JRPG Song Forms

I love classic Japanese console RPG soundtracks like Final Fantasy VII and Secret of Mana. The idea of writing in that style appeals to me. But one thing that saps my confidence is when I struggle to find a section to follow a fragment I’ve already written. I tend to grab at the first possibility, even when the connection is weak or forced.

It would be great to have a general idea of how sections are shaped and connected in these songs.

So today I’ve analysed ten of my fave tracks by Noboe Umatsue (Final Fantasy VII) and Hiroki Kikuta (Secret of Mana 2, Seiken Densetsu 3). I wanted to know:

  • How long are the songs and sections?
  • What elements are repeated, and how many times?
  • What textural and harmonic progressions connect sections?

I ended up with this giant chart (which you can see in full size here):

TMI

Let me try explain this crazy chart. As you can see, I laid out a timeline for each song, boiling down everything in it to the following abstract categories:

  • beats & riffs – 1-4 bars long:
    Sometimes riffs change their note content to match a chord progression. But I still view it as the same riff. E.g., the synth arpeggio in ‘Prelude’.
  • phrases – the units of melody, 2-6 bars long:
    Of course, the judgement of phrase length can be arbitrary. I just decided these cases intuitively, trying to avoid fussiness. So, my chart doesn’t show every little motif.
  • sections – the large-scale divisions

If you’re familiar with sequencer software, you’ll recognise where I got the idea for all this. It’s how these tracks would look in a sequencer’s “Arrange” window: horizontal lanes containing MIDI clips: short, repeated grooves and beats, and longer melodic or chordal themes.

However, I’m not representing every instrument. I use the “Ostinato” lane for any repeating figure or combination of repeating figures, and anything that I deem to be a melody or theme (whether single note, harmonised, counterpoint or chordal) goes in the “Phrases” lane.

I’ve done the jazz musician thing and reduced the harmony to chord symbols. I don’t condone this in general. It’s just to sketch out what’s going on for skimming purposes. And while I’m confessing sins, I also used mode names to describe chords. In a past post I complained about overuse of modes as an explanatory device. However, I think modes are the best explanation for aspects of Hiroki Kikuta’s music.

Let’s analyse!

Now, these are game soundtracks and the structure is first and foremost determined by having to loop indefinitely. Every one of these tunes has a section, the loop, that will cycle for as long as your game character stays in that location or game state (e.g. the battle screen). Four of the songs also have a preceding section that I call the intro.

The looping is part of the aesthetic, providing a hypnotic dreaminess, a melancholy, an escapism into something both boundless and yet safely predictable.

Obviously, looped music needs both variety and smoothness if it’s to avoid annoying the listener.

I never completed Final Fantasy VII (or even played either Secret of Mana or Seiken Densetsu 3) but I remember songs getting annoying when you had to redo a task too many times, like the Chocobo race. Or even the battle music, sometimes it’s the last thing you want.

Entrances and starts of sections are almost all square and on the beat. Melodic pickups are used for sure, and drum fills, but there’s never a sensation of skipping the downbeat or disturbing the start of a section. The music, after all, shouldn’t demand too much attention. It should provide drama and atmosphere, and depth for repeated listening, without snagging the ear. This doesn’t prohibit dissonance, strange sounds or unusual time signatures. But they must be safely contained in comfortable box-like structures.

Changes in instrumentation or texture are obviously important to provide diversity within the short loops. I tried to depict the instrumentation changes in the following chart:

4 songs have a (purple) intro section. Each cell of text stands for a musical texture. So, ‘Prelude’ has two textures, synth for the intro, and synth, strings & woodwinds for the loop. ‘Tifa’s Theme’ has no intro, but 5 distinct textures (instrument combinations).

Full size version here.

Again, I’m not happy with this chart. The bars look like a bar chart, but although I am depicting the song structures chronologically from left to right, longer bars don’t represent longer time periods: instead, they represent songs that have more instrumentation changes.

That’s confusing and I’d like to improve on this in future.

Generally there’s a lot of keyboards, woodwinds, strings, mallets. Bit of voice, reed instruments, plucked strings. And a leaning towards kitsch things like barrel organ, accordion, music box.

The orchestration is not dense. I counted at most five different instruments at any time. This has to do with available tech, of course. These tracks are in a sample-based format, similar to tracker music, with (I’m guessing) 8 or 16 simultaneous samples permitted at once.

