What Happens Next? is a blog/newsletter/manifesto in which I (Jacob Schnitzer) publicly grapple for a Reimagination of the cultural output we create as makers of classical music. If you find the discussion stimulating, please feel free to share it with friends. Thank you for reading!
This is the introduction to a series of essays. If you finish this introduction and want to read more, please click here for Part 1: Sear a Visceral Memory, or click here for Part 2: Give the Audience Member a Story to Tell
The true medium of art is memory.
It does matters what art is made of, what it says, and how it makes us feel; still, these matters pale in comparison to the impression art leaves in our memories. One way to measure art’s impact is its ability to leave a clear, indelible impression in the memory of the audience member.
We know both scientifically and intuitively that the most salient memories are not about “things that happened”; rather, they are emotional or somatic impressions seared into our brains, “how we felt” when things happened. Art works in our memories precisely because 1) it makes us feel deep in our bones and 2) because it imposes a temporal sensory structure (how our sensory experiences change over time) that we can remember (ex: first saw red, then I saw blue). Our memories aren’t “stored” in a filing cabinet to be summoned at will; rather, memories are a network of sensory associations shaped each time we recall or re-experience them. When we recall an experience from our memory, we also experience the feelings attached to the it. Why does this matter for arts audiences? A person’s memory of experiencing a work of art is a portal to their feelings from that very moment.
Think about a film you loved but only saw once. What do you remember about it? Can you remember the names of every character? The particulars of the plot? The sequence of events? Or simply an image? A feeling? An impression?
While writing this, I’m recalling Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind which I’ve seen only once. I mostly remember fragments here and there, but what I remember clearly is the image of the two main characters laying down alone on top of an icy pond, her hair the only bold color in the frame (was it green, or was it blue?). That image is, in a way, the entire film. When I see that image in my mind’s eye, I feel the fight to hold onto love, to choose love through the death and rebirth of one’s self. Now that’s some memorable art.
Before we go much further, let’s take a look at where this argument is headed. I currently believe that the key to making powerful arts experiences is wrapped up in two basic tasks:
1. To sear a visceral memory into the audience member’s mind.
2. To give the audience member a story to tell.
At its best, classical music delivers at providing the audience with a visceral, emotional, indelible memory. I am an artist explicitly because orchestral music has given me experiences like this many times throughout my life. Listening to the opening bliss of Mahler 9, the terrible awe of Turangalîla-Symphonie, the sheer pandemonium of Circus Maximus, the breathless intimacy of Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun – these are all experiences I will never forget. Does orchestral music always provide a memorable impression? If we’re being honest, no. But there are things we can do in the concert hall to increase the odds that it does.
On the second front, we almost always fail. Classical music rarely provides an audience member language and tools to tell a story. We consider music as wholly abstract, as though it “picks up where words end”. The problem is this: human beings remember through the act of storytelling. Music is not an abstract art form divorced from the act of storytelling; rather, music at its best is a technology that aids the act of storytelling by providing structure to the listener’s emotional memory. By giving audiences the means to tell a story to others, we give them the ability to remember what they experienced. And in the very act of telling another human being, they recall the memory of their experience thus making it more permanent. If we don’t give our audiences the means to tell others what they experienced, it might as well be forgotten.
This is the introduction to a two-part series of essays that outline a theoretical and practical framework for designing memorable and impactful experiences with music. In the first essay, we will explore ways in which classical music presenters can go the extra mile to create experiences that sear a visceral memory into the minds of their audiences. In the second essay, we will explore how storytelling (either explicitly or aesthetically) is at the core of ensuring audiences walk away with the ability to share their experience with others and retain their memory of their experience for years to come. These issues are, of course, intertwined; in the best case, they should reinforce one another to create a memorable whole.
What will the audience member remember?
Every sensory input matters.
Tell a story.
Question everything.
Click below to read the next essay in this series on creating memorable experiences with music
Jacob Schnitzer is a conductor, composer, curator, producer, and interdisciplinary collaborator. He is Co-Artistic Director and Executive Director of Density512 in Austin, TX, and a Doctoral student at the UMKC Conservatory. Find him on social media @JacobSchnitzer or at jacobschnitzer.com.