or material forces. All these forces react one upon another
and change is always taking place according to certain principles
of change known as dialectics. (In this book "materialism" and
"dialectical materialism'are used to mean the same thing.)
The view presented in this book is a proposed materialist
one, or "Marxist" one. It should be clear, however, that as with
many theories, the application of its principles by different
people sometimes brings different conclusions. In this sense, I
speak only for myself and not for all who consider themselves
materialists. One reason for this divergence is that the application
of a materialist view of history to the arts has not been the main
occupation of most materialists, and hence the attempts made
are not bound to bring consistent results at first. Secondly, the
application of the theory in this field is often as difficult, or
more so, than the theory itself.
One of the issues involved in causing varying views on the arts

20Q
by materialists is that of "human nature." It is true that "human
nature," as it has been loosely defined, is rightly considered by
materialists as non-existent. There is nothing in the "nature" of
man to make him greedy or generous, cooperative or competi
tive, monogamous or polygamous, etc. Except for the various
necessary biological requirements of eating, sleeping, sexual
activity, etc., there really are no traits which are "natural" to
man. He is the subject of his environment which molds his
character, or so-called "human nature," and this "nature" is
different in different societies. While defense of the materialist
viewpoint cannot be the direct object of this book, let me say
that I believe the above notion is true and that this is shown by
the fact that in general, most "communists" live in Russia, most
"capitalists" in the United States and other such countries; most
Jews have parents who were Jewish; most Catholics have parents
who were Catholics, etc. The environment and upbringing of
people tends to determine their outlook even in a world with
such highly developed international communication as ours.
But overlooked by many materialist philosophers is the
corollary to the idea that there is no universal "human nature."
This corollary is that there is sl "nature of human response." That
is, human beings in general do respond lawfully and consistently
to their environment, or to general stimuli. That there is no
universal human nature is because there is no universal all-
embracing environment; is because of the "nature" of men to
respond consistently to their own environment, and become
"different" from people in another environment with an
apparently different "human nature."
These two things, human nature and human response, are too
often confused by materialists. Under the pressure of a generally
hostile society, materialists lapse into society's culturalist view,
which is a crude and contradictory version of the notion that "all
is relative." (The recognized bourgeois culturalists deny all "ab
solutes" until the question of their social system is raised, which
they then claim is the "best of all" possible systems, and that
any others would be against "human nature.")
Failure to realize that man responds in a generally lawful
manner, whether to biological, political or economic stimulus,
and that this is different from "human nature" (which, as it is
used, presumes that men tend to behave the same way at all
times, under all circumstances) has led many materialists to deny
that there is anything "natural" in the developments of the arts.

210
In dealing with this and other questions, therefore, I hope to
make a contribution to the discussion of materialism in the field
of the arts.
Another problem is the definition of the word "society."
Generally materialists view the word as including not only the
ideas, customs, and social institutions of a culture but also the
economic level or level of technology. According to materialists,
the technology of a society and its development have been the
basic cause, although not the only cause, of the ideas, customs
and social institutions arising within a society. As the discussion
and practice of Marxist materialism have been centered around
these ideas, etc., and not around the arts or less burning
questions, the inclusion of the particular level of a society's
technology in the term "society" has not caused analytical
problems. This is because the cause (technology), and the effects
(ideas, customs, etc.), are, in the term "society," together, and
complete a neat circle of cause and effect in the one term. But in
the following discussion, as well as throughout this book, the
term society is better used to mean all but technology, for the
reason that another cause, nature, which is "outside" society,
also influences the development of the arts. Rather than include
all three things in one term, "society," it would be less confusing
if all three things were examined more or less separately. Whereas
the political side of a materialist discussion has generally dealt
with the relation between technology and human ideas or
behavior; our discussion of the arts will center on the relation of
nature to technology, as well as that between technology and
human behavior. It must be admitted that the development of
technology is itself caused by something, and this question will
be part of our discussion.
As much of what I think to be incorrect in even the best
materialist views on art amounts to the same errors in the often-
mentioned "cultural" theories, I would like to take up additional
examples, other than those mentioned in passing earlier in the
book, to illustrate the inadequacy of this type of theory, and
which, I believe, will resharpen the concepts held by materialists.
Everybody knows that cloth, made from the hides and hair of
animals, and fashioned into clothing, has the natural capacity to
keep us warm.
How does it do this? If it were possible to ask an Indian back
in primitive times why clothes keep him warm, he might tell us a
story of gods, trees, visitations and animal spirits. He might tell

211
us that these animal skins were endowed by some creator, spirit,
or force, with the characteristic that they - the skins - can give
off heat to him and that this came about because he was a good
Indian who obeyed all the laws and rules of his great spirits.
If I were to ask a culturalist to tell me what he thought about
the Indian's answer, he would probably say that the Indian
didn't understand the laws of conductivity of heat - namely, the
Indian's own body heat is kept from escaping because cloth
conducts heat more slowly than air, which is all that would be
around the Indian if he were naked.
Only a fool would tell me that the Indian was correct, that at
that historical period animal skins actually did give off their own
heat, but now that the laws of conductivity have been
"invented," they supercede the old Indian "law." Only a fool
would say that the social conditions of that Indian gave rise to
skins being able to give off their own heat. And if that Indian
were to put a cloth on top of food and say he did it to warm up
his food, that action would not prove to any sensible researcher
that perhaps at that time in history skins did give off their own
heat. Only a fool would say that it did, and would ask, to defend
such a foolish view, "Why else did the Indian do it, if it didn't
really heat up his food?"
But the same culturalist, who would wildly nod his head in
agreement with me up to now, is just that fool in the field of
musicology. Let us substitute the laws of acoustics for the laws
of conductivity of heat . And when all is said and done, the
culturalists ask, "Hasn't man enjoyed the sound of the most
horrible cacophony? Doesn't his history prove that pleasantness,
or consonance, is relative; that harmony and dissonance are
relative, and that what man may have liked in Arabia in the 1 Oth
century, or someplace else in the 17th century, is not in
conformity with the laws of acoustics? Doesn't this lack of
conformity show that these laws did not have much effect on his
music?"
But isn't that like saying that the Indian - who put skins over
food to warm it - by thus not behaving in conformity with the
laws of conductivity of heat is "proving" that these laws, too, did
not have much effect on why he wore skins to keep himself
warm? It is like saying the above, but in the latter case, it is
obviously a foolish conclusion.
Just because primitives (and modern culturalists) may perform
an action similar to the Indian's in placing skins on food to warm
212
it, and this action is the liking of certain unacoustical sounds,
scales or melodies, does not nullify the effects of the laws of
acoustics. If a culturalist today says he himself likes the sound of
the major chord because his society taught him to like it, that it
developed "accidentally" and has beauty only due to social use,
then he is speaking from ignorance. The reason he likes it, and
the reason it developed, is the same kind of reason why clothes
kept the Indian warm, regardless of why that Indian thought
they did. In other words, the major chord developed as a conson
ance because the audible overtones of a single note are composed
of the very same tones of which a major chord is composed. And
this is the true reason despite what the culturalist thinks the
reason is.
The same is true not only of the major chord, but of all the
consonances, of the major diatonic scale, the minor scale and the
pentatonic scale, and of progressions of chords and the relative
consonances of discords.
In other words, a whole song, written in typical classical style,
such as Joy To The World by Handel, is explained, from first to
last note, and every note in between, by the laws of acoustics.
And Handel didn't know any laws of acoustics!
And if he did, he couldn't have written more in accord with
those laws by having known them.
If each note is best explained by the laws of acoustics, then
what's left for society to have determined? Two things: The words
sung to the music, and the use of that song as a Christmas carol.
If a culturalist can safely predict that within a thousand years
or so, our Indian would give up the notion that animal skins give
off heat, then I can safely predict that in less time, culturalists'
notions that consonance and dissonance are culturally determined
(along with the music written on that theory) will disappear in
favor of more accurate notions involving the laws of acoustics
and of music written (consciously or unconsciously) upon those
laws.*

*(The artist needn't despair about the fate of the art of music
just because the construction of music has limits. Rather, he
should be challenged by the necessity for greater skill and "art"
to write well and meaningfully within those limits, without whin
ing, as do many defenders of modern music, that tonal music has
been "exhausted," and that one can't function effectively within
the "old" restrictions.)
213
 If in the pages of this book, in Part Two, I have proved that
Western music (not all music, to be sure) can be reduced to the
principles of acoustics, showing that these principles are what
make it up, and have virtually no notes left over unexplained,
then I am showing that this music originated as a series of
unconscious discoveries of the laws of acoustics, just like the
mechanical principle of the lever, for example, was used without
consciousness of why it works, and just like skins of animals were
worn by our Indian to keep him warm without consciousness of
the real reason it keeps him warm. The effect of a principle or
law, such as that of the conductivity of heat, exists, despite the
idea or lack of idea held about it.
The point here is that there are many cases similar to that of
our Indian, in which the causes of things are contributed to
directly by nature, or natural laws, and not caused only by
society, or not even by society. Let's look at other examples of
this.
Any given society may affect individuals or even masses. They
may be convinced that starving is a blessing, that hunger is good,
as it insures the "eventual feast" in heaven. At any given time
man may do things which do not conform to natural necessity.
The extent of this is shown by Sir James George Frazer, who tells
us about a Prussian thief and his victim, both of whom believed
in the power of certain magical rituals which had been developed
earlier in primitive times.
"In Prussia they say that if you cannot catch a thief, the next
thing you can do is to get hold of a garment which he may have
shed in his flight; for if you beat it soundly, the thief will fall
sick. This belief is firmly rooted in the popular mind. Some
eighty or ninety years ago, in the neighborhood of Berend, a man
was detected trying to steal honey, and fled leaving his coat
behind him. When he heard that the enraged owner of the honey
was mauling his lost coat, he was so alarmed that he took to his
bed and died."144
Apparently the thiefs belief in the utter efficiency of the
method used against him made him capable of succumbing(by
unconsciously using those otherwise undeveloped body controls
which Yogas have proven to really exist, and which they have
mastered. We know ourselves that the act of belief will give us
physical control which we otherwise do not have at will: Only
the influence of being absolutely convinced that we are in sudden

214
danger enables us to cause our adrenalin to flow and our heart to
beat faster. We usually cannot make this happen without that
belief.)
But it would be wrong to conclude that the thief, if he did not
know his coat was being mauled, would have died anyway,
because we know that without that knowledge on his part, it is
not natural necessity for the thief to suffer as a result of the
ritual performed against him. Social belief is not omnipotent over
nature.*
On the other hand, had the enraged owner of the honey,
instead of mauling the thiefs coat, decided to put arsenic in the
food eaten by the thief, then while the thief, if told of this,
might consider either method equally devastating, we know that
with or without the thief's knowledge of arsenic in his food, he
would have died as a result of it. This is "natural necessity."
It certainly must be admitted that there is a difference
between the two methods of revenge: One is based in natural
necessity, the other is not natural necessity.
However "natural" each punitive method may have appeared
to the people of that time, the existence of a difference in reality
between the methods will cause men, in time, to bend their view
of this reality into conformity with the reality. They will learn
that one method is not really as efficient as another. This has
been the general history of men. Social belief tends to give way
to a better appreciation of reality, whether that reality is
"natural" or "social," but especially if it is natural. As long as
any social change is taking place, the change will generally be in
this direction.
Accepting the proposition and the separation made above
regarding the question of social and natural, we can further
justify this proposition with additional examples, and explain
some things which would be enigmas if the above proposition
were not accepted.
If I were to say that the concept that the sun revolves around
the earth was caused only by the appearance that it does (by it
seeming to rise and set) and that the later conception that the
earth really revolves around the sun, was caused by the fact that,
after all, it really does, then I would in effect be saying that

*A headline in The Detroit Free Press several years ago shows

this - "Diabetic Hears Evangelist; Discards Insulin, and Dies."145

215
natural reality imposes itself eventually on man. I'd be saying that
man eventually rejects false appearances of reality in favor of
more accurate appraisals, and that this was all due to reality
itself. I would be saying that the superstructure of society (ideas,
beliefs, habits and customs, governments, etc.) had nothing to do
with it.
In fact, if only a particular type of society were responsible
entirely for the first idea (that the sun goes around the earth)
then presumably such an idea would have come into being as a
result of that society even if there were no sun (if man could
have lived). Because, for social "reasons," a sun which revolved
around the earth would have been "invented" - just like deities
and gods are socially inspired with no direct sight of them
existing in nature or society.
And the same is true of the second idea, the more correct one,
propounded by Galileo. It would have been a social invention, its
correspondence with natural reality being only "coincidence."
But the fact is, the society of Galileo, with its Church and with
the Church's need to be considered infallible on any subject, was
of a type that would seem to forbid the discovery that, in reality,
the earth revolves around the sun. Here, however, nature makes
itself felt independently of society.
The discovery that the earth was round was made in Greek
times and also by the Egyptians, and was probably stimulated by
the sight of the roundness of all other heavenly bodies that could
be seen. It was again discovered by Columbus, by Americus, etc.,
at a much later period when Portuguese society had developed a
need for exploring possible new trade routes. In neither case was
society so much responsible for the discovery as it was allowing
those who believed in the truth of it to flourish, rather than be
oppressed. On the other hand, other discoveries are made in
hostile societies, such as Galileo's and Copernicus' discovery that
the earth revolved around the sun. Each discovered this at
different times and each was suppressed. But despite the suppres
sion, the reality persisted, and other men took up the pursuit of
the truth which was impressed on them by the realities of nature
- not by societies. (It is interesting that these men, Galileo and
Copernicus, were neither of them rebels in any way, but were part
of the "official" society.)
The perception of reality is possible, partly, to men in whose
society technology has reached a certain minimum level, and this
technology permits that perception, but also, the perception of
216
reality is possible because reality is often so obvious to all men
that some things are discovered "prematurely" - that is, before
social "need" for the discovery arises and even before the
technology of the time allows easy proof of what seems to be
true just by appearance. In all these cases, the content of the
discovery as well as the ability to make the discovery has little to
do with social ideas, institutions, etc. Sometimes these
discoveries are even partly divorced from the technology of the
age, as shown by discoveries made earlier than those born of
social need or economic ripeness.
It is true, society can help or hinder the ability for a new
discovery to be accepted, or wanted. But each preceding level of
economic technology basically determines man's ability to
recognize the next discovery, and society has little to do with the
content of that discovery. Society didn't give rise to the true idea
that the earth revolves around the sun, for example, nor to the
telescope which aided the discovery of this new conception, nor
to the discovery of lens made from glass, nor to iron-smelting and
glass making, all of which preceded and made possible the
telescope. In fact, it was iron-smelting and such discoveries that
ultimately gave rise to certain societies and the superstructure of
those societies. What, then, becomes of the materialist conception
of history? To those with a narrow understanding of that theory,
to those who believe that when social forces come into being and
help to form men's ideas, that at the same time, nature ceases to
play an important role, or is overcome - to those with that idea,
the materialist conception of history is useless to explain man's
history. But that is not the real idea of the materialist conception
of history. Technology basically changes society, but this does
not mean that society basically causes or changes the level of
technology. Society certainly may affect it to a degree, but
technology itself is basically caused by something else.
Let us refine this a little bit. One thing contributing to
confusion on the whole question of nature, society, etc., is that
sometimes the use of a thing and the principles or laws by which
the same thing is formed or by which it works, each have
different causes. Because the thing in question appears to us as a
single thing, we fail to see the two-sided causal nature of its
existence.
To make an analogy, the principle by which a machine
operates is not caused by society. Society does not, for example,
give rise to the principle of the lever in one place and to its
217
opposite principle in another. It may give rise to opposite ideas
about the principle, but not the principle itself. Society does not,
then, by its customs, habits, or political make-up, invest
machines with the laws by which they operate. This comes from
the laws of mechanics.
(Regarding music again, society also does not invest music
with the universal attribute to be divided into consonance and
dissonance. This distinction, in the long run, has been caused by
the laws of acoustics. The ability to make associations from life
with music affected notions of consonance and dissonance too,
but only in the short run.)
Machines, then, have developed according to the principles of
mechanics only: Nowhere in a modern or ancient invention can
the effects of some particular social habit or custom be seen as to
the principles by which the invention works. Of course, the use
of an invention or machine is usually socially determined. Instead
of plowshares, man may have, under social influences, turned
iron-making to the production of swords.* In music, too, the use
of music shows the effects of society's influence, but the
principles according to which music has developed do not show
this.
If machines or actions of production do not turn out to
function, and this failure can be linked to a faulty understanding
of the laws of mechanics, etc., - then the reason why musical
aspects in a society, not common to all societies, can be shown to
have not been common to all and to have died out eventually - is
because they were not based on the principles of acoustics. ". . .
the artificial environment very powerfully modifies the influence
of nature on social man. From a direct influence, it" (nature)
"becomes an indirect influence. But it does not cease to exist for
that." 146 #
The materialist conception of history is based on such natural
influences, as it is based on all reality, whatever its type. It
accounts for social changes in the first instance by changes in the

*It may be said that social need for swords contributed to

developments in metal working and smelting. But although this is
true, it is not a rule that society causes a wanted development.
Da Vinci and others wanted to fly, perhaps because of a socially-
inculcated desire to do so. But flying wasn't achieved until the
level of technology - not society - allowed it to be.
#Labriola's view, according to Plekhanov.
218
 mode of production. That means changes like those from stone
ax to the wheel, to iron smelting, to agriculture, etc. Modern
society did not cause the invention of new tools and machinery.
The development of the principles of tools and machinery caused
modern society. And what caused the former? It was caused by
the perception of natural laws, which revealed themselves to man
in stages, and by which these tools and machines are built and by
which they work.
"Acting on external nature, man changes his own nature. He
develops all his capacities, among them also the capacity of
'tool-making.' But at any given time the measure of that capacity
is determined by the measure of the development of productive
forces already achieved. "147 (Plekhanov's emphasis.)
The existende of tools or machines serves to provide men with
the ideas by which new ones are invented. But before such tools,
nature in the raw (falling water, the hardness of rocks, the sharp
ness of teeth) serves to directly provide man with the ideas for
invention and the capacity for further discovery. Itisoftenout of
natural necessity, too (hunger, danger, etc.), that he is driven to
use the natural "examples" for the purpose of tool-making.
Both music and machines then, have some of their causes in
nature, and follow a pattern of development of its principles
more or less consistent with the impulses of nature and more or
less without relation to either the existing society or the one
prior to the introduction of any of those principles.*
*An example of this is found in Plekhanov about the introduc-
tion of the wedge in production: "The use of the wedge in the
cutting of wood was unknown to the Dayaks of Borneo. When
the Europeans introduced it, the native authorities solemnly
banned its use . . . The ban on the employment of European
tools was probably one manifestation of the struggle against
European influences, which were beginning to undermine the old
aboriginal order." Here is described a social reason for the
maintenance of inferior methods and rejection of superior
methods. But Plekhanov adds later: "Tyler tells us that while the
Dayaks publicly condemned the use of the wedge, they neverthe
less used it when they could do so in secret . . . But why? It was
evidently due to a recognition of the advantages of the new
method of cutting wood . . ."148 (His emphasis.) The social
reason for the ban carried very little weight in the face of the
realization that wood could be cut better with a wedge.
The principle of the wedge, once learned or discovered, was

219
 So we may here make a division: While machines are natural as
to the principles by which they work, the arrangement of the
mechanical principles to form different tools depends on particu
lar needs, many of them socially inspired.
In music, a division of this sort is not even that simple. The
overall similar arrangements of sounds (as well as the acoustical
principles of sounds), are like a thread which runs through
musical history despite social formations and occasional devia
tions from this thread. And this fact is reflected in the writings of
the materialists, despite their inconsistencies, as often mentioned.
Labriola, here paraphrased by Plekhanov, believes: "The
temperament of every nation preserves certain peculiarities,
induced by the influence of the natural environment, which are
to a certain extent modified, but never completely destroyed, by
adaptation to the social environment. These peculiarities . . .
constitute what is known as race. T?) "Race exercises an
undoubted influence on the history of some ideologies - art, for
example; and this still further complicates the already far from
easy task of explaining it scientifically."149
While Labriola's answer (race) may be wrong, his observations
are correct.
Marx, too, writes of the problem: "It is well known that
certain periods of highest development of art stand in no direct
connection with the general development of society, nor with the
material basis and the skeleton structure of its organization."
And again Marx writes: "But the difficulty is not in grasping the
idea that Greek art and epos are bound up with certain forms of
social development. It rather lies in understanding why they still
constitute with us a source of aesthetic enjoyment and in certain
respects prevail as the standard and model beyond
attainment."150
Marx, Engels, Plekhanov, and other materialists of their age

almost immediately used. And so it was also true of the earth-sun

concepts. (And of musical principles - regardless of the type of
society in which these concepts and principles were discovered or
introduced). The discovery or introduction of the superior wedge,
the superior earth-sun theory or "superior" musical system, tends
to overcome any social condition which would stand in the way
of their introduction, whether that introduction comes
"naturally," or from the influence of another society, or from
prior technological developments.
220
could not be aware of every book (such as Helmholtz's) or of
every art development at that time, nor of those developments
that were to follow. Besides, their subject was not art, although
they occasionally expressed an opinion on it, Plekhanov more
than the others. However, they provided a historic method of
great use to the understanding of art and many other subjects.
On music, Plekhanov wasn't aware of Helmholtz's discoveries, a
man whom Lenin, a renowned materialist thinker, called "a
scientist of the first magnitude"151 although Lenin claimed he
was an "inconsistent" materialist.
In the light of Helmholtz's investigations and other facts since
learned about the nature of musical sound, Plekhanov cannot be
considered altogether correct when he says:
". . . if biology does not explain the origin of our esthetic
tastes, still less can it explain their historical development."^!
(His emphasis.)
But Plekhanov is not without contradiction. He admits in
several places that biology plays a role. In one place he says:
"There are cases when such objects please solely because of
their color . . ,"153
In another, he says: "Sensitivity to rhythm, and musical
ability generally, seem to constitute one of the principal
properties of the psycho-physiological nature of man." 154
But in his final definition, Plekhanov, after giving us the fact
that rhythms conform to certain social functions in some cases,
incorrectly concludes, regarding all cases:
". . . man's nature (the physiological nature of his nervous
system) gave him the ability to perceive musical rhythm and to
enjoy it, while his technique of production determined the subse
quent development of this ability."!55
It is Plekhanov's second phrase which is at variance with the
point made by Marx that there is often a disproportion between
the technique of production (or society) and the expressions of
art. Furthermore, such a phrase is much too extreme. For once
you admit, as has Plekhanov, that both nature and society
exercise their influence, then the question is, how much of one,
how much of the other, and how do they relate to each other?
For Western music, the answer is now known. In its develop
ment, the natural side - the character and effect of sound - has
been the heaviest factor in the overall development of this music.
The functioning of the ear, still partly a mystery, bears out this
idea. The more we learn about the ear, the more it will show the
221
truth of this idea. What is already known seems to have no other
possible explanation.
All of the preceding is to show that it is not unusual that the
development of things like art, science and technology is in part
independent of the society of any given time and actually happens
"alongside," so to speak, if not "within," society. If one wishes to
reintroduce technology in the definition of society, along with
the habits, ideas, customs, relations of people, etc., of that
society, one should be clear that certain phenomena come partly
from the technology of that society and not from its political
ideology, its manners or forms of marriage relationships; etc., and
that technology is itself caused the same as these other phenome
na: If the discovery of a planet or set of natural laws, for
example, depends on a technology capable of the telescope or
mathematics, this technology itself is likewise discovered and
developed as a set of principles and natural laws. It should be
clear too, that another part contributing to the discovery of
phenomena is their existence-which may often be known directly
from nature. Because of this peculiar interweaving of nature,
technology and society there is often a disproportion between
the development of certain things,such as the arts, with society,
which exist "alongside" each other during their development in
time . This has been, as shown, reflected in the early writings of
the materialists.
In other words, music is essentially a discovery like that of
other natural phenomena. In this sense, music can very legiti
mately be viewed not only as an art - but, as many people have
guessed - a "science."
Reconsider: Is the fact, that the general concept of consonance
and dissonance corresponds to natural laws of sound and their
effect on the ear, to be considered a coincidence, society and
nature having the same common meeting point only by accident?
Does society, moving in one direction, different from nature,
which moves in its own direction, accidentally happen to have a
musical scale based on the addition of overtones of the tonic, 4th
and 5 th (each of these with overtone-relationships to each
other)? Does it have a musical system of cadence and tonality
which by chance corresponds to the overtone series? Does
society, which has harmony based on the major chord, have this
harmony independently of the fact that the audible overtones of
any note add up to its major chord? Are we to believe that any
similarity between "society's" chord and "nature's" chord is
222
purely coincidental?
None who claim to have a belief in science or materialism
can possibly believe in such a colossal, monumental coincidence.
To do so, they would have to be believers in miracles! I have said
that the diatonic scale "caused" this or that; that the 3rd had this
influence or that; but it is true. I can't do anything about the
reality except recognize it. The laws of acoustics are not the
product of some society nor are the effects of these laws.
Societies can jostle the effects as they make themselves felt, but
they cannot alter these laws, or as of yet, overcome them.
Of course, the intensity of the "naturalness" of musical sound
is very mild. To thwart it would be less disastrous than to spend
one's life, for example, without sex. Many people have been
forced to do that, and they have survived. To listen to noise and
dissonance all your life is not likely to harm you. The dissonant
music of some cultures has been for lack of better sounds. But
given the opportunity, man will avail himself - of sex and of
consonance.

