Where most films allow the audience the satisfaction of a resolved tension, Sofia Coppola’s Lost In Translation created its impact through withheld feelings and desires. The resolution of the protagonist’s blatant chemistry was something which I (as the audience) felt I had a right to experience. By curbing this nagging in the back of my head, Coppola left me questioning not only the expectations which I place on relationships, but the expectations which I place upon what I believe to be the natural course of things. Perhaps, To deny a pleasure can multiply the sweetness thereafter.
The term biomusicology refers to the scientific study of music, and its innate biological alignment with the human form. It asserts and explores the notion that music’s deep connection with the brain, and thus it it has deep connection with the progression and preservation of humanity.
I have no doubt that the musical medium, in all its intricacy and complexity, somehow aligns with my intrinsic self.
A song climbs from its subtle introduction, where suspense is built, through accentuation of the calm, as it holds off until the last second to cataclysmically explode. Much like eating salty crisps, without taking a sip of water, until the you are past the point of thirst, it creates an ultimate satisfaction when it hits. The crescendo builds, into a driving melody. A melody which you immediately know, without ever having heard it before. The music sways and bends as it progress’ and evolves, changing form and building upon itself. Hairs stand on end and shivers run down my spine. I’ve found my groove.
For so long I have struggled to define and categorise why some music grabs me, and why some I can’t help but discard into the overflowing waste-paper basket of mediocrity. It’s a struggle to self-justify and self-define, which won’t ever be quenched. Logic draws me, though, to follow the notion that music in all its wonder is intrinsic to humanity. Upon examination, I have found that the music which resonates most potently with myself is, as I define it, organic. It focuses on the beauty within the perfect correlation of melody, pitch, rhythm and drive and is written from a place of pure passion. It is subjectively organic.
Frances Densmore, an American ethnomusicologist, focused her life upon harnessing the beauty which she found within Native American music. Her early appreciation of music came from listening to the local Dakota Indians. From a place of purity and what I believe to be an organic source. She went on to devote herself to the preservation of this beauty through recording and understanding this music. The organic source of Densmore’s love for music is something which I find truly inspirational.
Though we live in a society which struggles from over-saturation and over-subjectification of music, I find myself drawn to only certain artists and compositions. Too many times have I had a close friend or new acquaintance list out a number of artists, and ask for my opinion. Too many times have I crinkled my nose and shrugged my shoulders at the majority of these suggestions. Why is that? Am I a musical snob? Do I think myself above the general consensus for what is good and what is bad? No… It’s because the music I don’t like simply don’t resonate with me. I believe this comes back to the biomusical study of the blatant parallels between the human mind and music. If I don’t like it, it’s because it simply doesn’t align.
Bonobo’s fourth release, Black Sands is one of the key compositions that springs to mind when I try to decipher what music I do like. Although it is from an electronic source, Simon Green’s music’s focus upon beauty and wonder in the melodic form resonates within me. It enhances whatever environment I am in, and creates an outward and inward positivity. Danish band Mew create this same feeling and emotion for me. Though their music doesn’t arise from a blatantly organic source, as they also use the electric medium, it creates an organic reaction from me.
Jose Gonzalez evokes this reaction from me for a completely different reason. His music is so raw and simple, and focus’ on the subtlety of human expression. It is stripped back to the bare minimum and creates, within me, an understanding of a human’s intrinsic melodic sense. Bon Iver also does this. For Emma Forever Ago, as a product of Justin Vernon’s retreat to a mountain cabin, in a time of heightened personal crisis, to express himself musically, is really what organic musicality is all about.
In effect, the alignment between a human and music forms the basis for the music which I love. If a piece doesn’t resonate with my intrinsic self, I simply cannot enjoy it. I am a bi-product of a hype-fueled, externally influenced world. But I will enjoy what I enjoy because I enjoy it. That’s all there is to it.
We live in a society driven by instant gratification and uncontainable access to knowledge. The ability to type results in the ability to be intelligent. A by-product of this false sense of intelligence is a false sense of valid opinion. A by-product of this is one’s belief that their opinion should be shared with each and every person they can. Never is this more potent and prevalent than at times of overwhelming media saturation, whether it be in crisis or in triumph.
In the days since Osama Bin Laden’s killing, two days ago, all forms of social networking which i am obligatorily involved with have exploded with opinion after opinion. Cliche after cliche. Cynical verbatim after cynical verbatim.
With ease of attainment comes ease of opinion. It is so easy to throw a statement into the wind, without either truly believing it or truly understanding it. As fiery adolescents in a prosperous western society, we are in such a position of comfort. Our understanding of the greater world is essentially fed to us on a silver spoon, in portions measured out by our television sets and our computer screens. Perhaps true wisdom and intelligence could be a result of hard work, in the process of factual attainment. And perhaps this is truly futile.
I want to clarify that I am not undermining anyone’s opinion, nor am I claiming that my beliefs hold more merit than anyone else. I am beckoning you to self-examine and self-critique your own opinions before you contribute to the overflowing bucket that is the interweb. This will save everyone a lot of wasted hours of filling their minds with textual illusion of merit.
This film managed to take my notions and way of thinking on such an intense journey. I would be lying if I said that I went into it without bias and without some level of apprehension. I would also be lying if it I said that it changed my way of thinking, towards the central theme, in any way. But it’s not always about the end result, but the way in which you reach it.
I initially fell in love with the central character Kate. The dream-like sequences; depictions of first-person contact and fragmented moments in time, held such beauty and wonder. As the film progressed, though, I began to hate her. I hated her for what she was doing to the protagonist, Ned, and everyone around her. This progression from love to hate was released within me so delicately and so slowly, though. Rachel Ward’s film-making allowed for a flawless execution, an art with such perfect timing. Each dream sequence reveals moments in time, each providing a perfectly-measured portion of knowledge and emotional attachment. Bit by bit I began to realise Kate’s true character and true self, until it is all cemented in one pivotal exchange, at the end of the film.
Personally, this realisation placed every other complication within the narrative into a peaceful balance, in an instant. Ned’s relationship with his father was suddenly more than just fickle bitterness, and I began to see the old man’s struggle, above my own detest for his outward actions. I immediately shifted the blame, which I had pointed at Ned for the entire movie, onto Kate. I even saw the wisdom within the minor character of Ned and Kate’s sister.
That, my friends, is what got me about Beautiful Kate. The guided evolution of my ways-of-thinking and emotions. An intentional guidance, by the director. A guidance which probably aligns with the director’s own journey. Thus, feeling what the director or creator feels. That’s what makes a perfect narrative.
