Once More With Feeling: Reconciling Discrepant Accounts of Musical Affect

When I was sixteen, a junior in high school in Brooklyn, I auditioned for the All-City High School Band of New York and was placed as first chair clarinet. At the first rehearsal, a piece we played (I don't remember what it was except that it was new to me) had a long, melodic clarinet solo, with accompaniment. When I finished playing it the director stopped the band and said, "Very nice, first clarinet. Let's do it again, this time with more feeling." Then he said, "Letter C," and we started again.

I could not have known, then, that I was to spend much of my life in pursuit of some sort of clarification of what transpired in that episode, as in this paper, where I deal once more with feeling. I had no idea that his apparently simple instruction to me raised issues so complex that many of humankind's most important thinkers had struggled with them in search of a resolution, as I, infinitely more modestly, was also to do. I was unaware that philosophical blood, sweat, and tears had been spilled through the centuries in various contentions as to the relation, if any, of musical feeling to feeling outside musical experience. I knew nothing of metaphor, of effability and ineffability, of embodiment and designation, of issues of authenticity of feeling, and semantic density, significant form, semiotics, the relation of feeling to emotion, to gender, to meaning, and on and on with seemingly endless and intractable debates centered on how and why and when music is related to feeling.

Being unencumbered with any of this (how one longs, sometimes, to return to one's philosophical Garden of Eden), and having to play that solo again immediately, I did what my novice performer's instincts told me to do-the only thing I knew how to do-I placed more emphasis on what the notes of that melody seemed to want to do, where they seemed to want to go and how they got there. Feeling their melodic tendencies more concentratedly and making them more apparent by the way I sounded them, I felt in myself a deeper sense of union-of the music as part of my undergoing-than I had the first time. When I finished the director stopped the band again, looked at me for several seconds, and said, "Lovely, first clarinet. Very musical. Let's go on."

I would not have been able at the time that event occurred to describe, as I just did, what I did and how I felt. I did not have the conceptual apparatus to do so, although I did have, luckily for me, enough intuitive musicianship to have survived that test. My description, or perhaps interpretation, of how I reacted and how I experienced it can only reflect who I am now, with the cognitive structure allowing me to understand what happened as I reflect about it. Nevertheless I believe that several important matters relating to musical feeling can be clarified in relation to how I now interpret what I experienced as a youth in that band.

I am aware now that I did what I did in ignorance of the fact that I was not the first to have played that solo. If I had known about and studied previous performances by a variety of clarinetists I would have, without doubt, been influenced by their solutions to the challenge of expressive interpretation it presented. Especially if I had been guided by a sensitive teacher, I would have reflected those influences in my own sounding. Perhaps I would have imitated what seemed to me the most musical rendition. If I had done so, I am now aware, that would have been regarded, in my culture at any rate, as a sign of my novice status, a more mature stage of musicianship requiring that I both reflect...