I presume the instruments were sampled from Yamaha digital synths. It can be hard to tell if something is meant to sound “like a synth”, or like a synthesised version of something real. That kind of stuff gives a lot of the aura of these soundtracks. I’ve spoken about it a bit before.

All right, let’s get onto the structures!

About half of the tunes have a loop length below a minute, while half have a length from 1:30 to 2:30. If you are composing in this idiom, you’ll be writing stuff shorter than a short pop song. Maybe that’s part of the appeal: a bijou version of generally long-winded genres like classical, prog rock and fusion.

‘Prelude’, ‘Tifa’s Theme’, and ‘Fond Memories’ (Uematsu) and ‘Still of the Night’, ‘A Curious Happening’ and ‘Raven’ (Kikuta): all these have a roughly ternary form for the loop. Kikuta in particular uses an AAB form with no variation between the As, a couple of of times.

‘Few Paths Forbidden’ (Kikuta) and ‘Anxious Hearts’ (Uematsu) have four equal sections in the loop. ‘Sending A Dream’ into the Universe (Uematsu) has only two but the theme’s phrase form is compensatorily more complex. ‘Now Flightless Wings’ (Kikuta) is a special case which I’ll discuss later.

Five of the tunes use repetitions with variation. Strategies for variation are all very familiar:

  • add (or remove) a countermelody, as in ‘Prelude’ and the second part of ‘Now Flightless Wings’
  • octave shifts, that old classic
  • change instrumentation, like flute to oboe in ‘Tifa’s Theme’

Most of the tunes centre around a continuous chunk of thematic melody of around 30-50 seconds’ length. It depends on the tempo, but often that’s 16 bars long. Perhaps because I chose a lot of melancholy and pensive and nostalgic pieces, many of these tracks have a similar moderate 4/4 tempo. Both games feature some 3/4 or 6/8, but less than I expected.

8 out of the 10 tunes have an ostinato of some kind, so that’s definitely a technique to reach for. Of those 8, 6 of those have it basically throughout.

Finally, let’s mention rests and breaks. All of the songs except for ‘Still of the Night’ and ‘Tifa’s Theme’ and the tiny loop of ‘Now Flightless Wings’, feature a tag or a breakdown to rhythmic hits. This provides a relief from the main melody, within the loop. ‘Raven’ has two different rhythmic breakdown sections.

‘Tifa’s Theme’, ‘Few Paths Forbidden’, ‘Now Flightless Wings’, ‘Anxious Heart’ and ‘Sending a Dream into the Universe’ (all lyrical, emotive ones!) feature prolongations of melody endings by a bar or two, either of a V chord or a I. Nothing too surprising, but another little technique for the toolbox.

In the end, I think I’ve reached the limitations of this kind of analysis. I could try eke out some conclusions about the phrase divisions of these melodies, but we’d learn more by transcribing a couple and talking about them as, you know, melodies.

Okay, time to wrap up with individual comments on each tune.

I apologise for presenting the tunes in no sensible ordering. It’s because I (rashly) chose LibreOffice Calc to lay out my data. Putting the tunes in a sensible ordering would involve too much layout hacking to be worth it.

I gotta say, I haven’t been too impressed with Calc. I encountered a fair few tiny glitches and the export functions are unfinished: I couldn’t find a way to choose what page or what cells to export to image, and the pagination options in the PDF export appear to do nothing.

Anyway. Now comes the fun part!

‘Prelude’ (C major) – Noboe Uematsu, Final Fantasy VII

This is the first thing you hear when you start the game. Confidently, for 16 bars it features only solo synth arpeggios that climb and fall through 4 octaves with a calm wave-like effect. The synth is warm and woody in its lower registers and chime-like at the very top. An echo effect adds magic dust. The triads are decorated with 9s and, at the end, 7s, providing a bit of extra colour.

Harmonically, it’s a four-chord trick until the parallel minor chords – all familiar but powerful stuff. The mood is mystical but noble. After that full round of synth, a majestic theme, with full chords, in strings and woodwinds, begins.

One smart detail is the order of the theme variants: first a version with ascending countermelodies in the accompaniment, then a plainer version without countermelodies, providing some easing and rest.

‘Still Of the Night’ (A minor) – Hiroki Kikuta, Secret of Mana

This isn’t a million miles away from the hypnotic, chimey, magical mood of Prelude, yet Kikuta’s style is distinctive. It’s more mysterious and warmer, cheekier. This stems from a static dorian modality, alternating with major chords off flattened degrees like bII, bVI and even bI. That sense of mystery comes from the ambiguous voicings (there isn’t a clear bass note) and tensions created by the shifting, slow ostinato against a droning tonic note.

