The Musical Transmodernity (Proem)

After having given several concerts exploring Transmodernity as a new aesthetic movement of the 21st century, in April 2024 I decided to retire indefinitely from the stage as a soloist in piano recitals. The news bewildered those closest to me and was the natural outcome of an internal process that had been gradually forming—especially in recent years—as I reflected and delved more deeply into the music of our time. However, instead of dispelling my doubts, the study of it only multiplied them exponentially.

This paradox, far from being a mere Socratic unease, transformed into an emotional duality, oscillating between a certain anguish and a subtle serenity—two seemingly opposing states that, nevertheless, now coexist within me in a surprisingly harmonious way, as if I were trapped between two contradictory forces. Shortly before my farewell, music began to reveal itself as an enigma far more complex, intricate, and, at times, even inscrutable than I had ever imagined in my youth. In my constant search to unravel its mysteries, I confirmed that, in addition to being an artistic expression, it is above all a profoundly philosophical phenomenon. Yes. What I once saw in it as familiar, comfortable, and transparent territory suddenly began to drift away, to blur and darken. What I perceived as a universal and comprehensible language became an indecipherable code—precisely because I felt completely incapable of philosophizing about it.

However, far from generating frustration, this process brought me an unexpected serenity—a calm born from accepting that the true essence of music does not lie in offering definitive answers, but in its infinite capacity to keep surprising us. Perhaps this state of mind had to do with the moment I was going through. It came as a kind of balm, soothing many of the worries that had previously accompanied me, in addition to reaching a point of financial stability at the midpoint of my life, freeing me from the constant anxiety of finding concerts or the uncertainty of when and how much I would be paid.

This material security did not extinguish my artistic restlessness; rather, it transformed it. Where once there was urgency to perform, there was now room for reflection. Where art once had to be a means of subsistence, it became an end in itself—a territory to explore, free from the sine qua non constraint of financial necessity. This new balance between vital solvency and boundless journeying allowed me to approach music from a more relaxed perspective, enjoying the process of creation, re-creation, and teaching, and embracing with greater calm all the questions that remained unanswered.

It’s curious how life, in its many twists and turns, can lead us to find peace in unexpected places. Now, looking back, I understand that what I once saw as goals are today simply milestones along a longer and more complex path. Music, with all its mysteries and challenges, remains my companion, but now I embrace it with a more open mind and a more serene heart. And perhaps, in this new stage, I will find the answers I have sought for so long—or maybe I will simply learn to live with the questions.

Writing about music is an extremely difficult task. Traditionally, this endeavor has belonged to critics, musicologists, and philosophers who, armed with their intellectual tools, have sought to unravel the mysteries of this art form. The norm has been that musicians perform and others judge. That’s how it has almost always been. However, in the digital age we live in, expressing oneself on any subject—including music—has become an almost automatic activity. Opinions are launched into cyberspace as if they were absolute truths, and anyone feels entitled to judge it. Social media has democratized opinion, but at the same time, it has eroded the depth and rigor that once characterized critical discourse. Today, anyone with access to these platforms considers themselves qualified to issue judgments about music, regardless of the depth of their knowledge or the soundness of their arguments.

The democratization of opinion, which could be seen as a celebration of freedom of expression, has given rise to an ocean of voices in which informed and well-founded opinions are diluted in a sea of superficiality. In this context, I often ask myself what the true value of my own voice is. What right do I have to express opinions about music—a field so vast and full of nuance—when I so often feel devoid of certainties? This self-evaluation has led me to question not only the quality of the opinions circulating about music, but also the validity of my own convictions.

This lack of certainties led me to distance myself from the stage as a piano soloist. Some fellow musicians, surprised by my decision, called me to ask why I had chosen to retire. My response was simple, laconic, yet at the same time carried a complexity that, even today, I have not been able to fully articulate. I answered with another question: why continue performing solo in public? This question, which may seem like a sign of resignation, actually reflects a need to reexamine the very purpose of making music. To play for the sake of playing? To play in order to meet external expectations? Or to play in search of a truth that still eludes me deep within myself? These are questions I have asked myself countless times over the years. It is not merely a doubt about the value of musical practice, but a deeper inquiry into the very purpose of music in my life.

For years, I believe that making music has been my way of communicating with the world, of expressing what words cannot contain. But what happens when that communication becomes confused and turns into weariness, when the message fades and the discourse loses its clarity? What happens when, at last, I have found my own voice and, moreover, through a doctoral thesis, have created a new musical aesthetic movement in which to place it—musical transmodernity—but find myself completely unable to convince my colleagues to embrace it?

Hence, the purpose of this blog, which is truly an extension of my doctoral thesis. I have finally shaped it from a place of calm, without the pressure of having to use strictly academic language, filled with bibliographic references, just to gain approval from an academic committee. Thus, Musical Transmodernity is my attempt to explore those doubts, to confront the myths surrounding my artistic world, and perhaps to find some answers along the way. It is born out of a need to rethink, to question, to explore beyond the obvious.

I do not write from certainty or from the authority of someone who holds all the answers, but from doubt and from the humility of someone who dares to ask. I do not write to pontificate, but to reflect. My goal is not to destroy what we love about music, but to free this art form from the chains of dogma, from simplifications, and from the myths that, over the years, have been constructed around it. Because at the end of the day, music—like any form of art—does not need to be fully understood in order to be enjoyed, but it does need to be questioned so that we may continue to discover new meanings within it. Only when we strip music of its myths can we see it in its true essence: as a reflection of humanity in all its complexity, beauty, and contradictions.

