Words Music and Meaning PDF
Words Music and Meaning PDF
Words Music and Meaning PDF
Sémiotique de la musique
Lawrence M. Zbikowski
University of Chicago
which was ghost-written by Walter Nouvel, came from a time when Stravinsky
was actively trying to situate himself in the vanguard of composers. 3 As such,
the assertion that music was not about anything — that it was pure construction,
having nothing to do with everyday life — placed Stravinsky and his music above
the fray and beyond the reach of the long nineteenth century. It is fair to say,
however, that Stravinsky was not alone in his opinion about what music might be
able to express: the question of what we might broadly call the cognitive status of
music and music’s relationship to other modes of communication loomed large in
post-Enlightenment thought, and one way to deal with it was to claim for music
a privileged status as a mode of communication that was, in an important way,
beyond communication.
I have never been comfortable with this view of music, which reflects two
related assumptions. The first is that for thought to count as thought it has to
take linguistic form. One consequence of this assumption is that many modes
of human communication, including gesture, dance, and music, are relegated to
non-conceptual status and achieve conceptual status only by being translated into
language. The second assumption is that communication relies on what Michael
Reddy called the conduit metaphor: for communication to take place one must
take bits of information, wrap them up in neat packages, and then send them
down a conduit to another person who unwraps the packages to discover the
information within. 4 Whatever the merits of using this metaphor to structure our
understanding of communication through language—and those are debatable—
the model simply doesn’t work for music, which prompts listeners to a kind of
engagement for which the conduit metaphor is clearly inadequate.
To get a sense of what might be involved with this sort of engagement, and
how it differs from what we accomplish through language, let me turn to a group
of brief musical passages, which will help illustrate some important aspects of the
kind of understanding that is built up through listening to music. The first passage,
shown in Example 1, consists of a simple alternating figure in a waltz rhythm.
The alternation begins with two notes a fifth apart (G4 and D5—a fifth is the first
ascending interval of the children’s song “Ah, vous dirai-je Maman”. known in
the Anglo-American world as “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”), which shrink to a
fourth in measure 2 (A4–D5), return to a fifth in measure 3, and then contract back
to a fourth in measure 4. Here I would strongly encourage that the reader imagine,
to the extent he or she can, the sound of this figure, whose steady alternations, set
in waltz rhythm, create an aural image of a regular, swinging oscillation.
Example 2: The opening of a popular tune, introduced by the four-measure oscillating figure.
Let me develop this point a bit further with a few more examples. Example
3 offers a modified version of the introduction: instead of oscillations of a fifth
alternating with oscillations of a fourth, we now have oscillations of a minor third
(B4–D5 — this is the opening interval of “O, Canada”) alternating with oscillations
of a major second (C5–D5). The reader/listener may find that this version of the
introduction works slightly less well than the previous version: although steady
146 Music, Song, Language
alternations set up a regular, swinging rhythm the contraction of the interval gives
a different feel to the alternation of pitches, and the connection to the opening of
“My Favorite Things” is lost. Of course, much of the broadly swinging effect of
the introduction, as well as Rodgers and Hammerstein’s tune, is a consequence
of the triple meter of the waltz. Note how the effect of the modified introduction
changes if it is rendered in 4/4 time (as it is in Example 4): with a strong beat
now occurring after four eighth-notes (rather than after six, as is the case in 3/4)
the rhythm is choppier, less flowing. I should emphasize that this change is not
simply conceptual (a consequence of realizing that strong beats now occur after
four eighth-notes rather than six) but also, to some extent, embodied: the bodily
images we summon as we imagine or perform Example 4 are of a different sort
than those engendered by Example 3.
Example 3: The opening of the popular tune of Example 2 with a modified introduction.
which sequences of musical events shape their thoughts (rather than, for instance,
extra-musical knowledge about “Over the Rainbow”, “My Favorite Things”, or, for
that matter, “Ah, vous dirai-je Maman” or “O, Canada”).
