司馬勤

要是平常日子的話，遇到這個(gè)問題我一點(diǎn)都不會(huì)覺得奇怪。每當(dāng)好友栩然發(fā)消息給我，讓我就她工作時(shí)聽什么音樂給點(diǎn)建議時(shí)，我就會(huì)尋找點(diǎn)這些日子的新發(fā)現(xiàn)跟她分享。一直以來，我都認(rèn)為音樂評(píng)論這個(gè)范疇本質(zhì)上只不過是為朋友們特別炮制的歌曲混音合集的一種文字形式的呈現(xiàn)罷了。說真的，即使現(xiàn)在我們討論的是推薦播放歌單，但篩選原則都是一樣的。

對(duì)于我的推薦，栩然的回復(fù)通常都是“不可以啊，如果我聽這首樂曲，就會(huì)什么都做不了……”或者“在辦公室里聽這類音樂太詭異了。好像有人在身后悄悄逼近我一樣”。（她在金融公司工作，會(huì)產(chǎn)生那種咄咄迫人的疑慮并非空穴來風(fēng)……）她以往對(duì)我推薦的那些跨流派的實(shí)驗(yàn)性作品的反應(yīng)都是：“你是認(rèn)真的嗎？”

但我發(fā)現(xiàn)她偶爾洞悉音樂的直覺以及評(píng)論的角度，要比受過訓(xùn)練的專業(yè)樂評(píng)人更尖銳。這次，我在這個(gè)特殊的“大禮包”里打包了什么給她呢？首先，一首打擊樂協(xié)奏曲，名為《打雀英雄傳之又見東風(fēng)》，獨(dú)奏家運(yùn)用的打擊樂器包括一副麻將牌。還有，喬納森·凱恩（Jonathan Kane）與戴夫·索迪埃（Dave Soldier）兩位音樂人合作的新專輯，那令我想起多年前中提琴演奏家約翰·凱勒（John Cale）同期參與搖滾樂手路·瑞德（Lou Reed）組建的地下絲絨樂隊(duì)（Velvet Underground），以及極簡(jiǎn)主義者拉蒙特·楊（La Monte Young）的前衛(wèi)音樂。最后，我在歌單中加了羅伯特·莫蘭（Robert Moran）的《佛祖到拜羅伊特去》（Buddha Goes to Bayreuth）。瓦格納生前曾構(gòu)思想要寫一部以佛學(xué)為主題的歌劇，可惜沒有實(shí)現(xiàn)。莫蘭用了《易經(jīng)》中的占卜法選出《帕西法爾》歌劇中一些和聲，然后再套上佛經(jīng)經(jīng)文。我們行內(nèi)人用“高概念”（high concept）來形容這類藝術(shù)行為。

夠怪誕了嗎？說實(shí)話，如果栩然想聽大眾化的樂曲，她大可以堅(jiān)持使用流媒體音樂服務(wù)平臺(tái)“聲田”（Spotify）。

正如我剛才暗示過的，今年一點(diǎn)都不尋常。在過去12個(gè)月里，大家很少有機(jī)會(huì)聽得到現(xiàn)場(chǎng)演出。這個(gè)狀況讓我們有充分時(shí)間來深思自身與藝術(shù)的關(guān)系。對(duì)我來說，高居問題榜首位的就是一直令我感到矛盾的錄音制品。曾來過我家的人肯定都會(huì)取笑我，因?yàn)樗麄冞M(jìn)門后直接映入眼簾的就是一疊又一疊的CD碟。多年來，我曾擔(dān)任《留聲機(jī)》大獎(jiǎng)（Gramophone Awards）的評(píng)審，這是英語區(qū)古典音樂圈中最受推崇的獎(jiǎng)項(xiàng)。曾幾何時(shí)，我特意飛到倫敦去，換上禮服參加星光熠熠的頒獎(jiǎng)典禮。然而回首一望，我也不再懷念那些日子了。

