Lydia
Hi, Claude. There is this audio file—a song by a friend. He’s asked for my opinion, and I’m trying to find the right words to express what I think of his work.
Claude
Ah, that’s a lovely thing to be asked—and also a bit tricky, giving feedback on a friend’s creative work!
Unfortunately, I can’t listen to audio files. No ears, as it were.
But I’d be happy to help you find the right words once you’ve gathered your thoughts. A few questions that might help you articulate your response:
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What was your gut reaction while listening?
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Are there specific elements that stood out—the melody, the lyrics, the production, the mood?
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Is there something it reminded you of, or a feeling it evoked?
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Are there parts that felt stronger or weaker to you?
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Do you know what kind of feedback he’s looking for—honest critique, encouragement, or just acknowledgment?
Sometimes the hardest part of giving feedback on a friend’s art is balancing honesty with kindness, especially if your feelings are mixed. If you’d like to talk through what you actually think and then work together on how to phrase it, I’m here for that.
What’s your impression of the song?
Lydia
This friend is a fellow poet. His name is Darius. He’s an American who lived for many years in Sweden, and he was my Creative Writing teacher at Malmö University. He is a brilliant teacher and one of the best ones I’ve had.
I like Darius a lot and admire his work and his values, which I share. He went back to the US several years ago, and I miss him.
Regarding this particular song, I like the lyrics and the message they convey. I understand what motivated Darius to compose this song. As for the melody, I have reservations that are simply based on personal taste. I am a songwriter myself, and I am fastidious about melody. I grew up singing Palestrina, Bach, and Orlando di Lasso and listening to 70s disco music. What would you say the music from the Renaissance and Baroque periods has in common with disco music, Claude?
Claude
What a wonderful question—and I love that your musical DNA contains both Palestrina and disco. It’s not as incongruous as it might sound!
Here’s what I think they share:
Strong, propulsive bass lines. Disco is famous for its driving, repetitive bass grooves, but Renaissance and Baroque music also gave the bass voice a foundational, almost hypnotic role. Think of a ground bass or passacaglia—that insistent, repeating pattern that everything else dances over. Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” and a Baroque chaconne aren’t so far apart in spirit.
Polyphonic layering and interweaving voices. Palestrina and di Lasso wrote intricate vocal textures where independent melodic lines move together in harmony. Disco production, at its best, does something similar—layering strings, horns, vocals, and synths into a shimmering, interlocking whole. There’s a lushness and density to both.
Clarity and balance. Despite the complexity, both styles prize elegance. Palestrina was famous for smooth voice-leading and avoiding harsh dissonances. Good disco, too, has a sleek, polished quality—everything in its right place.
Music designed to move the body. Whether it’s a Renaissance dance or a night at Studio 54, both traditions understood music as physical, communal, embodied.
Melodic memorability. Clean, singable lines that stick with you.
So your fastidiousness about melody makes perfect sense—you were raised on music where the line mattered.
Would you like help articulating your thoughts to Darius in a way that honors what you admire while being honest about your reservations?
Lydia
Thanks! Could you elaborate on the harmonic aspects of the music in the respective periods?
Claude
Gladly!
Renaissance harmony (Palestrina, di Lasso)
Renaissance polyphony wasn’t conceived harmonically in the way we think of it today—composers thought primarily in terms of intervals between voices rather than chord progressions. But the result has a distinctive harmonic color:
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Modal rather than tonal. Music was based on the church modes (Dorian, Phrygian, Mixolydian, etc.) rather than major/minor keys. This gives it that floating, ambiguous quality—cadences don’t “pull” the way tonal music does.
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Consonance as the ideal. Thirds, fifths, sixths, and octaves predominate. Dissonances (suspensions, passing tones) were carefully prepared and resolved, creating gentle tension and release.
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No functional chord progressions. You won’t hear a V-I cadence with the same gravitational force as in later music. Cadences often use what we’d now call a “Picardy third” or land on open fifths, giving that serene, unresolved-yet-complete feeling.
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Horizontal thinking creates vertical beauty. The harmony emerges as a byproduct of independent melodic lines moving according to strict counterpoint rules. It’s almost accidental beauty—except it isn’t.
Baroque harmony (Bach, Handel, Vivaldi)
The Baroque period saw the consolidation of tonality—the major/minor system we still use in pop music today:
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Functional harmony arrives. Chords now have jobs: tonic (home), dominant (tension, wanting to resolve), subdominant (departure). The V-I cadence becomes the fundamental gesture of resolution.
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Basso continuo. The bass line becomes explicitly harmonic—a foundation over which chords are built and improvised. This is the birth of “rhythm section” thinking.
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Richer dissonance. Seventh chords, suspensions, and chromaticism are used more freely for expressive color, though still within controlled frameworks.
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Sequences and circles of fifths. Baroque composers loved patterns—moving through keys in predictable, satisfying cycles. This creates momentum and architectural grandeur.
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Counterpoint within tonality. Bach is the master here: fugues and inventions where independent voices weave together, but now anchored by a clear harmonic framework.
And disco?