223
 Miscellaneous Notes

Ihe purpose of this appendix is to include notes in greater

detail on many of the points raised in the main body of the
book. Some of these points may be relatively obscure to the
general reader, but of interest to those wishing to pursue the
subject in depth.
In this appendix, there are several new thoughts reflecting
growth in the development of the author's ideas. The new ideas
arise from discussions had of various points over periods of time;
also from the realization that to explain a theory, such as in this
book, and to overcome the blind resistance it receives as a
minority view, numerous objections to it must be anticipated and
answered. It is hoped, perhaps in vain, that if the theory cannot
be accepted, at least it can be accurately understood. New angles
on ideas skirted earlier will thus be found here for this purpose.
The form of this appendix is notes and articles with no
necessary connection, but with references to the main text. In
one sense, the appendix functions as a body of further evidence
for the theory. In another sense, the parts of the appendix,
written last and during a relatively long stretch of time,
represent something of a test, by comparison of the later ideas
and facts (found here) with earlier theory, thus establishing a

224
degree of validity of the theory. Books written and appearing
after this book was underway, which deal with related material,
were reviewed as necessary to keep up to date.

The Slendro: A Study in Equal & Unequal Division of Pitch

One of the most remarkable and challenging things about the
study of music is the phenomenon of the "unequal" scale. Most
of us know when looking at a ruler or thermometer, or at any
device for the measurement of time, distance, light, heat, — that
the degrees of measurement are equal, each the same as the
others (or a constant variation of a degree as in the slide rule).
From the earliest times to now, whenever men have formed tools
of measurement, i.e., "scales," they have divided them into equal
degrees. Often these scales will have natural rather than arbitrary
points of beginning or end (such as the Centigrade scale, which is
based on the boiling and freezing points of water), but in any
case, the divisions between these points are equidistant.
All this equality of degree is not true of the musical scales in
virtually all times and places.
One apparent exception is the slendro scale of the Malays. This
scale requires some introduction prior to discussion of it.
In the West, the Do, Re, Mi, scale is unequally divided. For
example, between c and c' (an octave higher), our major scale
contains an irregular arrangement of tones and half-tones. A look
at the piano, whose white notes represent the scale, illustrates
that some notes are interspersed with black ones, others are not.
The arrangement is T(tone), T, WT, T, T, T, WT, an asymmetrical
or unequally divided scale. Start the scale on different white
notes and it will sound different each time. Start on Do, and it
sounds major; start on La and it sounds minor. Of course all 1 2
tones (black and white together) are equally spaced (called
temperament), but this is not a series of notes common to many
cultures, and in some musical systems (Chinese, Greek) the
12-note series, though known, was never used as a scale. It is the
sum total of notes from which scales are formed. In the Persian
system there are 17, not merely 12, notes between the octave,
and from all these, selections of several of the notes in unequal
arrangements of tones, half-tones or quarter-tones are made, and
these form sets of scales, some identical to our major and minor.
For some readers, the reason for the unequal scale may seem
obvious, "scales all sound different when they are unequal and
that in turn sounds nice - for music is an art, not a measuring

225
stick." But such a reason still begs the question "why?" Why
should an unequal scale sound better? The theory in this book
has attempted to show that there is a link between the acoustic
properties of sound with that of esthetics, due to certain tones
being pleasing to the ear (consonance), and that these acoustic
properties, by their very constitution, had to form an unequal
scale.
In general, as music evolves it becomes clear that scales
become more closely parallel to the acoustical nature of sound.
For example, it can hardly be coincidence that the overtones of a
note (tonic) lead (forward) to the interval of the 5th, (backward)
to the 4th, and that the more audible overtones of all three
(tonic, 5th and 4th), when added into scales according to the
diminishing degree of their audibility as overtones, come to form
the pitches, first, of the pentatonic scale, and then of the
diatonic (heptatonic) scale as we know it. The least audible over
tones have been the source either of various scales and tunings
("blue" notes in jazz, major and minor scales, Arabic "neutral
third" scales), or, if omitted altogether, reduce the diatonic to the
pentatonic scale.
These overtones, placed in scale formations, produce by their
nature, a necessarily unequally divided, rather than equally
divided, scale.
The foregoing represents the description of a natural tendency
toward inequality in musical scales. (Exactly how these overtones
translate into action upon the music of men has been previously
discussed in Part II of the book.)
Getting now from the general to the concrete, we must look at
an opposing tendency. Wherever musical systems have developed
on a scientific or literary theoretical level, their organizers have
also developed a system of equal divisions of the octave (as in
Persia, or the West). This seems to be in line with necessity and
the apparent delight of the human mind to form equal divisions
in design or of scales of measurement in other areas of human
activity besides sound. In Western musical theory, the "cycle of
5ths" is an equal but infinite series. In order to close the circle
and produce an equal and finite series, each 5th in the cycle is
slightly flatted, called temperament.
It appears, then, that two tendencies, simultaneous and contra
dictory, rest behind the formation and development of many
systems, and these are: one, the influence of acoustics toward an
unequal scale, and, two, the mental bent, as in science and tool

226
making, toward equal divisions of things.
Both these tendencies together seem to be manifest in the
slendro musical scale and in some other musical phenomena. (In
turn, the existence of these other phenomena, not at all rare,
tendsto assert the correctness of this two-sided explanation.)
The slendro, according to some researchers, is a 5-note scale of
equal intervals. Sachs writes, "Salendro or slendro ... is generally
described as an octave divided into five steps of equal size, each
step coming to six fifths of a tone, or 240 Cents." (A Cent is
one-hundredth of a tone.) "This is on the whole true, though
exact equality is never attained: steps vary between 185 and 275
Cents. These extremes, however, are exceptions; the first
optimum is around 231 Cents, and a second optimum is around
251 Cents." However, an "older" slendro scale shows character
istics of the tendency to inequality:
"The picture changes when from recent instruments we turn
to very old pieces, excavated from the soil of Java and still
reliable because their metal bars have kept a constant pitch . . .
"Here are unmistakable traces of an ancient octave divided
into three seconds and two minor thirds - a division that at least
every Westerner believes he hears anyway." (An older penta-
tonic?)
"But the traces of ancient thirds also testify to a" (later)
"temperament tending to efface the difference between" (these
older) "thirds and seconds." 156 (The dis-use now of 3 of these
slendro modes "shows an original start from different notes of
the scale . . . which must have resulted in difficulty when the
necessity of playing all modes on the same one-octave instru
ments forced the" (Tatef) "Javanese musicians to project . . .
three scales into the same range: thirds would be necessary where
the instrument provided seconds, and vice versa.")1 57 Sachs
mentions that in Siam, Cambodia and Burma there is another
example of this tendency toward temperament. There, there is a
series of 7 equidistant tones. However, peculiar circumstances
surround this series. Sachs describes a phenomenon in which our
above conflicting tendencies (for and against equal divisions) may
be combined. "Singers do not pay much heed to this tempera
ment." He writes that one operatic aria "in almost Western
intervals alternates with orchestral ritornelli in Siamese
tuning."158 That is, singers sing the unequal steps, but instru
ments are tuned to the equal steps.
Actual music-making (in the case of the above singers and also
227
earlier, in the older slendro instrument tunings) seems to be
moved by the tendency to unequal divisions (that is, by acousti
cal influences toward perfect intervals), whereas instruments, and
especially a nation's music theory, respond to the equal-division
tendency. Also, discrepancies between instruments and vocal
patterns seem to be more widespread than scales like the
slendro. (Other scales, although not equally divided like the slen
dro, also exist, but these, like the slendro, have peculiar tunings
alien to anything diatonic.and are not mirroredin vocal patterns.)
Marius Schneider writes that when "slightly flattened fifths or
widened seconds are sung, we may take this as evidence of the
direct influence of instrumental tunings . . . When the same song
is performed simultaneously or alternatively by voices and
instruments, the melody proceeds in two different tunings. The
instruments perform it on their own scale, the voices in theirs
..." He says that we must suppose "that the vocal tone-system
has been evolved in a natural and specifically musical fashion,
whereas in the tuning of instruments . . . quite different
principles were applied - such as, for example, the breadth of the
thumb as the standard for the space between flute holes,"1 59 or
such as a need, or tendency, to equal division, as is found in
other spheres of activity; or the need to transpose various scales
into one instrument.
Nettl, too, confirms the others: "Primitive musical instru
ments are ordinarily tuned in one of two ways, by imitation of
another instrument or by the appeal of a visual design . . . This
visual method of tuning is, of course, confined to those . . .
cultures which have no music theory." (!) "Wead noticed that
the finger holes were usually equidistant . . Thus it is hardly
surprising that the instrumental scales rarely correspond exactly
with the vocal scales occurring in the same tribe." 160
Therefore, we find that the tendency toward acoustically
perfect intervals (which are found in unequal scales) is still
manifest even among those cultures with scales like the slendro.
The"exceptional" slendro originates from non-esthetic considera
tions (as far as aural effect). As we can separate it from the
musical side of the question, then, in a negative fashion, the
theory which places regard in the power of consonance and
natural intervals is untouched: the "exceptions" do not interfere
with the theory; they merely disguise the tendency in an
entangled web of other tendencies, and unless these can be sorted
out, the whole appearance of the phenomena seems to favor
cultural anarchy as far as discovering order is concerned.
228
 Further, when we think of the mental constructs in nations,
i.e., the equal divisions which are made in theoretical series of
tones, we find that since they are usually conditioned by cultural
factors or by the individual number and symbol systems within
each culture, then there are often different numbers of notes
comprising the total division of the octave in different nations:
12 in the West; 22 in India; 17 in Arabia and Persia; 7 in Siam,
etc.
But when, from these very different storehouses of total avail
able notes, scales are justified, then the marvel of greater
similarities of the scales among nations, rather than differences,
appears: Pentatonic or diatonic scales with askew arrangements
of perfect acoustical intervals are often formed, and these exactly
match the unequal 5 and 7-note scales of many other historic
periods and places, all testifying to the influence of a non-
cultural external force in their formation. In fact, the phenomena
of similar, unequal scales in many nations, composed of similar
amounts of notes: 5 (pentatonic), or 7 (heptatonic), despite such
cfosimilar sets of total pitches provided by the several musical
theories among several nations, indicate that the scales existed
before the theoretical systemsfound in nations, and so, developed
according to impulses of their own; in fact, it all defies explana
tion except in the direction of being due to a natural tendency.
If that were not so, we should reasonably expect the realities
to be just the opposite of what they are: One would expect that
scales which formed from easy principles of equal divisions
(because of their psychological clarity to the eye; or due to finger
convenience (on flutes); or due to the uncomplex mental
processes involved in creating equal divisions), would more often
be the same than different among various cultures. On the other
hand, one would expect the unequal scales, by virtue of the
almost infinite range of possibilities open to men to form them
(were there no forces outside of culture interfering), would
almost always be different in different societies.
The similarities of the music in dissimilar cultures are the
resultant of the historic interplay of several tendencies, including
social, technological and natural ones. But the more constant and
universal of these, acoustics, has increasingly, in history, found
overt expression in ever greater areas of the development of
music. The different divisions of the octave (total sets of equally
divided notes) have merely been each nation's theoretical
attempt to "justify" the scales which existed earlier based on the
pressures of acoustical laws.
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Two Arguments Against Overtone Theories: One Old, One New

Curt Sachs, and, in a recent book, Robert Lundin, have

offered arguments which they feel adequately refute theories
which base a great part of the development of music upon the
influence of acoustics. First, Sachs:
"Partials or 'Overtones' as the natural route markers, a pet idea
of some writers who try to offer a 'plausible' theory of scale
formation, should be entirely eliminated from our order of
thought. To the extent that they appear as the overblown notes
of wind instruments, they would indeed be poor standards; wild-
grown animal horns and reed pipes yield sensibly false octaves
and fifths, and even instruments of higher workmanship depend
on their wider or narrower bores. Partials ... are difficult to hear
and were hardly considered before the later Middle Ages. Even in
India, the theoretician Sarngadeva discovered the second partial,
that is, the harmonic octave, as late as the thirteenth century,
and three hundred more years elapsed before Ramamatya heard
higher harmonics and used them . . . The idea that musicians of
antiquity, indeed of primitive epochs, would have taken their
notion of octaves, fifths, and fourths from the short vibrations of
plucked harp or lyre strings is truly inadmissable.
"To be sure, these 'harmonics' were perfect and represented
the ideal intervals of all systems . . . But they did so only for the
simple reason that they originated from exactly the same
vibrations of the half, the third, the fourth parts of the string as
the notes produced in following the divisive principle. They were
a parallel, not a creative, phenomenon." 161
Each of Sachs' points will be taken up.
Regarding the "false" octaves and fifths, it is true not all
instruments produce perfect overtone intervals. But as history
progressed, the productions of tones and intervals struck an
average: Some pairs of notes are so close to perfectly acoustical
that the ear cannot distinguish between them. When the ear can
distinguish, it idealizes over time and ignores the unpleasant beats
which the note pair create (providing they are not the strongest
beats). Bruno Nettl writes:
"These melodic intervals almost always approximate their
Western equivalents, as we would expect from the discussion of
intervals occuring in primitive scales. For instance, melodic
intervals that bisect the Western perfect and diminished fifths or
are smaller than a Western half tone are hardly ever found. (We

230
have already mentioned the only exception to this, the relatively
common neutral third). Tonometric figures" (results from a pitch
measuring device) "evidently give results which challenge this
statement ... No doubt the discrepancy exists because the
tonometer measures pitches to a point of accuracy far beyond
that of the human ear; the significant primitive melodic intervals
nonetheless correspond closely to Western ones." 162
Aristoxenus wrote about the idealizations by the ear of tones
which are very close to each other, complaining that this process
was responsible for the extinction of the more ancient "enhar
monic" Greek music (a music which employed very tiny
intervals, such as the quartertone):
"The ground of this fashion lies in the perpetual striving after
sweetness, attested by the fact that time and attention are mostly
devoted to chromatic music, and that when the enharmonic is
introduced, it is approximated to the chromatic, while the ethical
character of the music suffers . . ."163 (My emphasis.)
For Sachs to deny the relation between false, or imperfect
acoustical overtones and the perfect intervals found in actual
music, in his first point, is really to deny humans their capacity
to generalize through time. There are Eucalyptus trees, Pine
trees, Oak trees, many trees. In fact, unlike perfect (or ideal)
acoustical intervals, which do exist, there exists no really "ideal"
tree. Yet mankind has evolved the generalization "tree" to apply
to all trees, even though each is vastly different from the others.
Similar examples are so common as to need no mention.
Contrary to Sachs' assertions, the ancients noticed overtones
earlier than the 13th century. Although they may not have called
them such, early Greeks responded to them and wrote descrip
tively about them:
"Why is it that if the mese is touched the other strings give a
sound . . .?"
'Why is it that, if one strikes the nete and stops it, only the
hypate seems to sound? Is it because nete, when it is ceasing and
dying away, is hypate? . . . nete seems to stimulate hypate
because of its similarity. As for nete we know that it is not
moving because it is stopped down; but seeing that hypate is not
stopped down, and hearing the sound of it, we suppose that it is
sounding."
These words describe sympathetic vibrations. In other places,
we feel they have heard the overtones directly:
"Why is it that in the octave the concord of the upper note
a3*
exists in the lower, but not vice versal Is it because . . . the sound
of both exists in both, but if not so then it exists in the lower
note; for it is greater?"
"Why is a sound which is an echo higher than the original? Is it
because, being weaker, it is less powerful?"
"Why is it that the lower of the two strings always has the
tune?"(*) "...Is it because the lower note is weighty, so that it is
stronger? And the smaller is contained in the greater; moreover
by dividing the string in half it is found that two netes are
contained in the hypate."164
One sentence above describes string-dividing, which for the
Greeks was additional, and not their only means of forming
perfect intervals. For Sachs, on the other hand, division is the
only way offered by which such intervals as the octave are
explained in early periods.
One may wonder that even though these overtones were
discovered and noted in Ancient Greek times, still, it was mostly
from already perfectly tuned instruments that the overtones
become manifest to Greek writers. To explain why instruments
could become so tuned before then, however, one cannot now
rely on Sachs' string-dividing principle ("divisive principle").
The date overtones were discovered is important. If it is now to
be placed in Aristotle's era, we then are bordering on a period
when stringed instruments were relatively young. We can assume,
too, that what we read of the Greek's own testimony concerning
overtones was merely the earliest written record of an observa
tion which had been in existence for some time. String divisions
at such an early date could not have been the only source of
tuning, then, because there may not have been strings. In many
places, string-division was known, but could easily have been
considered an after-the-fact means by which to achieve the same
intervals evolved earlier by auditory methods, however subliminal
or unconscious. The use of perfect intervals among primitives
such as American Indians, with no stringed instruments, bears
* Evidence of an early drone-kind of harmony? The next
sentence reads: "If one omits the paramese when one should
sound it with the mese, the tune is there none the less . . ." The
words "should sound it with the mese" indicate harmony; also,
the old enharmonic music had such fine intervals that it is
difficult to imagine that they could have been in vogue at all
unless the accompaniment of a drone helped the ear to measure
such intervals.
232
 out, historically, that auditory impulses were more than likely.
One additional argument may be made. A string, divided in
two, then in three, four, and so on, will produce perfect intervals.
This is a simple arithmetic progression. But on the flute (as on
frets), arranging holes (or stops) to reflect the above division (of
the column of air or string length) requires the holes (and frets)
to be unevenly spaced. In fact, the arrangement would be more
complicated than a geometric progression. Certainly in some
nations, concepts of complex numerical progressions must have
existed far later than the development of perfect intervals in
these nations. When one considers, too, the many simpler
numerical progressions (and those complex ones which arise from
ritualistic numerology) which are possible to use in division, then
it is harder to accept Sach's lone principle as automatic. If the
divisive principle were to have been applied to forming intervals
in a widespread fashion, it is likely that it would often be based
on different divisive principles in different nations. In some
music of China, for example, 3 sets of 3 notes make up a series of
nine meaningful tones(but not at all acoustically meaningful).
Some nations may have had a different base system for counting
(ours is 10). Yet 5-note scales, 8 and 7-note scales were
widespread despite a base of 10 (or other) in nations. There are
different numbers of notes in the national divisions of the
octave: 22 in India, 17 in Persia, 12 in the West. Indian Talas
(rhythm patterns) are based on a variety of numbers and
divisions, each having symbolic or cultural meaning. All these
different schemes, involving the use of number progressions and
division, testify to the weakness in explaining widespread
perfect intervals by a singular application of string-division using
a singular progression. It would be just as easy to take a string
and divide its length into tenths for a scale, if it were not for the
impulse of consonance and dissonance arising from acoustics. We
are left, then, with coincidence — or the overtone theory.
A more recent argument against overtone theories is by Robert
Lundin. Lundin, after summing up Helmholtz' theory of
consonance and dissonance as arising from beats of overtones,
writes:
"A few practical examples can . . . help disprove the theory."
(For,) "dissonance can be created in the absence of beating.
Strike two tuning forks at 800 and 900 cps. and hold one before
each ear. The listener will hear a second" (that is, the interval of
a 2nd) "very distinctively in the absence of any beating, or
233
present through earphones two tones of a minor second, one
tone to each ear. Obvious dissonance is reported without the
possibility of any beating between the two tones." Later, again
he writes:
"We have already reported that two tones may beat without
causing dissonance and that intervals are reported dissonant in
which no beating occurs. This is sufficient evidence to refute any
theory (such as those of Helmholtz . . .)." 165 He adds later:
"Our judgments of consonance are comparative rather than
absolute. We must remember that these judgments are made in a
musical context. Those who believe the ability to judge
consonance to be an elementary, unchangeable musical trait base
their discussion on intervals heard in isolation."
Clearly, Lundin's example could shake one who held a static
view that overtones and beats, only, at all times and in all places,
determine the absolute nature of consonance and dissonance. But
there is not to my knowledge, however, anyone who holds such a
view. Lundin has set up a straw man. Helmholtz is accused of this
view, but he didn't hold it. Helmholtz wrote:
"Again, dissonances cannot be entirely excluded because
consonances are physically more agreeable. That which is
physically agreeable is an important adjunct and support to
esthetic beauty, but it is certainly not identical with it. On the
contrary, in all arts we frequently employ its opposite, that
which is physically disagreeable, partly to bring the beauty of the
first into relief, by contrast, and partly to gain a more powerful
means for the expression of passion. Dissonances are used for
similar purposes in music." 166
ijielmholtz makes a distinction which Lundin does not, that
between physical agreeableness and esthetic beauty.@ee Chapter
3, "Consonance and Beauty. '3 This distinction, if true, throws all
the psychological tests done by Lundin's colleagues in disarray,
if not the waste basket. (The failure of "tests" regarding Black
people and minorities has already proven itselQ Here, in
musicology "tests" too, the student may once be reporting
beauty, another time physical consonance or dissonance. The test
results do not clarify, they obscure, an understanding of
consonance and dissonance, by lumping things which should be
different under one category.)
However, the point is that Helmholtz' theory of beats would
only apply to intervals in isolation, according to his own words.
Dissonances can in fact become consonant sounding in context,
234
as we saw in the chapter on harmony.
Nevertheless, Lundin continues to refute his non-existent
Helmholtz. His conclusion:
" . .consonance or dissonance of a musical interval is merely an
individual judgment that is culturally determined, rather than
caused by some absolute property of the stimuli . . ." 167
Except for his conclusion, his previous quote contains the
same ideas earlier quoted from Helmholtz, about context; ideas
which Lundin thinks Helmholtz never thought of. Lundin has
not understood, or has never bothered to read, Helmholtz.
We have yet to deal with the original complaint by Lundin
against overtone theories, but I am reminded at this point of the
quote used in chapter two from Apel's Harvard Dictionary of
Music, in which he wrote: "The octave is the most perfect
consonance, so perfect indeed that it gives the impression of a
mere duplication of the original tone, a phenomenon for which
no convincing explanation has ever been found and which may
well be called 'the basic miracle of music.'"
Surely, I thought, Apel must have read Helmholtz, and yet he
finds the beats theory unconvincing? Wondering why, I looked
under Apel's entry on Consonance and Dissonance and found
this objection to the beats theory:
"Helmholtz' theory of beats . . . explains intervals as
consonant if no disturbing beats are produced by the two tones
or by their harmonics; otherwise, they are dissonant (beats are
most disturbing if they number 33 per second, least disturbing if
they are less than 6 per second, or more than 1 20 per second).
The chief disadvantage of this theory is that the dissonant or
consonant character of an interval varies with the octave in which
it lies, as appears from the following table:
c-e 33 beats c-d 16 beats
c'-e' 66 " c'-d' 32 "
c"-e" 132 " c"-d" 64 "
c"'-d"' 128 "
"It appears that the third c-e would be as 'dissonant' as the
second c'-d', and that the second c."'-d"' would be as 'consonant'
as the third c"-e"."168
This looked like a good objection, except I remembered
something I read earlier in Helmholtz, that beats alone do not
determine dissonance. First, the size of the interval complicates
the question; second, the range, higher or lower, in which the
interval is placed, has another complicating effect. Later,
235
searching back in Helmholtz, I found this about how the number
of beats alone doesn't determine dissonance or consonance (which
will be seen to relate also to Lundin's objection):
"... we have seen that distinctness of beating and the
roughness of the combined sounds do not depend soldy on the
number of beats. For if we could disregard their magnitudes(,) all
the following intervals, which by calculation should have 33
beats, would be equally rough:
the Semitone b'c" (528-495 = 33)
the whole Tones c'd' (major, 297-264) . . .
the minor Third eg (198-165)
the major Third ce (165-132)
the Fourth Gc (132-99)
the Fifth C G (99-66)
and yet we find that these intervals are more and more free from
roughness." (Each of the intervals above is produced in a lower
range (^magnitude^),thus maintaining in each the same number
QT) of beats. The numerals on the right are the vibrations per
second of each of the notes in the interval.) Continuing,
Helmholtz explains:
"The roughness arising from sounding two tones together
depends, then, in a compound manner on the magnitude of the
interval and the number of beats produced in a second. On
seeking the reason of this dependence, we observe that . . . beats
in the ear can exist only when the two tones are produced
sufficiently near in the scale to set the same elastic appendages of
the auditory nerve in sympathetic vibration at the same time.
When the two tones produced are too far apart, the vibrations
excited by both of them at once in Corti's organs are too weak to
admit of their beats being sensibly felt . . ."169 (My emphasis)
What is meant, in relation to Apel's entry, is that his objection
is false. The interval given in Apel's table, c-e (33 beats), is wider
than c'-d' (32 beats), and therefore, the ear, responding to the
width, finds the wider interval more consonant despite the equal
number of beats in them (or nearly equal number of beats). This
is sufficient to answer Apel.
We can learn more, however, by looking more deeply into this
matter. In Helmholtz' table, the number of vibrations of the c in
the 3rd (c-e), is 132. Now, the number of beats of the interval
c-e are 33, which is exactly 25% of the magnitude (132) of the c.
Again, an octave higher, in the interval of the 2nd (c'-d')5 which
has nearly the same number of beats (32), the magnitude of the
c' is 264, and the beats, 32, are roughly 12%, or half, of the
236
percent in the first example, c-e. An example from daily
experience may help us understand the meaning of this in
reverse: If we have to help lift a refrigerator, say, 200-300 lbs,
the addition of a Vi lb. weight to this load would barely be
noticed, so heavy is the principal weight. But given a principal
weight of only Vi lb. to start with, then the addition of another Vi
lb. will be easily noticed. The reason lies in what psychologists
call "Webers Law," that "the just noticable increment to any
stimulus bears a constant ratio to that stimulus."
Hence, Helmholtz appears (only in terms of an analogy) to
have outlined a "Webers Law" of intervals in reverse: that at an
increase in magnitude (higher octaves), the effect of a smaller
percentage of beats is more noticeably dissonant, and that the
number of beats (and the %) must become less still to increase
the effect of dissonance.
"It must be observed . . . that the beats ... in the higher parts
of the scale, become much shriller and more distinct, when their
number is diminished by taking intervals of quarter tones or less.
The most penetrating roughness arises even in the upper parts of
the scale from beats of 30 to 40 in a second. Hence high tones in
a chord are much more sensitive to an error in tuning amounting
to the fraction of a Semitone, than deep ones." 170
But this is only half the story: Still another factor complicates
the picture, that of the greater or lesser limits to the number of
beats able to be heard. This factor combines with the width of
the interval and with the magnitude or range. Helmholtz writes:
"The interval b'c" gave us 33 beats in a second, and . . . very
jarring. The interval of a whole tone b'^c" gives nearly twice as
many beats, but these are no longer so cutting as the former. The
rule assigns 88 beats ... to the minor Third a'c". but . . . this
interval scarcely shews any of the roughness produced by beats
from tones at closer intervals. We might then be led to conjecture
that the increasing number of beats weakened their impression
and made them inaudible. This conjecture would find an analogy
in the impossibility of separating a series of rapidly succeeding
impressions of light on the eye, when their number in a second is
too large. Think of a glowing stick swung round in a circle. If it
executes 10 or 15 revolutions in a second, the eye believes it sees
a continuous circle of fire."171
This would seem to make the higher intervals less dissonant
(because the number of beats increases as we go higher), but as is
noted below, this only happens when the number of beats is
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extremely high: greater than 132, in close intervals.
". . . taking b'c" an octave higher we have b"c."' with 66 beats,
and another octave would give us b!"c"" with as many as 132
beats, and these are really audible in the same way as the 33
beats of b'c" . . . My assertion that as many as 132 beats in a
second are audible will perhaps appear very strange and
incredible to acousticians. But the experiment is easy to repeat
. . ."172 (My emphasis)
The limits then, of what is most unpleasant, as given by Apel
("33 per second"), and least disturbing ("less than 6 . . . and
more than 120"),areonly true in certain ranges of the octave and
with certain widths of intervals. Thus, an approximate summary:
Dissonances of close intervals, from lowest going to higher range,
remain dissonant as they get higher; intervals of middle width
vary, and some of the wider intervals become more consonant as
they go higher. All this occurs with the number of beats being
only a part of the reason.
The issue, then, is very complex, not as passed off so glibly
and inaccurately as in Apel.
Again, I am led to wonder if these "scholars" really read first
hand the works they condemn; and if Henry Pleasants was not
really correct in recently stating that these people today are a
"fungus, which will take at least a generation to remove." 173
Getting back to Lundin, it should be abundantly clear that the
overtones and beats theory is not so crude as he makes it out.
Recalling the "experiment" used by Lundin (in our first quote
from him) to try to refute overtone theories, we can now answer
it easily: We keep in mind the compound nature of dissonance
resting in both the beats and width of intervals, as well as their
range, and also keep in mind that context affects dissonance.
Now, Lundin's earphones- and-tuning-fork example omits all
reference to the historic development of consonance and
dissonance. It is obvious that mankind has not heard the world of
sound (from which music was created) through earphones or by
means of tuning forks. Men have heard tones in all their natural
richness, with overtones, with beats and in context of musical
wholes. // listening through earphones, and by each ear
separately, had been the common lot of man (thus supposing the
non-existence of beats in such a listening history), and had our
ancestors after all come up with the same concepts of
consonance and dissonance as they did, then Lundin's objection
to the beats theory might have a point.
238
 But that dissonance (without beats) is now reported, in our
culture only, and in an historically untypical manner of listening
(through earphones), frankly proves nothing. We perhaps know
our dissonances so well, we recognize the dissonant interval
without even the beats in our immediate perception. Our original
perception of dissonance may serve as an "after-image" which
persists even though the beats have been mechanically removed.
Perhaps too, even though the source of sound has no beats, there
may be a form of "beats" produced by transfer of brain
information from one ear to another.
Again, we "always knew" that beats alone do not
determine consonance and dissonance even supposing we stick to
physical stimuli only. The problem with Lundin is not that he is
wrong regarding the effects of culture and habit; only to the
estimate of them as sole causes without reference to the
overtones and physical stimuli. So too, with Sachs and Apel. The
initial and historic reasons, moreover, for the perception of
consonance and dissonance in their development or evolution
still remain unexplained by cultural theories.
What gives despair is that some of the answers to the problems
have existed for a hundred years. Yet these are distorted,
inaccurately reported, condemned and then, as substitute, we are
offered the explanation: "the basic miracle of music!"

