The Fredösphere

What a lame title this post has.

You've read the overhype, now read the post.  Or read the background information in these posts here and here, if you have not already.  Okay, now, let's look at our subject of the day:  the most perfect, wacky, unbelievable example of choral music in sci-fi.  Two great things that go great together.  Except in this case.

It's easy to guess wrong about the future, and the easiest way to be wrong is to indulge in a simplistic extrapolation of trends occurring in one's own time, place, and social group.  You see this all the time in sci-fi, although you might miss it if you come from the same time/place/group as the author. 

One example of this lazy extrapolation that has always bugged me is how promiscuous and irreligious people of the future seem to be.  Sci-fi authors writing in the 60s and 70s lived in a social class that was loosing its religion and its sexual scruples; therefore, they assumed the trend was happening everywhere, and would continue in a straight line forever.  It' a silly mistake, and some authors have avoided it; two examples that come to mind are The Dune series and The Mote In God's Eye.

The assumptions in old sci-fi are obvious because we are removed from the author; this is what makes old sci-fi charming (or ridiculous, depending on its literary quality).  I loved the movie Sky Captain, which was not much more than an exercise is simulated historical sci-fi naievete, which is really a cool concept if you think about it.  What would have been really, really cool is if a sci-fi author of the 1930s had predicted that sci-fi authors of the future would indulge in simulated historical sci-fi naievete.  Darn; where's my time machine?

Pierre Boulez never wrote any sci-fi that I'm aware of, but he seemed to have an opinion about the future of music:  atonal music would win out.  Reality has not yet worked out that way, and Boulez has since mellowed (sort of) but could tonality yet atrophy?

As attorney for the plaintiff, I offer exhibit A:  an excerpt from Beneath the Planet of the Apes.  The scene is the underground cathedral where mutant humans of the future worship a nuclear warhead.  The rock has melted from a nuclear blast long ago, the people are hideously disfigured, and the Anglican liturgy has metastasized.  Hear the Mutant Party at prayer in wma format (212k) or, if you must, mp3 format (506k). My, wasn't that blasphemous?  Well, as blasphemous as anything can be when it is irredeemably silly.  But did you notice the music?  I guess we could call this religion of the future the Cult of the Wrong Note.  The music is not quite atonal, but it is dissonant, and it has some high passages that would make it vocally taxing.  Yet this congregation pulls it off.  Indeed, when you watch it, you see them standing among the pews, not making much effort at all.  The visuals don't match the audio at all and the whole effect is surreal.

The choir sings a liturgy printed on booklets while worshipping a nuclear warhead: somewhere deep in the belly of this scene, a joke about missal envy is trying to claw its way out.

It would be interesting to find out the decision making behind this bit of futuristic liturgical creation.  Does the blame lie with some ignorant assistant producer who didn't know what to ask for?  Was the composer given too much leeway -- was he even having a bit of fun with this at the movie's expense?  (For a more complementary view, see this excellent account of how the music for the film was made.)

I prefer to view this document as a true picture of the future.  That way, Pierre Boulez can be viewed as a prophet.  Unfortunately, it doesn't work, since (as far as I know) he missed a bunch of other significant details:  mutants, telepathy, the worship of nuclear warheads, not to mention the whole "planet where apes rule men" thing.  Sorry, Pierre.

Labels: PlanetOfTheApes