For the neophyte, trying to figure out the new music scene can be both confusing and overwhelming. The many splintered traditions as well as the huge variety of music out there can make it quite intimidating to get an idea of the bigger picture. That’s why the new Contact! Series organized by Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic has the potential to be a dynamic force in getting people interested in new music. Between the first concert in December and the second April 16th and 17th, 7 commissioned new works by 7 different composers were premiered by members of the New York Philharmonic. Alan Gilbert and composer-in-residence Magnus Lindberg chose a wide variety of composers that painted a nice picture of the different facets of composition today. The concert on April 16th and 17th (Friday at Symphony Space and Saturday at the Rainey Auditorium at The Metropolitan Museum of Art) featured new works by young composers Sam Shepard, Nico Muhly, and Matthias Pinscher. Each piece was a startlingly different take on the heritage of esoteric music in the West.

Shepard’s piece, These Particular Circumstances is best described as neo-Impressionist, drawing inspiration from and even quoting Debussy and Ravel. The piece’s seamless seven movement structure, would have been more interesting if one could have told Floating apart from Grinding. There were lovely moments and details in the piece, but there was something wanting in its overall structure. Nico Muhly’s Detailed Instructions drew obvious inspiration from minimalism, jazz and even indie rock, but found its own identity by creating a mood and staying within it. Though developmentally static the piece still grabbed the audience’s attention with its changing orchestration. Matthias Pinscher’s piece songs from Solomon’s garden featured baritone Thomas Hampson singing Hebrew text from the Songs of Solomon. The strong vocal line was backed by diverse orchestration, at times sparse and at others dissonantly dramatic, evoking quite a varied and interesting garden.

Beyond the pieces themselves, the concert was particularly impressive for the laidback and intimate feel generated by conductor Alan Gilbert. His amusing pre-performance interviews with each of the composers and obvious enthusiasm for the project did away with much of the stuffy institutionalism that can characterize Lincoln Center. One can only hope these concerts will continue with this enthusiastic and welcoming take on new music that encourages strangers to become fans.

Why should we bother? Why write about music? And furthermore, why read about it?

Well, the obvious answer is “because we enjoy it”. But that’s not really getting to the heart of the matter. I believe that, in order to understand what makes music worth writing about, we must understand the source of its appeal, and the best way to do that is to look at its function. Why do human beings make music in the first place?

In an essay entitled “Why I Write,” George Orwell asked the same question (though of writing), and came up with four universal reasons for producing a work of literature. Orwell may have chosen to focus his essay specifically on prose, but his reasons can be applied with equal pertinence to any art form, including music.

Orwell’s first reason is “sheer egoism”. This is hardly ever a musician’s only motive for composing a piece, but it is almost always present. When a musician writes a song, he wants the world to know that it is his song – that it came from his creative mind and reflects his creative and technical abilities as a singer or instrumentalist. Musicians want to be talked about and remembered.

In moderation, egoism is a good thing. The desire to be the best, or at least to be “good”, drives musicians to improve; and, in fact, without egoism, musicians would seldom have reason to perform for others. Why would a guitarist take the stage unless she felt that she had something to offer? If she is going to play for an audience, she must first believe that she is worth hearing. Audiences may value a self-effacing demeanor, but the mere act of performing implies that the musician has pride in herself and her work.

Despite its ubiquity, egoism is only one motive for composition and performance; there are certainly other, more “selfless” reasons for creating music.

One such reason is “historical impulse”, or music composed for the sake of posterity. Think of the medieval troubadours who wandered from court to court, singing stories of heroes and brave deeds. Think of the American folk music that chronicled the stories of the Old West. Think of opera, the Japanese Shinnai tradition, or even Sergei Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf.

The historical impulse is equally present, though perhaps slightly less obvious, in the popular music of today. Whether you’re into bluegrass, pop, or metal, think of how many songs tell a story, or describe a break-up or an otherwise particularly good or bad day.

If it’s beginning to seem as if the historical nature of music hinges solely upon the lyrics, I would like to refer you to programmatic music (so named because it was originally intended to complement a text, or program, that recounted a story). It has long since become commonplace, however, to compose programmatic music without an accompanying text. Two more famous examples include Haydn’s Time of Day symphonies and Johannes Kuhnau’s biblical sonata, which delineates the epic battle between David and Goliath.