Method and Ethnomusicology

In the beginning of this book I wrote that cultural theories can
explain, mainly, the differences between the music of peoples or
nations, but not the similarities. Ethnomusicology as a field is a
set of such cultural theories in the extreme. Many
ethnomusicologists excessively restrict their view to culture, and
generally resist and suspect attempts to illustrate "cross-cultural'
or "universal" aspects of music. They fail to accept the dialectic
of the music process, which allows that the larger may subsume
the smaller; which allows that the larger may indicate one trend,
the smaller may indicate another, or opposite, trend, and yet
both, larger and smaller, can be true. For example, Merriam, one
of the leaders in American ethnomusicology, writes:
"Even assuming, however, that music sound is a system, there
is little validity for treating it as though it were divorced from
social and cultural considerations for ... music is inevitably
produced by humans for other humans within a social and

239
cultural context." 174
As Merriam often refers to the value of ethnomusicology in
helping to understand the origins of music, his statement, as we
shall see, is exactly an example of failing the dialectic; of limiting
the search by his own formulation of the problem.
Let me grant again, as I have before, that cultural theories do
explain a great deal. Let me grant, too, that to understand the
music of a people, one cannot divorce "the sound alone" from
the producers of it and the context in which they produce it. But
this is where Merriam puts the period to his sentence. Despite
lip-service to cross-cultural aspects in music, and a few notes on
them, Merriam has really taken ethnomusicology to be the whole
field of man and his music. He has stopped at individual cultures,
at the specific, and resisted the general.
It is precisely in the study of the sound alone that we can
gain the overview we seek. Although it would be incorrect, in
the study of the music of a single culture, to be aloof to the
internal psychology, history, customs and habits of the culture,
still, it is not incorrect to treat these internals as less important
when studying the music of man as a whole. To be sure, all facts
must be explained, and they are when we bring the bigger picture
back to the smaller, and see how the details are placed in the
bigger picture.
As if in answer to the above, Merriam wrote, ". . . the problem
is that logic and deductive theory are not substitutes for
empiricism." 1 75 The idea I am attempting to illustrate is that
empiricism can not be, at least in one very important sense, a
substitute for theory and logic! An example, once again in this
book, comes from astronomy: The "empirical fact" of the
flatness of the earth - was a true fact! We must not imagine that
it wasn't. The earth was, and still is, flat - because the magnitude
of the earth's curvature is so slight, locally, as to be negligible. In
fact, the "small" picture becomes so significant, to our local
perception, that hills and valleys - a variety of shapes - are
predominant. It was theory on a grand scale, not empiricism on a
local scale, which led to the pursuit of experiments about the
earth's shape which otherwise would never have been conceived.
A sort of higher empiricism was born of theory, and when the
theory of a round earth, which seemed to ignore certain facts and
realities, was brought back to these same facts and realities, it
explained and encompassed everything and gave a more accurate
perspective to the facts and apparent reality. No accumulation of
240
facts, however complete, gives us the whole truth. The best
picture is that which most nearly produces the effect of the
whole - facts are mere dross; It is from the abstraction which
underlies them, like metal latent in its ore, that we obtain the
value of all the parts.
With this as introduction, the problems with some of the
approaches and findings of ethnomusicology can be measured.
Ethnomusicologists will rightly argue with the narrow
musicologist or archeologist who studies scores or bones without
considering the cultural context. The multitude of physical and
social responses accompanying the production of music do not
appear in scores, fossils or relics. Ideas and concepts, at certain
stages of any investigation, are integral to understanding the
music. But the details must be approached with the proper
theoretical perspective.
The throwing back of the head by many members of primitive
groups in order to produce certain vocal tension, flutter sounds,
portamentos, etc. (of such behavior descriptions,
ethnomusicology is full), all give clues to the history and essence
of the art: Do the motions originate as means to produce the
sound, or do the sounds result from the motions, which may
have come first and may be imitative of other social processes?
As Plekhanov notes:
"Dances are sometimes simple imitations of the movements of
animals. Such, for example, are the Australian frog, butterfly,
emu, dingo and kangaroo dances. Such, too, are the bear and
buffalo dances of the North American Indians . . . The
Australian, in his kangaroo dance, imitates the movements of the
animal so effectively that ... his mimicry would evoke a storm
of applause in any European theatre." 176
Plekhanov explains these dances as the result of these people
being hunters - their main economic activity is the kill, and too,
as this and not other activities are important, their drawings are
virtually always of animals; never plants, sunsets, landscape
scenes (as would be found in the art of an argricultural society).
Hence, from imitation of economic activities come dances,
rhythms, emotional content and bodily motions — all of which
cannot but physically affect one when trying to vocalize under
their simultaneous influence. Surely, some of the resulting
musical fluttersounds and other vocal techniques are thus born
and may be explained. (For more along these lines, see Chapter
One.)
241
 The first error then, in most cultural viewpoints held by
ethnomusicologists is a fundamental omission of economics as a
major cause, whether direct or indirect, of many of the forms of
art of a people. Let me repeat: Major cause, not the only cause.
Rarely do ethnomusicologists pursue their findings in this
direction, and it is really very fruitful.
The next error appears to be an over-reaction to the
ethnocentricism practiced by earlier anthropology. For now,
there is too great a reliance on the studied peoples' "own
perception" of what they are doing; on their own art as it is,
without trying very much to see if there may be, in their art, a
"striving-to-become" - as an investigator with an evolutionist
theory would do. But evolution implies stages; and this has often
been used to imply superiority and inferiority. So, the reaction
against ethnocentricism has become a reaction against
evolutionism. (Such a theory also finds a home in the hearts of
many persons with a status-quo, anti-change or evolution,
mentality.) This, of course, is general, and is true only in general.
Chas. Seeger, another leader in the field, has carried indigenous
perception to an overreached level regarding the pitch of tones
produced by primitives. (In some circles of ethnomusicology,
they prefer "non-literate" to "primitive.") He feels that only the
most accurate machines or methods for transcribing the notes of
a people should be used, as there is the danger that, through a
screen of unconscious ethnocentricism, we will record their
music in our own musical-interval terms. What is wrong is not the
attempt to avoid ethnocentricism, but the predilection to thereby
find many differences in intervals and pitches, which, in an
essential sense, really do not exist.
Merriam, too, relies upon indigenous perceptions, and writes,
regarding another matter:
"It will be recalled that Hornbostel (1927) supports his
argument for the unity of the arts ... on the evidence of
intersense modalities. That is, we transfer linguistic descriptions
of one sense area to the descriptions ... of other sense areas;
brightness, for example, is a linguistic concept applied to several
sense areas. It will also be recalled that the Basongye do not do
this except in the most isolated cases; neither do the Flathead."
(Indian tribes) "Both Basongye and Flathead consider questions
. . . concerning the relationship, if any, between color and music
highly amusing and barely rational." Later, he writes, that such
". . . comments ... are made by outside observers who have
242
received training in the Western tradition; we still do not know
whether the artists conceive of their arts in the same way." 177
However, the Basongye and the Flathead, although not to as
great a degree as in the West, do transfer words from one sense to
another, and the way they do it is significant. The Basongye refer
to "high" notes as "small" {Lupela) and "low" tones are "big"
{lukata). Such transfers are virtually universal, except "high" and
"low" were reversed in very ancient Greece. Low and high, deep
and thin, heavy and light, dark and bright; these are common
adjectives in many different cultures for low and high notes. On
the other hand are there any "left" and "right" notes?
"Forward" and "back" notes? There is a pattern. If, as Merriam
notes, the "meagre evidence we have at hand seems to indicate
that language transfer to the remarkable extent reported ... for
our own culture is not present elsewhere," 178 then does the
reason necessarily lie in the absence of any real parallels between
the arts and the senses? It partly, at least, lies in the fact that
primitive music is too bound up with specific life patterns, and
subordinate to them, to be able to develop its own independent
descriptive nomenclature. That the Basongye do it at all is a sign
of the growing germs of independence of their music.
Merriam admits, too, that these tribes may be exceptions in
this matter. 179 if SO, then the natives' own perceptions among
the Flathead and Basongye have been misleading authorities as to
the true nature of the question. The question itself need not be
settled for, at least, that point to be made.
In the understanding of a culture, and certainly in the broader
issue of the origin of music, indigenous perceptions may be an
obstacle. Some native composers will insist their song came from
a "spirit" or dead ancestor who was "seen" during a moment of
solitude. We must not doubt nor belittle the native's sincerity. He
believes it, and that's interesting and important to our
understanding of his culture. But are we to believe him? If not,
whither comes the standard against which we reject his claim?
Are we being ethnocentric, with our Western science, regarding
the existence of spirits? The example is extreme, but points up a
need to recognize how much we shall draw upon our Western
knowledge. Let's not pretend we don't, or shouldn't, use it.
To return to the question of pitch measurement, Schneider
writes: "It seems very doubtful whether the measurement of
vocal pitches will ever lead to useful results unless account is
taken of the difference between what the singer intends and what
243
he actually achieves." (My emph.) "Measurements taken by the
writer from a native of Uganda showed that a high note which
seemed diatonically too low" (according to our own standards)
"became quite pure in a second recording in which the song was
pitched lower." 180
It is almost impossible, therefore, to discover the kind of
accuracy of pitch which Seeger believes may deliberately exist:
When do we assume the note is perfectly accurate as sung, and
when do we think the singer (or instrument maker, for that
matter) really intended something else? Of course, we "ask" him,
or we study his culture, to see if that may explain such
micro-variations of pitch. Sometimes, it may not even be a real
question. In repeated performances of Western musical works,
perfect identity in rhythm and pitch are rarely achieved, but
there is no "meaning" in that.
On the other hand, when variations from Western diatonic
pitches clearly occurs deliberately, it may indicate, not that
non-diatonic tones are preferred, but that diatonic tones are
considered a standard, which are first recognized before
deviations from them take on meaning. Schneider continues:
"Moreover, such departures are sometimes quite deliberate. For
example, from the above-mentioned measurements it became
clear that a note was intentionally taken too low in order to
represent the 'weeping note.' "181 How else do we explain
flattening, to gain a "weeping note," if there is no reference pitch
from which to flatten; if the diatonic interval was not known and
accepted as standard?
When such things are compared to the Western esthetic; to the
"blue" notes in Western Jazz and to various parallel phenomena
in Africa, it more than shows that there are threads running
through the musics of various peoples; that there is an
evolutionary tendency in some areas of musical development,
and therefore, the explanation appears to lie in cross-cultural
effects; outside any individual culture.
Such a view, if pursued, need not be ethnocentric as Seeger
implies. The "worthiness" of levels of development may, in the
arts, and unlike in medicine or technology, be viewed as neither
superior or inferior, just because one is built upon, and comes
later than,another.
Finally, the faults in ethnomusicology, so far listed, have a
telling effect even on the leanings of ethnomusicologists to be
sample-collectors. The pursuit of facts in field work is blunted by

244
neglecting, often, to perform the right experiments when there.
("Half the answer is in asking the right question.")
Merriam first quotes Meyer on cross-culture, then answers
Meyer by describing his field experiments and those of others.
Here, first, is Meyer:*
"But different musical languages may also have certain sounds
in common. Certain musical relationships appear to be well-nigh
universal. In almost all cultures, for example, the octave and the
fifth or fourth are treated as stable, focal tones toward which
other terms of the system tend to move.
"In so far as different styles have traits in common, the
listener familiar with the music of one can perhaps 'get the gist'
of music to which he is not accustomed to respond . . ."182
(This last sentence was not originally quoted in Merriam.) In
answer, Merriam writes: "It seems doubtful that such 'universal'
aspects of music contribute to cross-cultural communication
through music, and in any case what evidence is available tends
to stress the barriers rather than the communicability of diverse
styles . . . Selecting pieces from Schubert, Davies, Handel, and
Wagner which expressed fear, reverence, rage, and love
respectively, as well as a control selection from Beethoven . . ..
Morey recorded the emotional responses of 'students and
teachers in the Holy Cross Mission School at Bolahun in the
hinterland of Liberia.' His conclusions are as follows:
" 'Western music is not recognized by the Loma of Liberia as
expressing emotion . . .
" 'Musical expressions of western emotions do not elicit in
Liberian boys any patterns of response common to all or most of
the groups responding,' " and so on. Merriam concludes,
"My own experience in introducing Western music to peoples
in Africa has been similar . . ."183
What an awful experiment! Re-reading the chapter on
Harmony in this book would illustrate that nothing less should
be expected. The proper experiment (never performed) would
have been to present, on native instruments if possible, Western
monophonic melodies (which are merely major and minor in

*Merriam claims "certainly little is known"184 about

cross-cultural communication, despite Meyer's evidence (as
quoted), the latest example of which is the popularity, in the
West, of Ravi Shankar's music. Even if his music is not
completely understood, it must communicate something.

245
concept) over a period of time, along with some monophonic
"atonal" melodies or series. (One cannot go a thousand stages
ahead along an evolutionary track, hit the natives with harmony,
counterpoint, Beethoven, etc., and still expect, with so many
alien factors going, to make any contact with his subjects.) Such
a proposed experiment as above would keep all things controlled
except tonality. One may then learn whether, indeed, the germ
of tonality exists among these primitives: The melodies would
be as similar in presentation as possible to their own
monophonic music. The only difference would be that some, to
us, are tonal; others, again to us, are not. Which among them the
natives would prefer would be revealing.
However, lacking evolutionary concepts or theory, or by
misunderstanding them, really silly experiments are done, and
more important and perhaps fruitful, ones are not.
Merriam, accidentally, rather than by planned experiment,
noted natives singing to themselves a few times. He correctly
sensed there was some theoretical import to this, but could not
pursue it. "On one or two occasions I have heard individuals
singing quietly to themselves in the tipi; in later conversation,
such people have remarked that they were singing 'for fun'
because they 'liked it.' This seems to argue that on such
occasions music is abstracted from context, but ... it is
impossible to determine whether it is the music or the context
that provides the pleasure."185
Before going on, an example, first, to illustrate the state of
affairs among primitives may help. When we wash our pots, pans,
dishes, and so on, we do it as part of an hygienic process. It's not
for the abstract pleasures of seeing a pot glisten when it is clean
that we clean it. Truly, a gleaming, clean pot may be very
pleasant; not enough, so far as any of us presently suspect, to
make us dirty it in order to clean it - we dirty pots only in order
to eat and cook food. What Merriam had noted, then, in seeing
natives singing to themselves "for fun," considering how
connected is their music to a larger process of life, is tantamount
to an investigator in our kitchen, who noted that, with no food
or eating in our minds, we once or twice had deliberately started
making pots dirty and then cleaned them, just to see them gleam
and shine. This, if it happens, should logically indicate that
gleaming pots have some inherent pleasure characteristics
formerly unsuspected (especially if it were known that several
other cultures do similar things with their pots). Similarly with

246
music. It is not enough saying only that primitive music is a part
of life and that this is different from the West, in which music is
a relatively independent art-in-itself. What we should say is that
Merriam had witnessed a very early, and limited, case in
evolution; of music actually being taken up for its own
pleasurable, abstract sake.
If Merriam thinks it cannot be "determined whether it is the
music or the context that provides the pleasure," it is because he
is unable, or refuses, to bring anything Western, such as the
science of acoustics and our knowledge of history of other
peoples' arts, to bear, adequately; he, and many
ethnomusicologists, are unable, or refuse, to devise the necessary,
controlled experiments and reasoning to test the evolutionary
hypotheses which come from theories based on other fields of
Western knowledge.
There is one last example which I would like to cite relating to
whether the music, alone, and apart from context, can provide
pleasure, and which also indicates evolutionary tendencies in
primitive music. This example is from Herzog's findings regarding
the relation between speech and melody curves, and is quoted
(and the signficance missed) by Merriam:
"A slavish following of speech-melody by musical melody is
not implied. Rather, the songs illustrate a constant conflict and
accomodation between musical tendencies and the curves traced
by the speech-tones of the song text. Even when the speech-tones
prevail, the musical impulse is not quelled but merely limited -
urged, perhaps, to discovering devices it had not used before. The
best proof of this is that often a turn which was evoked by
speech melody immediately begins to lead its own melodic life,
calling for repetition or balance, whether this agrees with the
following speech-curve or not."186
Here is another concept (balance -repetition) similar to our
own, which is beginning to develop in a completely non-Western
system. The germ of music as an independent art is here.
Helmholtz, Plekhanov, and others, knew much more, in their
own. way, fifty years ago, than many ethnomusicologists know
now, despite great advances in the collection of data. When
modern ethnomusicology doesn't isolate itself from other
disciplines, it involves them in a way which shows that it has
limited its range of vision only to that which supports its
underlying notion of cultural relativism.

247
Harmony In Ancient and Primitive Music
There has been and continues to be a controversy about
whether some form of harmony existed among ancient Greeks.
Numerous (although not numerous enough) sources have seemed
to indicate its existence at an early date, not only in ancient
Greece but elsewhere.
Merriam, in his article on African music, says that
"Hornbostel, for example, sees African 'harmony' as a form of
polyphony. This arises from the antiphonal structure of African
song; as Hornbostel explains it, singers sustain 'the final note of a
tune regardless of the metre or the uniformity of the bars, and
accordingly the soloist' "(who is waiting to sing his response to
the chorus) " 'is unable to know how long the sustained final
note of the chorus will last.' This leads to overlapping, and 'the
result is a dichord . . .' This in turn may lead to splitting the final
note of the song into a dichord without the necessary existence
of overlapping, but the dichord may be an interval of any kind,
since it is melodically formed. 'The musical form arrived at in
this way ... is the organum in parallel motion which represents a
primitive stage of polyphony.' " For apparently in a later stage,
among the Wasukuma, " 'only the three most consonant
combinations of sound, octave, fifth, and fourth, are used
...'.. ." Merriam continues:
"The same general viewpoint is held by Jones . . . 'The idea is
that part of the crowd sings the tune, and part of the crowd sings
the same tune a 4th or 5th lower. The Bemba for some
extraordinary and unexplained reason always sing in organum in
thirds and never in fourths or fifths.' Jones also points out the
use of contrary motion among the Manyika." 187 (Note the
similar English practice of gymel.)
Moving over to evidences from ancient Greece, Aristophanes
wrote, satirizing the aulos (or diaulos: double pipes): "Let us
weep and wail like two flutes breathing some air of Olym-
pos!" 188
In Aristotle's Problems, we read one problem whose full
meaning is obscure in some ways, but it seems more than clear
that two notes, and not one, had been sounded on the Kithara's
strings:
"Why is it that the lower of two strings always has the tune? If
one omits the paramese when one should sound it with the
mese, the tune is there none the less; but if one omits the mese
when one should strike both the tune is missing . . ."189 (Emph.