Example 5: The opening of a second popular tune, introduced by the four-measure oscillating figure
from Example 4.
stands for something, its object. It stands for that object, not in all respects, but
in reference to a sort of idea, which I have sometimes called the ground of the
representamen. 11
My reading of Peirce is informed by the biologist Terry Deacon’s work on
language evolution. This is especially so in the case of Peirce’s second set of triadic
relationships, which concerned the forms the sign could take: as icon, index, or
symbol. Deacon notes that what was important for Peirce was the relationship
between the characteristics of the sign token and those of the physical object
that it represented. Deacon summarized these relationships as follows: “icons
are mediated by a similarity between sign and object, indices are mediated by
some physical or temporal connection between sign and object, and symbols are
mediated by some formal or merely agreed-upon link irrespective of any physical
characteristics of either sign or object.” 12
Peirce’s semiotic theory provided Deacon with a framework for describing
why our species and no other developed language. The simple ability to use signs,
broadly understood, was not enough in itself, since there is ample evidence that
other species have the capacity to make use of basic kinds of icons and indices.
What was crucial was being able to use signs — and in particular indices — to refer
not simply to objects but to other signs. By this means it was possible to build up
the dense network of interconnected symbols — that is, the system of symbolic
reference — on which language is based. 13
If what I call a sonic analog is akin to Peirce’s notion of an icon and if, from
Deacon’s perspective, other species can make use of icons, why is it that other species
have not developed music? The key is analogical reference, a form of reference that
is part of Peirce’s fuller account of the icon (or, more accurately, what Peirce called
a hypoicon). As suggested by Deacon’s summary, icons represent their objects by
being like them. For Peirce, this likeness may take one of three forms:
“Those [hypoicons] which partake of simple qualities, or First Firstnesses,
are images; those which represent the relations, mainly dyadic, or so regarded,
of the parts of one thing by analogous relations in their own parts, are diagrams;
those which represent the representative character of a representamen by
representing a parallelism in something else, are metaphors.” 14
Peirce did not elaborate this division further, but based on his overall approach
it seems fair to say that the image was, in its essential respects, indistinguishable
from its object. In contrast, diagrams preserve structural relationships with their
objects (but not, perhaps, their surface features), where metaphors offer a looser
but still discernible connection between the icon and its object.
All told, Peirce’s remarks on iconicity are relatively brief, and made chiefly
within the context of setting out his overall system of signs. Not so for Umberto Eco,
who devoted over seventy pages of his A Theory of Semiotics to the phenomenon of
iconism. It is apparent from Eco’s analysis and critique that the icon is not nearly as
simple as portrayed by Peirce, and that developing a fuller account of the way iconic
signs are produced is central to understanding the function of signs as a whole. In
the course of his analysis Eco dismissed analogy as a way to account for iconism,
for he understood it to be little more than a formal procedure through which the
transformation of object into icon can be effected. 15 Empirical research over the past
thirty years, however, has demonstrated that there is much more to analogy than
a formal procedure effecting the transformation of object into icon — analogy is
instead a general and fundamental cognitive process through which structure and
relations are mapped between two different domains. More specifically, mapping
relationships between relationships — what are called “second order relations” in
research on analogy — is distinctive of the analogies that humans make. Indeed,
Douglas Hofstadter has argued that analogy, as the means by which concepts are
assembled and connected to one another, is at the very core of human cognition. 16
At the very least, there is considerable overlap between judgments of similarity,
making analogies, and processes of categorization, all of which contribute to the
distinctiveness of human intelligence. 17 Perhaps more striking is that the capacity
for analogy is apparently unique to our species. Although other species are able
to make some very sophisticated similarity judgments, and there is research
suggesting that chimpanzees can understand the second-order relations basic
to analogy (especially for spatial reasoning) and that bottlenosed dolphins can
perform sophisticated body-mapping analogies, current evidence indicates that no
other species comes close to making or using analogies with the facility and speed
of humans. 18 And this capacity is available from a very early age: children as young
as ten months are able to solve problems by analogy, 19 and by the age of three years
analogical abilities are quite robust. 20 In sum, then, although it may be that other
species are able to make use of the form of icon that Peirce called an image, they
will not typically be able to understand icons that are diagrams or metaphors.