This particular tune is very open in texture though we’ll see him do busier stuff elsewhere. Sonically, we’re in chimy, dreamy land again, but Kikuta’s sounds are warmer. He famously crafted the samples himself rather than leaving it to an engineer, and the result is gorgeous.

‘Tifa’s theme’ – Noboe Uematsu, Final Fantasy VII

Wow, this is such a catchy theme, I’ve had it in my head all day. Like Prelude, it’s in a major key with some colourful chords from the parallel minor. Also like Prelude, the progression is basic and powerful. Legato orchestral sounds plus a near-constant vibes arpeggio combine in a mood I’d call soulful.

The strings are done in a bit of a hurry, I think, but we get some contrary motion from variations in the vibes. There’s some not-particularly-subtle symbolism in the melody textures, that nonetheless drew a tear from me, about how Tifa wants a man to love and a return to the happiness she had with her childhood friend Cloud: flute and oboe together, then flute alone, then oboe an octave lower with flute finally rejoining.

The loop back to the start harmonically goes to I from a II, although the melody does strongly lean on the V note. It’s as if the theoretically necessary, bridging V7 chord is only briefly hinted at.

‘Few Paths Forbidden’ – Hiroki Kikuta, Seiken Densetsu 3

What a groover! This one has an awesome syncopated drums and bass guitar groove, a warm hooting synth harmonised melody, with wheeling syncopated marimba riffage in the background.

We’re getting into Kikuta’s secret sauce here: notice how the marimba has a quiet lower harmony line which subtly contributes some pulsing bass activity alongside the expertly sparse bass guitar throbs. The slapback echo adds texture and emphasises the woody quality while pleasantly obscuring that lower line – just another example of Kikuta’s gorgeous (yet economical) sonic layering – pleasant depth like a bed of bracken.

The slightly out of tune mallet sound adds vibe and realism.

The pumping bass uses the slab-like weight of bass guitar as a powerful device in itself. This is a composer who gets it.

‘Now Flightless Wings’ (Ab major) – Hiroki Kikuta, Secret of Mana

This one’s a special case. From reading the Youtube comments, I glean that it’s the last song heard in the game and it’s there to deliver an emotional payoff at the story’s end. Tense strings chords get harmonically warmer, into a gorgeous glowing barrel organ and music box infinite loop. So, I haven’t played the game but even so the bittersweet life-is-sad loveliness is pretty affecting. I’d tentatively suggest that looping here is used aesthetically. The extreme shortness and simplicity of the loop makes it like a lullaby, childish, vulnerable and ephemeral. That said, some subtle counterpoint and harmonic variations bring depth and ornamentation so it’s not too plain. Brilliant stuff.

‘Anxious Heart’ (F minor) – Noboe Uematsu, Final Fantasy VII

This one starts with cinematic string swells. The harmony is tenser than in the other Uematsu pieces we’ve seen: minor to parallel major shifts with roots moving in thirds, featuring that awe-inspiring shift from a major to a minor 3rd degree. A lot of emotional payoffs in music happen on these type of big, simple colour shifts. So good!

Then it goes into what I think of as “rainforest” vibraphone, after this amazing Jay Hoggard exotica track that I’ve always loved.

The intro is in 5/4, I think, just to lengthen out the chords.

‘A Curious Happening’ (C minor) – Hiroki Kikuta, Secret of Mana

Swung sixteenths sleazy freaky noir funk. There’s probably something that could be said here about Japan’s relationship to African-American culture, but I amn’t informed enough to grasp it.

This track has very funky timbres. Both the synth and the xylophone in the intro vamp are primarily sonic/timbral. Although they’re outlining a Im6 to I-7b5 jazzy chord alternation, what we’re most aware of is the warm, nearly buzzing fatness from the synth, and dry niggling woody oddness from the percussion. Both are staccato sounds, putting that African emphasis (speaking very, very, very broadly) on note onset (and hence rhythmic expression) over the continuous pure tones of classical music.

In this context, the simple clave rhythm for the breakdown was the perfect choice.

‘Sending a Dream into the Universe’ (C minor) – Noboe Uematsu, Final Fantasy VII

This one has, I dunno, maybe “Celtic New Age” instrumentation? Keening woodwind, acoustic accompaniment, slow rock drums and synth pads.