248
added.)
Sachs writes: "Most pipes of antiquity - called aulos . . .- were
exciting oboes, not, as a careless translation implies, mild and
soothing flutes. They were invariably made in pairs. The player
had both reeds in his mouth, and held and fingered, one hand to
each, the two slender tubes, which diverged like an upside-down
letter V. As far as we can see, one tube played the melody, and
the other, a sustained pedal note . . ." 190 Earlier, Sachs listed
several points about early polyphony, nos. 2, 3, and 4 of which
are of interest:
"(2) The existence of parallel fifths or fourths cannot be
proved, but is quite possible.
"(3) It can be proved, however, that the Greeks, both in early
and late times, preferred two-part setting to unaccompanied
melodies. A certain author, probably of the first century A.D.
and wrongly called Longinus, even states that melodies were
'usually' sweetened by fifths and fourths.
"(4) Two passages five hundred years apart, in Plato and in
Athenaios, hint at an actual two-part counterpoint, of which, to
be sure, we do not know the rules. Plato mentions inadequate
music teachers who . . . would 'answer closer by wider steps,
lower by higher notes, and faster by slower notes'; and Athenaios
admonishes two pipers to keep their voice parts clear apart
without confusing the listener." 191
Cleonides uses the word "blending" in his definition of
"symphony"(that is, consonance): "And symphony is a blending
of two notes, a higher and a lower; diaphony, on the contrary, is a
refusal of two notes to combine, with the result that they do not
blend but grate harshly on the ear."192 Later his definitions
again imply harmony: "Succession is a progression of the melody
by consecutive notes; plexus or network a placing of intervals
side by side . . . "193 (My emph.)
Up to now I have tried to deal with harmony in its broadest
sense. But the above words by Cleonides appear to define the
distinction between two kinds of harmony: harmonic
consonance and polyphony (or polyvocality). "Symphony" is
harmonic consonance; "plexus" is polyphony, in which,
apparently, non- consonant intervals might combine, but, of
course, not be called "symphonies" because they are formed
melodically, and perhaps viewed as in-passing or as heterophony.
(See Apel's definition of this last term in the Harvard Dictionary
ofMusic, p.330.)
249
 Isadore of Seville carried through, till the 6th and 7th
centuries B.C., the Aristoxenus-Cleonides definitions, and despite
the modern conception that ancient music was even to these
dates still monophonic, Isadore writes as if he perfectly
understood what was meant by these old Greeks, and saw no
need to reword it to "suit" the presumed monophony of his
time. 194
Little of the above is new, although it is not collected together
elsewhere as here; however, one concept, illustrated in part II of
this book, that a distinction should be made between consonance
of similars and consonance of difference, may throw some small
additional light on the problem. This concept has been badly
neglected or even overlooked by musicologists, but it has
appeared several times in the writings of early theorists. Fux
wrote: "The fifth is a perfect consonance, the octave a more
perfect one, and the unison the most perfect of all; and the more
perfect a consonance, the less harmony it has."!95 (Emph.
added.) Again, he wrote: "The imperfect consonances, then, are
more harmonious than perfect ones." 196 Zarlino, too, in
opposing the use of parallel unisons, 5ths and octaves,
expounded this wondrous notion, saying that the ancients "knew
very well that harmony can arise only from things that are among
themselves diverse, discordant, and contrary, and not from things
that are in complete agreement." 197 (Fux would not have gone
so far as Zarlino, limiting the definition to imperfect consonances
and not including dissonances, which he says are "lacking the
grace and charm of harmony ; and that whatever pleasantness and
beauty they may give the ear have to be attributed to the beauty
of the succeeding consonances to which they resolve.") 198 Let's
apply our concept now to the earlier musicians of ancient
Greece.
The exciting responses attributed to hearers of the auloi (See
Smith, The World's Earliest Music, p. 73; also Sachs, History of
Musical Instruments, p. 140, and Athenaeus, in Strunk's Source
Readings, pp. 47-56 — this latter an entertaining as well as
informing writing-) is more easily explained if we conceive auloi
as a set of instruments one of which plays melody, the other a
drone: Think of the dramatic effect gotten from the Scottish
drone bagpipes and from our more modern pedal-point. Now,
with attention to the above distinction and understanding of the
difference between consonance and harmony, we can more easily
conceive of this harmony in ancient Greece: If they, too, made the
250
same distinction, then even though they didn't list the 3rd, 6th,
and other such intervals among their "symphonies" or
consonances, they may well have considered them usable as
harmonies or "plexii" when they resulted from the use of any
drone. This seems to better help the facts fit together . (Consider
also the widespread use of parallel intervals such as 3rds, as
among the Bemba and in pre-organum English gymel)
As early as 1300 A.D. an English writer, stemming from this
tradition of 3rds, was among the first to list the 3rd as a
consonance. 199 This was early for what the Church considered
consonant in official writ, but it was many hundreds of years
after the practice of 3rds in harmony! When we learn that
Aristoxenus and Plato were stuffed shirts (togas?), wondering
about the "vulgar* state music was coming to in their time: what
with aulos-players, the love of spectacle and contests, we find
that in their writings too — and we have only their writings and
viewpoint in most of these musical matters — there is a marked
tendency to be conservative, to not list the possible prevailing
practices as "part" of music, though these practices may have
been hundreds of years old.
Athenaeus writes: "In early times popularity with the masses
was a sign of bad art; hence, when a certain aulos-player once
received loud applause, Asopodorus of Phlius, who was himself
still waiting in the wings, said 'What's this? Something awful
must have happened!' The player evidently could not have won
approval with the crowd otherwise . . . And yet the musicians of
our day set as the goal of their art success with their audiences.
Hence Aristoxenus . . . says: 'We act like the people of
Poseidonia ... It so happened that although they were originally
Greeks, they were completely barbarized, becoming Tuscans or
Romans; they changed their speech and their other practices, but
they still celebrate one festival that is Greek to this day, wherein
they gather together and recall those ancient words and
institutions, and after bewailing them and weeping over them in
one another's presence they depart home. In like manner we also
(says Aristoxenus), now that our theatres have become utterly
barbarized and this prostituted music has moved on into a state
of grave corruption, will get together by ourselves, few though
we be, and recall what the art of music used to be.'"200
It is more than likely, then, that much of what Greek music
was like in practice has not come down to us in objective form,
and that indeed, one or several forms of harmony and polyphony
may have existed, but were scorned by writers of that time.
251
 The Greek Tetrachord — Origin
The cornerstone of Greek music is the tetrachord. It has often
been written that all Greek musical systems are based upon it;
Greek theorists, each in turn, accepted it from dark antiquity and
mythology as a fact of life, and each strove to build a reasoned
system around it, to explain it.
"When we read of the various Greek modes - of the Dorian
scale, the Phrygian, Lydian, Mixo-Lydian, Hypo-Dorian, and
others - we should not forget that one was added to the other in
order of time, and the full system only gradually evolved. And in
this" (earlier) "period, the music was probably limited to the
single tetrachord on three modes, and so remained for a long
time. We, in some instances, see on the vases that the pipes are
marked with three holes each, sometimes with four; although it is
rarely that the holes are indicated at all."201 The three modes
would be, according to Sachs202 and Cleonides203 : Dorian, with
semitone on the bottom; Phrygian, with y2-tone in the middle;
Lydian, with semitone on top:

DORIAN PHRYGIAN LYDIAN

gV;|J j tf4=
?—
i-T

In addition, there were three different genera of the tetrachord in

the Dorian mode: a
The diatonic would be:

The chromatic would be:

The enharmonic would be:

^-tone lower
than Bb
Later, we learn about the so-called Lesser Perfect System and the
252
Greater Perfect System. Why there were two such systems,
instead of three or four; or why there was even one system is, as
usual, presented to us as the usual stuff of mad poets and
nymphs. Mad, but poets. Due to the singularities in Greek music,
it may be thought that it should be classed among those
exceptions which defy theoretical explanation; which is arbitrary
and certainly not"based" on acoustics and overtones, etc.
How did this system arise? Can the theory in this book
account for it? In Smith, we learn that it was a source for long
arguments between Smith and Alexander Ellis. Smith quotes
Ellis:
"The fact that the Greek scale was derived from the tetrachord
or divisions of the fourth, and not the fifth, leads me to suppose
that the tuning was founded on the fourth, not the fifth ... It is
most convenient for modern habits to consider the series as one
of fifths; but I wish to draw attention to the fact that in all
probability it was historically a series of fourths," Smith adds: I
often had arguments with Mr. Ellis upon these points, and after
the study of Arabic and Persian scales for his comparative
examination of 'The Musical Scales of Various Nations' he came
at last to the same conclusion. The fourth always seemed to me
the most naturally selected interval for the origin of the primitive
scales. It prevails in Arabia, Persia, China and the East
generally." 204
Both Ellis and Smith, however, turn out to be incorrect, as the
remainder of this discussion would indicate.
In the section in this book on the 4thJ wrote that the order in
which intervals are played is important and that they should be
reckoned always as if played upward. For example, C down to G
(or any such notes comprising a 5 th) is a 5th as if it had been
played C wp to G. The reason for this is that while C down to G
is 4 steps, or a fourth, physically, it is a 5th in terms of its
musical function in relation to tonality, as has been explained in
earlier pages. That is, G, wherever it is played in relation to the C,
higher or lower, is representative of an overtone of C.
The development of the scale from overtones of the 4th and
5th seems fairly clear (in this book) when we accept that man
moved from low to high in the progress of discovering intervals.
In this upward direction, man matches (and thereby discovers)
overtone relationships. But the recognition of a 5th to a tonic
from discovery of it as an overtone of that tonic, which appears
to be universal to all musical systems, by no means ensures that it
253
will be played upward universally. It would be as easy to
recognize the relationship even if the interval were played down.
The Greeks seem to have discovered the 5th - but
"upside-down" so-to-speak.
Let's begin with A to illustrate the process. If ancient man
appreciated the relationship of A as an overtone and a 5 th of D,
then this A should be re-recognized as relating to D in any height
position regarding D; that is, the A, following below D, should,
on some lyre or flute, sound like it is related to the D almost as
much as if it were the A played above that D.
However, whereas other peoples apparently began to move
upward, and produced, from the upper 5th, overtones which led
to the D major (and minor) scale - or the pentatonic scale: D, E,
G, A, B, D - the Greeks, on the other hand, went down from D
to A, and going down, they had no use or need for some of the
overtones they heard: The notes which needed to be discovered
to fill in as diatonic steps from D down to A (C and B) were
different from those able to be subliminally found from the
overtones of D and A. * As few of the needed steps were dictated
by any sense of existing overtone relationships (in this initial
phase of the development), almost any set of pitches in this
descending tetrachord could be used for steps, and, as we have
seen, was used,in the various descending genera.
In this descending process, the lower A seems to have become
a kind of tonic (Gr.: Mese, or "middle") to which all was aimed.
In moving or singing down to it, the genera now appear to be a
set of downward leading-tones, varying only in their intensity
(pykna) of "leading-ness," and the enharmonic genus is only the
sharpest, or most acute degree, of this concept, using %-tones
{dieses). The rest of the theory is easy:
To the original tetrachord is added another below it, and this
forms the top two tetrachords of what later becomes the Lesser
Perfect System, a system which otherwise, with its A for a tonic
(or mese) in the middle, would appear inexplicable but for the

*D to A downward produces an overtone 3rd (of A): C#j but

it has no function, such as leading-tone up to the D, because of
the downward orientation here. This concept may be a reason
why the Greeks took so long and were so unsure in the tuning of
the 3rd. The first to show that C-E (or A-C#) should have the
ratio 5:4 was Archytas in 400 B.C.205 But it was not for 300
years that the practical major 3rd was firmed.
254
foregoing tetrachord theory.

Mese

(The example is of the diatonic genus. The black notes may be

changed to make the other genera.)
At this point, the octave tends to become, along with the
popular tetrachord, a strong organizing principle: By separating
the two tetrachords by a tone {disjunct instead of conjunct as in
the Lesser Perfect System) we expand the system of two
tetrachords to fill out the span of an octave, and in so doing,
imitate what was the actual historic process. This produces the
octave -scale called the Dorian mode, and is the characteristic
octave in the later Greek Greater Perfect System (A 2-octave, 4
tetrachord span: A to a').
When we think down, like an ancient Greek , the Dorian mode
is the exact reciprocal of tones and semitones as is our later,
Western major scale, when it is played upward:

Downward Dorian: EDCBAGFE

Upward Major* C D E^F G A B^C

Semitone Semitone
(AH others whole)

The Greek mode, equivalent to our major (when we think of

that Greek mode upward), is Lydian. But, being sung from
top down by Greeks, may well explain why they probably didn't
care for it: It has no downward leading tone; it begins with a
semitone: It's effect was much the same to them, perhaps, as the
effect would be for us if we were to play their Dorian mode
upward.
Our melodic minor scale, without conscious design, seems
almost to combine both worlds: We provide the leading tone
going up: C, D, Eb, F, G, Ah , BflVC, and we avoid it going
down, to avoid beginning with a semi-tone: (^Bb, Ab, G, F, Eb,
D, C. If we didn't provide the leading tone going up, the effect
for us would be, indeed, like the Greek Dorian mode played

255
upward, which we don't like, and which they didn't do, as stated
earlier. Going back down our melodic minor, logic would tell us
to add a downward leading tone, Db: This would make an
identical arrangement of tones and semitones as in the Greek
Dorian. Lacking Db is the only difference between our
downward melodic minor and the Greek Dorian mode. However,
in our harmony system, there has evolved the Neapolitan Sixth
chord (based on the chord of the flat second, Db). which we
usually resolve down to the tonic C, like the Dorian FtoE.

There is more that is methodic

in what men have conceived
than all our seeming madness
would lead us to have believed.

256
 ummary

The following article, an appraisal of J. J. Fux (1725), is an

illustration of how the theory in this book is able to connect the
plethora of historical facts relating to one event or one man, and
to make them coherent, consistent, and place them in a
perspective. This perspective gives the facts the capacity to be
part of a broader understanding of music as an evolutionary
process and not as a static, or arbitrarily changing, one.
The report could well have been about any other notables in
the history of music, but the results would lead in the same
direction. The selection of Fux as a subject is
purely circumstantial, done as a paper by the author for a
university class in the history of music theory. It would be
illuminating to deal with other, perhaps more well-known, figures
of music history, perhaps more interesting ones; it is hoped that
the theory in this book will be used for this.
In addition, the article has the value of being suitable as an
epilogue and summary of the theory in this book in its broadest
outlines, yet still concrete, helping to explain actual history and
people. By explaining in the concrete, the theory, again,
demonstrates its own validity, showing its own shape to be a true
fit to reality.
It is, therefore, not only a summary and epilogue, but also, I
believe, a promise, that musicology may yet be placed upon a
scientific basis.
259
 GRADUS AD PARNASSUM BY J. J. FUX

In discussing Fux' work, I had to make a choice, whether to

give a full report on its contents in detail, pointing out its unique
pedantic character, its personal approach, its warmth and yet
scientific detail, and so on; in other words, to discuss the work in
itself, isolated; or, on the other hand, whether to risk losing my
audience and discuss the work as part of an historic process: Fux
lived and wrote before and after certain events in the history of
music.
Leaving the contents of the book to the reader's own efforts, I
shall go beyond this and judge the importance, the merit and the
meaning of Fux' work in relation to these musical historical
events.
The first thing to note about Fux is the crudeness with which
he has been called "conservative!' The description is not wrong, it
is incomplete: For here we have a case in which a degree of
conservatism led to greater radicalism and foresight than the
so-called radicalism of the time. (It would be a lesson for many
of my own fellow radicals of today to learn.) Fux says in his
work that he wouldn't think of calling back his contemporaries
from their new, free ways in musical composition, nor did he
think he could hold back the tides on which these new ways
rode. But, he, for one, was not among those who would refuse to
be checked by any rules and standards, and so, despite the trend
of the times, he wrote a rule-book.
The rule-book has lasted, in some of its parts, 250 years,
unchanged. The trend of his time passed, and changed many
times.
The second thing to note is that Fux' book is about the rules
of part-writing, that is, about more than one, monophonic, voice.
For the moment it will be important to deal, not with the
distinction between chordal harmony versus contrapuntal
harmony versus any mixture of the two, etc., but rather, with the
more general notion of any kind of harmony versus monophony
(or simple melody with just occasional accompaniment). For, at
the time of Fux, harmony of all kinds had been practiced for 700
years, and among the writers on methods of sound combination,
Fux stands like a beacon, along with Zarlino and a few others.
Thirdly, then, to understand the meaning of Fux' work, we
also have to have some ideas about the meaning of harmony, how
and why it developed, what the practices were in different

260
epochs, and how Fux' rules stand in relation to the development:
For it is as much true that Fux' rules were a product of the years
of harmony development, as it is true that Fux' rules produced
new developments in the types of harmony and counterpoint to
come.
Three items, above, those of Fux as conservative or not; the
rules themselves in this book; and the context in which we place
Fux - not necessarily in that order - will be the basic parts of
this report.
I

Fux and the Classic Theory of Counterpoint

In this part I will go into the relation between Fux' rules and
those which we today study as the classic notions of
counterpoint. There are many differences, but there are even
more similarities, and in essence, Fux' work is the cornerstone of
music theory as Freud is the cornerstone of psychiatry, despite
the modifications from these original authors since they first
wrote.
All the similarities and differences could fill a book, and here
only some general notions will be illustrated and a few examples
given, pertinent to the whole paper; the rest will be up to each
reader's individual examination of Fux.
The first and most important difference between Fux and
the rules we study in our classes today is our addition to Fux'
rules of the concepts of chord progression: Students of theory
will be familiar with terms like normal, retrograde and elision.
These concepts did not reach the surface in Fux,although normal
progressions exist and result from the practice of his rules (in
major and minor modes) in most cases.
A second difference is our subtraction from Fux of his rules
relating strictly to modes other than major and minor. Fux
undertook to teach the counterpoint involved in each mode,
while today only two of these modes, major and minor, concern
us.
A third difference is our use of the full triad in beginning and
closing chords. This was done on occasion by Fux, but, as he
defined perfect intervals (4th, 5th and Octave - or unison) as
"rest," he concluded that they belonged at the beginning and end
(and intermediate cadence-like points), and certainly no
imperfect consonances would be able to serve in these places,
except once in a while, when other rules, such as of voice leading,
261
made perfect consonances impossible. It is interesting,
nevertheless, that he was perfectly aware of the harmonious and
pleasing effect of the full triad. 206
First major similarity to our own study of theory: The list of
what is considered consonant and dissonant among the intervals
is revealed, in all his discussion, to be the same for Fux* time as in
today's classic theory. This includes the exclusion of the 4th
from the consonances, or at least some mixed feeling to it (the
very ancients, on the other hand, considered them perfect
consonances, and excluded such things as the 3rds and 6ths ).
More similarities: In Fux, as in our theory classes, parallel 5ths
are forbidden. The concepts of parallel, oblique and contrary
motion, including many of the rules connected with these
motions, are the same.
In our classes, voice leading, that is, singability, has often been
stressed; in Fux it is paramount, and avoidance of the tritone
(C-F#), the augmented 2nd, and large leaps, were rules then as
now, with perhaps a little more leeway today. Fux quotes a jingle
to illustrate the idea to his pupils, which, translated into our own
terms, could be recast as:
fa and then ti
207
is the devil vocally.
Then, as now, was the notion of the melodic integrity of each
part, with rules for stepwise motion rather than leaps, and so on.
Following first from Zarlino, and carried on by Fux, is the
notion of the triad as a basic concept of harmony. This is unlike
the ancients, who rarely thought in vertical terms at all. It was
only after some time and very slowly that we see any attempt
before Zarlino to align melodies to some kind of vertical
harmony. (Franco of Cologne wrote, in response to what was
becoming an orgy of many-voiced dissonance, that, at least, a
melody, "if it be discordant with one," (should) "be in concord
with the others." 208)
If one examines the "1 8th century counterpoint" texts used
today, we find remarkable similarities in the organization of the
material in steps (gradus, in Fux) virtually identical with that of
Fux.
Still other similarities are found in the chapter Fux calls
"Ligatures" which turn out to be the art of suspensions, both in
two-voice writing, three, and four-part writing.
When singers approach cadence, they often sharpen the 7th in
order thus to "lead" to the octave. This practice is so old that in
262
1322 Pope John XXII issued an edict which forbade this
sharpening in modes which had no such sharpened seventh. The
writing of it was then omitted, but the practice continued by
singers, even to today. This concept of the leading tone is clearly
illustrated in Fux in sharpening penultimate notes at cadence
points. 209 — Another similarity.
There are still other similarities as well as differences, but any
others would be related to the more general notions here, and
some others may be mentioned in connection with later
sections of this paper. /
We can conclude this part, and say, for general purposes, that
Fux really represents, with modifications of course, the
foundation of traditional, classical practices of counterpoint, and
in some cases in this paper, it may even be justified to connect
the two as one.

II

Fux As a Conservative
There is no doubt that Fux was in large measure a
conservative, but this is hardly the whole story.
Three things delineate the conservative side of Fux: his
attitude toward vocal music, toward chordal harmony
(Monteverdi's second practice), and lastly, toward the major-minor
system. Let's look at these one at a time.
In Palestrina's time (150 years before Fux) we can see, if not
the beginnings of instrumental music, at least the beginning of a
massive trend toward it, as an art, complete and separate from
literature or connection with social life, (it is true that
instrumental music existed earlier, even in ancient Greece. Like
Fux, but for different reasons, Plato frowned on instrumental
music, especially that of the aulos,210 whose experts, highly
esteemed then, played them in festive contests,211 However, the
point is that, in Greek antiquity, this was atypical, most music
almost always being connected with poetry and words. By
mid-1 6th century, instrumental music, on the other hand, had
become a major development.)
Monteverdi, the invention of the tremolo, and the stile
concitato - these are the names and things which were "in" in
the 16th century. The style came from the awareness of new
instrumental possibilities and techniques, which was, in turn, still
another step in the development of music further and further

263
from the Church. By the time Fux made his entrance, the thing
was over a hundred years under way. Fux viewed it all with
alarm. Fux' viewpoint was consistently rooted in vocal notions of
music, and his rules, in every case, flowed from this orientation.
Secondly, Fux preferred counterpoint to chordal types of
harmony, and this would involve such familiar rules as the
integrity of each melodic line, its singability, etc. (Fux followed
his own rules. Lang writes: "Mattheson in his Ehrenpforte praises
his style heartily, remarking that one cannot find 'lazy' voices in
his (fuxj) part writing." 21 2)
Chordal, like instrumental, music, also began its greatest
development about 100 years before Fux. Then was the
Camerata: the school led by Vincenzo Galilei, including notables
such as Peri, Caccini, Rinuccini, and followed by Viadana, all of
whom contributed to, and furthered, the remarkable concept of
the Figured Bass and of Recitative.
What was remarkable about it is that it was the first, conscious
attempt at using a subordinate harmony in the form of added
chords to a single melody, rather than the older harmony, which
resulted from several contrapuntal voice parts, each of which
was, generally, of equal importance. It has often been assumed,
especially by laymen, that two or more melodies, which were to
be played or sung simultaneously, were written in such a way as
to conform to pre-existing chords; that a system of chords
preceded counterpoint. Of course, the reverse is true, and it is
important to keep in mind that vertical thinking is a later
development, very sophisticated, and certainly unique in the
world: Horizontal thinking seems to epitomize many peoples
who have melody at all, and they resist harmony. The only cases
of non-melodic thinking are so primitive as to pre-date even ideas
of scales, and then, it wasn't really like vertical thinking, rather
just the conception of notes as independent entities, with little
connection one to another, each having its own symbolic or
ritualistic meaning.
Helmholtz looked back on this development in the Camerata,
and missing this horizontal-melodic orientation as deeply rooted
historically, wondered why the chordal vertical harmonies took
so long to develop:
"It is scarcely possible for us, from our present point of view, to
conceive the condition of an art which was able to build up the
most complicated constructions of voice parts in chorus, and was
yet incapable of adding a simple accompaniment to the melody

264
of a song or a duet, for the purpose of filling up the harmony.
And yet when we read how Giacomo Peri's invention of
recitative with a simple accompaniment of chorus was applauded
and admired and what contentions arose as to the renown of
the invention; what attention Viadana excited when he invented
the addition of a Basso Continuo for songs in one or two parts
. . .; it is impossible to doubt that this art of accompanying a
melody by chords (as any amateur can now do in the simplest
manner possible) was completely unknown to musicians up to
the end of the sixteenth century. It was not till the sixteenth
century that composers became aware of the meaning possessed
by chords as forming an harmonic tissue independently of the
progression of parts?213
Fux, on the other hand, far from wondering why it took so
long, was dismayed by this "second practice."
We could ask, now, why we should consider Fux as anything
but conservative. It is true, in his opposition to these new ideas
and techniques, he was nothing but backward. But in preserving
counterpoint and vocal notions, he was connecting himself to a
much older, and perhaps more universal, notion of music, rooted
in vocal, melodic ideals.
This is not to say that the new developments were bad; I think,
in fact, that they were monumental contributions to music the
like of which only Mozart could overshadow. Fux, therefore, was
wrong in counterposing them to his own views; they needn't have
been contradictory. In fact, that his work became so successful
and widely adopted is indication that it contained, perhaps
unknown to himself, many really compatible and revolutionary
ideas: We see today — and in all times and places, in secular
music, folk and popular, romantic and classical music - the love
of melody, of singing and vocal music, of rhythmic counterpoint
in Jazz of all kinds, and, in the improvisational aspects of
certain types of Jazz, such as Dixieland, Rock and Roll: the love
of counterpoint in "classic" formulation.
The things then, which Fux wished to preserve, can hardly be
called old-fashioned or passed
Finally, Fux is criticized for his return to the model of
Palestrina and the modes. In this, Fux made little impact. The
modes have been rejected, his models of them too, and his
major-minor models alone have become the basis for the future
modifications of his rules which we learn today. Nevertheless, as
he lived so long after Palestrina, certain modern trends did wear
265
off on him: he was really a"pseudo-Palestrinian." 214
In sum, Fux was, then, both conservative and at the same
time, a precursor of some of the more cherished ideals in music.
We have, so far, compared Fux' rules to today's classic rules;
then we evaluated Fux in light of his own epoch. Now let's try to
place Fux into the much broader stream of the whole process of
harmony.

