What Can Music Do to Change a Destructive Story?
Below is the transcript of Duncan Neilson's talk delivered at TEDx Lewis&Clark College
The spark of wonder. I’ve always trusted that to pull me into a project and to guide me through. Because I think it’s wonder that fires me up as a composer, and at the root of what I like to convey. But there was a time when that spark— and its sustaining power— almost went out.
I went to a lecture. It was given by my uncle Ron Neilson. He’s a scientist. He had just received a Nobel Prize for his work. I was excited to go because he was going to discuss his work and why he had been given the award. The subject? Human-caused worldwide climate change. I was not prepared for what I heard.
After the lecture everybody who was in that room went straight to the bar. I left feeling depressed. Hopeless. Like my work as a musician and composer was pointless. The world is burning so fast— what can music do?
My passion? My music? How is this going to have any impact on what I’ve just heard? In the face of climate crisis and looming world disaster, what do I do? Give up? These were really scary feelings.
But when I talked to Ron about it he said, “No, Duncan. Don’t give up. You are doing the good work.”
Now hold on a second. I did not expect him to say that. Here I was taking climate science seriously. And here he was was taking music just as seriously. Maybe he was seeing something in music that perhaps I wasn’t taking as seriously as I should.
What was clear from the lecture was that we are living in a destructive story and our story needs to change.
Well. Years ago somebody noticed something about the connection between music and change.
“…beware of change to a strange form of music… For never are the ways of music moved without the greatest political laws being moved…”
—Plato, The Republic
In other words, “When the modes of music change, society changes.”
So. I started listening to a slightly stranger form of music. Here it is.
(Play and listen: Weddell Seals vocalizing in the ocean under Antarctic ice.)
What were we just listening to?
Aliens? Spaceships? Laser beams? Synthesizers? Something out of a sci-fi film?
These sounds are the voices of Weddell Seals. Swimming and vocalizing under Antarctic ice.
Here’s what’s so strange about these sounds. These are ancient sounds. These sounds— they sound so futuristic. They sound inorganic but they are made by living seals.
I thought: “I have to find a way to include them in my music—as featured singers. So here’s what I came up with: Listen closely and see if you can hear when the voices of the seals first appear:
(Play Planetudes “Weddells” song — seals plus electronica.)
Nothing had ever guided me down this path of creating music like this— a kind of organic electronica. These sounds— they open up your mind. These aren’t human singers— they're the Weddell seals.
I had so much fun with this Weddell seals track— I thought— why not create some more?
Underwater gardens with the sounds of whales, a dialogue with a screech owl. Some creatures speak with their voices, some creatures speak through movement.
The sounds that come from the natural world are called biomusic. Biomusic: it’s the voices of birds. It's the voices of whales. It’s the sound of leaves and trees in the wind. It’s the sound of the human heartbeat.
There’s something that happens. Did you ever listen to a form of music that you thought was strange? After a little while longer you listen to it some more— its less strange. Over time it becomes familiar. Over time, you might actually look forward to it. Who knows? Eventually you might actually love it.
So when Plato said beware of the change to a strange form of music— because society changes? Well when I started listening to this strange form of music something happened. I changed. I was filled with wonder.
As composer in residence with the Portland Chamber Orchestra I had a commission coming up. And I decided I wanted to find a story I could set to music that would address the climate crisis on a root level.
My artistic partner and wife found something.
She said, “Have you ever heard of the Modern Prometheus?”
I said the modern what?
She said, “Well, its the earliest sci-fi novel.”
I said okay.
She said, “It has fantastic nature writing.”
I said okay.
She said, “It has a beautiful evocation of the human drama with real ecological consequences.”
She said "look at this line right here”:
‘I tried to imitate the pleasant sounds of the birds. But the uncouth and inarticulate sounds that broke from me frightened me into silence.’
I thought “I know someone who has been listening to bird sounds. Me. I saw how that opened up my world. I said, ‘What is this?’”
She said it’s spoken by the Unnamed Creature in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.
At that point I just laughed and thought, “Frankenstein. He’s the big green guy, walks around kind of clumsy, not very articulate… You know, not very bright?”
Well actually, no.
In the original story, Dr. Frankenstein is the creator.
The Unnamed Creature is the created.
The creature was never given a name. Furthermore, this creature is self-educated. He’s smart. Articulate. Moves with superhuman strength and speed. And wants to know how he fits in— where he belongs.
I was hooked. After reading the story I found that this creature is a very different character than the one portrayed in almost every movie and pop culture reference that I could find.
I wanted to give him a chance to speak through this project. So I designed music. I did not alter Mary Shelley’s tale, but rather distilled the essence of the creature’s narrative out of it. I created music that tells the story from the Creature’s point of view. It’s called The Monster.
Early on I heard a melody. It goes like this.
(Music theme at piano)
Repetitive. Obsessive. Driving. It had the right mood. I didn’t know it at the time but this would be the seed that would grow into the overall music of the piece. And it underscores something powerful about the story.
There’s a story theme in Frankenstein that shows us something about our culture — a behavior that leads to disaster. Here it is:
To create things in the world— to bring things forth— but then refuse to take responsibility for them… It leads to disaster.
