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Decomposition: A Music Manifesto
A bracing, revisionary and provocative inquiry into music--from Beethoven to Duke Ellington, Conlon Nancarrow to Led Zeppelin--as a personal and cultural experience: how it is actually composed, often wrongfully perceived by critics and reviewers, and why we listen to it the way we do.
Andrew Durkin, an experienced jazzman, is singular for his insistence on asking tough questions about the complexity of our presumptions about music and about listening, especially in the digital age. In this winning and lucid study, he explodes the age-old conception of musical composition as the work of individual genius, arguing instead that in both its composition and reception music is fundamentally a collaborative enterprise that comes to be only through mediation. Drawing on a rich variety of examples--Josquin's "Missa L'homme arme sexti toni, " Alkan's "Grande sonate, " Coleman Hawkins's improvisation on "Body and Soul, " Beny More's "Que Bueno Baila Usted," Kanye West's "Gold Digger," to name only a few--Durkin makes clear that our appreciation of any piece of music is always informed by neuroscientific, psychological, technological, and cultural factors, and that how we listen might have as much power to change music as music might have to change how we listen.
Andrew Durkin, an experienced jazzman, is singular for his insistence on asking tough questions about the complexity of our presumptions about music and about listening, especially in the digital age. In this winning and lucid study, he explodes the age-old conception of musical composition as the work of individual genius, arguing instead that in both its composition and reception music is fundamentally a collaborative enterprise that comes to be only through mediation. Drawing on a rich variety of examples--Josquin's "Missa L'homme arme sexti toni, " Alkan's "Grande sonate, " Coleman Hawkins's improvisation on "Body and Soul, " Beny More's "Que Bueno Baila Usted," Kanye West's "Gold Digger," to name only a few--Durkin makes clear that our appreciation of any piece of music is always informed by neuroscientific, psychological, technological, and cultural factors, and that how we listen might have as much power to change music as music might have to change how we listen.
- GenresMusicNonfiction
400 pages, Hardcover
First published November 18, 2014
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
December 15, 2015
The book's central tenet, the dismantling of the cult of authorship and authenticity, are nothing new in our post-postmodern 2015. So unless you've been living under an aesthetic rock, it's not the originality of Decomposition that will impress you -- it's Durkin's diligent tracing of this double degradation to its logical conclusions that makes this a valuable read.
While most of his points are solid and I share 99% of his views, his argumentation isn't always super-watertight. Take for instance this passage, discussing the difference between sampling and musical quotation (which Durkin claims is minor):
"the alleged material differences between sampling and quotation pale in comparison with their common purpose and effect. And insisting that quotation and sampling are qualitatively unlike practices starts us down a slippery slope of using subjective notions of 'good' and 'bad' aesthetic appropriation to drive copyright infringement claims -- though copyright law says nothing about good or bad art."
I don't usually like slippery slope arguments, and I didn't like this one -- although, again, I'm mostly in agreement with him. It's just that he could've found a more elegant way to make his point. Overall, it's the kind of book that could've used some more editing (even though it apparently went through a lot of it already after its initial dissertation form), which often seems to be the case with current non-fiction books.
Still, if you care about music I strongly recommend you take this Manifesto to heart, and certify your conversion "from consumer to listener". Hooray!
While most of his points are solid and I share 99% of his views, his argumentation isn't always super-watertight. Take for instance this passage, discussing the difference between sampling and musical quotation (which Durkin claims is minor):
"the alleged material differences between sampling and quotation pale in comparison with their common purpose and effect. And insisting that quotation and sampling are qualitatively unlike practices starts us down a slippery slope of using subjective notions of 'good' and 'bad' aesthetic appropriation to drive copyright infringement claims -- though copyright law says nothing about good or bad art."
I don't usually like slippery slope arguments, and I didn't like this one -- although, again, I'm mostly in agreement with him. It's just that he could've found a more elegant way to make his point. Overall, it's the kind of book that could've used some more editing (even though it apparently went through a lot of it already after its initial dissertation form), which often seems to be the case with current non-fiction books.
Still, if you care about music I strongly recommend you take this Manifesto to heart, and certify your conversion "from consumer to listener". Hooray!
December 15, 2014
I really wanted to like this book. Durkin's points about authorship and authenticity are sound, and he is knowledgable enough about jazz, classical and popular music to deftly explore artists like Ellington, Zappa, and Nancarrow, weaving relevant examples in to support his thesis.
