"listen to what the drum said"

In Kenya, certain mountain dwelling tribes use drums to communicate messages from one area to another. There are metric and tonal patterns used to send warnings about danger (say, the imminent presence of a pride of lions headed in a certain direction), played on a pair of what we would term in Western music 'kettle' drums.
This goes even further into my argument, as I originally only considered the realistic possibility of music communicating less 'literal' or 'specific' ideas (eg feelings of love, melancholy, enthusiasm, etc).
Through drumming, these tribes also interpret their own spoken language on a more humanistic, 'expressive' level. The example I witnessed was the recitation of a native poem, first spoken, then 'repeated' on the drums. But the drumming was not merely 'imitating' the rhythm or pitch; it was, to the native speakers, literally 'saying' the line, simply without the use of a mouth or vocal chords. In short, the drum was 'speaking' the lines. This was an idea I had not previously considered.

I was also struck, more generally, on the concept of a certain phoneme borrowed in Western music from an older, African 'language' tradition--the polyrhythm. While teaching the class the concept of the polyrhythm 2 against 3 (two in the time of three, or vice-versa), both I and the teacher simultaneously explained "once you know how it sounds and feels, you just HAVE it" and it sticks forever. This is not unlike the process in learning a language where one must recognise the phonemes of his/her own language as a child (which we do instinctively, just as we instinctively 'exclude' other sounds even though our bodies are capable of producing them--sometimes even more easily than we produce those of our own language). During second-language acquisition, the biggest boundary for most people is the conquering of the phonemic boundary--to make the native sounds naturally, intuitively, as a native speaker does. Grammar can be learned, rules and exceptions can be memorised, vocabulary can be studied, but phonemic understanding is the key to fluency and ease of communication.
The example of the 2:3 fits into the same category as learning the sounds of, say, aspirated and unaspirated /b/ or /p/ for English speakers. Instinctively, we actually produce both variations of each of these letters, depending upon their placement in a word. But screw with the placement (putting an unaspirated b or p as an initial, for example) and many, likely most, native English speakers would have an extremely difficult time reproducing the sound spontaneously. It would take concentration and effort, not because we are not capable of doing it, but because it seems unnatural to us in that usage. If you want to learn certain dialects of Indian languages, though, you'd need to be able to both hear and speak those differentiations instantaneously and fluidly.

Our 'Western' minds are perfectly capable of playing a 2:3 pattern, but the effort required for most of us to 'know' the sound and feeling of it is fairly formidable for some. African musicians must think we look like idiots for struggling with it--it seems to come 'naturally' to them. Why? Because it is a part of their language, both musically AND, as it turns out, literally.

sound, sound, sound

Okay. I admit it. What I'm really trying to do is discover a more efficient, accurate means of communication. I believe that the most effective mode of expression, aurally speaking (no pun intended), is a blend of what we term 'language' and what we consider 'music.' I can't figure out how to express it accurately yet, but I've been working on this, subconsciously, for years I think.

It has something to do with the way that music can tap into emotions that words completely miss. (e.g. I can tell you about love, I can describe to you the feelings of love, I can relate stories of when I experienced or showed love, but this doesn't bring you closer to feeling/experiencing love yourself. However, I can play you a piece of music, genre undecided, that taps into some emotional realm within you and you begin to cry and say, "Aha! That's what love feels like.")

In short, music IS a language that communicates on a more primary level things that we cannot efficiently express in words. This is not a new concept.

What interests me is the fusion of 'music' and 'language;' the perfection of a communication that would comprise more directly the elements of both. The causes of misunderstanding are communication problems--misused words, misunderstood phrases, outright lies even, a lack of ability to wield the weapon we lovingly refer to as spoken language.

What would the elements of this language be? What does human language need to bring it to this next level of usage?

More on this later...

the Sound is Music?