Ill

Fux and the Progress of Harmony

I have chosen an analogy to illustrate how Fux stands in
relation to the overall development of harmony.
Let us assume that harmony was like the true nature of our
very immediate universe, the solar system; that is, that harmony
was a set of hidden realities and events that worked according to
certain lawful patterns, and which, historically, although hidden,
were begging to be discovered and surfaced. Two such patterns in
music, for example, may be considered the V-I cadence and the
major-minor scales and system. One such pattern in astronomy,
already known, is the orbital motion of planets. The true
patterns of the universe have not always been known; our
knowledge has evolved: First it was thought the Earth was flat,
and so on. Later, Ptolemy believed the Earth to be the center
around which all other bodies revolved. Finally, Copernicus came
along and put his finger on the single, general idea, which
accurately, and, most important, simply, explained the heavenly
system.
In all learning, the true scientist tends to search always for the
one, single, and simple set of bases from which all things lawfully
derive, or are just modifications of. He accepts, only with
suspicion,"too much" complexity.
Ptolemy placed the Earth at the stationary center. Thus,
explaining the motions of the planets required a very complex set
of concepts involving epicycles, deferents, and ex cen tries. What
we need to know, only, is that these terms are tortuous means by
which to explain motions which result from the mistake that the
Earth is stationary and at the center. The point is, however, that
Ptolemy's system, although complicated, most certainly worked:
It actually described and could predict the motions of the Sun,
Moon and planets with tremendous accuracy. When Copernicus
reset the center to be the Sun, there was far greater gain in

266
simplicity and only a slight amount in accuracy, as far as
prediction.
As Ptolemy stood in astronomy, a giant in relation to his
predecessors - although not entirely correct - so Fux, in music,
stands in his exposition of the fundamental concepts of harmony
and multivoiced music. Fux touched the external parts of a
phenomenon (whose internal kernel is still trying to make itself
known.) Fux' system (which when modified is essentially the
same as that taught in our theory classes today) represents a
system which definitely works. However, the rules underlying
this system are unnecessarily complex as was Ptolemy's
conception of the heavens. For example, Fux notes that the
proper and better sounding arrangement of the intervals of a
4-note triad is as follows:

and not, as it would seem, like this:

and the reason he gives is that the "proportional numbers of the

fifth are 2 and 3* which equal 5. Those of the third, 4 and 5*
which equal 9. From this it is clear" (since 5 is lower than 9)
". . . the fifth should be used in the lower register, the third in
the upper."215 This reasoning begins to get involved and
complex. Yet Fux is right to be trying to explain and justify the
practices of years of music composition, for he does not believe
that such tradition can be without cause,216 and this is
reasonable. But his explanation is contrived and incorrect -
although it works. Let's consider another, simpler explanation: If
we write out the order of overtones, according to their height in
pitch, we have the following:
35

Overtone a

Fundamental tone

*Based on ratios.
267
 This is the overtone series, to the third, of the note C. It exists
in nature and perfectly matches the chord which, in Fux, places
the third above the fifth.
We have, then, by this example and analogy, placed Fux in the
stream of harmonic development: A Ptolemy.
Who then, one must surely wonder, is the Copernicus - or the
Einstein - of this evolution? And what would the theory be?
For it cannot be accepted that this analogy holds unless we now
come up with a theory which, as our definition of the true
scientist demands, is simple, unitary and encompasses all the
facts.
Such a theory can only be very barely outlined here, for this
paper is not meant to expound the theory, but just to try to
present a coherent point of view which can shed some light,
stimulate new thoughts and point new directions, if not be
complete in all details.
To begin, however, let's look at a few items which have
developed since Fux and see if they are evidence of leanings in
new directions. Also let's look at some of the evolution of past
practices and see if a review will reveal any pattern heretofore
overlooked.
In earlier organum, discant or counterpoint, in so far as any
concept of chords was developed, it was that "each note of the
tenor carried its own chord . . ."217 jhe root movement (chord
progressions) which resulted from this was root movement by
2nds and 3rds. Also formed were what we call elisions, retrograde
elisions, and retrograde harmonies (harmonies which moved in
unusual progressions). As we study the music further, we learn
that this slowly evolved toward root movement by 4ths and 5ths,
and that the progressions became normal, and that all this
happened, for the most part, without consciousness on the part
of the musicians involved. Eventually it became conscious, rules
were established and the familiar terms were born: normal,
retrograde, etc.
In this classic, or traditional, counterpoint, the notions were
formed on the basis of existing practice. Once again, the rule
tailended, rather than acted as a cause of, practice. But, then, to
what forces and impulses can we attribute the cause of the
practice? Many researchers would reject explanations which
resort to accident or chance, or which say it is all relative and
arbitrary.
Rameau searched for a reduction to the more simple in

268
harmonic theory, writing: "Experience offers us a number of
harmonies, capable of an infinite diversity, by which we should
always be confused, did we not look to another cause for their
principle; this diversity sows doubt everywhere . . . Reason, quite
the other way, sets before us a single harmony . . ." Later, he
wrote that all harmonies derive from the triad and the chord of
the seventh, and that the seventh is derived from the triad,
making the triad the "universal principle" or source. "Beyond
this, it is only a question of determining whether the dissonances
cannot similarly be reduced to it . . . for all of them are generated
by a new sound added to the primary harmony." 218
The impulse for an underlying single principle is shown here,
but Rameau's answer was never adopted, and really raises
problems equtal to those it solves.
Note now, still another manifestation of disquiet with existing
theory: Among many debates and issues, there is one about
whether a vii° chord (D, F, and B) should be viewed, now, as
well as historically, as the incomplete expression of a chord
(D, F, G, and B).
All these ideas, trends and evolutions are evidence of
something trying to get born, whose stirrings are causing these
debates and the notice of certain unsettling details. With these,
and with those facts already outlined in sections I and II, and
with our general knowledge of music, is there any thread which
can connect them all?
Quite often, one will hear and read of I-IV-V (or IV-V-I)
progressions (tonic 4th and 5 th) being so prevalent that they run
through our classic, popular and folk music like redness in the
colors of the sunset. In addition, we have already explained one
item, above, in Fux, regarding the best position for the intervals
of a triad, using overtones in the solution; and we note that in
the overtones of a note we begin to repeat familiar items: here,
too, is an octave (tonic) and 5th (dominant) among the first
overtones; and we repeat these again in the study of historical
changes in root movement, etc., etc. If we pursue these above
items we may be led to a simpler view. Let's take these three
notes, tonic, 4th and 5th, and write out their overtones (noting
OVERTONES
Tonic: C C CH ! E" G"
G'
G" 'UBH D"
Fifth: G G D'
Fourths F — F C« F" A,r} C"
e
269
that overtones decrease in audibility as we write them, and that a
limit is reached beyond which the ear no longer responds).
(It should be pointed out that the tonic, 4th and 5th are
universal in the music of all known peoples, as well as in ours.)
While certain questions may not be answered, they are not
insurmountable problems, and I believe the broad notions here
are more than defendable: For, in our chart, if we take, from
among the strongest overtones, all the different notes, we have C,
D, F, G, A. (The reason I include the A is because, unlike the E
and B, it forms no semitones with the others, and historically,
the !4-tone has been universally considered dissonant.) This gives
us the Pentatonic scale.
Now, if we include the E and B, we have the major diatonic.
Finally, as the E, B, and A are audibly weak, it is likely they
would be subject to uncertainty and vacillation in tuning,
historically. (This is shown to be true, not only historically, but
throughout many cultures, from the most primitive to the most
developed technologically.) Let's, then, substitute for the E, B
and A an Eb, Bb and Ab: What we have now is the minor scale!
More:
In classic theory, the scale is divided into triads as follows:

Notes: CDEFGABC
Triads: I ii iii IV V vi vii° I

Now it can be seen from the overtone list, p. 269, that the D
derives from the overtones of the 5th, G, and does not need its
own triad (ii). Similarly, E derives from C; A from F; B from G.
If we harmonize the scale, then, with the chords built only upon
the notes which produce the scale by their overtones, we have
the familiar I-IV-V (tonic, 4th and 5th) harmony system:

CDEFGABC
IV I IV V IV V I

We have, too, in the last three, the typical IV-V-I cadence, based
on the interval of the 4th.
An example of these notions is the Handel Christmas carol,
Joy To the World, which is nothing more than the C major scale,
played from top to bottom, harmonized as shown, and Handel
knew not thing-one about overtones.
In the earlier mentioned debate about the vii° chord, I take
270
the side of those who view it as an incomplete V^, because this,
then, is in line with what I believe is, in our analogy, the simpler
"Copernican" view of music harmony, against which, as noted,
Fux and our traditional system, represent the "Ptolemaic."
I think then, that in the trio: Tonic, 4th, 5th, we have the key,
and it is to this that everything can be reduced and from which
everything is built. As many various shades and hues can be
reduced to the primary colors, so music is reduced to this "trio."
It is the underlying, governing, unitary system fyvhich Fux was so
remarkably able to reproduce, but in a complex, and
round-about fashion in Gradus Ad Parnassutri).
The early formation of music was influenced by speech
patterns, and was rarely separate from social activity. Its use in
ritual and connection with Taboo, etc., rigidified all music and
scales, however cacophonic or "unacoustical," and they became
hopelessly encumbered with associations. However, slowly, a
process of inevitable change took palce, and a good pan of old
ideas and institutions came to be abandoned. No society is ever
really static. But with these old ideas, music (among other things)
had been associated. When the ideas go, so does the music -
except for this: Music whose viability was dependent upon the
old associations, ideas, rituals, institutions, etc.; that music
changes and is replaced; but those aspects of it which were also
based on correspondence with natural acoustics (such as the
Octave, 4th and 5th) remain, and these remained into each new
development, accumulating one upon another in each change,
over centuries and eons, until in fact, what was once music with
little basis in acoustics, becomes music with almost all aspects
somehow related to these laws. Fux is a "still" photo taken in
the latter part of the entire process, not quite complete.

271
1. Hermann Smith, The World's Earliest Music (London: Wm.
Reeves, . . ?), pp. 285-86.
2. Beatrice Edgerly, From the Hunter's Bow (N.Y.: G.P.
Putman's Sons, 1942), p. 69.
3. Willi Apel, Harvard Dictionary of Music (Cambridge;
Harvard University Press, 1965), p. 503.
4. W. J. Baltzell, A Complete History of Music (N.Y.:
Theodore Presser Co., 1905), p. 73.
5. Sir James Jeans, Science and Music (Cambridge at the
University Press, 1937), p. 61.
6. John Tasker Howard and James Lyons, Modern Music
(New American Library, 1958. (£)riginally published
as This Modern MusQ), p. 40.
7. Baltzell, op. cit, p. 74.
8. Max Weber, The Rational and Social Foundations of Music
(Southern Illinois University Press, 1958), p. 81.
9. Ibid., p. 21.
10. Hermann C. F. Helmholtz, On the Sensations of Tone (2nd
English ed.; New York: Dover Publications, Inc.,
1954), p. 253.
1 1. Leonard B. Meyer, Emotion and Meaning In Music
(University of Chicago Press, 1956), p. 231.
12. Marion Bauer and Ethyl Peyser, How the Music Grew
(N.Y.: G.P. Putman's Sons, 1939), p. 41.
13. Marius Schneider, "Primitive Music," in Ancient and
Oriental Music, ed. by Egon Wellesz, Vol. I of The
New Oxford History of Music (London: Oxford
University Press, 1957), p. 14.
14. Ibid, p. 15.
15. George Lansing Raymond, The Genesis of Art Form
(N.Y.: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1909), p. 245.
16. Willi Apel, op. cit., p. 564.
272
17. Bruno Nettl, Music in Primitive Culture (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1956), p. 48.
18. Carl Engel, The Music of the Most Ancient Nations
(London: William Reeves, 1929), p. 166.
19. Curt Sachs, The Rise of Music in the Ancient World, East
& West (N.Y.: W. W. Norton & Co., 1943), p. 120.
20. Ibid., pp. 75-77.
21. Alan P. Merriam, "African Music," in Continuity and
Change In African Cultures, ed. by Wm. R. Bascomb
and Melville J. Herskovits (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1 959), pp. 69-70.
22. Nettl, op. cit., p. 49.
23. Engel, op. cit., pp. 171-172.
24. A. M. Jones, quoted in Merriam, op. cit., p. 72.
25. Merriam, Ibid., pp. 71-72.
26. Sachs, op. cit., pp. 134-135.
27. Edgerly, op. cit., p. 69.
28. Horniman Museum, Musical Instruments (London: Horni-
man Museum, London County Council, 1958), p. 77.
29. Meyer, op. cit., p. 231.
30. Jeans, op. cit., p. 77.
31. Helmholtz, op. cit., p. 229.
32. Ibid., pp. 253-254.
33. Howard and Lyons, op. cit., pp. 36, 38.
34. Helmholtz, op. cit., p. 351.
35. Ibid., p. 190.
36. Hermann Smith, op. cit., p. 20.
37. Ibid., p. 20-21.
38. Ibid.^,22.
39. Ibid., p. 228-229.
40. Ibid., p. 229.
41 . Jeans, op. cit., p. 20.
42. Helmholtz, op. cit, p. 252-253.
43. Ibid., p. 257.
44. Jeans, op. cit, p. 171.
45. Helmholtz, op. cit, p. 368.
46. Ibid., p. 369.
47. Jeans, op. cit., p. 163-164.
48. Helmholtz, op. cit, p. 280.
49. Ibid., p. 249.
50. Ibid, p. 240-241.
51. Ibid., p. 239.
273
52. Ibid., p. 255.
53. Ibid., p. 255.
54. Ibid., p. 287.
55. Aristotle Problems Book XIX. 33 .
56. Bauer and Peyser, op. cit., p. 10.
57. Smith, op. cit., p. 217.
58. Meyer, op. cit., p. 195.
59. Jeans, op. cit., p. 156.
60. Sachs, op. cit., p. 109.
61 . Weber, op. cit., p. 82.
62. Helmholtz, op. cit., p. 370.
63 . Donald J. Grout, A History of Western Music (N.Y.: W. W.
Norton & Co., Inc., 1960), p. 43.
64. Ibid., p. 52.
65. Ibid., p. 61.
66. Hugh M. Miller, History of Music (N.Y. : Barnes & Noble
Inc., 1960). p. 23.
67. Sachs, Our Musical Heritage (N.Y.: Prentis Hall & Co.,
1948), p. 67.
68 . Chas. Villiers Stanford and Cecil Forsyth, A History of
Music (N.Y.: MacMillan Co., 1940), p. 29.
69. Smith, op. cit., p. 217.
70. Stanford & Forsyth, op. cit., p. 29.
71 . Franco of Cologne, "Ars Cantus Mensurabilis," in Antiqui
ty and the Middle Ages, Vol. I of Source Readings in
Music History, ed. by Oliver Strunk (4 vols.; N.Y.: W.
W. Norton & Co., 1965), p. 156.
72. Miller, op. cit., p. 22.
73. Curt Sachs, Our Musical Heritage, op. cit., p. 68.
74. Helmholtz, op. cit., p. 244.
75. Ibid., p. 245.
76. Ibid., p. 246.
77. Ibid., p. 196.
78. Baltzell, op. cit., p. 73.
79. Grout, op. cit., p. 153.
80. Ibid., p. 98.
81 . Helmholtz, op. cit, p. vii.
82. Ibid., p. 244.
83. Ibid., p. 369.
84. Raymond, op. cit., p. 247.
85. Ibid., pp. 250-251.
86. George Santayana, The Sense of Beauty (N.Y.: Modern

*7*
 Library, 1955), pp. 73-74.
87. Helmholtz, op. cit., p. 226.
88. Ibid., p. 240.
89. Winthrop Sargeant and Lahiri, "A Study of East Indian
Rhythm," Musical Quarterly, XVII (1931), 435^36,
quoted in Meyer, op. cit., p. 237.
90. Bauer & Peyser, op. cit., p. 1 1 .
91. Sargeant & Lahiri, op. cit., p. 434, quoted in Meyer, op.
cit , p. 237.
92. Francois Raguenet, "A Comparison Between the French
and Italian Music," Musical Quarterly, XXXII (1946),
417-418, quoted in Meyer, op. cit., p. 208.
93. Heinrich Glarean, "Dodecachordon," Book III, chap, xxiv,
in The Renaissance, Vol. II of Source Readings In Mu
sic History, ed. by Oliver Strunk, op. cit., pp. 32-33,
quoted in Meyer, op. cit., p. 208.
94. Carl E. Seashore, "Intoduction," to Milton Metfessel, Pho-
nophotography in Folk Music (Chapel Hill: University
of North Carolina Press, 1928), pp. 11, 12, quoted in
Meyer, op. cit., p. 202.
95. Rudolph Reti, Tonality, A tonality, Pan tonality (London:
Rockliff, 1958), p. 50.
96. Howard & Lyons, op. cit., p. 63.
97. Ibid., p. 61.
98. Ibid., p. 63.
99. Ibid., frontispiece.
100. Reti, op. cit., p. 38.
101 . Howard & Lyons, op. cit., p. 64.
102. Reti, op. cit., p.38.
103. Ibid, p. 72.
104. Ibid, p. 50.
105. Ibid, p. 54.
106. Ibid, p. 72-73.
107. Howard & Lyons, op. cit., p. 122.
108. Ibid, p. 123.
109. Ibid, p. 127.
110. Ibid, p. 132.
111. Henry Pleasants, The Agony of Modern Music (N.Y.:
Simon & Shuster, 1955),pp. 18-19.
112. Reti, op. cit., p. 39.
113. Aristotle Politics Book I. chap. 8, 9. Passim.
114. Pleasants, op. cit., p. x.
275
115. Ibid., p. 8.
116. Ibid, pp. 15-16.
117. Aaron Copland, Music and Imagination (Camrbidge: Har
vard University Press, 1952).
118. Pleasants, op. cit., p. 26.
119. Reti, op. cit., p. 129.
120. Pleasants, op. cit., p. 7.
121. Ibid., pp. 29-30.
122. Aaron Copland, Our New Music (N.Y.: Whittlesey House,
1941).
123. Pleasants, op. cit., p. 33-34. {Herald Tribune, Jan. 27,
1950.)
124. A. R. Gilliland and H. T. Moore, "The Immediate and
Long-Time Effects of Classical and Popular Phono
graph Selections," in The Effects of Music, ed. by Max
Schoen (N.Y.: Harcourt, Brace & Co., Inc., 1927), p.
220.
125. Otto Ortman, "Types of Listeners: Genetic Considera
tions," in Ibid., p. 64.
126. Ibid, p. 48.
127. Ibid, p. 47-48.
128. Reti, op. cit., p. 106.
129. Jeans, op. cit., p. 241.
130. Smith, op. cit., p. 148.
131. "The Music Crops Up," Detroit News, Nov. 30, 1958, p.
12D.
132. "Pastoral Symphony Moos 'Em Down," Detroit Free
Press, May 21, 1963.
133. Sir James George Fraser, The Golden Bough (N.Y.: Mac-
millan Co., 1960), pp. 389, 388.
134. Aristotle Problems Book XIX. 29.
135. Helmholtz, op. cit., pp. 251-2.
136. Ibid., p. 250.
137. Ibid, p. 251.
138. John Willet, The Theatre of Bertolt Brecht (London:
Methuen & Co., 1959), pp. 225-226.
139. "Plagiarism An Old custom," Detroit News, June 9, 1965.
140. Raymond, op. cit., pp. 206-208.
141. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, "A Letter," in The Creative
Process, ed. by Brewster Ghislin (Mentor, 1955), pp.
44-45.
142. George Plekhanov, Unaddressed Letters - Art and Social
276
 Life (Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House,
1957), p. 216.
143. Reti, op. cit., p.?
144. Fraser, op. cit., p. 50.
145. "Diabetic Hears Evangelist: Discards Insulin and Dies,"
Detroit Free Press, (Around late '50s or early '60s:
when Oral Roberts preached at the Michigan State
Fairgrounds.)
146. George Plekhanov, The Materialist Conception of History
(N.Y.: International Publishers, 1940), p. 25.
147. George Plekhanov, The Development of the Monist View
of History (Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing
House, 1956), p. 163.
148. Plekhanov, Materialist Conception . . ., op. cit., pp. 38-39.
149. Ibid., p. 25.
150. Karl Marx and Frederick Engels, Literature and Art (N.Y.:
International Publishers, 1947), pp. 18-19.
151. V. I. Lenin, Materialism and Empirio-Criticism (Moscow:
Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1952), p. 239.
152. Plekhanov, Unaddressed Letters . . . , op. cit., p. 13.
153. Ibid, p. 15.
154. Ibid, p. 38.
155. Ibid, p. 41.
156. Sachs, The Rise . . ., op. cit., p. 130.
157. Ibid., p. 132.
158. Ibid, p. 133.
159. Schneider, op. cit, pp. 14-15.
160. Nettl,op. cit., p. 50.
161. Sachs, The Rise of Music in the Ancient World, East &
West, op. cit., pp. 77 -78.
162. Nettl, op. cit., p. 54.
163. Aristoxenus The Elements of Harmony 1.23.
164. Aristotle Problems Book XIX. 36, 42, 13, 1 1 , 12.
165. Robert W. Lundin, An Objective Psychology of Music (2nd
ed.; N.Y.: The Ronald Press Co., 1967), p. 92, 97.
166. Helmholtz, op. cit., pp. 330-31.
167. Lundin, op. cit., pp. 99-100.
168. Willi Apel, op. cit., p. 181.
169. Helmholtz, op. cit, pp. 171-72.
170. Ibid., p. 171.
171. Ibid, p. 170.
172. Ibid, p. 171.
277
173. Henry Pleasants, in a conversation Aug. 1 1, 1969 in Lon
don.
174. Alan P. Merriam, The Anthropology of Music (Northwest
ern University Press, 1964), p. 29.
175. Ibid., p. 286.
176. Plekhanov, Unaddressed Letters, op. cit., p. 102.
177. Merriam, The Anthropology of Music, op. cit., p. 274.
178. Ibid, p. 97.
179. Ibid., p. 274.
180. Schneider, op. cit., p. 16.
181. Ibid., p. 16
182. Meyer, op. cit., p. 63.
183. Merriam, The Anthropology of Music, op. cit., pp. 11-12.
184. Ibid., p. 11.
185. Ibid, p.263.
186. George Herzog, "Speech Melody & Primitive Music," in
Musical Quarterly , Vol. XX (October, 1934), p. 466,
quoted in Merriam, "African Music," in Continuity &
Change in African Cultures, op. cit., p. 53.
187. Merriam, "African Music," op. cit., pp. 73-4.
188. Aristophanes, quoted in Smith, op. cit, p. 73.
189. Aristotle Problems Book XIX. 12.
190. Sachs, Our Musical Heritage, op. cit., pp. 43-4.
191. Ibid, p. 41.
192. Cleonides, "Harmonic Introduction," in Antiquity and the
Middle Ages, Vol. 1 of Source Readings In Music
History, ed. by Oliver Strunk, op. cit., p. 38.
193. Ibid, pp. 45-6.
194. Isadore of Seville, "Etymologiarum," in Ibid., pp.93-100.
195. Johann Joseph Fux, The Study of Counterpoint from
Gradus Ad Parnassum, ed. and translated by Alfred
Mann (N.Y.: W. W. Norton & Co., Inc., 1965), p. 97.
196. Ibid., p. 28.
197. Gioseffe Zarlino, "Instituzioni armoniche," in Source
Readings In Music History, ed. by Oliver Strunk
(N.Y.: W. W. Norton & Co., Inc., 1950), p. 233.
198. Fux, op. cit., p. 97.
199. Apel, op. cit., p. 744.
200. Athenaeus, "Sophists at Dinner," in Source Readings In
Music History, op. cit., pp. 53-4.
201. Smith, op. cit., p. 84.
202- Sachs, Our Musical Heritage, op. cit., p. 36.

a78
203. Cleonides, op. cit., p. 41.
204. Smith, op. cit., p. 218.
205. Ibid, p. 340.
206. Fux, op. cit., pp.77, 80.
207. Ibid., p. 35.
208. Franco of Cologne, op. cit., p. 156.
209. Fux, op. cit, p. 39.
210. Plato De Republica 1. 10.
211. Sachs, History of Musical Instruments, op. cit., p. 1 40.
212. P. H. Lang, Music in Western Civilization (N.Y.: W. W.
Norton & Co. Inc., 1941), p. 457.
213. Helmholtz, op. cit., p. 245.
214. Grout, op. cit., p.291.
215. Fux, op. cit., pp. 1 1 1-1 12.
216. Ibid, p.33.
217. Grout, op. cit., p. 98.
218 . J. P. Rameau, "Traite de l'harmonie," in Source Readings
. . .,op cit., p. 567.