There’s a cool programmatic sequence in the harmony. Three times, we change to a minor key a fifth above, via a pivot chord sitting a third away from each key. E.g. Cm Eb Gm. Then Gm Bb Dm. The effect is simultaneously uplifting and sad. Doing it three times in a row emphasises the theme of the title, with a feeling of hopefully, nobly surging upwards. Nice work, Uematsu-san.

‘Fond Memories’ (C major) – Hiroki Kikuta, Secret of Mana

It’s little wonder people get nostalgic about these games… they were made with a clear-eyed understanding of the mechanics and value of nostalgia! This sparkling gauze of single-note piano and faint accordion, with its shimmering delay effect, just gets right down to the business of plucking your heartstrings. Nice balance between the 4-bar major part and the 16-bar minor part. The harmony is triadic, diatonic then relative minor and finally just a bit of parallel minor in the form of a bVII to get us to a colourful and rather inexplicable, but definitely good VI7 chord before going back to the tonic.

‘Raven’ (A minor) – Hiroki Kikuta, Seiken Densetsu 3

This one’s a pure groove/riff tune. A foot tapper! Like in ‘Few Paths Forbidden’, Kikuta does his dorian two-part harmonising thing in the marimba, and also in the woodwinds. This tune just stays on one chord though, with a stomping rhythmic breakdown followed by an ominous, pulsing, pizz strings and flute tag, for variation.

Thanks so much for joining me. Hope these classic JRPG songs warmed your heart! And I hope I put these lessons to use some day soon myself!

P.S. Here’s a playlist of all the tracks I analysed, here’s the full Secret of Mana OST, here’s Seiken Densetsu 3, and here’s Final Fantasy VII.

Mega Drive Vibes

Today’s post analyses a composition by Tim Follin from the soundtrack of a 1994 Sega Mega Drive game, Time Trax. (I found it on this sweet playlist.) I wanted to find out how it succeeds in being so improbably funky.

Chiptune music has been rising in cultural prominence with the predictability of any nostalgic trend. A mate of mine recently put me on to the quite expensively produced Diggin’ in the Carts, series, for example. I guess what’s fun about the music, beyond just hearing things from your childhood, is the musical meaning conveyed within harsh technical limits. Somehow, cheaply synthesised noises that don’t sound at all like brass, bass guitar, a string section, or whatever, can cheekily evoke just those things. So I want to examine that dialogue across the chasm of failed simulation, where the ludicrousness of the attempt at orchestral grandeur or, in this case, funk jamming, is part of the aesthetic.

The tune (it repeats, the actual track is about 3:30 long).

You won’t remember this one from your childhood, because this game was never actually released and only a prototype of it emerged online in 2013. “The game is notable for its use of a relatively advanced sound driver designed by Dean Belfield for Follin,” segaretro.org tells us. I get the impression that this was a technical peak of sound design on the Megadrive.

Not to get too nerdy – let’s save that for later – but this style of synthesis is associated with, roughly, the 16-bit generation of consoles as opposed to earlier 8-bit. It is called frequency modulation synthesis and it tends towards a distinctive metallic, clanging, bell-like, brassy tone. (Which Tim Follin’s sound design actually disguises pretty effectively, at least until the heavy distorted riff sections.) You may also recognise the sound if you ever played MIDI files on a laptop with a cheap soundcard, like my Dell Latitude.

Let’s get to the music!

This oscilloscope view is cool. BTW, different ones on Youtube have six and five channels. I read somewhere that it was a technical achievement of Follin’s to stick to five channels so as not to have game sound effects interrupt his music. I don’t know what the sixth channel is doing here and I can’t hear any extra instrument that isn’t in the five-channel version. *shrug*

So, apart from the dinky sounds, we have a medium tempo funk-rock groove tune. The first thing I was curious about was the structure. As is typical for game soundtracks, this one is designed to loop interminably. However this isn’t really an issue either way as players were not likely to stay long on the ‘Mission Briefing’ screen where this track is played. (In this playthrough video the player spends 40 seconds.)

In any case, there’s a 90-bar structure lasting about 3 and a half minutes. The basic principle is one found in a lot of groove music – Wayne Shorter’s ‘Beauty and the Beast’ is my canonic example – which we could call “on or off”: you’re either in the groove or getting ready to get back in.