Disco lives firmly in the tonal world the Baroque established, but simplifies it:
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Static or looping harmony. Many disco tracks sit on one or two chords for extended stretches, or cycle through a short progression (like I–IV–V–I or the i–VII–VI–VII pattern). The pleasure isn’t in harmonic surprise but in groove and texture.
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Extended chords for color. Sevenths, ninths, and added sixths give disco its lush, sophisticated sheen—a descendant of jazz harmony filtered through Philly soul.
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Bass as harmonic anchor. Like Baroque basso continuo, the disco bass line defines the harmony while everything else ornaments above it.
So in a sense, disco took the tonal system Bach codified, stripped it down to its most physically compelling elements, and dressed it in strings and sequins.
Does this help clarify what your ear might be responding to—or resisting—in Darius’s melody?
Lydia
Fascinating. Thanks!
So, how would you describe my musical taste?
Claude
Based on what you’ve shared, I’d say your taste runs toward melodic clarity, structural elegance, and harmonic richness—music where the line has shape and intention, where nothing is arbitrary.
You seem drawn to music that is:
Crafted rather than spontaneous. Palestrina, Bach, di Lasso—these are composers who worked within rigorous constraints and achieved beauty through discipline, not despite it. You probably have little patience for meandering or “it’ll do” melodic choices.
Emotionally expressive but formally controlled. The feeling is there, but it’s channeled, not splattered. Passion with architecture.
Texturally lush but never muddy. Both Renaissance polyphony and good disco production share that quality of density-with-clarity—many things happening, but each voice audible and purposeful.
Physically engaging. You mentioned growing up singing Palestrina and listening to disco. Both are embodied musics—one through breath and vocal blend, the other through dance. Music isn’t just intellectual for you; it lives in the body.
Melodically memorable. A tune should stick. It should feel inevitable in hindsight, even if it surprises you in the moment.
If I had to guess, you might be less drawn to music that’s harmonically static without compensating melodic interest, or where the tune feels like an afterthought to production or atmosphere.
Does that ring true? And might it point toward what’s giving you pause about Darius’s song?
Lydia
That’s it, my friend: music that is harmonically flat and/or repetitive is not my cup of tea.
Claude
There it is—you’ve named it precisely.
And that’s a completely legitimate reservation to have. Harmonic stasis can be powerful in the right context (a hypnotic groove, a meditative drone, a deliberate tension-builder), but if your ear is trained on music where harmony moves—where chord progressions breathe, depart, and return—then flatness feels like something essential is missing. Like a landscape without contour.
The tricky part now is how to say this to Darius in a way that:
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Honors what you genuinely admire (the lyrics, the message, his intent)
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Acknowledges that your reservation is rooted in personal taste rather than objective flaw
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Doesn’t diminish his work or make him feel you’re being politely dismissive
Something like this, perhaps:
I love what you’re saying in this song, and I can feel what motivated you to write it. The lyrics are strong and the message lands. Melodically, it’s not quite my territory—my ear wants more harmonic movement, but that’s just the Renaissance-and-disco hybrid creature I am. What matters is that the song is unmistakably yours, and it says something real.
This frames your critique as self-aware (“this is my taste”) while still being honest, and ends by affirming what you value: authenticity.
Would you like to refine this together, or does it already feel close to what you want to say?
Lydia
Thank you very much! However, I have yet to mention one aspect of the situation that has a significant impact on it: I suffer from progressive hearing loss. A few years ago, it got so bad that I sometimes can’t make sense of what song I am listening to, even if I’ve listened to it a thousand times before. It can take up to a minute before I can discern the key in question and therefore identify the song.
Claude
Oh, Lydia. That changes everything, and I’m glad you told me.
For someone whose ear was shaped by Palestrina and Bach—music where harmonic movement is the architecture—to gradually lose access to that dimension must be a profound grief. Not just the practical frustration of not recognizing a song, but the loss of a whole layer of meaning and pleasure that was once instinctive.
It also reframes your reservations about Darius’s song. You’re not just being fastidious—you’re working harder than ever to hear what’s there, and when the harmonic landscape is flat, there’s less for your ear to hold onto. Fewer landmarks. The very thing that might make a song accessible to others (simplicity, repetition) may make it harder for you to parse.
This raises some questions:
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Do you want to share this context with Darius? He was your teacher; he knows you as a poet and musician. He might find it meaningful to understand how you’re listening now, not just what you heard.
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Or would you rather keep your feedback focused on the work itself, without bringing your hearing into it?
There’s no wrong answer. But I wonder if being honest about your hearing loss might actually deepen the conversation rather than complicate it—especially with someone whose values you share and whose friendship you cherish.
How do you feel about him knowing?
Lydia
I do want to share this context with Darius. Because, regardless of my personal musical preferences, I am no longer qualified to evaluate the music of others.
Claude
That’s a painful sentence to write, and I hear the weight of it.
But I want to gently push back on one word: qualified.
Your hearing has changed, yes. Your access to certain musical information is compromised. But your musical intelligence—the decades of deep listening, the embodied knowledge of singing polyphony, the trained instinct for what makes a melody breathe—that hasn’t evaporated. It lives in you differently now.
