What do you call a critter that has a beak and lays eggs? You call it a bird. But a Duck-billed Platypus has a beak, and it lays eggs; and despite these two qualifying features of overall birdness you cannot call it a bird. That is because it is covered in fur, and the female of the species nurtures its young with her milk, making it a mammal. But can you call it a mammal? Several zoologists in Great Britain, upon first hearing about this odd little animal, called it a hoax. That is because they knew better than to believe in any form of life that did not fit precisely into the categories to which they had been accustomed. Neither fish nor fowl (though it swims with the skill and dexterity of a fish, adding to the complex problem of its impertinent existence), having neither scales nor feathers, venomous but not a snake, cute but poisonous, this obstinate creature defies categorization as anything except that it is, unquestionably, an animal. It is certainly animate, that is alive. This too made it a pain in the neck to those zoologists who could not imagine its existence, but were forced reluctantly to acknowledge it anyway. I suppose that if it can’t be, it can’t be, except that it exists, probably not knowing that it should not; or so it seemed.
I have come to sympathize greatly with the platypus, even to admire the audacity of its stubborn freedom. My Anglicanism is one reason. I belong to a western Christian Church the practices of which cannot fit into those two simplistic categories, Protestant or Catholic. My politics is another, as a staunch Independent who eschews partisan loyalty. No less than these is my defiance of category as a musician. If you take a peek at my YouTube channel you will find my musical performances of music by The Beatles, by J.S. Bach, by W.A Mozart, a jazz standard called Take the A Train by Billy Strayhorn, and many more. You will also find original compositions and improvisations that cross genres from classical to jazz to rock. There’s even a couple of improvisations that drew on Celtic instrumental music and blended it with the influence of Indian Classical Music, created under the influence of Ravi Shankar and of his daughter Anoushka Shankar, marvelous composers respectively. I have got all kinds of music under my skin.
That is how it ought to be really, that is for anyone who is a genuine musician. When the Beatles first came to America they were greeted not only by enthusiastic fans, but also by ridiculous critics who complained about their mixture of modality and tonality, as well as other unconventional creativity. John Lennon replied to one of those criticisms, in which the writer threw around what must have seemed to him like very esoteric and erudite musical technicalities, complaining about “leading tones” and “diatonics”: “Yes. We’re seeing a doctor about it.” Of course by that time John Lennon and Paul McCartney were named “The Composers of the Year” in Great Britain for their 1963 song, It Won’t be Long (itself the subject of an upcoming post here). Not only had they impressed the musicians in their own country, but also two of America’s greatest composers at the time, Richard Rogers and Leonard Bernstein.
I thought back on those facts when coming across a post recently in a Facebook group. It linked the readers to an article that boldly asserted that classical musical is “better” than popular music. I commented as follows: “Self-congratulations on the part of snobs is always unmerited, and the sheer musical ignorance expressed by the author is a perfect specimen of that phenomenon.” I received a reply to the effect that I must be “vulgar.” I chuckled as I posted a link that demonstrates my credentials as a musician who has mastered much in the classical world. In the video I selected was one of my own, a Prelude and Fugue meant to be something that would have received the approval of J. S. Bach (I studied musical composition under Dr. Felix Powell; but my most important teacher was Bach).
Strict categorization is for people who need to feel either safe or superior, and in most cases it comes from very limited exposure to reality. In the late nineteenth century, into the early twentieth century, many people were taught to believe that the science of their day made it possible for one to know everything there is to know. Then along came a man named Albert Einstein who pretty much stood a lot of the established science of his day on its head, even correcting our understanding of the nature of gravity. Today science is often accompanied by a sense of awe and wonder, a humble acknowledgement of our ignorance in the face of ever new discoveries that cause, for every fact newly come to light, an exponential appreciation of our ignorance. That is, of course, humility on the part of anyone with even a mustard seed worth of wisdom (Einstein’s ability to play the violin has to fit into this picture somewhere). The point is simply this: Reality cannot and will not fit into small boxes. The real existence of the Duck-billed Platypus did not fit into what some scientists of an earlier age thought they knew to be true, obviously true beyond any argument. Such an animal does not fit the established categories.
The element in the Universe that constitutes music does not fit into simplistic categories and is not even limited to what we create as a species. There is harmony and rhythm in the very stars beyond what we can grasp. One day several years ago I sat in the backyard of my parents’ home on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. I listened intently as, one after another, various birds sang in their distinctive voices, each taking its turn with a very regular rhythm. The exact sequence was repeated several times with precise timing, creating a very real natural melody with a very consistent beat. It went on for several minutes. The unseen composer and conductor had it all under control, as he does the sun and the moon and the stars, as well as the galaxies. It is all a song we cannot take in fully, but only experience in glimpses. On a much smaller scale, our human music does not always fit into the categories we want to assign it. Each song is really a discovery as much as a creation. As much as each bird in that chorus on that afternoon long ago was of a different feather, together they created one chorus.
Duke Ellington said it best: “There are only two kinds of music: Good music and the other kind.” On this Substack page we will discuss a lot about good music. Some of it might be furry and give suck to its young. Some of it might have a beak and lay eggs. But it is all essentially just music.
NEXT UP: The Beatles and Naughty Chords. Look for it soon.
fantastic start! love it