To illustrate the basic idea of a sonic analog within a musical context, let me
return to my opening examples, and in particular Example 2 (which paired the
oscillating introduction with the opening of “My Favorite Things”). In my earlier
discussion I suggested that the steady alternations of the introductory figure
created an aural image of a regular, swinging oscillation, and noted that this sense
of swing changed — indeed, took on a more expansive character — once Rodgers
Words, Music, and Meaning 153
and Hammerstein’s tune took over. In point of fact, the aural image of swinging is
an illusion: while performing Example 2 requires some form of alternation (even if
it involves only portions of the vocal tract), whatever “swing” we hear is something
summoned from our memories of a particular form of physical movement
(“swinging”). Moreover, actual swinging (as a result of being suspended from
an overhead support by some connecting material) carries with it no particular
sound (although the overhead support and connecting material may make various
sounds due to the physical stresses placed on them). The music of Example 2 is
thus not an imitation of swinging but is instead a sonic analog for the dynamic
process of swinging.
I should note that the notion of musical expression I have outlined here,
based on creating analogs for dynamic processes through sequences of musical
sound, points to a species of communication rather different from that employed
by natural language. The sort of communication engendered by music — and I
leave open the question of whether “communication” is the best term here — is
something closer to sympathy or empathy, and reflects both the influence of
embodied experience on cognitive processes and the deeply social basis of humans’
interpersonal exchanges. 21 That said, the marked differences between musical
and linguistic communication can offer a productive basis for thinking about the
resources — both material and cognitive — exploited by each, and thus how words
and music create meaning.
The function of these measures is thus as a kind of platform from which the
remainder of the melody will depart, something confirmed when they are restated
in measures 9–12. Contrast the compositional strategies used in the beginning of
“My Favorite Things” with those used for the beginning of “Over the Rainbow”
(given in measures 5–8 of Example 5). Here again the opening measures set out a
basic rhythmic framework (although here the four-measure unit is divided into a
2 + 2 pattern), a registral space (in this case, from G4 to G5), and key elements of
a G major tonality. The sonic analog created through this particular arrangement
of musical materials is, however, rather different, as it suggests the initiation of a
dynamic process that will continue to move forward after measure 8. (The reader
can get a sense of the difference between the two openings by performing measures
5–8 of “Over the Rainbow” and then immediately repeating them. The result is
not an affirmation of a cyclic dynamic process — as is the case with “My Favorite
Things” — but the frustration of a forward-moving one.)
Correlations between sequences of musical events and dynamic processes
of the sort I have just suggested might seem completely natural, but on the best
evidence we currently have humans are the only species able to perform the
complex analogical mappings that support such correlations, and that are basic to
what I call analogical reference. I should also note that, as are analogies as a whole,
analogical reference is shaped by context: whether we interpret a given dynamic
process evoked by a sequence of musical sounds as a series of emotions, a pattern
of bodily movement, or transformations performed on physical entities will
depend on the context within which the analogy is drawn. In all cases, however,
musical meaning begins with sonic analogs for dynamic processes. I should want
to emphasize, however, that music is not unique in making use of analogical
reference: as I noted, sound effects of various sorts typically employ sonic analogs,
and the spontaneous gestures that accompany speech will often employ movement
analogs for dynamic processes. Finally, language too can create sonic analogs: as
Stravinsky noted in his observations on Russian folk poetry, the sequence of words
and syllables, and the cadence they create, can also summon dynamic processes
not unlike those of music.
With this perspective on musical grammar in hand, let me now proceed to
a closer consideration of the kinds of meaning created by Harold Arlen and Yip
Harburg’s “Over the Rainbow”.
the story of Dorothy, a young girl growing up in the middle of the vast plains of
Kansas, who was suddenly plucked up by a cyclone and dropped into the middle
of the magical world of Oz, which included the fantastical characters of the Tin
Man, the Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion. Within a few years the story had been
adapted for the stage, and inspired Baum to write thirteen sequels to the book. It
was not, however, until the story was turned into a screenplay and MGM’s The
Wizard of Oz released in 1939 that Baum’s story achieved the status of legend.