279
 pop
A harmony int 29-30, 231-233,248-251;
ACCHKNTALSi 109, 112
ACCOUST ICS, and conditioningt 160-
167;
offeet s of in music historyt 40,
48-49, 52, 54-56, 69-73, 86-
88 , 95-97, 103-104, 166, 213, 222;
of fourth t 88-97;
* general summary of theory ; 257-
271;
of harmony i 121-123;
4 modern musict 148-150, 151, 155,
166-168;
of noisei 60-63, 131-133;
of the scalet 43-66;
(See also BEATS; EAR; INTERVALS;
NATURAL LAV; OVERTONES; RATIOS)
ADJECTIVES, in ausici 242-243;
(See aleo DUALITY; MUSIC compared
to—; ft WORDS)
APRICAN, Bemba; 248, 251;
dintCOlet 34-36;
jay-near i 248, 251;
harpt 18-19;
pgrtaisfiie, 31-33;
»0Twath ft third i 36-37, (See aleo
BLUE NOTES; INTERVALS, aerenth
ft txt ftM
tomallty. VT-T8,
ALHIUTZOeT, of art1st t 151-159, 200-
202
AMTAXQAI DDIAK, Apamjg fSMUi
38;
Bagongret 242-243;
do—ard laieal notion i 95-97;
Flath—di 242-243;
auelcal bow i 38-39;
Oamhat 24-25;
pentatonioi 31, 68;
ft PTfect lntervalat 232-233;
rhythm corniest at 137-140 pangin;
tonality « 29-30, 77-78 , 80;
(See also rlUMZTXVB)
ANCIENT, harmony : (8m fURJOfT);
musical ranget 51, 53-54;
saalgg, 54-57, 68-89, 79-80;
avoidance of semitoy i (8m INTER
VALS, s—ltMn /avoidamoe *tj)%
refusal te aoeeyt sixths ft third?t
54-55;
tonality i 39-30, T6-78;
(See nine PRIMITIVE)
ANCIENT GREECEt 28, 220-221, 230-233 j
architecture t (See ARCHITECTURE)-
280
downward motion of music i 95-97,
252-256;
genera; 230-231, 252, 254;
Hymn to Apollot 170-171;
■od»« oft 76,108-109,113, 2S2, 254-256;
musical range; 52;
A tetrachord t 252-256;
third in i 54, 106-107;
tonality ini 77-78, 79-80;
twelve-t one series ini 112-113;
(See also individual names, i.e.,
ARISTOTLE; ARISTOXSNUS; PLATO; etc^
ANCIENT MEXICOt 31
ANCIENT PERU; 31, 17"1B
A/ACHE i (See AMERICAN INDIANS)
APEL, WILLIi 31, 235-239, 249
ARABIC, division of octave i 229;
fiddles * lyre i 18-19;
scalesi 36, 55-57, 65-68, 76, 226,
253
ARCHITECTURE, Baroque i 190-193;
duality int 174-175, 187;
Gothict 189-193;
Greek; 187-191;
19th cent. Italiant 188, 189-190;
laws oft 191-196;
A musict 176-177, 179, 186, 191-
192, 194, 200;
A originality; 187-197;
purposet 194-195;
Romant 189-190. 194-195;
A societyt 187-197;
(See also DUALITY, in the arts.)
ARISTOPHANESt 248-249
\RISTOTLEi 29 , 77,78 , 79 , 96, 108,
113, 157, 175, 176, 205, 231-
233, 248
ARISTOXSNUSt 230-231, 249-250, 251
D'ARRSZZO, GUIDOi 35
ARTi (See DUALITY, in the arts; A
PAINTING)
ART FOR ART'S SAKE; 155-159;
(See also ARTIST; CAPITALISM; A
MODERN MUSIC)
ARTIST, separation from societyt
151-159, 200-202, 205
AS UN, musict 55, 252-253;
pentatonic i 31;
E. Asian scalest 36-38;
twelve-tones; 112-113
ASSOCIATION, of ideas to architec
turet (See ARCHITECTURE);
A ideas of beauty; 59-60;
A ideas to notes and melodic pat
ternst 99;
(See also HABIT)
ATHENATUBi 249, 250-251
ATONALITYi 48, 145-146, 185 ;
avoidance of consonance i 148-149; c
term resented i 146-147;
(See also MODERN UUSICf SCHOEN- CADENGE, acoustics oft 89-93;
BERG) definedt 69;
ATONAL MUSICi (See MODERN IIUSIC) in harnonyi 94-96, 120, £70;
AULOSi (See DIAULOS) A tonalltyi 134;
AUSTRALIAN, Bushmen i 22, 241-242 (See also INTERVALS, fourth)
CAMERATAi 264-265
CAPITALISM, and i 151-159, 201-
202
CASTRATIi 28
CELTSi 31
BACH, J.S.i 155-157, 171-172, 179, CENSORDiUSi 29
183, 185, 197 CENTS (AeousUcs)i 227;
BALZAC i 154 defined i 227;
BANTU i 29 CHANCE i (See CULTURE,
BASS, sow intervals sore dj"f"r"l* CHANT i 63, 109, 113;
ini 49-50. 235-239 Gregorian i 128;
BASSO CONTIMUOt 118, 264-265 (See also CHURCH)
BAUER, MARION i 30, 96 CHINESEt 253;
BEATLESi 156-157, 183-184 harnonyi 114;
BEATS, absence of in dissonance pos music A nature i 153-154;
sible i 233-234 ; music as "noise*t 55, 57-59;
in bassi 49-50; pentatonic i (See SCALE, penta-
definedt 46; tonic);
as a cause of dissonance i 46, BBiBi modern uee of piano i 58;
in harmonyi 130-131, 233-239; religiont (See RELIGION);
in noise i 60-61; "rovolut lonary* musici 58;
relationship of to width of inter tonalltyi 77;
vals and range t 235-239 ; twelve-tonesi 112-113;
(Bsc also ACOUSTICS ; EAR; OVERTOBB; and the Westi 135, 179;
RATIOS; HARMONY) (See also ASIAN)
BEAUTY, in architecture i 194-195; GHINESS SCALEi 31, 68, 333;
and associationsi 59-60, (See also (Boo also SCALE, poatatonic)
"USED TO" THEORY) ; CHORD PROGRESSIONSt 115-116, 118,127-
jt froa consonance i SB-55, 131 passim. 261;
am -107, 114, 234-235, 249-251; history of i 119-135;
duality of appreciationi 170-172, (See also HARMONY)
(Bos also DUALITY); CHORDS, slow to bo discovered i 117-
modern A primitive ofi 19- 127, 139-133;
23; limits oft 131-133;
principle oft 101-103, 139-141, (Bos also HARMONY)
166-147, 343-345 ; CHRISTIANITY i (Boo CHURCH)
of thirds A sixthsi 53-54 CHROMATIC (Ok. genus) i 230-231
ii96-97, 1ST, 164-165, 1T9, CHROMATICISMt 10 (in ref. table), 74-?%
164-185, 197, 154 in the Eastt 112-113, 225;
ALBANi 149-151 in Qroocoi US-US, 3T4 (See aleo
BIOLOGY • (Boo PHYSIOLOGY) GENERA);
BLACKSt 180, 234; A kevsi 111-113;
(8— also AFRXCAl JAZZ)f lack of in primitive musici 35,
"BUR* MOTES i 36-37; (See also INTERVALS, semitone
•rlain related to weak overtoneei /avoidance 0(7);
64-68, 335-336; in the Mesti 55 . 74-76, (See also
as ■weeping-note" i 243-144; MODERN MUSIC) ;
(See also INTERVALS, sovoyU A (Boo also INTERVALS, semitonet A
thirds ^insure tumimj! oi7) TRANSPOSITION)
BOULEZi 154 CHURCH, Christian! 107-108, 114-116;
BOfI (Boo HUNTER'S BOW) history ini 1*7-113 paania. 351;
BKMOHT, BHRTOLTi 135, 186-187, 305 (Bee also MODES; OROANUM; RELIGUk
BmOADMAYi 155 SECULAR)
28l
CLASSICAL, periods, different
the art* i 110-121 ;
reriui popular music t 164-166 1
Tsrsus scdern music « 169,179, 197-tti
CLASSICAL SYMPHONY (ProHofleT) i 169
CLEONIDSSi 849-250, 252
COLERIDGE, SAM'LT.i 18T
COLORt 15, 102-103, 176,221, 242-243,
(Ses also ADJECTIVES; MUSIC A the
arts; and MUSIC, compared to — )
COMPETITION i (Ses CAPITALISM)
CONCORDS i (See CHORDS)
CONDITION DC i (See ACOUSTICS; ASSOC
IATIONS; CULTURAL THEORIES; HABIT;
TO- THEORY)
SSS, of asoust ic sffectsi
69-79, 88, 125-126, 134 ;
(See also ACOUSTICS; HISTORY,
slowness of)
CONSONANCE, theories A acoustics oft
(See BEATS);
in baast 49-50;
in cultural theories t 27-31, 233-
219;
definedt 133-134;
distinct fron beauty, harmony i 52-
55,106-107,114, 234-235, 249-251;
of octave, 4th A 5th i 27-30;
and ratios i 46-47;
A repetitions oft 164-167;
of third t51-52 , 235-239 passim;
(See also ACOUSTICS; HARMONY; IN
TERVALS; RATIOS)
CONTRADICTIONS i Introduction, 59-60;
(See also MATERIALISM)
COPERNICUS! 216, 266, 268, 271
COPLAND, AARON I 157, 159-160, 179
COUNCIL OP TRENT i 107
COUNTERPOINTi 257-279;
(See also PUX; HARMONY; POLYVO-
CALITY)
COUNTER-RHYTHMS i (See SYNCOPATION)
CROSS-CULTURAL, aspect e of the artsi
(See DUALITY);
aspect e of music i (See CULTURAL
THEORIES; CULTURE; ETHNOMUSI-
COLOGY)
CROSS-REPERENCE, in the artsi (See
ADJECTIVES; MUSIC A the arts; A
MUSIC, compared to — )
CROSS-RHYTHMS t (See SYNCOPATION)
CRYDC SOUNDSt (See PORTAMENTO)
CULTURAL THEORIES i Chapters I, II;
of cadence t88-89;
of consonance . dissonancet 14, 27-
31, 140-167, 211-412, 233-229;
definedt 15-16;
abls to explain differences be
tween peoploei 22-23;
and harmonyt 96-99;
explanation of intervals, octave,
4th A 5th i 30-31;
limitations ofi 22-23, Chap. 2, 131-
282
133, 178-181, 196, 234, 242-245;
and originalityt 181-201
and scalesi 31-40, 54-57;'
and tasts i 163-164;
and tonalityt 76-79 passin;
and twelve-tone theory i 147-148;
(See also STHNOMUSICOLOGY)
CULTURE, change, in East A Vssti 67-
68, 113, 117-128 (See also
HISTORY, slowness of);
and direction of change i 153 1
215, 219-220, 263;
architecture often independent oft
187-1971
music often independent oft 59-60,
63, 67-69, 120-121, 128,
135, 172-181 passim. 198, 220-
222 , 244 — 247, (See also
DUALITY; and HISTORY, music of
ten independent of temporally);
(See aleo CAPITALISM; CULTURAL
THEORIES; ECONOMICS; RELIGION)
CYCLE OP riTTHSi 73-89, 113 J
definedt 73-74;
stops in and limits oft 78-80,
82, 84-88;
and tonalityt 80-81, 83-89 passim;
relationship to principle of Uset
tMA( See also USE, principle of);
(Ses also SCALES)
CYCLE OP FOURTHS t 253;
(Sse also SCALES)
DANCEl 241-242;
(See also RHYTHM)
DARWINi 15;
(See aleo NATURAL SELECTION)
DA 7DC1 t 218
OBBUSSY t 189
DECLAMATIONt 80
DIALECTICSt Introduction, 40, 239;
(See aleo DUALITY; MATERIALISM;
UNITY OF OPPOSITES)
DIATONIC t (See SCALES, diatonic anc
miss)
DIAULOSt 848-249
DICKENS, CHAS.t 188-187
DDTERENCE TONES t (See EAR)
DX8CANTt 62
DISCORD t (See DISSONANCE; HARMONY)
DISSONANCE, theories and acoustics
ofi ^See BEATS);
in cultural theories 1 39, 149,
233-t29;
definedt 48-47, 133-134;
dependent upon range, beats and
width of intervalst 235-239;
and ratiosi 46-47;
 and repetitions of t 164-167;
role of « 52-55, 101-103, 129-131,
134, 234-235;
(See also ACOUSTICS; HARiiONY;
INTERVALS; NOISE; RATIOS)
DIVISION OF OCTAVEt 54-55, 66, 225-
227, 229, 233;
scales proceedt 34, 229
DIVISIVE PRINCIPLEt 32-34, 230-231,
232-233
DIXIE « 180
DIXIELAND, and counterpointt 265
DON GIOVANNI(Mo»art) « 185
DO, RE, MIt (See SCALE, diatonic A
aajorT"
DORIANt (See MODES)
DOWNWARD LEADING TONEt 85, 254-255;
(See also GENERA)
D0.7NJTARD MOTION, in ancient Greek
music 4 primitive musict 96-97.
252-256;
(See also D0WN7ARD LEADING TONE;
INTERVALS, reckoned upward)
DRA"VDCSi 22-23
DRONEt (See HARMONY, earliest; and
SCOTTISH drone)
DRU-it18, 51, 106
DUALITYt 170-200;
in music appreciationt 170-172, 182;
in the artst 174-175, 180-181;
components and forms ofti7i, 174-
175, 182, 187;
of music and changes of in the
history of musict 173-174,221-G23; ENHARMONIC (Gk. genus) t 230-231, 252,
originality in arts due to confu
sion oft 195-197;
(See also MUSIC A the arts; and
MUSIC, compared to — ; and ORI
GIN, two elements of; and UNITY
or OPPOSITES)
DUSTt (See POLYVOCALITY)
E 242-245;
EARt 132-133;
makes average judgment of pitch
thru timet 230-231;
compared to ej[et 46-47, 237;
hears overt one si 44;
responds to ratiost 46-47;
produces Summation A Difference
tone 8t 97, 167-168;
(See also ACOUSTICS; NATURAL SE
LECTION; NOISE; PHYSIOLOGY)
EAST INDIANt 79, 171-173, 230;
division of octavet 229, 233;
mythologyt 154;
rhythm contestst 137-140;
Talast 233
ECHOt 232
283
ECONOMICS, and artt 22-23;
in notions of beautyt 21-23. 60;
in cultural theories; 15-16, 242;
in dancingt 241-242;
in origin of musical instrumentst
16-21 ;
basis of materialist theoryt 218-
219;
as basis for mimicryt 241-242t
affectea by nature t 217-219
in origin of musict 14-15, 59-60,
220-222, 241-242;
and rhythmt 21, 241-242;
4 social changet 153, 218-221;
in content of songst 21, 241-242;
(See also CULTURE; MATERIALISM)
SDGERLY, BEATRICEt 24, 38
EGYPTIAN, pentatonict 31
ELECTRONIC MUSICt (See MODERN MUSIC)
ELEVENTHt 50;
(See also INTERVALS, fourth)
ELLIS, ALEXANDER J.t 28, 55-57, 65,
253
EMOTION, principle's oft 101-102, 139-
141, 176-177, 181;
(See also BEAUTY)
EMPIRICISMt Appendix I passim;
in ethnoausicologyt 15-16, 36,
240, 242-246;
(See also CULTURAL THEORIES)
ENGEL, CARLt 32, 36-37
ENGELS, FRED*t 220
ENGLANDt 110, 172, 251
254
EQUALITY, of scale stepst (See SCALES,
inequality of; and TSlPERilENT)
ESTHETICSt (See BEAUTY; RHYTHM)
ETHNOMUSICOLOGYt 239-247 of app'x.11
as cultural theoryt 239-241;
4 economicst 242;
empiricism oft 15-16, 36, 240,
242-246;
errors in approacht 234, 242-247;
over-reaction to ethnocentric ismt
and musical evolutiont 241-24T;
A pitch measurementt 36, 230-311,
242, 243-244;
(See also AMERICAN INDIANS; CUL
TURAL THEORIES; PRIMITIVE; PSYCH
OLOGY)
ETHOS t (See MODES, Greek)
EVOLUTIONt 55-56, 241-242, 244;
(See also ACOUSTICS, effects of
in music history; and NATURAL SE
LECTION)
EXPERIENCEt (See CULTURAL THEORIES;
HABIT; ASSOCIATIONS)
EYE, and gart 46-47, 237