But a thesis it is, and a thesis is what it reads like. Don't jump into this one expecting a hip, accessible work of popular nonfiction. The book abounds with (original?) theories and obtuse terminology. It contains many annoying and overzealously contrarian sentences like:
"But then how much do any of us ever 'know' about what we experience during any musical performance?"
...and convoluted sentences just begging for a good editor to whip into shape, like what I assume to be his thesis statement:
"By constraining musical understanding within the limits of traditional notions of authorship, and a blind faith in authenticity, that exalted view distracts us from the processes that produce music -- not the conscious creative processes of the individual composer (many composers are only too happy to talk about how they work) but the much less obvious contributions of a broad array of collaborative and mediating activity."
The acknowledgements make it clear that -- no surprise -- the book grew from a dissertation, and seen in that light you can forgive some of the elements that make this book tiresome. But that doesn't mean you will enjoy it. I couldn't finish it.
But a thesis it is, and a thesis is what it reads like. Don't jump into this one expecting a hip, accessible work of popular nonfiction. The book abounds with (original?) theories and obtuse terminology. It contains many annoying and overzealously contrarian sentences like:
"But then how much do any of us ever 'know' about what we experience during any musical performance?"
...and convoluted sentences just begging for a good editor to whip into shape, like what I assume to be his thesis statement:
"By constraining musical understanding within the limits of traditional notions of authorship, and a blind faith in authenticity, that exalted view distracts us from the processes that produce music -- not the conscious creative processes of the individual composer (many composers are only too happy to talk about how they work) but the much less obvious contributions of a broad array of collaborative and mediating activity."
The acknowledgements make it clear that -- no surprise -- the book grew from a dissertation, and seen in that light you can forgive some of the elements that make this book tiresome. But that doesn't mean you will enjoy it. I couldn't finish it.
November 3, 2014
It's reasonable to assume that Decomposition is for musicians or students of music - it is a "music manifesto" by a composer and musician after all. But the topics Andrew Durkin considers resonate beyond music and into arts in general.
He argues against the notion of the lone genius composing music in a vacuum. His experience is that creating music often occurs in collaboration, and even when it does happen in seclusion, it's built on the music and experiences that have come before.
He considers the notion of copyright, especially in the age of digital downloads. This certainly affects artists in all fields, as some copyright holders defend their works with increasing vigor and other argue for "information to be free."
Some of his thoughts are about the nature of music itself and what is authentic - do we lose something in recorded music over live performances? What about when the musician "translates" the score? What did the composer intend? This sounds very much like some discussions I've read about the process of translating literature from one language to another. And what about the live audience? How does their presence and reaction to the performance affect and even change it?
Since I do not have a background in music, some of the discussions in Decomposition were beyond me, but never for more than a few pages at a time. It took a long time to finish the book, because there were so many issues and points of view to think about. It's a good book for reading a little bit at a time, to digest in bits, and discuss with others.
Not just for musicians, but for those who are interested in writing, movie making, drama, visual arts, any creative endeavor.
He argues against the notion of the lone genius composing music in a vacuum. His experience is that creating music often occurs in collaboration, and even when it does happen in seclusion, it's built on the music and experiences that have come before.
He considers the notion of copyright, especially in the age of digital downloads. This certainly affects artists in all fields, as some copyright holders defend their works with increasing vigor and other argue for "information to be free."
Some of his thoughts are about the nature of music itself and what is authentic - do we lose something in recorded music over live performances? What about when the musician "translates" the score? What did the composer intend? This sounds very much like some discussions I've read about the process of translating literature from one language to another. And what about the live audience? How does their presence and reaction to the performance affect and even change it?
Since I do not have a background in music, some of the discussions in Decomposition were beyond me, but never for more than a few pages at a time. It took a long time to finish the book, because there were so many issues and points of view to think about. It's a good book for reading a little bit at a time, to digest in bits, and discuss with others.
Not just for musicians, but for those who are interested in writing, movie making, drama, visual arts, any creative endeavor.
May 31, 2017
I really wanted to like this book. Unfortunately the central thesis is muddled and its author's voice pretentiously contrarian. While Durkin's presentation of historical sources, trends and movements is valuable in itself, a reader would be better off consulting David Toop's Ocean of Sound or Evan Eisenberg's The Recording Angel and leaving the author to his peddling of circumstantial minutiae in support of the movement to water down notions of creativity.