Building on Baum’s original treatment (which described Dorothy’s home in Kansas
as unrelentingly gray) the first part of the movie was filmed in black and white,
and the magical world of Oz in Technicolor; although Technicolor was no longer
novel in the late 1930s, the two different modes of visual presentation fed directly
into the narrative of the film. This felicitous match of story and technology was
further supported by MGM’s decision to use one of its young stars, Judy Garland,
in the role of Dorothy, and by the integration of songs written by Yip Harburg and
Harold Arlen into the plot of the story as a whole.
As it happens, “Over the Rainbow” is the first song in the movie, and it
appears in the context of Dorothy’s having suffered a sequence of minor trials
and tribulations: Miss Gulch, a crotchety old neighbor, has committed a physical
offense on Dorothy’s little dog Toto and has threatened to take the dog away from
her; her Uncle Henry and Aunt Em, in the midst of pressing farm work, have
turned a deaf ear to her complaints about Miss Gulch; the farm hands, occupied
with their own work, have had even less time for her; and she has managed to fall
into the pig pen. After she is rescued by one of the farm hands Dorothy’s Aunt Em
pleads with her stay out of the way and, reflecting on her troubles, Dorothy is then
moved to sing “Over the Rainbow”, a soliloquy (as can be seen in the still from the
film given in Figure 1) attended only by Toto; the score for the song is given in
Example 7. 22 Although I shall want to devote some attention to the words Harburg
wrote for the song, for the moment my main focus will be on Arlen’s music. While
my decision to do so reflects the overall argument I wish to make, it bears mention
that “Over the Rainbow” began with Arlen’s melody and a general conception of
the role the song should play in the film; it was only after the melody was more or
less complete that Harburg came up with the words.
22. To facilitate comparison with Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “My Favorite Things” I’ve transposed
the melody of “Over the Rainbow” to G major; the published version of the song is in E-flat
major, and Garland sings it in A-flat major in the film. Although the latter would be notated a
half-step higher than Example 7, Garland’s contralto sounds an octave lower.
156 Music, Song, Language
Figure 1: Still from MGM’s The Wizard of Oz (1939) of Dorothy (Judy Garland) singing
“Over the Rainbow”.
Perhaps one of the most remarkable things about Arlen’s tune is the octave leap
with which it begins, a gesture that opens up a registral space that is then gradually
filled in over the rest of the first phrase. The phrase as a whole divides into two halves:
Words, Music, and Meaning 157
the end of the first half is marked by the long D5 of measure 4, and the end of second
half by the return to G4 in measure 8. As befits a tune conceived of as a ballad (in
terms of the generic categories used for movie musicals) the progression of pitches
is for the most part measured and stately; in measure 2, however, that progression
is pushed along a bit by a rhythmic figure that proceeds mostly in quarter notes,
with two eighth notes pushing toward the second main beat of the measure. This
same rhythmic figure is then employed in the second half of the phrase in measures
6 and 7, a repetition that pushes the music forward toward its concluding note.
The rhythmic repetition is abetted by a melodic sequence — measure 7 is simply
measure 6 transposed down a step —and a circle-of-fifths harmonic progression
completed by tonic in measure 8. Perhaps a more important melodic sequence
occurs in measures 3 through 6, when the ascending major sixth of measure 3
(G4–E5) is restated as an ascending minor sixth in measure 5 (E4–C5). On the one
hand, the repetition of the gesture pulls together the two halves of the phrase; on
the other hand, the major sixth of measure three sounds noticeably bright when
compared with the minor sixth of measure 5. (It bears mention that the first note of
that minor sixth also marks the lowest boundary of the melody as a whole.)