Yellow for ‘in the groove’

Follin uses key changes to shape his track. (He mentions his “fondness for random key changes” here.) As shown above, we get the excitement of going up a b3rd, then a gradual floating down to the home key – a good scheme for a track whose opening will be heard more than its ending.

The key change is smooth on a number of counts.

The end of the brass build (that line is seen at the top left) going into the first organ solo. The double bar line marks the 1:07 section change (and key change).

Okay, the lead line doesn’t voice lead, but in general its D major pentatonic melodic/modal colour is goes strongly to G minor (i.e it’s the elemental I major to IV minor alternation that has strong gravity in both directions). The (faint) bass voice ends on a D before a strong G bassline comes in, so that works. And the inner voices have a general upwards sliding of a semitone. Nice.

There are some other nice applications of harmonic colour, suiting this rock/funk context. In the intro we get some Cs, the b6 of the key, giving a suitably earnest diatonic natural minor mood of cop show epic – after that these are thrown out in favour of minor-7th/sus-chord funk colours. There’s some strong use of the 9th, F#, in a couple of places e.g. the brass pentatonic build.

(I recognise that my names for the instrumental sounds are arbitrary. I just don’t want to put quotations around “organ” and “elec. piano” for the whole blog post. Your interpretation of what the instruments are meant to be is just as valid.)

This ambiguity of instrumental sounds is crucial for what I consider the secret sauce to this track. I’m talking about the inner voices that comp all the various organ solos and can be most clearly heard in the breakdown at 3:00. Quietly, with a warm electric piano-like sound, they add some rhythmic action that interlocks nicely with the rest, and fills out the middle part of the sonic spectrum. At the end of bars 2 and 4, every time, they feature some bluesy parallelism of a type I discussed a long time ago on this blog. A bII I movement, and next time it’s bIII IV. How does the bII I fit so smoothly in a minor key? I think it’s really a bV IV – a classic blues side-slip – in the V key!

Here is where I’d normally show a little transcription (I did attempt one bar of it above – the dotted eighths in the second bar). However, these inner voices are incredibly hard to transcribe due to two peculiarities of the medium: overtones generated by FM synthesis; and the need to swap instrument sounds mid-flow to maximise channel use.

The first issue means that, although I think only two channels are used for these inner voices, we get a fleeting impression of triads in the passing chords – I believe I can hear the thirds. This is due to the way frequency modulation synthesis works] – it adds overtones called side-bands, in various proportions, to the original fundamental. As the 3rd and 5th (actually 3rd+2 octaves and 5th+1 octave) are part of the overtone series, frequency modulation can generate a kind of major chord. So, for instance, while the most audible line in the inner voices starts b7 b7 8, or D D E at 3:00, I think this is actually the 5th and that below there’s a b3 b3 4, G G A which is the fundamental.

What makes it trickier is the fact that Follin may not be keeping the sound (or “patch” in synthesiser terminology) consistent from note to note. In the intro, we note a changing modulation on the synth stabs. And if you look at the visualisation, you’ll see that a channel may switch from brass to bass instantly (e.g. when the groove kicks in at 1:05), or whatever. (Follins mentions this as a “basic trick” here.)

So, even though with a bit of hunting around on old-school, nerdy websites I got some tools to extract MIDI data from the game files, I still can’t, after a decent effort, unambiguously notate it, because these lines might be transposed or changing timbre any time, and in any case they’re definitely using timbres with at least a strong 5th above the root.

Here are the two inner lines in MIDI in REAPER – but I still amn’t confident of what the sounded notes are!

What does all this mean musically? Just that it’s a full-sounding comping pattern with some sonic depth and mystery, and which, especially during those passing chords, is subtly but unmistakeably bluesy! Because blues uses that ambiguity between harmony and timbre all the time (so does electronic dance music, funk, jazz…), particularly for cliched parallel chord movements.

Let’s talk about the other sounds! Some commenters on Youtube have gotten into the nitty gritty of Follin’s techniques – in particular, his use of clipping/overdriving the signal to get otherwise impossible waveforms. I don’t know enough to comment there but I’ll just praise the sounds from a musical perspective and from what I can see in the visualisations.

Firstly, the very effective drum sounds are a single instrument/patch sounding at a high note for snare and a low note for kick, and a really high note for the hats. (Listen in the breakdown sections and you’ll hear the hat sound is kind of like a snare.) This is clear in the intro fill which sounds like it’s on the toms – but later those same notes function as a kick and snare in the main beat. While initially they sound more like toms than a kick or snare, in the mix they’re convincing. The beefy snare takes up some bass register quite effectively.