FEUDALISM i 77, 151-155
FiDDLiS, Apache i 38 ;
Arabiant 19-20 j
origin from hunter's bowt 18-20
riJTHi 75ee INTERVALS, fifth)
FIGURED BASS i (See BASSO CONTINUO)
FLUTEt 254;
use in hunting i 18)
in scale format ion i 32-34, 55,
228;
vertical (Panspipes) i 1*-18
rOLK-SONSi 94-96 ;
chord structure ofi 123, 128-129,
103, 289 ;
development oft 204, 205;
trsdition of tonality int 155 , 204 1
(See also MELODY; SECULAR MUSIC)
FORSYTHE, CECIL t 112, 114
FOURTH t (See INTERVALS, fourth)
FRANCO OF COLOGNE t 115 ;
includes thirds as consonancet
119
FRASER, SIR JAMES 0 j 175-176
FREEDOM, in artt 202-204
"FREE WORLD" i 153
FRENCH REVOLUTION t 153-158 ;
(See also CAPITALISM)
FUNDAMENTAL t (See ACOUSTICS; TONIC)
FUTURE, of musict 201. 204-205
FUX, JOHANN JOSEPH t 250, 259-279
G 248-251;
GALILEI, GALILEO t 216-217
GALILEI, VINCSNZOt 284
GALILEO (Brecht) t 186
GARGOYLES t 189
GENERA (Gk.)t 230-231, 252, 254
GERSHWIN, GEORGE (forgy £ Bess)! 157
GLAREAN, HEINRICHi 108
GLISSANDO. defined t 35;
historically rejected t 60-63 1
(See also PORTAMENTO; "BLUE* NOTES)
GONGSi 79, 154
GOTHIC, architecture t (See ARCHITEC
TURE);
music t (See CHURCH)
ORADUS AD PARMASSUMt 257-279
GREATER PERFECT SYSTEM (Gk.)i 253,2fifi|
origin t 254-256;
(See also TETRACHORD)
GREEKS ( (See ANCIENT GREECE)
GROUT, DONALD Ja 109
284
GYMELt 110, 114-115, 248, 251;
fSee also HARMONY, earliest)
H
HABIT, and acoustics t 160-167;
as associationt 58, 60;
and beautyt 60;
in cadence conceptst 88-89;
and concepts of consonance t 147-
150;
in scale preferencet 55-57;
(See also CULTURAL THEORIES)
HALF-TONEt (See INTERVALS, semi
tone)
HARMONIC MINORt (See SCALES, minor)
HARMONIC MUSICt (See HARMONY)
HARMONIC RHYTHM t (See CHORD PROGRES
SIONS)
HARMONICSt (See OVERTONES)
HARMONIC SERIESt (See OVERTONES)
HARMONYt Chapter IV;
based on octaTe, fourth A fifth!
103-104, 121-125, 128-129;
and cadence t 94-96;
compared to single tonee! 99-100,
125-126;
as context for intervals and com
binations t 54 , 99-104, 114, 116-
117, 125-126, 129-130, 162-184,
165, 234-235;
and cycle of 5thst 98-99;
definition and terms t Introduction,
40,
distinct from simple consonance t
52-55, 106-107, 114, 234, 249-294
earliestt 106-110, 113-114, 231-833;
early failures ofi 99, 114-115,
123 ;
function ofi 100, 104, 126-127,
134;
implied in early melodyt 94-98;
preconditions fort 99-100, 104,
114-115, 128;
rejection, lack of, among primi
tivest 59, 99-101, 103-105,
123-124;
and major-minor scale systemt 106-
116, (See also SECULAR MUSIC);
cause of in third t 106-120;
A tonality t 77-78;
(See also CHORDS; CHORD PROGRES
SIONS; OYMELl OROANUM)
HANDELt 86, 158-157, 180, 197 , 245
HARP, Africant 19-20, 175
HAYDNt 169-170, 185, 198-197, 200-201
HELMHOLTZ, HERMANN L.F.t 29, 48, 48,
53, 54, 55, 61, 62, 64, 72-79, 82,
83, 86, 98, 99, 107, 117-119, 127,
 128, 129, 134, 167, 175-177, 221,
233-238, 247
HSRZOG, GEORGE t 247
HEXACHORDt 35
HIGH NOTES i (See ADJECTIVES in mu
sic; TREBLE)
HINDEMITH, PAULt 159
HISTORY, relation to acoustics i
(See ACOUSTICS, effects of in mu
sic history) ;
architecure often independent of
temporally! 189-197 passim;
music often independent of tem
porallyt 178-179, 181-186 pas
sim, 198;
slowness of t 113, 117, 126-127;
(See also CHURCH, history in; A
CONSCIOUSNESS; CULTURE)
HITLER i 135
HOUOPHONIC, deflined A termst Intro
duction, 40;
(See also U0N0PH0NY)
HONEGGER, ARTHUR i 159
HORNBOSTEL, E.1I. VONi 242-243 , 248
HOWARD, J.T.i 29 , 48, 146-147,150-151
HOVLDG SOUNDSt (See PORTAMENTO)
HUMAN NATURE, corollary idea to, o-
rerlookedi 210-211;
materialist viewpoint of t 209-210;
(See also MATERIALISM)
HUMAN SENSESt (See PHYSIOLOGY)
HUNTER'S BOf, relation to stringed
instrumentst 18-20 , 24-25 , 38-39;
(See also MUSICAL BOf)
HUNTINGt (See ECONOMICS)
HYMN TO APOLLO (Ancient Gk.)t 170-171
I universality oft 45, 48, 103,245
ICELANDt 110
IMITATION, in rhythmt 137, 140, 241-
242;
(See also MIMICRY)
INDEPENDENCE, of music from society,
historyt (See CULTURE, music of
ten independent of; EVOLUTION;
and HISTORY, music often inde
pendent of temporally)
INDIANSt (See AMERICAN INDIANS; EAST
INDIAN)
INDIVIDUALISMt (See CAPITALISM)
INDONESIANSt 29
INDUSTRYt (See CAPITALISM; ECONOMICS)
INEQUALITY, of scalet (See SCALES.il-
e quality of)
INSTRUMSNTALISMt 113, 263-264
INSTRUMENTSt (See MUSICAL INSTRUMENT
INTERVALSt Chapter 111,233-239 passim:
relationship of consonance to tht
285
INTERVALS (Continued)
range, width and beats of t 46-47,
49-53, 233-234, 235-239;
definedt 10 (Intro.), 26-27;
of the diatonic acalei 75 ;
dissonance of related to beatst 45.
47, 133-134, 235-239;
fifths (See also "TWELFTH) , in
basst 49-50, 233-239 passimt
beauty oft 52-54;
consonance oft 27-30;
cultural theory oft 25, 40, 30-
31, 56-57;
diminishedt 262;
in naturei 45;
common origin theory oft 30-31,
32;
formed from overt onest 44-45, 72;
parallelt 114, (See also 0R-
GANUM);
ratio ofi 45-47;
natural A temperedt 135-136;
uniye reality ofi 45 , 48 . 245, 103
fourths (See also ELEVENTH), and
beauty oft 52-54;
as cadence t 88-97;
implied in cadencet 94-96;
consonance ofi 27-30;
cultural theory oft 25, 40, 30-
31, 56-57;
theory of cycle ofi 253;
as a fifth in "reverse"t 47-48|
origin ofi 91-93;
common origin theory oft 30-31,
32;
parallelt (See ORGANUU) ;
ratio oft 45-47;
in origin of tetrachordt 253-
255;
tritonet 262;
octaves, and concepts of beauty t
52-54;
consonance ofi 27-30, 235;
in context of chord t 162-164;
cultural theories ofi 25, 40,
30-31, 56-57;
division ofi 54-55, 66, 225-227,
229, 233;
in naturei 45;
common origin theory oft 30-31,
32;
formed from overtones t 44-45, 72;
parallel t 250;
as range of early music t 51
53-54;
ratio ofi 45-47;
universality ofi 45, 48, 245;
formed from overtones t 44-45;
of pentatonict 75 ;
pitch measurement oft 35, 36n, 230-
~T3"l, 242 , 243-244;
in primitive musict 29-30, 35f,230f;
INTERVALS (Continued)
of ictlan 31-40;
scale formed from ore rt ones of oc
tave, 4th and 5th i 69-66, 269;
major second, as isolated disson
ancet 161-169 ;
as haraonic consonance in con
text of chordt 161-163 ;
entrance into scale I 80-61 ,
semitone (See also CHROMATICISM),
avoidance oft 32, 35, 64, 68,
TS, 82, 230-231,
in diatonic scale t 75-76,
equal set ofiT4-7t} 86, (See al
so ATONALITY , TEMPERAMENT;
TIELVE-TOKS SERIES);
as leading-tone i 37-38, 82-o5,
106, 110 -111, (See also
DOWJTARD LEAD DC TONE) ;
limits scale to 7 notes t 64,
86;
in modest 108-109;
in primitive music t 35;
and tonality t64-85, (See also A-
TONALITY) ;
in twelve-tone series i 74-76;
(See also DIVISION OF OCTASTS)-,
seventh (major and/or minor), as
consonance i 52 1
as leading-tone t 82-85)
as overtone of 5th (maj. 7th) t
83 ;
as overtone of tonic (min. 7th)i
44-45, 52;
entrance into scale i 83-84;
unsure tuning oft 36-38, 64-68,
86;
sixths (major and/or minor), in
antiquity, primitive music i
54-55;
beauty oft 52-55, 106-107;
as consonance t 52-53, 113;
entrance into scale t 54, 81;
unsure tuning oft 64-68 , 86;
thirds (major and/or minor. See
also SEVENTEENTH; TENTH), in
antiquityt 54-55;
beauty oft 52-54 , MMM*MI ;
as consonance t 51-52, 119;
and harmony i 106-120,
(See also SYMEL) ,
as melodic stept 51-5*, 117;
as overtone of tonic t44-45,
51-54, 72-73, 82,
parallel t (See GYMEL) ;
ratio of maj.3rd set 400BCt
*54 ;
entrance into scale t 51-52, 82-
83 ;
unsure tuning of 1 36-38, 64-68,
82 , 254, (See also ■'BLUE"
NOTES; ETHNOMUSIC0L0CY) ;
basic "trio" of tonic, 4th t 5th,
286
INTERVALS (Continued)
80-83, 103-104, 121-125,
129-130;
reckoned upward t 47-48 . 89-92,
96-97, 253-256, (See also
DOWNWARD MOTION);
width A range ft beats of deter-.
mine consonance A dissonancet
235-239;
(See also "BLUE" NOTES; individ
ual INTERVALS such as semitone ,
etc.; also RANGE; RATIOS, SCALES)
IRISH, scale st 36-38 , 68
ISADORE OF SEVILLEt 250
IVES, CHARLESt 151
J
JAPANESE, chromaticismt 112-113
JAVAt 227
JAZZ t 61, 67-68, 128, 155, 180-181,
204, 244, 265;
(See also AFRICA, "BLUE" NOTES;
POPULAR MUSIC; SECULAR MUSIC)
JEANS, SIR JAUESt 29, 44, 61, 69,
73-74, 98, 167-168
JEWISH MUSICt 180-181
JOHNSON, LYNDON RAINES t 185
JONES, A.M.i 37, 248
JOY TO THE WORLD (Handel)t 68,
270
JOYCE, JAMBS t 174
JUPITER SYlsPHONY (Moxart)t 182-183
K
KEY, definedt lll-112n.;
difference from tonic t lU-112n. ;
(See also MODERN MUSIC; TONALITY ;
TONIC)
L
LABRIOLA, ANTONIOi 218, 220
LANG, PAUL HENRY t 264
LANGUAGE t (See ADJECTIVES; fORDS)
LEADING-TONE, edict againstt 83-84;
(See also DOWNffARD LEADING TONE;
and INTERVALS, semitone A seventh
^ae leadi
LEISURE : 18
 LSNDi, V.I., on Helmholtii 221
L&SSS* PEATSCT SJOXEMjGk. ) i 252 , 254;
origin of i 254-255
LIBERlANSi 246
LITERATURE, duality of « 174-175, 1T8-
179, 181, 196 |
compared to musici 173, 176-181,
199-200;
a originalityt 186-187 ;
(See also ADJECTIVES; DUALITY;
WORDS)
LOKWE, FREDJh 179, 185
LOT NOTES, motion to from high notes
and vice versa t 96-97;
(See also ADJECTIVES; BASS; DOAN-
VARD MOTION)
LOWELL, ROB'T.i 185
LUNDIN, ROB'T.i 230, 233-235,238-239
LUTE t 29, 56
LYONS, JAMES t 29, 48, 146-147, 150-151
LYRE t 18-20, 29, 175, 254;
tuning of t 79
LYRICSt 174, 179-181;
(See also ADJECTIVES; MELODY; and
WORDS)
M MICttLANQKLOi 181
MAGIC t 214-215;
(See also RELIGION; RITUALS)
MAGNITUDE t (See RANGE)
MAJOR 1 (See MODES; SCALES, n*jor and
minor t and SECULAR MUSIC)
MALAYS t 225
MARXISM t (See MATERIALISM)
MARX, KARL i 220-221
MASSESi (See TASTE JtusicaT) )
MATERIALISMt Introduction, Appendix
I;
defined t 209;
A economicst (See ECONOMICS);
A human nature t 209-211;
A underestimation of role played
by naturet 210-211, 214, 222;
distinguishes natural from social
necessityt 214-223;
A science, societyt 215-223;
(See also CONTRADICTION; DIALEC
TICS; DUALITY; ECONOMICS; UNITY
or opposites)
MATHEMATICSt (See NUMEROLOGY)
MATTHESON, JOHANNi 264
MEANING, in music t (See ADJECTIVES;
CULTURE; DUALITY; LYRICS; RSPRE-
SENTATIONALISM; WORDS)
MEDIEVAL, architecturet (See ARCHI
TECTURE) ;
music t (See CHURCH; FEUDALISM)
MELODICISM, stage in evolution of
scalei 84-85, 88, 98-99;
287
A haraonyi 113-119, 124-
125;
overcomes semitone t 83, 106;
(See also CYCLE 0T 5ths; SCALE;
TONALITY)
MELODIC MINOR t (See SCALES, minor)
MELODIC TONALITY, stage in evolution
of scalei 82-83, 88, 98-99;
(See also CYCLE OF 5THS; SCALE;
TONALITY)
MELODY, cadence int 94-96;
love of t 265;
predates scales A systems of mu
sic theoryt 34, 78-79, 229;
affected by meaning A words t
61, 78-79, H3-U4.128, 247 t
(See also SCALES, diatonic
"first- melody 7)
MENDELSSOHNt 178, 179
MERKIAM, ALAN P.i 35, 239-240, 242-
248
ME5E (Gk.)i 77, 231-232, 248;
suggested origint 254-255;
(See also TONALITY; TONIC)
MEXICO ( Ancient) t pentatonici 31;
(See also AMERICAN INDIANS; AN
CIENT; PERU; PRIMITIVE)
MEYER, LEONARD B.i 29-30, 40, 97,
244-245
MILLER, ARTHURt 189
MIMICRY! 61, 241
MINORi (See MODES; SCALES, minort A
SECULAR MUSIC)
MINSTRELSt (See CHURCH; SECULAR MU
SIC)
MODERNISTSt Chapter VI, 183-185, 200-
202;
(See also MODERN MUSIC)
MODERN MUSIC t Chapter VI;
A acousticst 148-149, 151, 155,
166-168;
vs. classical music t 157-158, 183f;
electronic t 150-151;
failure of i 157-161, 184-185,
197;
A noise t 154;
general origin of t 151-155, 156-
157t
pantonalityi 150-151, 185;
polytonalityt 150-151. 185;
vs. popular music t 156-157;
(See also ATONALITY; MODERNISTS)
MODES, Churcht 108-115;
definedt 108;
Greekt 76, 108-109, 113, 352,
254-256;
(See also SCALES, major* minor)
MONOPHONY, in primitive music t 59;
A tonalityi 76-77, 245-246;
(See also HOMOPHONIC)
MONTEVANIi 179
MONTEVERDIt 263
 MOZARTi 156-157, 166, 169-170, 179,
182-185, 196-197, 199;
on originality i 200
IfUSIC, compared to other arts i 174,
175-178, 191-194, 199-200, 242-
2 4 3, (See alio individual en
tries such as ARCHITECTURE,
etc. ; also DUALITY; A UUSIC,
compared to color, eight, etc.)
compared to color t (See COLOR);
defined i 134;
* emotion i 108-109, 175-177,
(See also BEAUTY; RHYTHM, and
emotion) t
enjoyment oft 186;
A materia lismi Appendix I, (See
alto MATERIALISM)
compared to movies i 101-102;
as an influence on naturet 154, 02-
173 ;
and noise: (See NOIS);
and politics i 184-185;
and religiont (See CHURCH; RELI
GION; RITUALS)
and science t 48-49, 222;
compared to senses. smell, taste
and toueht 173-174;
compared to sightt 46-47, 237;
and societyt 59-60, 128, 201-202,
(See also CAPITALISM; CULTURE);
as foundt 172-173;
as universal languaget 69, 73,
134-135, 244-247;
early connected to words, societyt
60-61, 79, 113-114, 128, 247
MUSICAL BOsTi 19-20
MUSICAL INSTRUMENTSt 16-21, 38-39;
of Apache i 38;
of Perui 17-18;
Chinese Shit (or Se)t 154;
(See also ECONOMICS, in origin of
musical instruments; also names of
individual instruments )
MY fAJB LADY (Lerner ft Loews) t 157,
17 9, 185; in Jajiani 58
MYTHOLOGY t (See RELIGION; RITUALS)
N 233, 267;
NATURAL LAW, and consonance of oct
avo, 4th and 5th i 30, 40;
effect on consonance denied by
Schoenbergi 147-150;
A harmonyi 121-123 passim;
in origin of scalest 34-36 , 37-38,
56-57, 59-65. 69-73, 88;
and society s 200;
typo of theoryt 16, Appendix I,
(See also MATERIALISM);
288
and tonalltyi 76-77;
(See also ACOUSTICS; NATURE; NEC
ESSITY)
NATURAL SELECTIONt 15, 132-133
NATUREt 76-77;
A economicst 217-219, 222;
effects on man not conscious i 69-
effect of music or sound ont 154,
172-173;
fifth in i 45, 230-231;
A materialismt Appendix I, (See
also HUMAN NATURE)
octave ini 45, 230-231;
as a cause of technologyt 217-219,
222;
A tonalityi 76-77;
(See also ACOUSTICS; NATURAL LAM;
NATURAL SELECTION; EAR; OVERTONES;
PHYSIOLOGY)
NAZISt 135, 180-181
PAPOLITAN SIXTH i 256
NECESSITY, distinction between natur
al and socialt 214-223;
freedom in recognition ofi 202-fiO*;
of tonalityi 78-79;
(See also NATURAL LAW; NATURE)
METTL, BRUNO i 31-32, 35, 228, 230
NEUTRAL INTERVALSt 37, 65-67, 226;
(See also "BLUE" NOTES)
NINTH SYMPHONY (Beethoven) t 96-97,
157
NOISE, acoustics of i 60-62, 131-
133;
and cultural theoriest 24-26, 57-
60;
illustration ofi 61;
and modern music i 154;
separated from musical tones in
the history of music i 24-26,
57-63;
(See also DISSONANCE; INTERVALS;
NATURAL SELECTION; EAR)
NOTATION, Greekt 113;
precondition of harmonyi 115,
128;
primitivet 99;
lack of in secular music i 108,115
NUMEROLOGY, in scalest 32-35, 54-55,
62, 75-76, 225-226, 228-229, 232-
(See also RATIOS; RELIGION; RHY
THM; RITUALS; TALAS; DIVISION OT
OCTAVE)
0
OCTAVEt (See INTERVALS)
ORGANUMi 63, 107, 113, 114-115 ;
 la Afriot 248 ;
definedt 113-114 ;
"ae**t 119;
and third i 115-116 ;
(See also HARMONY)
ORIGIN, of octave 4th ft 5th la com
mon source(theory of)t 30-31, 32;
of harmony i (See HARMONY);
of scale t 34-35, Chapter III ;
of tonalityi 78-79 ;
two elements oft 14-15, 59-60, 78 ;
Tlee alao ACOUSTICS ; ECONOMICS;
INTERVALS ; SCALES) MUSICAL INS
TRUMENTS)
ORIGINALITY i 152, Chapter VII;
a* baeie for modern music i 145, 169,
195-196;
cultural bases fori 181-201;
ijspossible \o define i 198-199;
fallacies oft 169-170, 181-201;
lack of among writers, musicians,
artists A architectsi 156, 157,
169-370, 178-179, 183, 185-187, 189490
ORPHEUS i 79
ORTMAN, OTTO i 165-166
OVERTONES t 43, Chapter III, IV passiai
two arguments against theory of
in origin of scale A music i 230-
239 1
audibility in bass, treble i 49-50;
in formation of cycle of 5thsi 74;
defined i 43-44;
discovery of in ancient Orsecet
230, 231-233;
ft echo i 232;
formation oft 43-44, 230-231;
audible limits oft 44, 155;
ft modern music i 155, 166-167;
determine best position for notes
ft intervals in chords i 45, SC
SI, 267-268;
in origin of scale « 63-66, 86, 230-
231, 269-271;
weakest M&Bm also •BUB* NOTES)
(See also ACOUSTICS; CONSONANCE;
DISSONANCE; INTERVALS; NATURE;
NATURAL LAW)
P A classical music i 164-166;
PAGANi (See SECULAR MUSIC)
PAINE, THOMAS i 180
PAINTING, duality oft 174-175;
economics of contentt 22-23;
ft music i 176-177, 179, 181;
(Ses also DUALITY of the arts)
PALESTRINAi 123, 124, 125, 266
PAN'SPIPESi (See FLUTES)
CANTONAL ITY i (See MODERN MUSIC)
289
PARALLEL MOTION I (See INTERVALS; 0R-
GANUM)
PARTHENON i 187-189;
(See also ARCHITECTURE)
PARTIALSt (See OVERTONES)
PASSING NOTESi 37-38, 116-117
PATRON SYSTEMi 152-155
PEDAL POINT i (See HARMONY, earliest)
PENTATONICi (See SCALE, pontatpnic)
PERI, GIOCOMOi 118
PERSIAN, division of octave i 229,233;
scales i 55-56, 66, 76, 225-226,
253
PERU (Ancient), pentatonic i 31;
musical instruments i!7-18
PETER ft THE WOLF (Prokofiev) i 169
PEYSER, ETHYLi 30, 96
PHYSIOLOGY, in origin of music i 14-
15, 220-221;
A tonal music i 134;
(See alao ACOUSTICS; COLOR; EAR;
NATURAL SELECTION; NATURE; PSY
CHOLOGY; RHYTHM; SMELL; TASTE)
PIANO, in new Chinese music i 58
PITCH i (See ACOUSTICS; ETHNOMUSIC-
OLOGY, pitch measurement)
PLAGIARISM i (See ORIGINALITY, lack
of...)
PLATOi 108, 113, 249, 251
PLEASANTS, HENRY i 155-161, 204
PLEASURE-PAIN PRINCIPLE i 73-74;
(See also BEAUTY; EMOTION)
PLEKHANOV, GSORGEi 16, 21,201, 218-
221, 241-242, 247
POETRY i (See WORDS; LITERATURE; LY
RICS)
POLYNESIAN, pentatonici 31
POLYPHONY i 83-84 ;
(See also HARMONY; POLYVOCALITY)
POLYTONALITYi (See MODERN MUSIC)
POLYVOCALITY t 115-118;
defined i!15t
example oft 116-117;
proceeds discovery of chord si
123-126;
(See also HARMONY)
POPE JOHN XXII, edict against lead
ing-tone, t 84
POPULAR MUSICi 123, 128-129, 155,
204;
Chinese i 112;
ft modern music i 156-157;
psychological tests oft 164-166;
(See also SECULAR MUSIC)
PORGY ft. BESS (Gershwin) i 157
PORTAMENTO i 61-62;
la African music t 35;
defined i 35
PRACTICE, principle oft 78-88;
(See also USE, principle of)
PRAGMATISM i (See CULTURAL THEORIES;
 ETHNOMUSICaLOGY; MATERIALISM)
PRIMITIVES), cadence i 94-96;
and harmony i 54-59, 104-105, 123-
127, 248-251;
intervals among i 35, 51-55, 230-231;
rang* of instruments j 51, 53-54 ;
scalest 35, 55-57, 68-69)
tonality among i 29-30, 77-78 ;
Tocal music i 28-3Q33, 22T, 241, 2BHH6|
A Western music i 134-135, 245-246;
(See also AFRICA; ADJECTIVES;
AMERICAN INDIANS | ANCIENT; AN
CIENT GREECE -MEXICO -PERU; TUNDC 5
ETHNOMUSICOLOGY)
PROKOFIEV t 169
PSYCHOLOGY, of consonance A dis
sonance 1 (See CULTURAL THEOR
IES; HABIT);
of musical tastei 164-167, 233-235,
245f ,(See also TASTE^iusi-
cal/);
tests, failure oft 234, 244-247
PTOLEMY, CLAUD10 t 266-271
PYKNA (Gk.)i 254, (See also QUAR-
TERTONE)
PYTHAGORAS t 46
Q REVOLUTIONARY,•fcueitf' of Chinat 58
QUADRUPLUMt 115;
(See also ORGANUM)
QUARTERTONEt 66-67, 150, 230-231, 254;
(See also MODES, Greek)
115;
) 241; (See also ECONOMICS);
RAMBAUi 268-269
RANGE, affects consonance of inter-
ralsi 49-53, 235-239, (See also
EAR; NATURAL SELECTION);
of musical instruments (ancient )i
51, 74, 106;
A relation to width A beats of
intervals « 2 35-239, (See also
EAR; NATURAL SELECTION);
of earlv music usually an octavei
51, 53-54
RATIOS t 45-4T;
changes in, as intervals wident
49-53;
of fifth, fourth A octave t 45-47 t
(See also ACOUSTICS)
RAYMOND, GEO. L.i 30, 129-130, 191-194
29O
REALISM, of art A music t (See
SENTATIONAlT;"
of sound reproductiont 58, 158
RECITATIVE t 118
RELATIVISM, of consonances t 49-53;
(See also CULTURAL THEORIES)
RELIGION, Chineset 59 , 63 , 69, 154;
East Indian t 154;
A music t 56, 57, 128-129, 181;
influence of music on origin oft
175-176;
(See also CHURCH; RITUALS; MAGIC;
SECULAR MUSIC)
RENAI88ANCKt 120-121
REPETITION, in architecture t 191-194;
effect of on consonance, disson
ance i 164-166;
of events, necessary for discov
eries to be made t 105-106;
in music of all cultures t 137,
139, 247;
effect of in psychological testst
164-166;
(See also RHYTHM; TONALITY)
REPRESENTATIONAL, side of arts t 174-
175;
side of music t 158, 176-178;
(See also DUALITY; EMOTION)
RESONATOR, added to hunter's bowiMf
RETI, RUDOLPH t 146, 147-150, 155,
159, 166-167, 202
RHYTHMt Chapter V;
contest st 137-140;
relation to dance, mot ion t 137-140$
A emotion t 139-141. 181;
A harmony t 130;
imitation of real events t 21, 137,
* phyflologyt 137-140, 221;
A repetitiont 131,139;
A tonality t 139;
(See also DANCE; JAZZ; SAM; SYN
COPATION)
RITUALS, and music t 56. 57-58, 128,
154, 175-176;
in Prussia t 214-216;
(See also RELIGION; MAGIC;
CHURCH)
ROCK A ROLL; 135, 181, 204;
fSee also JAZZ; POPULAR MUSIC;
RHYTHM)
ROMANS, ancient t 108-109, 110, 251;
architecture oft (See ARCHITEC-
TURE)
ROMANTIC MUSIC t 153-155;
(See also CAPITALISM; MODERN
MUSIC)
ROOT MOVEMENT t (See CHORD PROG
RESSIONS)
ROYAL PIRETORKS (Handel) t 180
RUSSIA t 135