朋友問我為什么會(huì)撰寫錄音評(píng)論，我通?；卮鹫f，光整天坐在家里聽錄音不像是個(gè)“成熟”的維持生計(jì)的工作。當(dāng)然，事實(shí)不僅如此。從小我就演奏樂器，還參加合唱團(tuán)，但在今天的社會(huì)里提及這些活動(dòng)會(huì)顯得古板而與時(shí)代脫節(jié)，這種認(rèn)知令我毛骨悚然。自從黑膠唱片（LP record）發(fā)明之后，音樂就再不是你參與創(chuàng)造的了，而是你雙手可以抓住的實(shí)物。現(xiàn)在我們已經(jīng)進(jìn)入了互聯(lián)網(wǎng)下載的年代，人與音樂的關(guān)系甚至連實(shí)物的聯(lián)系也消失了。對(duì)于非專業(yè)人士來說，演奏和唱歌這些本來屬于人類的主動(dòng)行為差不多也快銷聲匿跡了。

對(duì)我來講，情況顯得更糟糕。商品化的社會(huì)通常引致物資泛濫飽和，好好的產(chǎn)品因?yàn)殡S處可見就變得一錢不值。我對(duì)日本語中“間”（日語發(fā)音ma，與漢語中的“留白”相似）這個(gè)概念特別感興趣——英語翻譯通常是“虛空間”（negative space）——即可感知的內(nèi)容之所以有意義，主要是因?yàn)樗車目瞻?。從音樂的角度來說的話，即音樂的意義來自它出現(xiàn)之前的靜寂以及樂曲奏罷之后的靜寂。

你想找出古典音樂中宣揚(yáng)這種哲學(xué)的代表人物嗎？很簡(jiǎn)單，我們就來看看那位出生在波恩的“樂圣”吧。大部分作曲家并不單刀直入，但貝多芬從一開始就明白靜寂的重要性。他的第五交響曲的頭5秒是西方古典音樂歷史上最著名的開場(chǎng)白。反過來，如果你聽聽他《第九交響曲》最后的30秒，也可以領(lǐng)略到那是所有傳統(tǒng)古典交響曲中最完美之作。這位偉大的作曲家懂得如何真正掌控樂曲的結(jié)尾。

但是，哲學(xué)理論中正反兩面的論點(diǎn)，往往都是不相伯仲。我還記得有一次排練巴赫的贊歌，指揮聽到我們過分強(qiáng)調(diào)樂句的開頭，令他的耳朵受不了，連面部肌肉都開始抽搐。他停了一陣，整理思緒，然后抬起頭教導(dǎo)合唱隊(duì)：“想象一下，在宇宙的另一邊，有人正在演唱這首賦格曲，而你們準(zhǔn)備加入其中?！?/p>

幾百年來，音樂價(jià)值觀就像個(gè)鐘擺一樣徘徊于兩個(gè)極端之間，直到20世紀(jì)才實(shí)現(xiàn)了和平共處。音樂廳、歌劇院或任何可以舉行現(xiàn)場(chǎng)演出的場(chǎng)地都是“間”哲學(xué)最自然、最有歸屬的地方。錄音、點(diǎn)播流媒體與其他任何方式的媒體都屬于“宇宙另一方”那個(gè)派系。數(shù)十年來，你可以每天早上在床頭柜打開收音機(jī)，在工作的地方聽到廣播，在任何公共場(chǎng)合也聽得到音樂。因此，一整天都有無間斷的音樂聲軌的存在。

想當(dāng)年，主動(dòng)聆聽（與周圍環(huán)繞充斥的背景音樂剛好相反）必須要依賴有限的資源，而這些資源的量度以時(shí)間與空間為主。我還記得有一年的圣誕節(jié)，老朋友弗蘭克送了一份包裝精美的禮物給我，就是1968年《艾靈頓公爵第二場(chǎng)神圣音樂會(huì)》（Duke Ellingtons Second Sacred Concert）的黑膠唱片?！爸恢?美元，”他當(dāng)年的夫人輕蔑地加了一句。弗蘭克立刻反駁道，“這不是多少錢的問題！我足足花了6個(gè)月的時(shí)間才找到這張唱片！”