The distorted sounds later on, and the brass in the intro, are even less “realistic” but still sound good. I really like the bleep on beats 2 and 4 in the intro – here Follin uses a classic technique of “fake delay,” repeating the tone more quietly 3 16th notes later to give the impression of a classic tempo-synced delay effect. Then the bells/glockenspiel in the middle are a really nice timbral contrast. In fact timbral contrast is one of Follin’s main tools.

There are some cool sequencing tricks. The time feel changes from straight 16ths when it’s only hats, to swung 16ths when the groove kicks in. Also, there are some nice dynamic changes in instrumental sounds: the volume swell for the 2nd pads chord in the section starting 0:05, and the changing timbre of the synth stabs in the following section (accomplished by dialling in the degree of modulation of the carrier wave).

Of course, the centrepiece is the organ melodies. Although not very memorable as themes, they’re definitely funky, using tricks like staccato pedal tones, 32nd-note blues scale ornamentation, and (not idiomatic for organ, as I mentioned) pitchbends. As Follin says, “I also liked the playing styles used by folk musicians, all the twiddles and little arpeggios, which were again relatively easy to reproduce.” In general, these organ lines are built using rhythmic groups of 3 and either I minor pentatonic or V minor pentatonic shapes.

There’s one characteristic of the programming which is more to do with expediency – there’s a lot of reused material. The underlying drum pattern has no variations until it switches to a disco beat; the last minute is mostly just one riff in various orchestrations; and all of the organ bits use the same “answer” phrase in bars 3-4 and 7-8. As Follins recounts, these tracks were made by typing in notes in a text editor. I’d say this is why he copied and pasted a lot. It’s not a major problem functionally: the up-and-down the arc of dynamics keeps a meaningful directionality even though much of the groove stays unchanged for multiple sections. However, once you know about them, some of the 4-bar exact repeats (i.e. in the middle of the organ solo bits) become a little jarring.

This track was evidently made quickly, within the strictures of commercial production. Nonetheless it’s remarkably crafted, especially the sounds, which are not only skilfully programmed but gel together in a very fat “band sound.” And this was done without any mixing in the normal sense of applying EQ, compression, reverb. My personal yardstick is that I repeatedly found myself tapping my foot as I analysed it. No surprise that Follins states, “My own preference in my early teens (squashed by peer pressure) was for Quincy Jones.”

The actual game Time Trax, BTW, “is a straightforward platformer that sticks to the 16-bit platforming formula rather than innovate.” It’s clearly Follin’s composing work – which he says was something too nerdy and embarrassing to mention to friends and acquaintances at the time – that has kept it in the limelight. It’s nice to see that he’s only getting more recognition with the years.

I hope you enjoyed this jaunt into some different territory for the blog! If you have any insights into VGM or synthesis, feel free to comment!

Mr. P.C.

I  transcribed this oft-played track because I was curious what notes bassist Paul Chambers plays over the long stretches of minor chords. I also wondered what he played under the rhythm section hits in the statements of the melody. I was in for a few surprises on this one! Let the analysis begin…

(You can read my transcription here.)

“Mr. P.C.” is a super common jam session tune, and in jams I’ve always heard bass players double the C Bb C hook from the melody. In this original recording, we definitely hear the piano emphasise these hits, with C- G- C- triads as correctly indicated in the New Real Book 2 chart (bars 3, 7, 11).

Real Book 2 Cropped
The commonly-used NRB2 chart

But Chambers doesn’t play the rhythm or chords – instead he walks, ending up with an Eb or an A underneath the melody’s Bb. (In fact, he walks steady quarter notes for the entire 7 minutes of the tune – no syncopations until the ending phrase. There’s a relentlessness that I admire in that musical decision.)

mr-p-c-head-tenor-bass-1-e1539017871103.png
The presentation of the head melody at the start of Mr. P.C., played by Coltrane and Chambers (piano and drums not transcribed). Note Chambers ignoring the hits in bars 3, 7, 15 and 19.

One thing that stuck out was the harmony Chambers implies with his lines. In bar 2 of every 12-bar chorus, he outlines a fast IV- V7 or II-7b5 V7 (same thing with different root note) progression. Tommy Flanagan generally plays at least the V7 of that progression also.

