Friday, January 9, 2015

Tools for Research: What All the President's Men has to do with Musicology

Dr. Harker's first assignment to his 604 students was interesting.  We had to acquire and watch the 1976 film All The President's Men.  This is not a film about music (although Vivaldi's Concerto in C for Two Trumpets does appear at a particularly climactic moment). It's about Watergate. Inspired by true events, the movie is about two Washington Post reporters, Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein (played brilliantly by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman), who follow a hunch to ultimately discover what is arguably the biggest scandal in American history.


My first question was why watch this movie as an introduction to a graduate-level music history seminar?  A journalism class might find it useful, maybe, but musicologists?

 "Well, would you rather read another book instead?" was Dr. Harker's snarky reply.  Of course my answer was no.  I have plenty of reading material, thank you very much.

Turns out you can learn a lot about research -- any kind of research -- from this movie.

The characters of Woodward and Bernstein began their journey to international notoriety with a question: WHY?  WHY did the third-rate burglary of the Democratic National Committee Headquarters happen?  This simple WHY question led to more WHY questions. WHY were certain people involved?  WHY would no one answer their questions?  WHY would CREEP lie about its funds?  WHY? WHY? WHY?

And those WHY questions then led to a lot of HOW questions.  The biggest being "HOW are we going to prove our theory?"

These two kinds questions -- HOW and WHY -- are the kinds of questions music historians must also ask if they ever want to perform valuable research.  Often, music students get stumped on finding a topic for a paper or thesis.  "Everything's been said!" they complain, "What kind of argument can I make?" Perhaps their frustration is stemmed on the fact that they are not asking enough WHY questions: WHY did madrigals become popular in England? WHY did opera appear in the in the late 1500s? WHY would Schubert put a fugal passage in the first movement of his Unifinished Symphony?  WHY would John Cage write a completely silent piece?  WHY are there not many notable female composers?  WHY did Whites mimic Black jazz music styles in the early-twentieth century? WHY did Wagner value the Leitmotif?  WHY should we care about Pergolesi's La Serva Padronna? WHY WHY WHY WHY?

Or maybe there are some HOW questions you could ask? HOW does Beethoven reveal his emotional state in his Eroica symphony?  HOW is Mussorgsky a realistic composer? HOW do we know Schubert was gay?  HOW did Terry Reilly apply minimalistic looping to his works?  HOW did the Beatles change in style over time?  HOW often does Brahms use hemeola in his work (and WHY does this matter)?  HOW did Mozart influence the following generations of composers?  HOW is classical "art" music viewed in today's society?  HOW HOW HOW HOW?

And, just as with Woodward and Bernstein, our most important question should be: HOW can I find the answer to my question? HOW can I prove my theory is true?

That's where the long, complex, and oh, SO satisfying task of research appears.  Woodward and Bernstein learned quickly that a mere hunch was not enough to get published. They needed sources.  Multiple sources.   They needed proof, evidence.  Their fact could not be a fact until they proved it.  That's how facts work.  They're not eternal. We must recognize the inherent limitations of what we call facts.  Facts do not become facts until they are recognized by others as such, until a voice of authority deems it so, or until it is proven in an experiment.  And even then, as scholars, it is important that we always continue to question what is known as fact.  Everyone thought the earth was the center of the universe until someone had the nerve to say it wasn't.  

 So to prove your argument, you need evidence.  Finding this evidence can take time.  Even with the magic of the internet, discovering answers to a question can take a long time.  Just as Woodward had to pour through phone books, so must we pour through scores, secondary sources, websites, interviews, etc. to find information we need to answer our questions.  Who knows where the research journey will take us.  The process is not a set-in-stone formula we follow. Every research journey takes on its own unique shape. Forget your preconceived notions about five-paragraph essays, Grove dictionaries, and source limits.  That won't be enough for some of the more difficult questions that exist in the field. One source won't always cut it. Five paragraphs may not be enough. In order to conduct a thorough investigation you may need to approach a topic from many angles and viewpoints.  Sometimes you're going to have to make tough phone calls, spend some money, or perhaps even admit that there is no more you can do at the present time.  And after thousands of hours of work, your argument may end up getting dis-proven by another scholar. The research process takes sacrifice.

We learn from Woodward and Bernstein to keep track of our sources, take thorough notes (oh, I LOVED the note-taking sequences in that film! It validates my choice to take handwritten notes in class), and to work efficiently.  We learn to be bold when we ask questions, to take risks, and admit when we are wrong.  We learn how to work and collaborate with different writers, who may have opposing viewpoints and styles.  We learn how to keep going, even when stakes are high.

Above all, we learn about attaching your research to a higher purpose. Every field has its own "mission statement" -- a purpose.  The job of the press, for instance, is to relay relevant, important facts to their constituents.  Woodward and Bernstein, as members of the press, had a role -- a responsibility, a duty -- to find the truth and to deliver that truth to the public.  They were public servants, performing a public service.  And they took their jobs very seriously, despite their youth in the field.

Musicologists serve a different role than the news press, to be sure, but the main goal is still the same: A musicologist's job is to find truth and communicate it to his/her audience.  It, like news journalism, is a public service. Many assume that musicology is another form of self-expressive art, alongside music performance or composition.  This is a myth.  The writing, analysis, and lectures of a musicologist are not so much artistic as they are practical -- almost scientific.  Yes there is room for creativity, but the musicologist must always first consider the effect his/her creative decision will have on the audience. A scholarly paper can have some resemblance to poetry and prose at times, but its purpose is not to create abstract poetic symbols, but to relay concrete information. The ultimate goal is to be explicitly understood.  To communicate facts efficiently, effectively, and exactly. If you insist on writing in an "artistic" language that no one can understand, you have failed as a musicologist.  You can have infinite data in your head, but in the end, that won't matter if you cannot effectively broadcast it to an audience.  If it stays in your brain, it means nothing to anyone else. You can have the widest vocabulary, a photographic memory, stellar handwriting, perhaps even shocking evidence. But if you fail in your rhetoric, if you miss a step in the research, if you fail to communicate -- in short, if your work does not successfully contribute to the conversation -- it is not useful. It is worthless.  In musicology, function must always -- always --  come before form.

I don't know about other people, but knowing what my purpose is as a musicologist provides lots of motivation. Dr. Johnson says that in order to succeed in this business, you have to possess a true love of research. At the start of my program, I worried if I had what it took. Was I cut out for a lifetime of research? But it didn't take long for me to realize just how well I fit the research-loving mold.  When I'm bogged down by deadlines, difficult sources, foreign languages, and the constant comparing of myself to my peers, all I have to do is remind myself of the valuable service I am performing, and my energy is restored.  My viewpoints are unique, and while they are sometimes flawed, they are always valued, provided that I keep my purpose at the forefront of my work.

I get the feeling that even if Watergate didn't make national headline news -- even if their track led them nowhere -- Woodward and Bernstein would have rejoiced at the fact that they discovered the truth.  When the fruits of their labors manifested themselves, they knew the whole process was completely worth it.  Every now and again, I come across a reminder that the search is not in vain.  It may come as a piece of the puzzle, a tiny epiphany, a perfect source, or perhaps just another listen to a wonderful piece of music.  I remember these moments with every page I turn, every word I write, and every moment I spend in the research process.  I love my job.  I want to do it forever.

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