As should be apparent, Arlen’s melody for “Over the Rainbow” is a well-crafted
thing; what may not be as apparent is its uneasy fit with the character of Dorothy
in the film. Again, Dorothy is meant to be a little girl who has childish thoughts
and concerns; Arlen’s melody, with its soaring intervallic leaps and magisterial
sweep, bespeaks a character overwhelmed by yearning and emotions quite beyond
the scope of a little girl. Indeed, Harburg at first believed the song was too old and
too daring for the character, an impression abetted by the majestic and serious way
Arlen played the song as he was writing it. 23 Harburg was, however, eventually
convinced the song could work, especially after Arlen wrote the much simpler
and more childlike bridge section (measures 17–24), with the simple alternation
of pitches that, as I noted above, is often re-purposed to provide an introduction.
In summary, then, Arlen’s music forms a coherent whole, the main sections
of which provide a sonic analog for a dynamic process that is almost athletic, and
always assured, suggesting an utterance motivated by strong emotions. Indeed,
the opening octave, which motivates much of what follows, could be thought of
as what Gilles Fauconnier calls a space builder, 24 with the subsequent music filling
out a mental space in which musical leaps that are almost physical alternate with
compact melodic sequences that impart a clear sense of direction to the whole. (The
notion of a mental space, which can be thought of as a relatively small conceptual
packet built up for purposes of local understanding and action, will be developed
further in the sequel.) Although the melody for the bridge section modifies this
mental space somewhat, it also serves as a device to delay the inevitable return of
the opening melody, a means of building tension that can clearly be heard in the
way Judy Garland shapes her high note in measure 24 just before the final return
of “Somewhere, over the rainbow”: she thins her tone just a little on the high A5,
lets it blossom with vibrato sustained through a rallentando, and then gracefully
and almost imperceptibly slides down to the E5. While Garland as Dorothy might
project some sense of childlike innocence in the bridge, Garland the performer
remains every bit as much in control as she was in the athletic and assured music
of the opening eight measures.
25. On relationships between verse, poetry, and song see Booth (1981, pp. 1–26).
26. Zbikowski (1999, pp. 307–435; 2002, chap. 6; 2006).
27. The classic study that provided a significant impetus for the development of cognitive linguistics
was George Lakoff and Mark Johnson’s Metaphors We Live By (1980). One of the early studies
of conceptual blending that set out methodologies for conceptual integration networks was
Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner’s “Conceptual Integration Networks” (1998). A fuller
account of the theory of conceptual blending can be found in Fauconnier and Turner (2002).
Words, Music, and Meaning 159
a diagram for a conceptual integration network for Harburg and Arlen’s “Over
the Rainbow” which captures a number of aspects of the process of conceptual
blending that can occur when words and music are brought together in a structured
relationship.
• The process of conceptual blending typically begins with two correlated mental
spaces that provide the basic input for the network; here, these are the “music”
space and the “words” space. The solid double-headed arrow linking these
two circles indicates that concepts from each space are correlated with one
another — that is, the linkage between these two spaces is created not simply
by their co-occurrence in time but through shared conceptual structure. The
relevant conceptual content from the “music” space involves the athletic,
assured dynamic process for which Arlen’s music provides a sonic analog;
the relevant conceptual content from the “words” are the childish wishes and
childish regrets summoned by Harburg’s lyrics.
• According to the theory of conceptual blending, the combination of concepts
that are drawn from the input spaces is supported and guided by more abstract
concepts shared between the input spaces; these are typically represented in a
hypothetical structure called the generic space located at the top of Example
8. In the case of the present conceptual integration network, I have proposed
that these more abstract concepts circulate around the notion that a given
character — whether real or imaginary — has thoughts, emotions, and
volition. (Although this might seem a rather simple idea, note the effect it
would have if the “character” was one attributed to an inanimate object such
as an automobile.) Dashed, double-headed arrows link the generic space with
the two input spaces, suggesting that concepts are projected from the generic
space to the input spaces, and that the conceptual content of the input spaces
can inform the generic space.
• The linkages between the input spaces, which reflect the shared conceptual
structure captured by the generic space, make possible the selective projection
of concepts from the “music” and “words” spaces into the conceptual blend.