Decomposition began life as a post-graduate thesis and on several occasions whilst reading this I got the feeling that Durkin had drawn too long and specious a bow in his quest for an original argument.
Decomposition began life as a post-graduate thesis and on several occasions whilst reading this I got the feeling that Durkin had drawn too long and specious a bow in his quest for an original argument.
July 11, 2023
Interesting but ultimately frustrating.
The author constantly stretches the boundaries of meaning, of words, of reality in some sense, to make his point.
The starting point of his thesis is interesting (rethinking of authenticity, in short), but it is developed far beyond the point of absurdity, in my opinion.
Has some value, but not a clear recommandation, definitely.
The author constantly stretches the boundaries of meaning, of words, of reality in some sense, to make his point.
The starting point of his thesis is interesting (rethinking of authenticity, in short), but it is developed far beyond the point of absurdity, in my opinion.
Has some value, but not a clear recommandation, definitely.
October 6, 2025
To be fair, I didn’t get into it.
August 19, 2023
Took me like a year to get through it lmao but it was fine I wouldn’t say there was anything revolutionary that I took away from it
January 24, 2016
We have learned to think about music as something you can sell and buy. This commodification is a relatively recent process that has spawned a global music industry worth billions of dollars. It is underpinned by two misconceptions that predate both recording technology and modern commerce. First, there is the persistent assumption that music is always created by solitary individuals. This is what Andrew Durkin calls the authorship myth. This is complemented by the obsession with authenticity, i.e. the quest for a singularly true, ideal experience of music.
In his book Durkin wants to debunk these myths in favor of a more nuanced, participatory and creative reception theory of music. In his view, "music is an extensive network of individuated aural perceptions, which are always the result of deeply complex collaborative and mediating processes."
For a start, artistic invention never stands on its own but is embedded in an unending chain of mutual influence that not only involves composers but also performers, audiences, recording engineers, instrument manufacturers and many others who are typically thought of as being outside the creative act. Durkin documents his thesis with broad excursions on luminaries as different as Ellington, Beethoven and Nancarrow.
The dogma of authenticity is problematic in that it keeps us from accepting music as a personal, idiosyncratic experience. Instead it is forced into an external, seemingly objective hierarchy that compromises the listener’s identity and constrains his perceptual creativity. For Durkin there are no signposts to orient our receptive skills. Music is an aural Rorschach test that invites an inexhaustible range of cognitive and emotional responses reflecting each listener's idiosyncratic involvement.
This sketchy outline cannot do justice to a very rich and layered argument. This is also the problem with this book. Often Durkin's erudition leads him astray into labyrinthine excursions that test readers' stamina. My first attempt to read this book stranded and I left it alone for a few months before renewing the attack. But it is worthwhile to persist. Durkin's listening ideal may not be entirely achievable given our natural predisposition to reduce complexity and cling to social norms. But I believe that, for instance, symphony orchestras would be able to reclaim a more vital role in our societies if they would heed these messages. Relinquishing claims to authorship and authenticity would open up a much wider gamut of formats and audience relationships for these institutions than the fossilized concert experience and the quest for artistic perfection nowadays allow. Durkin's conceptual strategy of decomposition offers a rather radical but elegant heuristic framework to rethink and revitalize our affinity with the most elusive of art forms.
In his book Durkin wants to debunk these myths in favor of a more nuanced, participatory and creative reception theory of music. In his view, "music is an extensive network of individuated aural perceptions, which are always the result of deeply complex collaborative and mediating processes."
For a start, artistic invention never stands on its own but is embedded in an unending chain of mutual influence that not only involves composers but also performers, audiences, recording engineers, instrument manufacturers and many others who are typically thought of as being outside the creative act. Durkin documents his thesis with broad excursions on luminaries as different as Ellington, Beethoven and Nancarrow.
The dogma of authenticity is problematic in that it keeps us from accepting music as a personal, idiosyncratic experience. Instead it is forced into an external, seemingly objective hierarchy that compromises the listener’s identity and constrains his perceptual creativity. For Durkin there are no signposts to orient our receptive skills. Music is an aural Rorschach test that invites an inexhaustible range of cognitive and emotional responses reflecting each listener's idiosyncratic involvement.