時(shí)至今日，我肯定栩然即便身處香港，也只需在敲擊幾下電腦鍵盤就可以尋到艾靈頓公爵第二場(chǎng)神圣音樂會(huì)的音頻資料。差不多從她孩提時(shí)代到現(xiàn)在為止，任何關(guān)于音樂歷史的資訊，想要搜索，一上網(wǎng)就垂手可得，通常還都是免費(fèi)的?？汕疤崾?，她必須知道有那些作品的存在。說真的，音樂下載實(shí)在很難全部打包。

***

這一段日子，勞德維克·奧登司（Lou Ottens，1926～2021，發(fā)明盒式磁帶的工程師）的粉絲悲傷不已。這位偉人3月初逝世，享年94歲。誠然，很多人未必知道他的名字，但他畢生的成就，在世界各地——從柏林到波士頓再到北京——都帶來極大的回響。1960年代初期，奧登司為錄音科技引進(jìn)革命性的突破：他找到一個(gè)有效的方法，把笨拙的盤式磁帶置入容易攜帶的小塑料盒之內(nèi)。

大家都留意到這里一絲的反諷。當(dāng)年沒有人喜歡盒式磁帶（或稱卡式磁帶）。盒式磁帶的音響效果遠(yuǎn)遜于黑膠唱片，且磁帶也保存不久。如果你把盒式磁帶擺在任何有磁性的物體附近，磁帶就會(huì)失效，上面的東西會(huì)永遠(yuǎn)消失。大概四分之一個(gè)世紀(jì)后，當(dāng)CD唱片開始流行，盒式磁帶因而淘汰消失，沒有人對(duì)此感到惋惜。

這個(gè)狀況所代表的不僅僅是關(guān)于盒式磁帶，而是它當(dāng)年代表的社會(huì)形態(tài)：成本更低、攜帶更輕便（尤其是后期磁帶錄音機(jī)的體積變得越來越小），而且最重要的是，錄音過程簡(jiǎn)單直接。突然間，音樂愛好者們不用再被唱片出版行業(yè)牽住鼻子走。只要手中有空白的盒式磁帶，你就可以決定你要聽的音樂內(nèi)容。

盒式磁帶的興起也許未必對(duì)鼓勵(lì)人們自己表演音樂起到多大的作用，但這個(gè)輕便的科技發(fā)明卻讓一代的音樂愛好者成為活躍的“音樂策展人”。你可以拼湊一個(gè)圍繞特別主題的歌曲或樂章——對(duì)了，就是所謂的“歌曲合集混音帶”（mixtape）——宣揚(yáng)你的品位，跟朋友討論彼此的愛好，甚至誘惑情人。小說家尼克·霍恩比（Nick Hornby）在他的處女作《失戀流行榜》（High Fidelity）中編纂了“混音帶”美學(xué)。小說的主人公描述自己為新認(rèn)識(shí)的目標(biāo)情人付出“很多個(gè)小時(shí)，把盒式磁帶錄好……就像寫信一樣——寫下來了又刪掉又再構(gòu)想，然后從頭來過”。

同樣，就像寫信一樣，即使鉛筆被電腦鍵盤所取代，我們似乎也保持了原則的完整性。自從可擦寫模式的CD進(jìn)入市場(chǎng)，我就再不懷念盒式磁帶。今時(shí)今日，我也勉強(qiáng)接受了播放清單這個(gè)概念，因?yàn)樗拇_使用方便。要把CD郵寄到香港，速度慢得無法想象。

***

起初，栩然找我是因?yàn)樗脹]有機(jī)會(huì)進(jìn)入劇場(chǎng)或藝術(shù)中心看歌劇現(xiàn)場(chǎng)演出。我，或者任何人，都無法帶她去看歌劇，所以她唯有滿足于看莫蘭解構(gòu)《帕西法爾》的那部作品。不知何故，這個(gè)選擇又顯得很合適。正因這一年來，整個(gè)音樂世界基本上就像是崩潰了，再次拼貼起來的時(shí)候又顯得紛亂如麻。