The result is a character with powerful wishes and regrets, and the agency to act
on those wishes to address those regrets. Once we enter into the imaginative
domain inhabited by such a character we can imagine actions she might take,
and what she might do were she confronted by other obstacles. And indeed,
Dorothy is shortly to be confronted by such obstacles when she enters the
magical world of Oz.
It should be noted that while conceptual integration networks can be useful
for the analysis of the process of conceptual blending they can give rise to the
impression that this process is in some measure atemporal. Diagrams such as
Example 8 are better thought of as a snapshot of an ongoing process, capturing
essential features of that process but leaving out its development over time. It also
160 Music, Song, Language
bears mention that my use of conceptual blending here is more to illustrate the
different ways words and music contribute to the construction of meaning than it
is to give a complete exposition of the structure and process of conceptual blending
or the role blending plays in semiotic systems. 28
The meaning created through the combination of Arlen’s music with Harburg’s
lyrics, which attributed to the character of Dorothy powerful emotions and a
rather too-mature sense of agency, created something of a problem for MGM’s
Wizard of Oz. As she is presented in Baum’s book and as she functions within
the conceit of the movie Dorothy is unambiguously a child: both her problems
and the means through which she might deal with them are those of a child. Not
so for the character projected by “Over the Rainbow”: although the thoughts and
wishes expressed in the song remain those of a child, the yearning and agency
suggested by the music leave little doubt that Dorothy is a force to be reckoned
with. Although it might seem that this interpretation reads quite a lot out of “Over
the Rainbow” — can it really be that this song is inappropriate for a character as
innocent and guileless as Dorothy is meant to be? — the fact remains that “Over
the Rainbow” was cut from The Wizard of Oz after its first preview. There then
ensued a pitched and protracted battle over the matter of including the song in the
film, a battle that was finally won by Harburg, Arlen, and their supporters. 29 We
cannot know, of course, why the song was cut (or reinstated), but given Harburg’s
reservations about how well Arlen’s melody was suited to Dorothy’s character it
could well be that the conceptual blend I have sketched explains the discomfort of
the studio executives at MGM.
Example 8: Conceptual integration network for Harold Arlen and Yip Harburg’s
“Over the Rainbow”.
28. With regard to the role of blending in semiotic systems see Brandt and Brandt (2005).
29. Harmetz (1984, pp. 81–82).
Words, Music, and Meaning 161
3. Conclusion
By way of conclusion let me summarize some of the points I have made in this chapter.
First, I have proposed that music and language have different functions in human
cultures and that, as a consequence, they employ different kinds of grammar that
rely on different kinds of reference. As I have already noted, while language relies
predominantly on symbolic reference it can also make use of analogical reference
(as suggested by Stravinsky’s observation about Russian folk poems); while music
relies predominantly on analogical reference work on topic theory suggests that it
may make use of symbolic reference. 30 On the whole, however, the two media offer
different resources for communication: music is indeed a means of expression,
but the things it expresses are different from those expressed by language. I should
also emphasize that my concern has been with the basic functions of language and
music in human cultures, and that both communicative media can realize more
than simply these basic functions. One of the ways music does this is through the
coordination of different syntactic layers: indeed, my view is that it is possible to
create sonic analogs through rhythm and melody and harmony, and that skilled
composers and improvisers coordinate all of these different syntactic layers (and
others besides) to create their musical utterances.
With my analysis of “Over the Rainbow” I have also shown how concepts
summoned by words and music could be blended together to create rich mental
spaces within which the imagination can flourish. There is, of course, much more
that could be said about the process of conceptual blending and its application
to music, but my aim was less to give a demonstration of blending and more to
show the different ways that words and music contribute to the construction of
meaning. More broadly, I propose that a communicative medium is shaped by
the mode of reference it employs, by the perceptual resources (such as audition
or motor movement) that it activates or exploits, and by its cultural function.
Through analyzing how all of these aspects are coordinated we can come to a better
understanding of how communicative media like words and music give rise to that
special species of significance we call meaning.
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