As I listened to Nokuthula Ngwenyama’s “Sonoran Storm” for solo viola, I was immediately struck with both a sense of aversion and pleasant satisfaction. Upon further listenings, I grew to appreciate various aspects of the piece and realized that my seemingly paradoxical response was indicative of my intuition that this piece exemplified both the positive and negative aspects of postmodernism. Those positive aspects of postmodernism include: the renewed possibility of appealing to older metanarratives, the progression of music past the rigid constraints of predominantly atonal composition, and the increased ability to explore and juxtapose previously unrelated musical forms and idioms, while those negative aspects include: the loss of a definitive aesthetic criteria by which to measure the quality of the work, the danger of an overemphasis on the outside, and the intrinsic revolutionary agenda propagated by the exponents of the ideologies which gave rise to this music and manifest itself via cultural means. 

While postmodernism, as a deconstructive critique that reduces human experience down to a series of metanarratives, presents a myriad host of epistemological problems to be contended with (such as objectivity vs subjectivity), it simultaneously vouchsafes the means of razing scientific materialism and thus affords the opportunity of invoking previously disregarded narratives. In a post-enlightenment world that sought to desacralize reality and superimpose an artificial “scientific objectivity”, we are confronted instead with the recrudescence of eastern spirituality, a trend in Christianity towards its more liturgical manifestations, Crossfit, political tribalism, homeopathy, Marvel movies, and overarching religious political narratives. For good or for ill, those of us who are more religious-minded have a unique opportunity, for if no metanarrative is objectively truer than any other, then virtually every faith claim is reduced to an

alternate set of appeals, such as inherent beauty of form and logical cogency. The mechanism I am referring to appears in music as well. 

The serial music of the early twentieth century was an outgrowth of the destabilization of western society and philosophy, and a supplement to the attempt to contextualize the tragic contemporaneous global conflicts and economic depressions. The paradox lies in that what was an attempt to explore the fringes of musical possibility, emancipating dissonance, breaking forms, and attending to the socially taboo, evolved into a system that ultimately became authoritarian itself. As Marxism promised the freedom of the proletariat and concluded with the gulags and mass slaughter of millions of people, so too atonality promised the emancipation of dissonance, the dissolution of the hegemony of the tonic and dominant hierarchy, and resulted in a rigid hierarchical structure that confined the creativity of compositional process to the clever employment of tone rows. The avant garde became the mainstream, and composers, such as Rochberg and Górecki, often had a difficult time finding success within the academy for utilizing tonal techniques. However, in the 1970’s the rise of postmodernism in Europe coincided with a major break from the academic preponderance of serial composition. Arvo Pärt’s Credo (1968), and his subsequent decade-long abstention from composition embody this perfectly. Pärt exhausts the techniques of serialism and what is left is a resounding, religiously imbued C. And it is no surprise that the resurrection of his compositional output marks the creation of his Tintinnabuli style. Serialism and the Enlightenment fail, and music is reborn through the resacralization of “sacred minimalism”. Is it any wonder that in a society that has attempted to throw off the fetters of religion that Arvo Pärt is the most performed living composer? Nokothula’s “Sonoran Storm”, along with the majority of her compositional output, falls within

this general post-serial aesthetic. The piece primarily employs diatonic harmonies and its continual repetition resembles works such as “Spiegel im Spiegel” or “Tabula Rasa” by Pärt. Postmodernism, in its attempt to break the hegemony of any one given metanarrative, also radically opens possibilities of musical exploration and juxtaposition. Although this is, of course, not a feature unique to the influence of postmodernism (musicians and artisans have always derived inspiration from the conflation of multiple musical styles; ex. the blending of French, Italian, and German styles in the works of Georg Muffat), postmodernism, nonetheless, increases these possibilities of musical juxtaposition exponentially. Composers are no longer bound to a specific musical tradition unless they so choose. Don Davis, in his brilliant score for the movie “The Matrix” employs traditional, tonal film score techniques alongside atonal ones. Narratively significant moments are accompanied with music that is influenced by the sound-mass style of Ligeti, the serialism of Anton Webern, and the extended instrumental techniques of Penderecki. It is a perfect coalescence of forms for a film that seeks to embody the philosophy of postmodernism (for which each actor was required by the directors to read Jean Baudrillard’s “Simulacra and Simulations”). Nokothula’s Sonoran Storm, too, takes advantage of this new musical freedom. She juxtaposes riffs and motifs that come from pop music (ex. Minute 3:24 on the Youtube video of her premiere of this piece on the Red Rocks Music Festival Youtube channel), alongside episodes of material that more accurately resemble a string melody composed by Bach or even Tchaikovsky (ex. Minute 2:59). At Minute 5:24 she utilizes extended techniques with the harmonics on the viola. The entire work eschews one specific style, rather consisting of a concatenation of variegated musical idiosyncrasies. 

