Writing About Music

Good writing optimizes the use of good words and minimizes the use of bad words.

Good words are expressive. They communicate clearly. That’s the goal of all writing, but especially so when trying to teach music, which is so technical.

One of my favorite words is “inspire,” just because of what it means, and because it hasn’t been ruined yet by overuse. Another word I like a lot is “disaster,” for its etymology: dis- (against) aster (stars). It’s not just bad, it’s a catastrophe on a grand, astrological, universal scale. Even the stars are against it!

While curse words are traditionally considered bad words, I actually think they are pretty good. They are charged with emotion and can be an effective way to communicate, when used well. If I were to write f— or s—, everyone would jump! That said, curse words often suffer from a boy-who-cried-wolf syndrome. They are commonly used unnecessarily in contexts that don’t really demand it, and often inject anger into situations where love or calm would be more appropriate. Though they are our most energy-charged words, when used as generic intensifiers, they lose their oomph. So, if you cherish them as I do, handle them with care, and save them for special occasions.

In polite discourse, curse-word substitutes can be more effective than the actual curse words themselves. “Frickin’” (also “fricken” or “freaking”) is a good example. It means “accursed.” It’s a way of saying, “I’m usually too much of a gentle person to swear, but this circumstance is driving me to it!” I also like punctuation substitutions for swearing. I’ve standardized on @!!*&, over the years. Four characters might be better, but I like the excitement factor of the double exclamation points, and that assortment of punctuation just has a nice, balanced look to it. The unusual characters give the sense of the “word” being outside the parameters of what’s normal. That makes readers perk up. Similarly, words that are a little outside casual usage can give a text life. That goes for lyrics, too.

Truly bad words are those that distract from communication, and in the highly complex and technical world of writing about music, clarity is what makes the writing useful. Consider this sentence:

“You must practice these fingerings.”

In this context, the first two words, “You must,” are bad words. They steal the verb’s thunder and only add clutter, not real value. They are such common words that they essentially serve as filler here. So, in fact, what makes a word good or bad is its context. In another circumstance, “you” might be perfect!

Here’s a modified version of that sentence. It is so much more poignant with the bad words taken out:

“Practice these fingerings.”

Much clearer! Also, “You must” made the original communication unnecessarily personalized and bossy, and that’s another distraction, here. When giving instructions, avoid anything that diminishes the clarity like that. The tasks at hand are difficult enough to teach without cluttering up our writing with bad words.

Know what I’m frickin’ saying?