s tones t 64-65, 86, 269-270;
SACHS, CURTi 32-34, 37-38, 110, 117,
227, 229-233, 249-250, 252
ST. AUGUSTINE i 107
SALENDRO t (See SCALE, slendro)
SAM (E. Indian) i 138, 139, 140;
(See also RHYTHM)
SANTAYANA, GEORGE i 131, 166
SARNGADEVAl 230
SCALE(S)i Chapter III, (passim);
Arabic 4 Persiant 36, 55-57, 65-68,
76, 225-226, 251;
cultural theories oft 31-40, 54-57
230-239;
formed from cycle of 5thei 73-89
passim, 113;
theory of formation from cycle
of fourthst 253 ;
diatonic.
defined I 26-27)
gaps in « 35-38, 74-75;
harmony implied int 108, 94-96;
intervale of (steps)t 74-75;
as "first" melodyt 82-83, 88,
103, 107, 111;
origin in overtones i 63-66, 68,
269-271;
formed from pentatonici 36-38,
82-83, 68-69
reason for seven note si 64, 85-
86;
as universal scale? i 69;
distinct from division of oc
tave t 66, 112-113, 228-229;
tendency to equal steps ; (See
SCALE, slendro; and TEMPERA
MENT) ;
harmonizations of i 66-88, 120-125
passim. 270;
harmony implied int 94-96, 108;
inequality oft 32-36, 74-76, 86-88,
124-125, 225-229, 233;
intervals int 32-40;
major (See also MODES; SCALES,
diatonic t also SECULAR MUSIC),
harmony implied int 108;
illustrations t 27, 75;
early popularity oft 108- 109;
exact reciprocal of Greek Dor
ian mode t 255-256;
as "first" melody i 82-83, 88, 103,
107, 111;
minor (See also MODES; SECULAR
MUSIC), harmonic minor: 84;
harmony implied int 108, 94-96 ;
illustrationt 64, 66, 84;
* leading-tone i 84;
melodic minor t 255-256;
291
SCALE(S) (Continued)
minor (Continued)
formed by and origin in over
early popularity oft 108-109;
origin oft 34-35, Chapter Illf
from finger-widths in flute-
makingt 55-56, 228;
summary oft 63-66, 269-271;
pentatonict 31-40, 227, 229|
cadence int 94-96;
common origin theory oft 32;
connection to Chinese, East
ern culture t 63, 66-69;
leads to diatonict 36-38, 68-
69, 82-83;
gags int 35-38, 74-75, 82-83;
harmony implied int 94-96;
illustrationt 65, 75, 81;
interval steps oft 75;
formed by and origin in over
tonest 63-66, 68, 81, 269ft.
absence of semitones int 74-75;
precede "systems" and theories of
musical scalest 34, 229;
formation of in primitive music t
29-30;
ryo scale st 37;
slendro t 225-229;
connected to social meaningt 59-
60, 63;
steps impelled (as opposed to con
tinuous sound)t 60-63;
temperament oft (See SCALES, slen
dro; also TEMPERAMENT);
theory of origin t 63-66, 269-271;
(See also CYCLE OF 5ths; DIVISION
OP OCTAVE; DIVISIVE PRINCIPLE;
MELODICISM; MSLODIC TONALITY;
MODES; TONALITY)
SCANDANAVIAt 110
SCHNEIDER, MARIUSl 228, 243-244
SCHOENBERG t 146-149, 155, 184
SCHUBERT t 245
SCIENCE, music as: 222;
(See also ACOUSTICS; ECONOMICS;
NATURAL LAW; NATURAL SELECTION)
NATURE; PHYSIOLOGY)
SCOTTISH, drone t 110, 250;
scale, as historic juncture be
tween pentatonic a diatonic t
36-38, 69, 82)
pentatonici 31 ;
tonality t 77 ;
and the Westt 179
SCULPTURE t 174-175)
a architecturet 189-191)
a musici 176-177)
(See also ARCHITECTURE) DUALITY
of the arts)
SECONDt (See INTERVALS, major sec-
ond A ttBitgnt )
 SECOND PRACTICE (Monteverdi) t263, 265
SECULAR IIUSICi 107-115;
effect on Church t 110-111, 114-115,
119, 128, 181;
leading-tone ins 110-111;
independence ofi 110-111, 128;
melody int 265;
notation lacking fort 108, 115, 128 ;
thirds in j 108-115, (See also
BMP.li
(See also POPULAR MUSIC)
SEEGER, CHARLES i 242, 244
SEMITONEt (See INTERVALS, semitone)
SENSES i (See separate headings such
as EAR; VISION; SMELL; etc., al
so PHYSIOLOGY)
SERIES OF FiTTHSt (See CYCLE OF 5TH)
"SERIOUS" MUSIC i (See MODERN MUSIC)
SEVENTEENTH i 50-51
(See also INTERVALS, thirds)
SHAKESPEARE i 179
SHANKAR, RAVI i 245
SIAM, division of octave i 229
SIGHT t 15;
A hearing i 46-47, 237
SINKING, in Chinese templeet 59;
downwardt 96-97, 254-256;
t leading-tonet 84, 254-256;
t mimicry t 61, 241;
of the octavet 28-30;
early range oft 51, 53-54;
(See also ANCIENT GREECE; BASS;
"BLUE" NOTES; CHANT; DECLAMATION;
JAZZ; MELODY; ORGANUM; PORTAMEN
TO; TEMPERAMENT; TOMEN; WORDS)
SINGLE TONES, more consonant than
chords i (See HARMONY, compared
to single tones) ;
(See also MONOPHONY; HARMONY, re
jection, lack of, among primitives)
SLENDROt (See SCALE, slsndrol
SLIDING SOUND i (See GLISSANDOt PORT
AMENTO; SCALE, steps impelled^as
opposed to continuous soung/)
SMELL i 15, 102-103, 173, 176
SMITH, HERMANN: 18, 28, 55, 58, 65-66,
96, 112, 170-171, 250, 253
SOCIAL CHANCE i (See CULTURAL THEOR
IES; CULTURE; DIALECTICS; ECONO
MICS; HISTORY; MATERIALISM)
SOCIALISMi 201, 205
SOCIETY, SOCIOLOGY i (See CULTURAL
THEORIES; CULTURE; ECONOMICS;
HISTORY; MATERIALISM)
SONG * (See MELODY; WORDS)
SOPRANO i 30
SOUND, music asi 172-173;
(See also ACOUSTICS; NATURE)
SOUTH PACIFIC i 179
SOVIET UNIONt 135
SPEECH t (See WORDS)
it 153
t 187
292
oTEPXISE JOTIONt (See FUX; also see
SCALE, steps impelled/ae opposed
to continuous sound/)
STILE CONCITATOt 263
STOCKHAUSENt 154
STRAVINSKIt 184;
works t 158
STRINGED INSTRUMENTSt 18-20, 24-25,
38-39, 51;
increase in ranget 51, 74, 106;
(See also DIVISIVE PRINCIPLE;
ECONOMICS in origin of musical
instruments; MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS)
STRUNK, OLIVERt 250
SUMMARY, of theory t 269-271
SUMMATION TONES t (See EAR)
SUPERSTITIONt (See MAGIC; RELIGION;
RITUAL)
SYNCOPATIONt 138, 140
(See also RHYTHM)
SYNESTHESIA t (See ADJECTIVES; STH-
NOMUSICOLOGY; MUSIC, compared to
the other arts; also MUSIC, com
pared to
T
TALASi 233
TASTE (musical) t 157, 159;
cultural theories oft 164-167;
in Western society t 204
TASTE (sense of) t 15 , 102-103, 173, 176
TCHAIKOffSKIi 164
TEMPERAMENTt 225, 226-228;
defined 1 135-136;
ignored by singers t 136, 227-228;
(See also DIVISION OF OCTAVE; and
SCALES, slendroi and TUNING)
TENORt 30;
in motets & oxganumt 124
TENTHt 50-51;
(See also INTERVALS, thirds)
TETRACHORD, origint 252-256;
(See also ANCIENT GREECE)
THEORY, need for simplet 266-271;
summary of t 269-271
THIRDt (See INTERVALS, thirds)
THOMPSON, VIRGIL t 160-161
THOROUGH-BASS t (See BASSO CONTINUO)
THREE-PENNY OPERA (Brecht A Weil)!
186
TONALITY t in American Indian musict
29-30, 77, 80;
in Ancient Greece t 52;
as drive to cadencet 134;
in Chiness musict 77;
and cycle o£ Sthst 76-88 passim;
defined t 76-77, 133, 146;
A downward motiont 85, 96-97,254-
 255)
earliest formi 79-80, 77, 82, 88;
in jaxju 67;
analogous to nature t 76-77;
origin ofi 77-79, 133;
in primitive music i 29-30, 52, 77,
96-97, 254-255
and rhythm i 130, 140;
test fort 245-246;
as reason for unequal scale t75-76;
relation to Use principlei 78-79,
82-63, 99;
(See also TONIC)
TONES, single, more consonant. sounding
than chordst 99-100
TONIC, defined i 32, 49, 52, 90-92,
13*;
different from key i lll-112n. ;
relation to intervals of the
scale i 63-64, 80-86 passim;
4 tonality i 76, (See also TO
NALITY)
"understood"t 96-97;
(See also ATONALITY; MESE)
TOOLS i (See ECONOMICS)
TOUCHt 15, 173
TRANSPOSITIONt 111-114
TREBLE, overtones less audible
in i 49
TRITONS i 262;
(See also DISSONANCE)
TROUBADOURSi 109, 156;
(See also SECULAR MUSIC)
ES 109;
,See also SECULAR MUSIC)
TUNING, different in vocal and in
strumental music t 33, 136, 127-228;
unsureness of in 3rd», 6ths and
7thsi (See "BLUE- NOTES; ETH-
NOMUSICOLOOY, pitch measure
ment! INTERVALS, sevenths,
sixths and thirds/unsure tu
ning of/; JAZZ; TEMPERAMENT)
TWELFTHt 50
(See also INTERVALS, fifth)
TWELVE-TONE SERIES, in music I 146-150,
151;
historically not a scale t 112-113,
225 ;
(See also CHROMATICISM; DIYISKX
or OCTAVE; INTERVALS, semitone;
MODERN MUSIC; SCALES, inequality
of; SCHOSNBERG; TRANSPOSITION; A
U Z
UNEQUAL, scalesi (See SCALES, ine
quality of)
293
UNITY, in architecturet (See ARCHI
TECTURE, laws of);
in ausici (See SUJURY of theory)
UNITY OF OPPOSITESi 174, 200;
(See also DIALECTICS; DUALITY)
USE, principle of, A cycle of 5thei
76-68;
definition of principle oft 78;
Of ausici 60, 66, 69, 213,216;
self-inspired in music i 200;
relation to tonality i 78-79, 99
"USED TO- THEORYt 56-57, 161-167;
(See also CULTURAL THEORIES; HABIT)
UTILITARIANISM, UTILITY i (See ARCHI
TECTURE; CULTURAL THEORIES; DUAL
ITY of the arts; ECONOMICS; USE,
self-inspired in music)
V
VERDIi 179
VIADANA, LODOVICOi 118
VICTOR EMANUEL II SHRINE i 188-190
VIETNAMt 153, 185
VISIONt 15, 46-47, 237
w
WAGNER i 135, 245
WASHINGTON IRVING i 187
WJE3SRN, ANTON « 160-161
WEBER, MAXi 29, 104
"WEEPDO-NOTES" t 244, ( SeealsoTJBK );
(See also "BLUE* NOTES; JAZZ; FOB-
TAJUENTO)
WEIL, KURT i 135
•SLSHi 110
WHISTLER, JAMES M.i 187
WHOLE TONEi (See INTERVALS, maj. 2nd)
"WHOLE-TONE SCALE* (See SCALE, penta-
tonic)
WILDS, OSCAR i 187
WOMEN, forbidden as singers i 28
WOOIT, VIRGINIA :174
WORDS, determine melody! 61, 79-80,
113, 126, 247 ;
spoech-eong; 61, 247;
(See also ADJECTIVES; ETHNOMUSIC-
OLCGY; LITERATURE; LYRICS)
1ALZAL (E. Indian)t 66
iARLINOi 250
Jag Journal Limited
Editor Sinclair Traill
HMd Offlct & Assistant Editor
Ron Brown & Comments
27 Soho Square, London, WW BBR
"(Received) a copy of
The Universality of Music
your book, THE UNIVERSAL
by Robert M. Fink (Greenwich Meridian Co,
516 iVI SAAlunWM WSKATCKfcWAM ITY GF MUSIC. To say that
1)4 pp. llltfl"UATU> J*.»5 Clf/H fMTt we are intrigued is an
Mr Fink's book is the sole representative in understatement."
music of the Materialist school; he himself
defines Materialism thus: 'Materialism is a —T.C. Fry, Pres.,
body of thought whose premise is that only Musical Heritage
real, knowable laws and forces exist and operate Society.
in the universe, and not that imaginary, mystical
or 'un-knowable* forces and laws exist. Materi
alism does not attribute the causes of things to "♦..obviously a search
fate.' He therefore postulates the existence ing study..."
since the beginning . . . of a universal law
of acoustics. He sees the gradual evblution of, Henry Pleas
for example, a musical scale based on the addi ants, author of
tion of the overtones of the tonic fourth and
fifth as Man's steps along the road to an aware "Serious Music &
ness of what was already there, and discounts AU That Jazz,"
purely cultural explanations of musical progress. internationally re-
Having outlined this in immense detail,
making every attempt at all times to write in knovmed critic.
a lucid manner intelligible even to those with
the minimum of musical knowledge, he then
goes on to put down the music of Schocnberg MYour book... has really
and his followers in no uncertain terms.
An examination of the book in the kind of done it... as "far as
detail due to it would be outside the terms of bringing order to chaos
reference of a reviewer on a jazz magazine, and goes. I...express my ap
would be beyond my capabilities anyway; (in
passing, I should note that one of the author's preciation for having had
reference to jazz makes rather painful reading: the iron filings of my
'While jazz ... is mostly bad, a great deal of it is brain tissue aligned . . . by
real art.') but I think that this remarkable book
could become a classic if given the exposure it your 'magnetic5 logic."
deserves. . . . ron brown — J. A» Luedke, Jr#

order) <n»r 5 ,
 1974— Latest, research confirms views ant
theory of the origin of ausic 'expounded
in THE imJVE3SAi.lTY OF MUSIC: (1970)

World's oldest known song

revolutionizes music history

; SAN FRANCISCO — The soft sounds
! of what is now believed to be the
'. oldest song in tiie world were played Vffcdt-T **r»f-*H' tMM k^n t-arHrT rr "jet *r m
• here recently «t the University of Cali-
; fornia for the first time in a. 100 years
; "This has revolutionized the whole
! concept of the origin of Western music &*irx nr* >- # r
| Richard L. Crocker, professor of music
; history at Berkeley, commented. rvr- -^v ;xr ,w->r ,
The discovery proves that Western -. r Ha» ift n IT Hi
! music is about 1.400 years older than -a» « : m-**'** rr tm *** jw r Mr»*r5efjff r aa*^
' previously known and dates back to the
ancient Near-Eastern civilization of at
least the second miUenium B.C.
Scholars have always believed West-
em music originated in Greece, but
; 'his indicates it came from tiie Neat
: East.
"We always knew there was mutic Yori nmra prima
\r the earher Assyro-Babylonian civilit SONG LYRICS ABOVE
ation. but until this, we did not know.' instructions for playing, below
Crocker said, "thai it had the same
heptatonic diatonic scale that is ch.uac linally, in isr:. tn K^mei dei^'iei betwrci, the rhird and fourth notes (i
teristic of contemporary Western music
nnd Greek music of t'ie first miiiemum nd the symbol:. to I i and the seventh and eighth (J
Usttntng to thfc music i Mi a listener to C). Tiie old melody falls within *uc|
B.C." back into musical pie-liisiory. the sound a diatonic structure.
The song, which sounds to contem Nothing on the tablet, however,
porary Western ears like a lullaby, a ofR thefrown lyre, constructed by Prof. Robert
fitint 4.6iHi.year-old instruc dicated the actual pitches or ihythmsj
hymn or a gentle folk song, was last tions, has tiif primitive quality BMW i- Crocker put it into C major, though
heard, scholars said, about 1800- B.C. in aled wuli nuJe plucked instruments
the ancient Near-fcastem city of Ugant The music, proceeding in double notes cibvU major
have just as well been B llJ
or D major The actual t>e|
on the Mediterranean coast. It is writ short rythmic f'hrases, usii.illy in Makes no differente so lung as
ten in the Human language, one of and up-and-down shifLs. sounds intervals remain constant.
the tongues which flourished in ancient semitonal
equally primitive as far as its actual As for rhythms. Crocker said tht
b'gaxit from about 3300 to 1.000 B.C. texture goes. nobody knew much about the subjec
The recent performance, on the only
known reproduction of the ancient Sum- But there is one surpn.se. Blown. He putspecific the melody in unrelieved hoti
erian lyre, which dates back to 2804 Dr.- Kilmer and Crocket are coolidenr ofthisacase, value, quarter notes
is a convenience.
B.C., was the culmination of IS years the piece of music was conceived in The n stnng lyre upon which U
of research on a musical puzzle by the equivalent of a modern diatnnic music was played has been copied fro
Anna D. Kilmer, professor of Assyriology scale. a Sumeriah instrument. Fragments of
and dean of humanities in the college The three professors emphasize that lyre were unearthed about SO years «;
of letters and science at Berkeley. the music is a hypothetical transcrip
The musical text on thick clay tion. On the tablet were four long lines in southern Iraq.Wolley at an excavatic
by Sir Leonard
tablets was unearthed by French arche- of lyrics and six of musical notation.
ologists in the early 1950s near the The title of the song, a love song used beenBrown used woods that could has
used by the Hurrlans—red dirt
city of Ras Shamra on the coast of as a cult hymn, probably to a god of and
Syria, where* the ancient culture of love, says. "This is the fall of the with spruce H* .strung the mstrumet
Rut strings, and used \»ouden pei
Ujarit thrived from about 2.000 to S.OOO middle tuning." Middle tuning was a to tighten the strings.
B.C. seven-note scale with the final note Tentative as the transcription ij
Tht song itself remained undetected repeated, as in the modem scale from there seems little doubt that tne thraj
for two decades, however, because the C to C. professor* in f alifornta have recapture]
curious flag-like symbols of the cunei What makes it diatonic is itj inter- something of the feeling of the 4,1
form tablet writing proved incomprs- vallic structure. In the diatonic scale, yej i uli! melody.
■■••aibte to scholars. say from C to C. there is a half-step til |»74 .Vtw Y«rt Tlam s»r>ic«
 Confirming Evidence:

43,ooo yr-old Cave Bear femur bone segment

SUMMARY of ESSAY on

NEANDERTHAL BONE

The oldest known musical instrument in the world is a flute, a fragment

(from a Slovenian Neanderthal camp site), of a cave-bear cub's femur, with 4 holes.
This flute matches 4 notes in the Do, Re, Mi scale (known as the diatonic
scale), making it the first evidence of the diatonic scale in prehistoric periods. It's also
the first musical instrument ever associated with Neanderthals.
The odds the 4 holes could be lined-up as they are by chance were calculated
as microscopically small [ www.webster.sk.ca/greenwich/fl3debat.htm#What ]
Holes 2, 3 & 4 on the bone (as shown, from left to right) stand in a
significant relationship (like a fingerprint) to each other: The distance between holes
2 and 3 is virtually twice that between holes 3 and 4.
This means we are looking at a whole-tone and a half-tone somewhere within
a scale. Such a combination of whole-tone and half-tone is the heart and soul of what
makes up 7-note diatonic scales. Without making even one more measurement beyond
this, we can already conclude: These notes on the Neanderthal bone flute would sound
like a near-perfect fit within ANY kind of standard diatonic scale, modern or antique.
While I believe strongly in cultural and scientific relativity, not everything
is relative. We have in the acoustic nature of the scale something that forces this scale
into near-universal existence over time, no matter whose culture you are in, or where
you are, or when you were.
This is the mostpowerfulpractical evidence to date in support ofbelieving
there is a natural or acousticalfoundation to the evolution ofthe diatonic scale It is
also in line with University of California's (Berkeley) Prof. Anne D. Kilmer's
deciphering of the world's oldest known song from clay tablets, 4,000 years old,
indicating the use ofboth harmony and ofthe diatonic scale (over). It is also supported
by recent psychological studies by Trehub (U. of Toronto), Schellenberg (U. of
Windsor), and Kagan (Harvard) of infants. These studies (Vol. 7 #5 Sept '96 of
Psychological Science ) showed musically untutored infants preferred natural
(acoustic) intervals over dissonant intervals. /3
E-mail: green@webster.sk. ca - Fax: 306-244-0795 - 516A re KSouth,
Saskatoon Canada S7M2E2. http://www.webster.sk.ca/greenwich/fl-compl.htm
 More Evidence.
Excerpts From Sept 2000 conference:
International Study Group on Music
Archaeology

Ckinese Discoveries anc

Researck on 9,ooo yr-olc

Ancient Bone Flutes

Chinese scholars made interesting
& important observations
showing the evolution ofthe scale
from 5-note pentatonic to 7-note scales:
25 bone flutes were discovered in early May 1986. First
found were two basically complete seven-hole bone pipes
beside the limb bone of the master in tomb M78....
The most complete bone \M282:20~ oldest known still-
playable flute] in August 1987 was examined by Xinghua Xiao,
a researcher and vice Professor of the Musical School of
Chinese Art Institute. The flute player, Baosheng Ning, of the
Central National Music Ensemble, first blew the scale....
It was unanimous: The Jiahu bone flutes were the
earliest Chinese musical instruments, with the scale, and it
could play melodies. Part of the folk song named Xiao Bai Chai
was played by Yaoying Xu, who made the sound measurements.
Mr. Huang concluded that the Jiahu bone flute [M282:20]'had
the complete 6-tone scale and incomplete 7-tone scale, which
created a sensation in music historian circles
Xinghua Xiao pointed out that the bone flutes from the
early period (ca. 7,ooo B.C.) have a complete five-note scale.
This discovery shows that over 9,ooo years ago, Chinese in the
area of the Central Plains may have been the first to usher in a
musical culture stage of civilization.
The early period has five or six holes in bone flutes;
There are seven holes on most flutes of the middle period; and
seven or eight holes in the last period....
Over a period of 1,200 years, the music developed from
a four-tone scale to a seven-tone scale in successive
changes, and went from being complex to having a high level
of simplicity. This progression is important in its significance
for modern musical composition. ft
 ‫متسع‪-‬يسعي وع ‪ ،‬ي‪،‬ه به آ همآهل‪- ٠‬هععت ءس عل‪-‬تري أ هإز به‪.‬آهمز إ‪٠‬ا ز جن‪٢‬نسلتثآةمآ مزتم‪٠‬نتنآننمعتجنهو‪.‬قئترنتنأ‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫س‪٠‬سسسيع‪-‬ه‬
‫عخء ل ‪ ، .‬هيث انبت لك ه ءآ هي‪٠ ..‬سن « ه‪.‬هكرا اهم‬ ‫‪،‬‬ ‫‪،‬‬
‫مك‪٠،‬و ل ‪ ٠‬م‪.،‬آه ا هي آزبم‪ ٠‬ثم ر‬ ‫بب‪٠‬همهن‪٩‬هةر‬ ‫‪.‬‬
‫‪٠‬هه يو ءد يي «‬ ‫ه ءءآه‬ ‫‪٠‬‬ ‫ه‬ ‫‪،‬‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫ه جن ‪) ٠‬‬ ‫يج ‪.‬‬
‫ع‬ ‫‪،‬‬ ‫عهر‬ ‫ءيم‪.‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫)‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫مة ته ‪.‬‬ ‫ه‪، ٣‬‬

‫ق‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ىسلإ‬ ‫‪.‬‬

‫ي‬ ‫و‬ ‫‪.، ، .‬‬

‫ص‬ ‫‪ .‬طلج ‪ ٠‬طعم ‪ ٠‬فاىو ‪ ،‬ا‬
‫‪ .‬تر ة س ه ‪٣‬‬
‫ا‬ ‫بى هم‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫» ) ‪،‬‬ ‫كا ‪، ٠ . .‬‬ ‫ثممسمم ي ‪. )،‬‬

‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪٢٠ .‬‬ ‫‪.. . ،‬‬ ‫جمهط ‪ ٠.‬ع‬ ‫(‬

‫لا‬ ‫ص‬ ‫ك‬
‫م‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫جع لم ‪ .‬ط ‪( . ٢ ٠‬‬ ‫ه‬ ‫(‬ ‫هم‬ ‫ع‬
‫ا ‪.‬‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ثم(‬ ‫»‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫( ‪.‬‬ ‫‪٠‬‬ ‫‪٦‬‬ ‫ع ثم‬
‫‪.‬كمءه‬ ‫( ا ‪،‬هم‪ .‬ا‬ ‫» ثم ‪.‬‬ ‫عة‬

‫‪،‬‬ ‫‪،‬‬ ‫ع‬ ‫مهم‬ ‫‪،‬‬

‫‪٣‬‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪،‬‬
‫‪٦‬‬

‫مه‪،‬م ءا او‬
‫‪ ..‬ا‬
‫مبيع ‪ ٠ ،‬ن ‪ ٠‬سم ل‬
‫‪٠‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫ع‬ ‫‪ ٠ .‬هم مع ) ‪١‬‬
‫ثم‬
‫لهن‬ ‫ط ‪،‬عهروه‪.‬ع ‪ .٠‬عا ا تجر‬
‫ل‬ ‫اهو ‪ ٠. ٠‬ه ه‪٠‬ز ‪.‬‬
‫ا‪.‬‬ ‫‪)،‬‬ ‫‪ ،‬ن ‪ ،‬ا‪.‬عبر ‪ .،.‬او‬
‫مر‬ ‫همء هه عهر م ع‬
‫حهة و ه ‪.‬‬
‫(ا‬ ‫‪ . .‬هم ي‬
‫ع‬ ‫ط ءك» م‪.‬يك )‪ ».‬ه ها‬
‫هن‬ ‫‪ .‬رل عرس ا‬
‫‪٠‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .‬ع‪٤‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫س‬ ‫‪ ٠‬نتهس ‪ .‬ا‬
‫عر‬ ‫‪ .‬ل‬ ‫سل هلا ‪،‬‬
‫مع إ ‪ . . ،‬ع‬
‫مبرز‬ ‫‪٠ .‬ز‬ ‫تر‬ ‫ثم‬ ‫‪٠ .‬‬
‫ك هن‬
‫ع‬ ‫ز‬ ‫)‬ ‫‪ ،‬لم‬
‫نجمي ار‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫مه‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫ته مع عج ‪.‬‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫ي جميم‪-‬ر‪..‬‬
‫‪ ، .٠ .‬به‬ ‫ثم‬ ‫ج‪.‬‬ ‫لم‬ ‫يل عاو صر‪ .‬لعم ل ك‪ .‬اه‬
‫تسه‪ .‬ءموه‬
‫‪٠‬‬ ‫س‬ ‫(‬ ‫ا ل هب‬
‫‪١‬‬ ‫‪٠‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫عإو‬ ‫‪٠‬منت ذو )‬
‫ل‬ ‫‪٠‬‬ ‫‪ .‬ري ع تطر‪ .‬نلمهملأ‬
‫‪ ، ٢‬د ل اي»ل‬
‫‪،‬‬ ‫‪ .‬يع )‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪، .‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫ع ي‪-‬نجيم ع‬ ‫عج لان‪،‬ة‪.‬ن‪ .،‬؛س تليةتره‪ ٠‬لضاح)‬
‫ز‪..‬ءتت)هص‬ ‫تقأ‪٠‬أمتههي ه لي هل‬
‫ي‬ ‫‪ ٠‬عط‬ ‫‪.‬‬ ‫ط‬ ‫عي‪.‬جبنتة لهح‪..‬ع‪.‬يعإر‪.‬إ ءه اا‬