As previously mentioned, postmodernism inadvertently allows the competition of various metanarratives on grounds other than “scientific objectivity”, resulting from an innate intuition

that mystery exists, is significant, and it is impossible for one to thoroughly exhaust the comprehension of a given thing. It appeals to that which is below, but in so doing unknowingly reaches to that which is infinitely higher. Ngwenyama, in an interview with Chamber Music Northwest Co-Artistic Director Soovin Kim stated, “We are musically integrated before we are socially integrated.” Through her music, she attempts to evoke something more primordial than mere musical form, and in so doing, operates within the framework and ethos provided by the minimalists. In portraying landscapes and emotions, she attempts to bring people together through a musical appeal that transcends the simulacra of buried prejudice and quotidian existence. 

Nonetheless, there are significant problems with the philosophies of postmodernism. There may be an infinite number of ways to read Moby Dick, but there are not an infinite number of correct ways to read Moby Dick. In the suspension of judgment of any given narrative (albeit through the substantive critique of every given narrative), we are left with the problem of how to assess quality. With music, former generations had a canon of sorts as comparative criteria. Rules emerged for voice leading, form and orchestration. Composers either explored the possibilities within the given parameters, or they expanded and broke the rules through inspirational feats of creativity. If the music moved the listeners, it was accepted into the canon and the rules subsequently morphed to contextualize the novelty. In contrast to the later avant-garde, the listener operated as an essential means of transformation. It is through this mechanism of centrifugal exploration and centripetal integration that one can understand why the theorist Schenker considered late Romanticism the pinnacle of Western music. The musical system provided a means of progression through new and more adventurous styles.

However, in the era of postmodernism, with its intrinsic suspicion of all canons, we are left almost entirely without the means of judging aesthetic quality (the ultimate paradox of universal criticism producing the inability of legitimate critique). Thus, the only mechanism of judgement still possible is by necessity explicitly teleological. (This is not to say that former iterations of artistic endeavor were not also by nature teleological. It is, however, to say that a jar could be judged by more than its “jarness”, or that a decorative sculpture could transcend its capacity of decoration in its appeal to a higher telos, ie. the Beautiful.) The telos, by which something is judged, can itself be either an intrinsic good or evil. For example, the phrase “follow the science” is nonsensical without first answering the question, “to what?”. 

One potential telos is functionality. Does the chair function exquisitely as a chair? Is the comfortable chair as comfortable as possible? Does the dance music provoke dancing and the angry music provoke anger (ie. the rise of techno and heavy metal)? If the intended end of a film score is to invoke a given emotion, how well the music does that becomes the criterion by which to judge the quality of that music. It is therefore no surprise that we have increasingly more film score composers like Hans Zimmer than John Williams or Korngold. 

Yet another telos is the simple invocation of emotion and experience. We see this in the works of Steve Reich, John Adams, and Arvo Pärt. The intended feeling after “Fratres” becomes the means by which we judge the effectiveness of the piece. Often the musical experience is intended to evoke a return to that which is truly universal and binds both variegated musical cultures and historical traditions together (albeit sometimes at the risk of gimmickry). 

However, there are, in my estimation, also many negative teleologies. For example, the philosophers Foucault, Deleuze, Lyotard, and Derrida were unapologetic in their revolutionary aspirations. At the same time the murderous Russian gulags and genodical Chinese cultural

revolution were taking place, they unabashedly maintained allegiances to Marxism. It is of no surprise, therefore, that the cultural movements of today have no qualms with reappropriating Marx’s critique of capitalism as class conflict between the bourgeoisie and proletariat as conflict between men and women, or whites and blacks, or abled and disabled, etc. It is unfortunately almost impossible to separate the aesthetic derived from postmodern philosophies from the telos of the postmodern philosophers. Therefore, despite my appreciation of “Sonoran Storm,” or “Primal Message,” it is difficult to ignore Ngwenyama’s association with “Che Guavara: a Musical Biography.” It is beyond my rational capacity to understand the modern infatuation with an international terrorist who cast no aspersions at murdering women and children. 

