What's In A Name?

Conveying meaning in instrumental music; celebrating single-word titles; ennobling the maker

When I released my second album Winnow in 2020, I received a review from a writer well-versed in classical music and its traditions. It was one of those reviews - you’ll know the kind - where even after a few reads, you still cannot be sure if it is positive or negative.

Regardless of whether they liked the music or not, it was clear they were not wholly enamoured with the way in which I chose to speak and write about the inspiration behind the music, stating:

“[Simeon Walker’s] classical output is labelled Modern, which in his case simply means 21st century contemplative mood music, apparently reflecting his inner-battle with faith and the peace he found in music. This is a difficult area as it is extremely doubtful if music can describe anything so person-centred and complex and how it affected the nature of the peace he found […] such pretention is regrettably very much the norm on such albums”

Leaving the subtle “mood music” dig to one side, for many of us who have had a taste - to varying degrees - of the established classical world, I must profess to feeling a certain sense of irony at being accused of pretentiousness!

Of course, the world of reviewing is a rather strange one. We all have opinions, and not everyone can or will like everything, nor should they. I keep two folders in my emails - one for good/nice/favourable comments, reviews and feedback, and one for less nice/favourable comments, which can be helpful to return to from time to time, whilst always taking that metaphorical pinch of salt to go with it.

However, what irked me most about the quote above was the writers’ implied doubt around whether music can be a vehicle both for meaning in and of itself, and conveying that sense of meaning through, via and by it.

You will likely be unsurprised to discover I am unrepentantly signed up to the Conveying Meaning Through Music club - so much so, in fact, that I would be happy to assume the role of union rep.

I know there is a school of thought which posits that music, and perhaps most - if not all - art and creativity, should be fundamentally more concerned about expression; that the end goal is found in the making and the doing, and that too much retrospective focus on the quest for meaning within art detracts from the noble art of the act itself.

I can understand and appreciate that perspective. I can see how an excessively meaning-based analysis of artistry has the potential to be reductive, and that there is and should be an appreciation of the creative act, simply for what it is.

Where this becomes problematic for me is when this rather black-and-white, nay simplistic, blanket-approach seems to forget about the maker and the do-er, and the story they have to tell.

Overall, I would prefer to ennoble the maker, rather than the made thing or the process of making. Important though they both are, neither exists without the maker.

Whilst this all seems a little philosophical and existential, I think these distinctions are important. The feelings-are-valid-and-worth-thinking-and-talking-about hill is one which I am very much willing to die on.

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Throughout the history of classical music, the differentiation and categorisation of one piece, movement or work over another has sometimes - dare I say - been a little…well, basic?!

You’ve written a quick, lively, cheerful movement? Let’s call it Allegro (translation: fast). You have contrasted this with a slower second movement? Let’s give this the highly descriptive title of Andante (translation: walking pace).

Here we find - not for the first time - an incongruity within something as established as classical music. As the above are written in musical Italian, it therefore has a sense of allure and exoticism. Would I release a piece titled Walking Pace? Unlikely. And we haven't even made it to Opus and Köchel numbers.

Whilst some works within classical music have titles which are nothing more evocative or descriptive than the most obvious thing about the music, others do at least give a little more context, especially from a thematic perspective.

Chopin’s Nocturnes for example, do indeed have an inherently melancholic night-time atmosphere, whilst Debussy’s evocative Deux Arabesques have a strong sense of flow, with the curved lines and shapes of nature apparently influencing his compositional choices.

As such, I think it is facile to suggest music cannot be the source or inspiration for a body of work. Classical music is littered with examples where this is the case.

One of the primary benefits of being able to interact with musicians, artists and composers who are making music now - in the present moment, by virtue of the fact they are not long-dead - is the opportunity to engage with the meaning behind the music.

Whilst for many composers there will be varying degrees of importance given to the things which prove to be inspirational to them. As a creative discipline, composition can very often be most meaningful for audiences when they become aware of the significance behind the music for the composer, and I think it is a mistake to dismiss this important element of the interaction between audiences and creators of musical works.

Composers possess the ability to put into music and sound that which for many other people are some of the things which are unsayable, undefinable, perhaps even previously unknowable. It is a great gift to possess, but it is one I feel should aim to bring people together, rather than place an unnecessary wedge between them. It would be a shame to remove this important aspect of musical appreciation in favour of what could come across as a misguided need to preserve what some have seen as the sacrosanctity of the composer as some kind of omnipotent musical soothsayer.

In many ways, this mirrors the attempts by many of us to bring performers and audiences closer together through alternative performance contexts and environments.

For instrumental music, it is often the titles which give so much insight into what this might be. Many of the eagle-eyed amongst you have noticed and commented about my consistent use of one-word track titles. This is also the case with my longer, extended projects too.

I do this because I really enjoy the way that using just one word creates a certain area or space in my mind, which allows me to focus on the underlying meaning/message behind the piece (if there is one!).

I like the way it forces you to engage with the word and its relevance to the piece it is paired with. I like that it acts as a springboard for the development of a conversation around the music, which I feel is always a good thing. I like that it does place some kind of limitation or parameters on it, rather than it being a free-for-all.

When we are able to make the most of hearing from living composers about their works and why they have titled it in a specific way, I like to think of this as the musical equivalent of wandering around an art gallery, making sure to read the small information boards on the wall to the side of a painting.

It surely follows that due to the complexity of the human condition, our desire to share our experiences with others is strong. As a result, I see it as being the very opposite of pretention; in fact, offering the opportunity for greater connection between artist and audience.

With this in mind, it is more important than ever to be person-centred and to ensure there is integrity and genuineness in all of our interactions, even if this happens in a slightly indirect way, via the medium of listening to a composers’ music.

The benefit of this openness is that even when a piece creates a range of different feelings and interpretations in an audience, it has all flowed from the same place, and it is that sense of authenticity which is so vitally important to me.