WHERE ARE WE WHEN WE LISTEN to MUSIC? Siegfried Zepf
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Where Are We When We Listen to Music? Siegfried Zepf Adopting the perspective of Langer’s understanding of music as a presenta- tional symbol, the author questions what is symbolized in music. He argues that music symbolizes a state of “oneness” that Sandler describes as a confu- sion of self- and object-representations. Akin to substitutive formation, in whose guise we experience and recognize mystified what we have excluded from our consciousness, we consciously experience and recognize in music in a mystified manner this phenomenon that never entered into conscious- ness. Like the relation between the substitute and the substituted uncon- scious, which have a tertium comparationis (Freud), this phenomenon of our inner life is symbolized in music by common elements. As a result of its structural identity with bodily registered sensory experiences of our for- mer “audio-phonic skin” (Anzieu) wrapping us in our intrauterine situa- tion, music can also revive this envelope by its sound, tonal configurations, and rhythm, thus allowing us to remember this situation somatically and to recognize our former state of “oneness” in its guise. The feelings that we experience when listening to music that we like relate to this state. They are nameless because there is no subject who could “mentalize” them. Keywords: music, presentational symbolism, oneness, womb, somatic memories En adoptant la perspective de Langer, qui appréhende la musique comme un symbole présentationnel, l’auteur remet en question ce qui est symbolisé dans la musique. Il soutient que la musique symbolise un état d’« unité », décrit par Sandler comme un état où se confondent représentation de soi et 326 Where Are We When We Listen to Music? représentations objectales. Comme dans le cas des formations substitutives, par l’entremise desquelles nous expérimentons et reconnaissons, stupéfaits, ce que nous avons exclu de notre conscience, par la musique nous expé- rimentons consciemment et reconnaissons, non sans stupéfaction là aussi, un phénomène qui n’est jamais devenu conscient. De la même façon que le substitut et la représentation substitutive qui en prend le relais sont reliés par un « tertium comparationis » (Freud), ce phénomène de notre vie inté- rieure est symbolisé dans la musique grâce à des éléments communs. De par son identité structurelle incluant des expériences sensorielles inscrites dans le corps par notre ancienne « peau audiophonique » (Anzieu), qui nous a servi d’enveloppe dans notre monde intra-utérin, la musique peut égale- ment ranimer cette enveloppe par les sons émis, les configurations tonales et le rythme, de sorte que nous parvenons à nous rappeler cette situation sur le plan somatique et à reconnaître notre état d’« unité » de jadis. Les senti- ments que nous ressentons quand nous écoutons de la musique qui nous plaît sont reliés à cet état. Ils sont indéfinissables parce que le sujet qui aurait pu les « mentaliser » n’avait pas encore émergé. Mots clés : musique, symbolisme présentationnel, unité, utérus, souvenirs somatiques We carry within us all the music we have never heard in our life, which lies at the bottom of the abyss of memory. All that is musical in us is memory. When we did not have a name, we must have heard everything. —Emile Cioran (1986/1995, p. 38) To avoid any accusations of plagiarism, I will admit right away that the title of this paper has been borrowed from Peter Sloterdijk (1993, p. 294). To shed some light on the reasons why I could not have formulated it more aptly myself, I begin with a preliminary note. I have attended concerts performed by Mark Knopfler and Leonard Cohen. When they played certain pieces, I experienced an emotional state that I could not name, and then I could not do without this music. Every now and then I became lost in their music and let the world temporarily come to an end. Somehow, the music was able to comfort me and fulfil an indefinable longing for something that was both quite near and far away. My longing for this music remained, but after some time I could not listen to Leonard Cohen anymore. I wanted to listen to his music, yet I could not do so. Why did I reject this music although I longed for it? What 327 siegfried zepf kinds of feelings did this music release? I had the impression that, while enveloped in this music, figures reappeared that once had been lost, yet I had no idea who these revenants (Freud, 1900, p. 480) might have been and where these feelings came from. Had I fallen so deeply into darkness that I could not recognize anything anymore? In this situation I remembered an essay by Peter Sloterdijk and started thinking about the very situation signified by the heading that I borrowed. Nameless Feelings It was not