Another possible negative teleology is the infatuation for the foreign. As mentioned previously, postmodernism provides a unique opportunity to explore alternative narratives. Every system, including every religion, empire and identity, can benefit from the expansion of its borders and the inclusion of that which is on the outside. However, the inherent danger is that through the inclusion of the outside, the integrity of the center can be compromised. Iterations of this pattern occur in every instance of xenophobia, in every debate about jazz fusion among jazz purists, in ballet practices for NFL players, and in the rise and fall of every empire. What does it mean when the MOMA and the Guggenheim are filled with “avant garde” art which makes investors millions every year? What does it mean when Camille Paglia claims Andy Warhol was the last artist of the avant garde and the greatest work of modern art is the lightsaber scene at the end of Star Wars Episode III? It means we live in a time when the most punk, rebellious act is to have children and go to church and Kanye West has prayer meetings with Marilyn Manson. It means we live in an upside down world, a widening gyre in which the centre cannot hold (W.B. Yeats).

Nokuthula elevates the voice of largely unknown black composers like Florence Price and Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, for which it would obviously be morally indefensible to oppose by virtue of their skin color. Yet, I must ask the question of telos. If the end is finding that pure beauty that she speaks of, which precedes social integration, then I rejoice. Florence Price’s violin concerti are any bit as effective as those of Glazunov or Ysaye. If however, the end is the uncovering of societal inequity in an attempt to accuse the structures of Western classical music of institutional racism, then with that I take umbrage, not exclusively for the lack of intrinsic merit to such an endeavor, but for the lack of relevance it bears upon the question of aesthetic merit. 

All of which begs the question as to why, in an institution which is known globally as the best school for which to study Jazz (ostensibly America’s classical music, and predominantly black) it is necessary to include this work as an addendum to a class on music theory techniques. My initial reaction was to assume this piece was of negligible musical merit precisely because the composer’s identifying characteristics fulfilled the checkboxes for those whose goal is racial and cultural homogeneity rather than transcendent beauty. The perpetual insistence of diversity and equity committees that university curriculum must include diverse composers encapsulates the precise issue of postmodernism’s diminution of all discriminatory criteria down to the teleological. The removal of color-blind auditions by major orchestras and the arbitrary inclusion of works by female and minority composers expose that the true telos of most music schools is shifting from the promotion of the highest quality music to doctrinal orthodoxy. It is precisely this mechanism which ironically provokes the opposite intended response. I maintain that the identifying characteristics of the composer should have no relevance upon the merit of the composition, in either direction. Yet because the telos is “equity” rather than beauty, the barrier

of racial discrimination is superimposed upon my inital assessment where it previously would not have existed. 

“Sonoran Storm,” while surely as effective as Terry Riley’s “in C” for it’s appeal to a deeper beauty (although I’m not sure this is a praise or criticism of Terry Riley), nonetheless lacks the depth of a Gorecki or Pärt. It manifests the flip that postmodernism affords, within which we are afforded the possibility of appeal to traditional systems that allow the existence of that which is even outside of the system itself. Nokuthula simultaneously invokes Bach and Paganini while juxtaposing harmonics, pop chord sequences, and thoughtfully composed melodic episodes, creating an impression and evoking an emotional response. Just as modern stories that seek to deconstruct myth inevitably recapitulate those same myths, so too “Sonoran Storm” recapitulates the ethos of earlier music and makes an appeal to that integrity which precedes societal integrity. 

Acknowledgements: 

I would like to recognize Jonathan Pageau, an Orthodox icon carver, speaker on religious symbolism, and voracious reader of Derrida who has contributed greatly to my understanding of postmodernism and the symbolism of identity. His YouTube Channel, “the Symbolic World” has recently begun to receive significant global attention. 

The lectures of both Jordan Peterson and Camille Paglia, and especially their mutual conversation proved extremely interesting with regards to issues of culture and art. 

I referenced William Butler Yeat’s poem, “The Second Coming,” when speaking about the centre not holding together, the inherent dif iculties of incorporating the unfamiliar, and the upside-down nature of the current world.

In addition to source material by Foucault, Boudrillard, and the other postmodernist philosophers mentioned, Helen Pluckrose’s lecture “The Evolution of Postmodern Thought” was helpful in summarizing various aspects of postmodern thought. 

Heinrich Schenker’s “Harmony” was pivotal in the development of my approach to understanding the progression of music history, although his book of “Notes to Performers” is immensely more helpful.

Matthew Wilkinson

Organist, Pianist, Conductor, Arranger, Recording Artist

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