At what point does speech cease to be 'speech' and become 'music' instead? At what point does any sound cease to be 'sound' (generically) and come to be considered 'music?' This is a 'word' problem, a 'labelling' problem for me. (Could it be considered in some odd way a sort of 'category' mistake? I have trouble understanding that concept, though I feel it fundamentally... I just can't seem to apply it appropriately.)
A dripping faucet in the kitchen sink--'music?' If it is maintaining a constant, metric sort of repetition and accompanied by the drone of a refrigerator humming, is that music? And what if there's a woman or a cook, singing/humming to herself absent-mindedly, in that kitchen? Surely I could notate that, and it becomes a cohesive 'piece,' a reflection of the music of life of the domesticated American woman--her 'anthem' of a sort. Where do you hear that line drawn? (Not that I'm presuming that one can 'hear' a line being drawn, per se) :P
Just curious.

Language AND Culture

Tonight in class, my Language & Culture professor was discussing the various idiosyncrasies of English grammar. She got on a roll about irregular plural forms (mouse/mice) (goose/geese) etc. and I found myself thinking that, for so many reasons, the plural form of spouse really ought to be 'spice.'

new word for the day: equi-mal

I've invented a word (again), but this time it makes complete sense aside from my own personal preference.

Equimal. It means to consider two or more options to be undesirable; they are 'equally bad,' hence: equimal. Kind of like the upcoming presidential election. I consider both candidates to be equally undesirable--equimal, yes?

Don't bother looking for it in a dictionary anytime soon...

Value versus Worth

Posting a note to a friend on myspace got me semantic again... (I feel so dirty)

Thoughts on the differentiation between 'value' and 'worth.' I know that most people go to dictionaries at times like these, but I prefer to make up my own meanings and propagate those, based on my understanding and experience. Translation: This may not mean anything to anyone but me, but at the very least, we can call it a minor experiment of the 'private language' argument.

(Or not.)

My argument was framed something like this:

'Value' is a term that assigns a sort of commercial or measurable 'currency' to an object, an idea, etc. (Think: tv announcer, "This set, valued at over $100, can be YOURS for only $19.95... plus s&h, of course). Who 'valued' it at over $100? The creator, the distributor? But what are we willing to pay for it? That flipside, the 'value' from the consumer's perspective, is 'worth.'

There is of course wiggle room on these. In fact, I think 'worth' can also be somewhat assigned by the creator, but not in a hard estimation of dollar amount cost, etc. 'Worth' = what you are willing to give for the item. And that definition includes the work of the creator; he was willing to give X passage of time, energy, concentration, emotion, into the work that resulted. That is his 'assignment' of worth. The consumer then comes along and assigns his/her own subjective 'worth' to the item, what he/she is willing to give for the item. This obviously implies that worth cannot be absolute. I was willing to give my life to save that photo album from burning up in a house fire; it got tossed in a goodwill bin and put on the shelf for 25 cents... and when no one bought it, it ended up in a landfill. Thus my assignment of 'worth' does not equal yours.

Value is a denomination; it is a lower state of 'worth,' turned into abstract strokes called numbers, whether as cost in dollars or hours of labor exchanged for the item. Value is entirely abstract; those Dept 56 knicknacks that sell for hundreds of dollars thru Christmas eve, then get stuck on the 50%off rack the day after Christmas. Did their 'worth' suddenly change, or were they just 'devalued' due to circumstance? (Okay, okay... I know. They don't get discounted that much. But the same rule is applicable to Christmas trees, Easter Candy, and Halloween Costumes.)

Thoughts, anyone?

random brain-spew

How did the question mark become the symbol for question? How did "s" become the symbol for the sound it represents? (Perhaps as a logogram evolved from a pictogram for a snake, then abstracted to represent the sound a snake makes?) This is what I get for reading a book on Sumerian Cuneiform.

Transliteration into English introduces myriad problems in pronunciation... X as Z (xenophobe, xerxes), X as the Chinese sound "sh" (xia, xiu), X as "ks"--ox, box. Can a symbol be a pure representation of either (a) meaning or (b) sound? Must it all be purely arbitrary and abstract?