讓我們靜下來梳理一下來龍去脈吧：在聲名狼藉的混音磁帶與互聯(lián)網(wǎng)音樂播放清單之間，音樂愛好者們有機(jī)會(huì)運(yùn)用自己的“策劃自由”（在尊重法律和版權(quán)，還有其他事項(xiàng)的基礎(chǔ)上），但這也意味著唱片公司與演奏家的收入大減。因?yàn)楸I版的影響以及流媒體平臺(tái)付出的糟糕透頂?shù)馁M(fèi)用，唱片公司與流媒體平臺(tái)都慫恿音樂家們不要指望錄音可以帶來收入。錄音只能被視為推廣工具，或是吸引粉絲買票看現(xiàn)場(chǎng)演出的促銷機(jī)制。

有一段時(shí)間里，每個(gè)人似乎都很幸福——不是說完全快樂，而是那段有現(xiàn)場(chǎng)演出的日子至少還可以正常地工作。在過去一年里，現(xiàn)場(chǎng)演出全被取消，或恢復(fù)了又被叫停，錄音業(yè)因此再次復(fù)興——藝術(shù)家在錄音棚里對(duì)著話筒就可以表演了。在世界各地，音樂愛好者們對(duì)新事物有著更大的渴望，他們可以在自己的家中盡情享受和探索。

疫情期間的日志記錄者們經(jīng)常歌頌音樂如何讓他們的生活延續(xù)下去。然而，并非所有的音樂都表現(xiàn)得這么好。失敗者？貝多芬就是其中之一。在過去的演出季中，貝多芬本應(yīng)是全球最受公眾追捧的作曲家，因?yàn)?020年是他誕辰250周年。然而有趣的是，有關(guān)他的現(xiàn)場(chǎng)音樂演出數(shù)量，亞洲要比他老家德國與奧地利多得多。

但是我們應(yīng)該考慮到，問題不只是現(xiàn)場(chǎng)演出數(shù)量少那么簡(jiǎn)單。相反，世界的審美平衡似乎完全轉(zhuǎn)向了另一個(gè)方向。奪得壓倒性勝利的大贏家是約翰·塞巴斯蒂安·巴赫——不僅是那些注定極受歡迎的圣誕節(jié)復(fù)活節(jié)，連因?yàn)橐咔楣娛繗庾畹统钡臅r(shí)候，巴赫那些令人深思的大提琴或鍵盤獨(dú)奏作品，也給數(shù)以百萬計(jì)的聽眾帶來慰藉。大家從音樂找到安慰，也因觀賞獨(dú)奏家受到疫情限制仍然可以奏出美妙音樂而備受鼓舞。

是因?yàn)榘秃兆约阂步?jīng)歷過類似的災(zāi)難嗎？1723年，巴赫撰寫的康塔塔25號(hào)，正是馬賽因?yàn)橐咔閷?dǎo)致10萬人死亡的第二年。這部康塔塔的歌詞沒有署名，描述的情景包括“整個(gè)世界變成一個(gè)醫(yī)院”以及“孩子因病而躺在床上”。的確，巴赫的同理心是非同尋常的，但我猜今天的聽眾經(jīng)歷了過去一年后必定也會(huì)感同身受。

現(xiàn)在可以點(diǎn)播的流媒體太多了，音樂確實(shí)總是在宇宙的某個(gè)地方響起。我想起大學(xué)時(shí)代那位指揮合唱的教授，對(duì)這段記憶忍俊不禁，突然間他那充滿委屈不知怎么就變成了巴赫本人的形象——他就在“宇宙的某一邊”，正在彈奏羽管鍵琴，并期待著我們加入其中。

Normally Id think nothing of it. When someone like my friend Bella asks me to send her something to listen to， Id immediately start sifting through some recent discoveries. Ive always thought of music criticism as little more than a literary form of making mixtapes for friends. Even if its all playlists these days， the principle is still the same.