This sketchy outline cannot do justice to a very rich and layered argument. This is also the problem with this book. Often Durkin's erudition leads him astray into labyrinthine excursions that test readers' stamina. My first attempt to read this book stranded and I left it alone for a few months before renewing the attack. But it is worthwhile to persist. Durkin's listening ideal may not be entirely achievable given our natural predisposition to reduce complexity and cling to social norms. But I believe that, for instance, symphony orchestras would be able to reclaim a more vital role in our societies if they would heed these messages. Relinquishing claims to authorship and authenticity would open up a much wider gamut of formats and audience relationships for these institutions than the fossilized concert experience and the quest for artistic perfection nowadays allow. Durkin's conceptual strategy of decomposition offers a rather radical but elegant heuristic framework to rethink and revitalize our affinity with the most elusive of art forms.
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August 10, 2016i longed for greater clarity through the first half of this book - i put it down for a while.
in general, there seems to be a lack of a specific thesis that drives the book. the back cover uses an old joke: "Q: what's beethoven doing these days? .. A: decomposing" as a kind of guide to what you might find in the book.
are we to understand that andrew's quest is to document the decline or death of music?
after reading the introduction, which charts how music consumption has changed, i was left to believe that the project sets out to discuss radical changes in music, which could lead one to believe that our sense of music and how we listen to it has changed so much that is has taken on a new identity and the older identity, which many of my generation grew up on, has disappeared - vanished, and therefore, it is no longer what it once was.
ok. we've heard this argument over and over. does andrew have a new way of framing it? i can't comment until i finish the book, but throughout the first half i was unconvinced.
yes, music consumption has changed.
yes, there seems to be a question of authorship in post-sampling, post-modern collage style creation - everything refers to something else - does anything have its own identity any more?
being the eternal optimist, i would say yes. hell yes.
several schools of music performances have sprung up since the dawn of the 21st century - electro-acoustic music, reductionism, the lower case school (which, indeed, seems to be vanishing outside of berlin and vienna), and other new hybrids of electro-acoustic inquiry - both connected to and apart from the spectral school of timbre investigation - to name a few, would be on the short list of quick responses to this claim.
and, yes, there remains a lot of other new musics that are emerging, along with schools or traditions one can imagine springing forth from the aforementioned "new" schools of activity.
no, music isn't dead. it isn't rotting, it isn't impossible to find new ways to combine things and come up with something new. and while we can argue all day on the value of music and the way that people consume it, music performance is here to stay.
in general, there seems to be a lack of a specific thesis that drives the book. the back cover uses an old joke: "Q: what's beethoven doing these days? .. A: decomposing" as a kind of guide to what you might find in the book.
are we to understand that andrew's quest is to document the decline or death of music?
after reading the introduction, which charts how music consumption has changed, i was left to believe that the project sets out to discuss radical changes in music, which could lead one to believe that our sense of music and how we listen to it has changed so much that is has taken on a new identity and the older identity, which many of my generation grew up on, has disappeared - vanished, and therefore, it is no longer what it once was.
ok. we've heard this argument over and over. does andrew have a new way of framing it? i can't comment until i finish the book, but throughout the first half i was unconvinced.
yes, music consumption has changed.
yes, there seems to be a question of authorship in post-sampling, post-modern collage style creation - everything refers to something else - does anything have its own identity any more?
being the eternal optimist, i would say yes. hell yes.
several schools of music performances have sprung up since the dawn of the 21st century - electro-acoustic music, reductionism, the lower case school (which, indeed, seems to be vanishing outside of berlin and vienna), and other new hybrids of electro-acoustic inquiry - both connected to and apart from the spectral school of timbre investigation - to name a few, would be on the short list of quick responses to this claim.
and, yes, there remains a lot of other new musics that are emerging, along with schools or traditions one can imagine springing forth from the aforementioned "new" schools of activity.
no, music isn't dead. it isn't rotting, it isn't impossible to find new ways to combine things and come up with something new. and while we can argue all day on the value of music and the way that people consume it, music performance is here to stay.
September 24, 2020
This is a challenging book -- challenging in it ideas and the arguments made for and against therm. The author himself is a musician and he goes into deep and occasionally somewhat difficult to follow narratives analyzing the nature of what makes music authentic, what comprises authorship of music (especially as it relates to the performance of songs) and when the person who place the notes on the page versus the person who brings these notated representation of music is the person who should be recognized. The answer to this question could conceivably differ between classical genre versus jazz -- and what makes music "public domain" -- it is just length of time? This gets more provocative with the seven-note riff that is famous in music --- who owns that? Should music be owned. New interpretation of songs -- why aren't they considered "original". It's an interesting question.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews