Philosophy of the Performing Arts

140 performance as art
of constructing sequences of sounds that are intended to articulate an artistic
content. Thus, in each case, we can appreciate the qualities that the resulting
sound sequences possess as musical constructions – qualities such as “intelli-
gible development, internal unity, coherence, originality, ingenuity, etc., the
artful employment of prevailing idioms, and the emergence of an individual
style” (Alperson 1984, 22).
Alperson notes, however, that, if these are taken to be the sole criteria
for evaluating improvisations, it is likely that, in general, they will compare
unfavorably with performable works. For it is difficult to achieve, on the fly
so to speak, the kind of structural complexity that composers can confer
on their compositions. Composers are able to reflect and revise, to have
at their creative disposal at a time both earlier and later elements in the
same composition, and to correct, on further thought, false steps that seem
initially promising. Improvisers lack such resources, however.^5 Alperson
counters by insisting that the proper appreciation of improvisations requires
that we view them not merely in terms of the musical constructions that are
their products but also in terms of the actions that generate these products.
These actions, no less than their products, can be the objects of aesthetic
contemplation. In the first place, we can appreciate, in the actions of impro-
visers, the same qualities that are manifest in performances of performable
works – “sensitivity, lyricism, and general virtuosity,” for example. However,
what distinguishes the actions of the improviser are the risks that she takes,
precisely because she is creating a musical structure without the resources
for revision available to the composer. What is a liability if we consider the
improvisation purely as a musical construction thus becomes an asset when
we consider it as an action.
Our aesthetic interest in an improvised performance such as Jarrett’s,
then, is an interest in both the musical construction and the action of con-
structing it. In a recent piece on the Köln concert, Corinna da Fonseca-
Wollheim (2008) makes a similar point. Commenting on the attempts of
amateurs to “perform” the Köln Concert on the basis of the transcriptions, she
remarks that
without the live, improvised element, the magic is lost. Unlike a piece of
classical music, “The Köln Concert” is a masterpiece only in its recorded
format. And it requires an audience that participates in the unfolding act of
creation each time anew. Thus the listener becomes involved in the search for
a theme’s development, shares in the elation when Mr. Jarrett finds a beauti-
ful new tune, experiences the joy of hearing him play with it. When he pauses
on a chord, unsure of where to go next, it seems as if much more than the
immediate future of this music hangs in the balance. When he shifts to a new
key, it feels as if a door has been pushed open, inviting the listener to explore
new rooms and hallways.