Bellas responses often run along the lines of “Nope， cant listen to this and get anything else done…” Or，“Too eerie to listen to at the office. Felt like someone was always creeping up on me.” （She works at an investment bank， so that part may actually be true...） Her usual reaction to experimental cross-genre stuff is， “Seriously？”

But sometimes she nails something that even a trained professional would find hard to describe. So what did I send in this particular gift basket？ First， a percussion concerto entitled Its the East Wind Again， where one of the solo instruments happens to be a set of mahjong tiles. Then a duo album by Jonathan Kane and Dave Soldier harking back to the days when violist John Cale could alternate between rocker Lou Reed in the Velvet Underground and avant-garde minimalist La Monte Young without batting an eye. And finally， Robert Morans Buddha Goes to Bayreuth， imagining the Buddhist opera that Wagner contemplated （but never wrote） by setting Buddhist mantras to random chords from Parsifal rearranged by consulting the I Ching. This is what we professionals call “high concept.”

Was this too weird？ Really， if Bella wanted normal stuff she wouldve stuck with Spotify.

As I hinted earlier， though， this year is hardly normal. Not having much live music in the past 12 months has given us all plenty of time to ponder our relationship to the art， and high in my own thoughts has been my long-held ambivalence toward recordings. This is probably laughable to anyone whos stumbled over the stacks of CDs in my apartment. For years， I was on the jury for the Gramophone Awards， the most prestigious honors for classical recordings in the English-speaking world. I even flew to London and got dressed up for the ceremonies a few times. But I really dont miss it.

When people ask， I usually say that sitting around the house all day listening to recordings didnt seem to be a terribly grown-up way to make a living. But it was actually more than that. Having grown up singing and playing music， part of me bristled at how quaint this now seems. Ever since the LP， music was no longer something that you did but something that you held. In the age of downloads， most people have no physical relationship to music at all. For the nonprofessional， music has been largely erased as an active human experience.

The more I thought about it， the worse it seemed. Commodification generally leads to abundance， and nothing cheapens a commodity like ubiquity. Ive always been fascinated by the Japanese concept of ma—or as we call it in English， “negative space”—the idea that that perceptible content has meaning mostly because of the emptiness around it. In musical terms， that means that music means something only when it emerges from and retreats into total silence.

Anyone searching for a poster boy for this way of thought need look no further than the bard of Bonn. Many composers take a while to get the point； Beethoven bounds right from the starting gate. The first five seconds of his Fifth Symphony is the most famous opening in western music. Conversely， listen to the last 30 seconds of his Ninth， which is practically the last word in the whole symphonic tradition. Now theres a guy who could write an ending！

But as with so many philosophies， the converse can also be true. I remember rehearsing a Bach motet when our conductor winced with distaste at the inappropriately aggressive attacks in our opening phrases. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts， then looked up. “Just imagine that this fugue is always unfolding somewhere in the universe，” he said. “Youre only joining it now.”

For hundreds of years， musical values have swerved between these two extremes， reaching a peaceful coexistence only during the 20th century. Concert halls， opera houses or any other venues for live performance are the natural home of the ma school. Recordings， on-demand streams and pretty much any other form of media make up the “somewhere in the universe”school. For decades， you could move through your day from the radio on your nightstand to the workspace and any public space inbetween to a constant musical soundtrack.

Active listening， though—as opposed to omnipresent background stuff—was restrained by limited resources， mostly measured in space and time. I fondly remember one Christmas when my friend Frank presented me with a gift-wrapped LP of Duke Ellingtons Second Sacred Concert from 1968.“It only cost three dollars，” his then-wife sniffed dismissively. Frank snapped back， “Its not about the money！ Its about the six months it took to find it.”

Today， even though she lives in Hong Kong， Bella couldve found Ellingtons Sacred Concerts in a couple of keystrokes. For most of her life， the entire spectrum of music history has been readily available on the internet， often for free. But shed have to know that its out there. And really， a music download is hard to wrap.