We live in a world where music is omnipresent. We hear it during the most important moments of our lives, and also in those that seem trivial. We are told that music has the power to bring people together, to heal, to inspire. But how much of this is true, and how much is simply a cultural construct? Is music truly that universal language that we all understand in the same way? Or is it rather a reflection of our differences—of our individual and collective identities?

Through this blog, I intend to explore these questions and many others. It is an invitation to look at music from a new perspective, to challenge preconceived notions, and to open oneself to the possibility that, in many cases, what we think we know about music is only a small part of a much more complex reality—a kind of quantum musical universe.

On this journey, I will address topics that may be uncomfortable for some, such as the relationship between music and power, the commercialization of musical genres, and the role of technology in the transformation of music. But I will also pause to reflect on the deeper meaning of music in our lives—on its ability to move us, to make us think, and ultimately, to connect us with the most intimate part of our humanity.

This prologue is also the beginning of a dialogue that will continue throughout the entire book. A dialogue not only with myself, but with all those who dare to question and explore alongside me. Because, at the end of the day, the true richness of the text will not lie in the answers I may offer, but in the questions I hope to inspire you to reformulate. I believe that the repeated use of this internal dialogue will give this essay a dynamic and philosophical structure, allowing me to explore different perspectives on music in a deep and nuanced way. Moreover, by personifying my own inner voices—such as 'Tito' and 'Jesús', as they appear in my book The Truth of Being a Musician: Memories, Confessions, Dreams and Fantasies (La verdad de ser músico, recuerdos, confesiones. sueños y fantasías)—I can create an interesting contrast that will enrich my reflection and allow me to approach the topic from opposing angles.

It is rather an impulse of introspection—a need to pause and reflect on the meaning of what I have been doing for so long. In doing so, I have begun to question many of the beliefs I once held about music, its purpose, and its value in our society.

In The Truth of Being a Musician, I explored these same dilemmas through a first-person narrative. As I mentioned, I did so through two egos: my 'Tito Self' and my 'Jesús Self.' Tito represented my rebellious, nonconformist side—always willing to question and challenge established norms. Jesús, on the other hand, was the voice of conformity—the diplomat who seeks balance, who respects tradition, and who ultimately tries to find a sense of order amidst the chaos.

In that book, Tito and Jesús were my guides in exploring the truths and lies that surround the life of a musician. Through certain reflections, I was able to confront my own doubts and fears, my ambitions and failures, reaching a deeper understanding of what it means to be a musician in a world that often seems incomprehensible. However, as my thinking has continued to evolve, I’ve realized that the questions raised in that book have not yet been fully answered. In fact, they have given rise to new, more complex and profound questions that I now feel the need to address.

That is why I have decided to resume that inner dialogue in Musical Transmodernity, but this time with a different approach. If in The Truth of Being a Musician the goal was to understand what it means to be a musician, in this blog I aim to go further and question what music is in itself, what value we assign to it, and why. I want to strip it of the myths that surround it—of the idealizations that, in many cases, prevent us from seeing it as it truly is.

I do not intend to offer definitive answers or categorical conclusions. On the contrary, this is a space for questioning—for the exploration of ideas we often take for granted. For that reason, at times, I will do so through the dialogue between Tito and Jesús. These two voices are manifestations of the inner tensions we all carry within us, especially those of us who, like me, have dedicated our lives to music.

My 'Jesús Self' remains the voice of conformity—the one that finds security in the knowledge accumulated over centuries, in cultural structure, and in respect for history. He brings the wisdom of tradition. He is the one who defends the idea that music has a universal essence that transcends cultures and eras, and that it deserves to be preserved and respected. Jesús is the one who seeks answers in the past, in the wisdom of the great composers and thinkers who have defined what we now understand as music. For him, music is a language—a form of communication that, although complex, has rules and structures that make it comprehensible and therefore valuable.

But alongside Jesús is Tito—my other voice—who never settles, who is always questioning, and who refuses to accept things as they are. Tito is the voice of skepticism, the one who dares to challenge established notions and break with conventions. For him, music is nothing more than a set of organized tones—a cultural architecture shaped by political, economic, and social interests. Tito insists that in order to truly understand music, we must demystify it, free it from the ideological burdens we’ve placed upon it, and see it in its bare reality. He brings the freshness of questioning, the need for innovation, and the courage to challenge the established order.

Through their exchanges, we will explore different aspects of music: from its most basic definition to its role in today’s society; from the myths surrounding musical talent to the evolution of genres and the impact of technology. This will not be a debate in which one of them prevails over the other, but rather a continuous exchange that reveals the complexities and contradictions underlying the world of music.

In each chapter, Tito and Jesús will confront one another—but they will also complement each other. Their perspectives, though opposing, are not mutually exclusive. In fact, it is in the tension between them that true understanding emerges.

This blog is, therefore, an invitation to readers to join this dialogue, to dare to question their own beliefs about music, and perhaps to discover new ways of understanding it. In the end, my hope is that by demystifying music, we can see it with new eyes, appreciate it in all its complexity, and perhaps find in it a more authentic and personal meaning.

Through this dialogue, I hope we can peel back the layers of myth that surround music and arrive at a more authentic understanding of what it truly means. I also invite you to read The Truth of Being a Musician: Memories, Confessions, Dreams and Fantasies (available on Amazon), to better understand the new reflections I present in this book.