The Shape of Things to Come

“All living things have shape”
Rich Shemaria

There’s a difference between “shapes” and “shape.”

“Shapes” (plural) are two dimensional, like a square, circle, rectangle, or triangle. Or three-dimensional, like a cone, box, or sphere.

“Shape” (singular) implies something more abstract — for example, in music (but we’ll get to that in a minute).

As I stated in my opening quote, all living things have shape. Mammals, insects, sea creatures, even microbes, all have “shape” — often related to the shapes mentioned above. Shape has a contour (linear shapes) and usually (but not always) depth.

Another name for shape is “form.” In fact, the word “forms” can be used in place of the word “shapes.” In either case, shapes or forms are the materials we use to create “shape” (form). The former being concrete and the latter abstract. Consider snowflakes. Each comprises complex lines in various shapes, connecting with one another to form a single, unique shape.

Creative artists use these concepts to define their work. Take sculptors. They might start with a slab of stone or a glob of unshaped clay (ironically, abstract shapes themselves). Using the discerning artists’ eye, they reshape the materials into their vision. The slabs and globs are given contours and depth; eventually culminating in “shape.”

Or consider a master chef. The ingredients of your favorite dish are laid out on the countertop, each with their own shapes. Then the chef employs his creative tricks to transform them into a delicious soufflé, casserole, or dessert.

So, what about the shape of music?

Everything I’ve mentioned so far can be seen, felt, smelled, or tasted. These are senses that we tend to trust. Music depends almost entirely on one sense: hearing. It’s not that we can’t trust our perception of music — but it’s invisible. We perceive music (and all sound) over time. Forward linear time to be precise. It comes to us as frequencies picked up by our ears and then sent to our brains, which are then translated into music. Each of our brains are unique, so we all translate those frequencies in our own, singular way. We may be listening to the same music, but we perceive it differently.

The composer, like the sculptor and the chef, is a “shaper.” But how does one shape something that’s invisible? There are various methods, but two stand out. A musician can create shape in real time, like in a jazz quartet that improvises on stage. A composer, on the other hand, writes music onto a score before it’s performed by musicians and singers.

I do both, but these days I spend more time composing. My “shapes” start with the actual musical notations: notes, rests, staff lines, bows, slurs, arrows, dots, etc. They’re the objects musicians will need to interpret my musical ideas. My actual ideas are made up of things like motifs, melodies, harmonies, rhythms, counterpoint, orchestration, and more. And all these compositional tools are molded into musical passages using my composer’s “eye,” which is how I envision the music in my mind.

Note that I said “eye” and not “ear.” We don’t really hear music in our head, we envision it. Composers create music by first having all the necessary tools and experience. That allows us to envision the shape of our pieces. As I begin a composition, I have an idea in my head about what it looks (sounds) like. But the final shape is almost always somewhat of a surprise and quite often does not resemble my original idea. However, if I’ve done my job right, I’ve taken my original idea — and using all the “shapes” available to me — molded it into a unified composition. The final result being “shape” (or form).

It is this shape that is the invisible music I present to my audience.  And since you (the listener) perceive it over time, it’s my hope that I have kept my composition developing throughout forward linear motion to create a seamless, moving piece. In this way, you don’t perceive the passage of time, you perceive only the music.

I’ll leave you with a quote from Jack London in his novel The Sea Wolf — though I first encountered it in another book, The Shaping Forces in Music, by the brilliant Austrian-American composer, Ernst Toch.

“The very essence of life is movement”