So, whatever about what people play in jam sessions today, the basic chord progression implied by bass and piano in the original recording is like:

mr-p-c-chords-1-e1539018056779.png
This still isn’t what the piano actually plays – Tommy Flanagan keeps up a stream of comping stabs with voice movement at the twice-a-bar rate, in the syncopated rhythmic shapes which Ethan Iverson has called “clave sentences” (referring I suppose to their dynamic balance and their ability to close off/demarcate phrases), which is the standard bop/post-bop piano sound of course.

So, the chords in the chart represent how musicians would describe the tune to each other in words, even though that description only a skeleton for the idiomatically correct performance (which involves those denser, improvised chord movements). The skeletal chord progression is what Vijay Iyer would call, quoting Paul Gilroy, a “radically unfinished form”, requiring improvisation to become complete in the moment of performance.

Anyway, I’m all out of piano knowledge, so back to Chambers’ bass-playing. Continuing a trend towards strictness and simplicity, his V7 chords are typically outlined with an unaltered triad or with this distinctive shape and its variation:

V7 Lines.png
Chambers doesn’t use altered tones on his V7 chords (even though Flanagan freely uses a #5 alteration). Chambers also doesn’t use the tritone substitution of the V7 – there are almost no Dbs in his whole performance (and those that occur are an idiomatic descent from IV-, not dominant cadences). Finally, he almost never doubles up his quarter notes, i.e. playing a tone twice in a row.

Paul Chambers is renowned to this day for his sense of swing. The jazz critic Martin Williams once wrote that “a handy explanation of ‘swing’ might be ‘any two successive notes played by Paul Chambers’. One aspect of this, which was pointed out to us in my undergrad days by bassist and educator Ronan Guilfoyle, is that Chambers often plays ahead of the beat. In Mr. P.C. this extends to actually pushing the tempo after John Coltrane’s solo finishes at 3:20. I think this was to compensate for two things: the tempo had sagged a little, and also the exit of the sax caused a drop in intensity.

This transcription (which you can read in full here) reminded me that formal exactness isn’t generally what makes improvised music great – what works in the moment and in the social reality of the band is just as important. For example Chambers’ F note in bar 85 (at the top of the form) is an odd choice, unless we note that Coltrane was wailing on an F note at that moment (1:18) and Chambers was reacting to it.

Another thing that the Williams quote indirectly points towards: “any two successive notes” in Chambers’ lines are never just “any two” notes, but follow a flawless sense of harmonic function, melody, and directionality/momentum.

The melody of the line is smooth and melodic and catchy. There’s controlled chromaticism with clear targets. (The area between the C above the staff and the F above that, in this and other performances I’ve checked out, receives quite a bit of wandering chromaticism on the G string, but I think this is a conscious tension-creating effect that perhaps exploits a potential for melodic connection with the soloist when in the bass’ medium-high register.) The technique of having the same note on beat 1 and beat 4 is often used to provide propulsion (because it makes explicit the tendency for stepwise movement of successive “beat 1s”) and gentle syncopation (it functions as a perceptual accent of beats 1 and 4). Maintaining a direction of movement is privileged, without compromising on the need for chord tones on the strong beats 1 and 3. Inversions are used to maintain smoothness. (Although deeper use of inversions is found in Chambers’ major-key performances that go through more chords and circle-of-fifths movement).

Pretty importantly, the use of that V7 chord in bar 2 of each chorus keeps things very grounded. Out of 32 choruses where bar 3 is played by the bass (leaving out 4 choruses where he stops for drum trades), Chambers plays a C root 25 times (otherwise an Eb) on beat 1 of the bar. So, the question I started out with, what does Chambers play on long stretches of minor chords, will have to wait till I finish my transcription of “So What”, the tune Chambers wrote specifically to feature long minor chords. “Mr. P.C.”, as originally played, instead uses basic cadences spelled out quite strictly, to maintain momentum bar-by-bar.

I once wrote in my practice diary about “this weird feeling that Paul Chambers is playing blues on his bass all the time, with intonation, chromatic circling, and repeated ideas.” Of course, this song is itself a blues number, but that feeling for me exudes from all of Chambers’ performances. I would describe it as a dank, slippery, urgent quality. It’s a kind of hidden blues aesthetic – the note choices are not stereotypically bluesy, but Chambers’ style feeds off aspects of blues – raw chromatic approach, chromatic fill-in patterns, and not always prioritising intonation (for example in this performance, many of the C tonic notes are flat – probably just the A string is out of tune, but if anything it fits with the feel of the performance, I think).

