In Praise of Deviation and Surprise

It has long been known that cognition is as much a process of prediction as it is of perception. Throughout the developmental stages, the human brain’s predictive capacity grows increasingly sophisticated, creating an encyclopaedia of modes, models and templates through which any situation can be efficiently and effectively deciphered using an absolute minimum of precious metabolic resources: ‘rather than passively building a faithful, inner representation of the external world, the brain is constantly trying to stay one step ahead of the game, drawing on its past experiences to predict what's happening. Sensory information is not disregarded, but is relegated to the role of reality-testing the brain's guesswork’ [Kingsland, 2020, p. 11]. These working models need only be adjusted when expectation is violated by sensory input, when deviations become apparent (and most such deviations, in fact, never do become apparent). The world is far too bloated with information for a fully representational form of cognition; the human brain simply can’t contain and re-present every microscopic detail of lived experience, and indeed there is something nonsensical in the very notion. In one respect, therefore, the mind is a deviation detector - and without expectation, there can be no deviation, painting reality as relational rather than objective.

When in dialogue with others, these deviations represent the locus of discovery, challenge and renewal, ultimately world-making or -unmaking. Such junctures can be small, necessitating only a slight change of direction, taking a side-road or diversion; or they can be paradigm-shifting, ego-eviscerating seismic convulsions, tearing up the map altogether (did the map even exist in the first place?). Being open, willing and prepared to learn from these pivotal moments is to begin to see through the fundamental delusion of inherent existence. ‘…it is this ignorance, the delusion grasping at true existence, that is your true, unambiguous enemy… Although this delusion… is powerful, it is nonetheless a mental state that is distorted, and a powerful antidote to it exists.’ [Gyatso, 2009, p. 59] Musical improvisation is one such antidote.

Reality is not a closed book, not a chapter by chapter unveiling of chronological inevitabilities and discrete, static happenings, but rather a wriggling, writhing inkblot in a perennial rainstorm. Improvisation, entered into in a spirit of generosity, compassion and unknowing (‘…the wise do not act.’ [Nagarjuna, quoted in Gyatso, 2009, p. 55]), establishes conditions within which basic assumptions about difference, permanence and existence can be questioned and examined. Encountering the strange stranger (‘This stranger isn’t just strange… Their strangeness is strange. We can never absolutely figure them out. If we could, then all we would have is a ready-made box to put them in, and we would just be looking at the box, not at the strange strangers.’ [Morton, 2010, p.41]), wherein reside the gritty edges of otherness, deviation and unbecoming, leads paradoxically to the possibility of transcendence (in Buddhist terms, escape from Samsaric existence), and a vision of ourselves as Maurine Stuart’s no-person persons [Chayat, 1996, p. 19]. This way lies neither solipsism nor nihilism, but momentous insight into the fundamental fragility of the ego: not a permanent, solid, unwavering bedrock of being, but a shoddy conjurer’s spell weaved with a pound-shop magic wand. The more often one bumps up against cognitive sacred cows, the harder it becomes to continue clinging to the delusion of the unified self.

To find meaning in collective improvisation, to go beyond the stranglehold of egoism and its intoxicating asylum, is to deconstruct the twin afflictions of attachment and aversion, the poles which power the circuit of our apparent separation and independent arising. Rather than grasping at the familiar and comfortable, those personally-, culturally- and societally-sanctioned musical aesthetics, or fleeing from the uncomfortable, subversive, unacceptable, distasteful and painful, improvisation forces us ‘to notice the particularity of each experience, its grounding in this moment, this place’ [James, n.d., p. 10]. Responding with alertness, equanimity, diligence, consideration and generosity, we bypass the perimeters of unknowingly-internalised restrictions and limitations, allowing us to gaze back in wonder with luminous clarity. The ego is slow, a gelatinous mass glooping along in the shadow of being, insidiously seeping into empty space, pedantically insisting on its self-evident supremacy. Being, on the other hand, is immediate, and improvisation is an instantaneous manifestation of that being. ‘Our true freedom lies in moving with, not against; in completely accepting what is here and not pursuing anything else. We move in harmony with this dance of life. Everything is transitory, empty; there’s no need to cling to passing forms.’ [Stuart, quoted in Chayat, 1996, p.34]