mourning, not despair, not pain, and not a mixture of these or other emotions that accompanied that music. It was impossible to name my emotional state. This was quite confusing because, as a psychoanalyst, I should at least have some insight into my feelings and the reasons why I felt this way. How could I identify my feelings? Since I had frequently dealt with lan- guage in my work, I was acquainted with Ludwig Feuerbach’s (1841/2004, p. 5) opinion: “Music is the language of feeling; melody is audible feel- ing—feeling communicating itself.” I had read something similar by Jean Jacques Rousseau (1753/1832, p. 373; see also Schweitzer, 1905/1955): “Les sons, dans la mélodie, n’agissent pas seulement sur nous comme sons, mais comme signes de nos affections, de nos sentiments; c’est ainsi qu’ils excitent en nous les mouvements qu’ils expriment.”1 According to this perspective, I should have been able to distinguish the nature of my feelings immediately from the music I heard. However, there are contradictory answers to the questions whether feelings were specific to music and how music triggers feelings. One of the Bach sons, Carl Philipp Emanuel, for instance, thought that music can move us only if the musician presented his or her own feelings in the music. He (Bach, 1753/1949, p. 152) stated that the musician “cannot move others unless he too is moved. He must of necessity feel all the affects he hopes to arouse in his audience, for the revealing of his own humour [Empfindung] will stimulate a like humour [Mit-Empfindung] in the listener.” Henri Prunière (1933) repeated this idea 180 years later, referring to composers. “We may rest assured,” he states, “that he [the composer] will not express these sentiments with authority unless he had experienced them at some given moment of his existence” (p. 20). Deryck Cooke (1959; see also Sessions, 1950) also assumed that the intentionality of the composer is experienced 1. “The sounds in the melody have an effect on us not only as sound, but as signs of our emotions, our sentience; therefore they are able to provoke the movement in us that they express” (author’s translation). 328 Where Are We When We Listen to Music? by the listener when entering into the feelings the composer expresses in writing the particular piece. In contrast, Ferruccio Busoni (1907/1973, p. 21) was convinced that, when composing, a musician should not be touched by any feelings if his or her music is to have an aesthetic quality. Hanslick (1854/1986) was convinced that music has no content other than itself, that music consists of nothing but “tonally moving forms” (p. 29) and that “the themes of a piece of music are … its essential content” (p. 82). None of these ideas were helpful in elucidating my feelings. Truly, if I confined myself to the views of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, Prunière, and Cooke to understand the nature of the feelings I experienced when listen- ing to Knopfler and Cohen, I would have only to find out what types of feel- ings both musicians had when composing or playing their songs. However, this attempt would not have been consistent with my emotional state. It remained the same, not only when listening to pieces played by Knopfler and Cohen but also when listening to other music, such as Georg Händel’s “Lasica la spina” sung by Cecilia Bartoli. Furthermore, this access would have been opposed by a statement by Victor Hugo (1864, p. 88): “Ce qu’on ne peut dire et ce qu’on ne peut taire, la musique l’exprime.”2 On the other hand, if I subscribed to the opinion of Busoni or Hanslick, it would remain a secret as to why Mark Knopfler’s and Leonard Cohen’s music could give rise to these nameless feelings. Regardless of which position I chose to take, to understand the nature of my feelings, it seemed necessary to investigate them within a concep- tual framework that does justice to both music and the listener. Langer’s understanding of music provided such a framework. As Basch (1976) and Harris (1987) pointed out, Langer’s concept of presentational symbolism corresponds to Freud’s primary process, and her conceptual definition of music as a presentational symbol is in agreement with psychoanalytical understanding of symbols as codified by Jones (1916/1961), thus allowing me to examine my feelings from a psychoanalytical perspective without an unacceptable transgression of conceptual limits. I will start with an outline of Langer’s concept of presentational sym- bols. Although psychoanalysts have occasionally mentioned her concept in connection with music (e.g., Feder, 1982; Haesler, 1997/2006; Hagman, 2005; McGlashan, 1987; Nass, 1971; Rechardt, 1987; Salomonsson, 1989), it has not been related to psychoanalytical concepts in more systematically. In the following section I will comment on Langer’s conceptualization and 2.