In the story Dr. Frankenstein creates the impossible. He creates life out of unlife. He creates a new creature. And what happens when he’s done?
He walks away. Abandons him. Doesn’t even give it a name. “Not my responsibility.”
When the creature wakes up in the forest he’s looking for where he belongs. He’s looking for a family.
Then he hears the voices of birds.
He feels a deep connection with the natural world—the movement of the trees, the changing of the seasons, the birds and the beasts. It’s here where he tries to imitate the sounds of the birds. But the sounds he makes frighten him.
He sees people— moves toward them. He’s scarred. Disfigured. They run away. People think he’s a monster. He realizes “I am all alone in this world.”
He finds a house— peeks in— sees a blind man teaching his children. This is how he learns.
Eventually he tracks down Dr. Frankenstein, his creator, and he says, “I want a mate. I demand a creature of another sex but as hideous as myself. We will be monsters, cut off from the world. But we will be harmless.”
Dr. Frankenstein, impressed, says, “Okay, I promise. I’ll make you a bride.” … He begins the project— robs graves, collects bodies— and creates the bride. At the last minute Dr Frankenstein panics and destroys her.
Devastated, the creature exacts his revenge. He hunts down and destroys all of the closest people in Dr. Frankenstein’s life— his dearest loved ones—denying his maker the very human joys and belonging that he himself had been denied.
Who is the monster in this story?
Was it the creator?
Or was it the creature?
Our destinies are intertwined with our creations.
And this is underscored in the music. Let’s look at that theme again.
(Plays theme.)
It breaks into two smaller portions—two chords side by side.
Dr. Frankestein (plays first chord arpeggio.)
The creature (plays second chord arpeggio.)
Rather than having those two chords separate we can intertwine them
—alternate the notes— like this.
(plays theme— the two chords played with alternating notes from each chord)
Underscoring the intertwined relationship… it’s just the two chords.
(plays longer passage at the piano illustrating the intertwined theme.)
This reveals the duality in this story.
Life. Unlife.
The creator. The created.
What is created. And what returns.
What was brought to life and what was not taken responsibility for. And what we must take responsibility for.
Dr. Frankenstein refuses responsibility. The creature shows we must take responsibility.
This shows us something larger about our culture.
How we have gone into the natural world, rearranged it, polluting in it— often with very little concern about the long term consequences.
Like Dr. Frankenstein we may walk away.
But what we now know: There is no more “away”. The modern world is too small.
Like Dr. Frankenstein we may want to move away…
But something always returns. What is created returns.
Connecting the recent headlines: the wildfires, the superstorms, the carbon emissions, the plastic in the oceans—due to human-caused climate change.
We are Dr. Frankenstein.
We’d better pay attention. Because what exactly are we bringing to life?
We are Dr. Frankenstein.
(Takes a drink of water from a plastic cup.)
Look at this cup. Is it alive? No.
“But does it have a life?” Yes.
If I toss it away—like Dr. Frankenstein—“Not my responsibility…”
Can we be more responsible with our creations? Can we understand that what we create has consequences? Can we take responsibility in a way— so that what we create—
(taps plastic cup)
the life, even the inanimate life,
can allow other biological life to flourish— to regenerate?
Looking back, there was a very real possibility that the climate change lecture could have shut me down.
And I think that’s what’s going on with a lot of us these days. We hear about these things. Doom. Pollution. Climate change. Extinction. Rather than motivating us, it can just shut us down. Or we just want to ignore it— pretend we didn’t hear it— we walk away. Or we say “I’m not going to be around to see it.”
Well, our kids are.
We’re living in a destructive story. And our story has to change.
We can change this story. We can wake up.
So. What is your passion?
Let’s refine that. What is your passion— how can it connect to a story greater than yourself? How can it connect to a story of responsibility—of care…that your deepest Self can align with something much greater than your self?
My passion was under severe threat from the climate change lecture. But something happened. It broke me open. And I found something incredible… biomusic… it woke me up—it reawakened me to the world and let me know we aren’t the only ones making music on this planet.
We aren’t the only intelligence.
Your passion. You can use that.
We can save what we have.
Thank you.
Duncan Neilson believes that when we are moved by wonder, and awe, our deeper capacities of intelligence and empathy activate, which leads to positive change. By exploring new creative worlds, new ideas, and entering into new musical conversations, Duncan not only aims to expand our imaginations, but also introduce cultural conversations which can transform. He is a key force behind the Natural Resonance Festival. In response to the ever-growing climate crisis, he founded Planetudes in Portland, OR, an instrumental avant-pop ensemble which is passionately dedicated to raising ecological awareness and inspiring engagement with the natural world through music. He has a doctorate in music composition from Columbia University, and has taught on the music faculties of Columbia University, the College of William and Mary, and Lewis and Clark College. He is the composer in residence for the Portland Chamber Orchestra, and his compositions have been performed in venues ranging from Carnegie Hall, to the Knitting Factory NYC, to the Vans Warped Tour.
On Feb 27, 2023 Linnea Olesen wrote:
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