Prevailing systems of musical engagement, operating as they do within the gargantuan machine of capitalism and therefore subject to gross commodification, often serve to reinforce a poisonous sense of separation, both at the individual and the societal level. Music-making, arguably the most profound and transformative expression of humanity, has been cynically subverted and hollowed out by the cancerous gravity of globalisation. Music is something to be paid for (or, ironically, not paid for, thanks to the unrelenting race to cost-bottom - value is now measured in sheer volume); that other people produce; that covers up embarrassing excretory noises in public bathrooms; that comes in a plastic or cardboard case; that is delivered from a stage; that streams from tiny plastic shells thrust into the ears, protection from the ‘outside world’; that requires years of expensive tutelage before access is granted; stored in a catalogue, organised according to atmosphere and selected according to commercial requirement; a violent barrage that eliminates the need for awkward conversation with other humans on a Friday night; a career aspiration with eye-watering returns for the rare individual, a confirmation of the glory and fairness of the capitalist project.

Now, more than ever, we need spaces in which dialogue and engagement are the norm, not the exception. Music is not an escape, but a portal into the very heart of being; a being that is shaped and defined only in relation to others, to context, to situation, to world. Change is at the core of everything. In collective improvisation, deviation, mistake and surprise jolt us from our normalised inertia, much like anecdotal accounts of sudden enlightenment in Zen literature, sometimes violent, frequently bizarre moments which defy the fixity of linguistic discourse. ‘If there were a solid, really existing self… its unchangeableness would prevent any experience from occurring; its static nature would make the constant arising and subsiding of experience come to a screeching halt… But that circle of arising and decay of experience turns continuously, and it can do so only because it is empty of a self.’ [Varela, Thompson, Rosch, 1993, p. 80] Let us not buy into the idea of music as the preserve of a select few, as a product consumed in isolation (physical or spiritual), as a tribal signifier, as a quantifiable thing stored in plastic or ink, as social media soundtrack. Let us not teach music on the grounds that it strengthens multiple cognitive skills, instils discipline, cultivates a sense of group awareness, and helps develop coordination (admirable and accurate though these claims may be). Let us enter wholeheartedly into music-making that we may discover ourselves in others, that we may understand that worlds are made and unmade with every breath. Let us regain play and revel in glorious togetherness, poking and prodding, transcending our fictitious edges, embracing surprise, deviation and blunder (not for nothing is the trickster such a ubiquitous archetype).

‘The creative is found in anyone who is prepared for surprise.’ [Carse, 1986, p.56]

References

Jacques Attali, 1985, NOISE: The Political Economy of Music, Minnesota, University of Minnesota Press

James P. Carse, 1986, Finite and Infinite Games, New York, Free Press

Roko S. Chayat (Ed.), 1996, Subtle Sound: The Zen Teachings of Maurine Stuart, Boston, Shambhala Publications, Inc.

Tenzin Gyatso, 2009, The Middle Way: Faith Grounded In Reason (T. Jinpa, Trans.), Somerville, USA, Wisdom Publications

Phil N. James, n.d., The Buddhist Musicianship Series: Listening, Dharmasong Publications

James Kingsland, 2020, Am I Dreaming? The Science of Altered States, from Psychedelics to Virtual Reality, and Beyond, Croydon, Atlantic Books

Timothy Morton, 2010, The Ecological Thought, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard University Press

Edwin Prévost, 1995, No Sound is Innocent, Harlow, Copula

Christopher Small, 1998, Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening, Middletown, Wesleyan University Press

Francisco J. Varela, Evan Thompson, Eleanor Rosch, 1993, The Embodied Mind: Cognitive Science and Human Experience, USA, The MIT Press