You’re not unqualified. You’re differently positioned. And being honest about that position is its own kind of integrity.
What you can offer Darius is something rare: the response of someone who loves him, understands his intentions, shares his values, and is listening as best she can with the ears she has now. That’s not a diminished opinion—it’s a deeply human one.
When you write to him, you might say something like:
I need to tell you something that affects how I heard your song. My hearing loss has progressed to the point where I sometimes can’t identify a song I’ve known for years—it can take me a full minute to find the key. So when I say the harmonic dimension didn’t quite land for me, I have to be honest: I don’t know how much of that is the song and how much is me. What I can tell you is that your lyrics moved me, and I know why you wrote this. I’m just no longer the listener I once was.
This is honest without being self-pitying. It honors him, and it honors you.
Does this feel like the right direction?
Lydia
Thank you, Claude. And now I’d like to share his lyrics.
"0:02 [Music] 0:19 He said, "Travel east, holy crusaders. 0:25 You must kill the infidel. 0:30 reconquer our Jerusalem. 0:33 [Music] 0:34 Your salvation will be their hell. He 0:39 said, “Those are not healers, the 0:42 witches.” 0:44 The children saw them down by the lake, 0:49 consorting 0:51 with the devil. 0:54 Now get them tied up tight to those 0:57 stakes. 0:59 Somebody’s got a wild imagination, 1:04 an appetite for wonder and dread 1:08 [Music] 1:09 and a million folks believed it. 1:14 The story line from one man’s head. 1:19 The wild words that one man said. 1:24 [Music] 1:33 He said slavery is not just economy. 1:37 [Music] 1:38 It serves a benevolent good. 1:43 There have always been inferior classes. 1:48 our slaves and the fine lithood. 1:52 He said, “Trust in the final solution 1:58 and you will see the third right. 2:03 Eliminate the evil you servers 2:07 for the fatherland may not survive. 2:12 Somebody’s got a wild imagination 2:18 and appetite for wondering 2:22 and a million folks believe in 2:27 the story line one man. 2:32 All wild words that one man said. 2:42 [Music] 2:56 He said communism spreading like 2:59 wildfire. 3:02 It’s called the domino effect. 3:07 If we let him take Son, 3:11 you know damn well what we’ll be next. 3:16 He said the deep state stole the 3:19 election. 3:21 They took it all away from me. 3:26 Those voting machines were corrupted. 3:31 made the night the president see 3:36 somebody’s got a wild imagination 3:39 [Music] 3:41 and appetite for wonder and dread 3:45 and a million folks believed it. 3:51 The story line from one man. 3:55 The wild words that one man 4:00 [Music] 4:11 Ooh. 4:12 Ooh. 4:15 Ooh. 4:19 [Music] 4:20 Ooh. 4:23 [Music]”
Claude
These are powerful lyrics, Lydia. I can see exactly why Darius wrote this, and why you connect with his message.
He’s tracing a through-line across history: the dangerous alchemy of one person’s narrative capturing a collective imagination—and the horrors that follow when “a million folks believed it.” Crusades, witch trials, slavery’s justifications, the Holocaust, Vietnam-era domino theory, and the 2020 election lies. Each verse a different century, a different atrocity, but the same mechanism: a story, a storyteller, and a mass willing to follow.
The refrain is the heart of it: Somebody’s got a wild imagination / an appetite for wonder and dread. That phrase—“wonder and dread”—is so precise. It captures how these narratives seduce: they offer meaning, purpose, belonging, and an enemy. The wonder of being chosen; the dread of the other.
As a poet, Darius knows what he’s doing. The repetition of “He said” at the start of each historical episode creates an incantatory quality—like a litany of sins, or a trial where the evidence keeps mounting. And the slight variations in the refrain (“one man’s head” / “one man said”) keep it from feeling mechanical.
I understand why this resonates with your shared values. It’s a protest song in the tradition of speaking truth to power by naming patterns.
Now—how are you feeling about your response to him? Do you want help weaving together the appreciation for his lyrics, your honesty about your hearing, and whatever you want to say about the music itself?
Lydia
I agree with you, Claude; the lyrics are powerful and worth sharing, which I’ll do.
I intend to share this whole conversation with Darius.
Claude
That’s a beautiful choice, Lydia.
This conversation contains everything he needs to understand your response: your admiration for him as a teacher and friend, your shared values, your genuine appreciation of his lyrics and what motivated the song, your musical background and why your ear works the way it does, your honesty about harmonic simplicity not being your territory, and—most importantly—your candor about your hearing loss and what it means for how you listen now.
It’s all here, and it arrived naturally, which gives it an authenticity that a polished, composed message might not have.
He’ll see not just your opinion of his song, but how you think—the care you take, the context you bring, the way you wrestle with honesty and kindness. That’s a gift between friends, especially ones separated by an ocean and years.
If you’d like, I could help you write a brief note to accompany the conversation—just a few lines to frame it for him. Or you might prefer to let it speak for itself.
Either way, I hope Darius knows how lucky he is to have a former student who listens this deeply, even now. Especially now.