***

This was a sad month for fans of Lou Ottens， who died in early March at the age of 94. Admittedly， few remembered him by name， but its safe to say that his work was known from Berlin to Boston to Beijing. Back in the early 1960s， Ottens revolutionized the recording industry by figuring out how to fit clumsy reel-to-reel tape into a portable plastic container.

We should all note the irony here. Despite all the nostalgic mourning， no one really liked the cassette tape. The audio quality was notably inferior to an LP， nor did it last as long. If you put a cassette near anything magnetic， the content would disappear forever. After CDs came out a quarter-century later， the cassette basically disappeared and nobody noticed.

So it was always less about the cassette itself than what it represented： lower cost， supreme portability（especially as players got smaller）， and above all， ease of recording. Suddenly， music lovers were no longer so tethered to the whims of the recording industry. Armed with blank tapes， they could determine the content.

The rise of the cassette may not have done much to encourage people to perform music themselves， but it turned a generation of music fans into active curators. By fitting specific songs or pieces around certain themes—yes， the notorious mixtape—people could proudly proclaim their tastes， argue with friends， seduce lovers. Author Nick Hornby practically codified the esthetics in his first novel High Fidelity.“I spent hours putting that cassette together，” says Hornbys protagonist， describing a tape for a new love interest. “[its] like writing a letter—theres a lot of erasing and rethinking and starting again.”

And also like writing a letter， we seem to have kept the principles intact even after the pencil gave way to the computer. I havent missed cassettes since CDs became rewritable， and thanks to online convenience I even grudgingly accept the idea of playlists. Mailing a CD to Hong Kong would take forever.

***

Initially， Bella had asked me for music because she missed seeing live opera. Since there was nothing I—or anyone else—could take her to， shes going to have to settle for Morans deconstructed Parsifal. Somehow it seemed appropriate， since the whole music world essentially imploded this year and pulled itself back together more orless at random.

Lets ponder a bit about where we came from： somewhere between the infamous mixtape and the internet playlist， greater curatorial freedom among music fans （legal and otherwise） has meant less income for record labels and musicians. Thanks to piracy and generally abysmal payment from streaming platforms， musicians have recently been strongly urged—not least by record labels and streaming services—to treat recordings as a loss leader， a promotional mechanism to lure fans to live concerts.

For a while， everyone seemed to be—well， not exactly happy， but at least functional. At least while there were still concerts. For the past year now， as live performances have either sputtered or ground to a halt， recordings have once again been in ascendance. In the studio， artists only need to get close to the microphone. Around the world， music lovers had an even greater hunger for new things they could enjoy and explore in the privacy of their own homes.

Diarists during this years pandemic have frequently waxed poetic about how music has sustained them. Not all music has fared so well， however. The losers？ Well， Beethoven， for one. During the past season， Beethoven was supposed to be feted publicly across the world in honor of his 250th birthday. Funnily enough， his music received more live performances in Asia than it did his own homelands of Germany and Austria.

But it wasnt just the lack of live performances. Rather， the esthetic balance of the world seemed to shift in the other direction entirely. The winner， by what appears to be a landslide， is Johann Sebastian Bach—not just during Christmas and Easter， when his popularity is a given， but also during the darkest points of the year， when the more contemplative solo works for cello or keyboard gave uplift to millions of people， whether from the music itself or a heartening example of what one person can achieve in confinement.

Is it because Bach went through similar experiences himself？ His Cantata No. 25 from 1723—one year after the city of Marseille suffered 100，000 deaths from the plague—is entitled “There is nothing healthy in my body，” with an opening tenor recitative declaring “the whole world is nothing but a hospital”where “people and even children in their cradles lay in pain and sickness.” Indeed， Bachs empathy was extraordinary， but the newfound resonance in his music says just as much about us as listeners today.

With so much streaming on demand available these days， music is indeed always going on somewhere in the universe. Recently， as I was laughing at the memory of my collage choral conductor， his aggrieved face began morphing into a vision of Bach himself. There he sat， furiously playing his fugues at the keyboard， waiting for us to join him.