One thing, however, about Chambers’ playing definitely fits with an old-school or blues approach, and that is his very comfortable relationship with repetition.

A Comfortable Relationship with Repetition

The main discovery for me in this transcription was how much Chambers repeats lines. To illustrate it, I augmented my transcription with a cheery colour-coded guide to his most-used two-bar (and one single-bar) patterns. Here goes:

Mr. P.C. 1 Labelled WalkupMr. P.C. 2 Labelled WalkupMr. P.C. 3 Labelled WalkupMr. P.C. 4 Labelled WalkupMr. P.C. 5 Labelled WalkupMr. P.C. 6 Labelled Walkup
These are only his most common repeated figures – there are others I haven’t mapped out. We could speculate as to reasons for this high degree of repetition:

  • the tempo is too fast be constantly thinking of new lines that still function well
  • it’s a minor key which, for acoustic reasons, is harmonically weaker and therefore restricts the use of inversion and reharmonisation
  • it might have just been Chambers’ aesthetic to “play good stuff”, a phrase I heard on the bandstand from my friend and colleague, the drummer Dominic Mullan. As I understood it, to “play good stuff” is to limit one’s desire to be expressive or showy, in favour of things that you know will be effective, thus creating headspace for groove and spiritual energy.

A couple more thoughts on repetition… it seems clear that Chambers often repeats material in two consecutive choruses, i.e. reusing what was recently under his fingers. Choruses 2 and 3, or 9 and 10 demonstrate this. Also, I think when he moves away from repetition, it’s to do with interacting with the soloist. For example, the end of Coltrane’s solo (which I think is quite clearly emotionally/dynamically telegraphed) inspires Chambers to push himself – this being after all a tune that Coltrane named in dedication to Paul Chambers – so we get the beautiful little melody of bars 204-207 (3:10), with no reused material.

Mellow Melody

Another impression I’ve picked up from studying Chambers, though it would take deeper study to really demonstrate it, is that he is strongly attuned to the soloist most of the time, and this often affects his line, for example that F tone he plays with Coltrane that I mentioned earlier. (One cool, and indeed telepathic example is the spontaneous harmonised blues lick (along with the trumpet) at 2:43 in the album version of “So What”).

Nearly time to wrap up here… some quick methodological notes on the highlighted visualisation of Chambers’ repetitions… I chose 2 bars as a minimum unit because at this fairly fast tempo I think it’s the unit that Chambers is working in conceptually. Sometimes I’ve used the highlighting for repetitions that are not exact but instead diverge somewhere… I’ve made a shorter highlight (say 7 rather than 8 beats) to acknowledge this. In all cases where I used the highlighting, I believe that an overall prototype has been reused even if one note is different.

I had a last issue to discuss, but this article is already long and has also been sitting on my hard drive for too many months. But you might like to comment regarding this question: should we as players copy P.C.’s style today? (Thanks to my pal and great bass player Damian Evans for this thought.)

Blues To Reggae

Today I’ll chat about Dawn Penn’s 1967 rocksteady hit “You Don’t Love Me No No No”. It was dusted off in the 90s for a career-reviving dancehall remake and more recently nabbed by Beyoncé and Rihanna. You’ve probably heard it.

I love bluesiness and that’s why I’m drawn to this track – from the opening Hendrix chords on. The bluesy sound is a clue to reggae’s hybrid emergence from networks of cultural transmission between Africa, the US, the UK and the Caribbean… and in particular its debt to US r’n’b.

Dawn Penn’s performance in this tune is supremely confident for a teenager, and her blues bends are poisonously gorgeous. The groove is pretty futuristic! Pumping bass and sparse rimclick backbeat, at around 73bpm. The spaciousness and emphasis on rhythm section is harking towards dub reggae (which hadn’t quite been invented yet).

I love the detail of Jackie Mittoo’s piano marking out bars with increasingly higher-register inversions of the tonic minor, e.g. 0:44-0:56. They fix our attention on the second half of the bar where the vocals re-enter. Speaking of which, did you notice the odd amount of bars being marked? It even trips up the bassist at 0:53. What’s up with this song structure?

Penn, in interviews, seems to dispute the songwriting credit she was forced to give to Willie Cobb and Bo Diddley due to similarities with their songs “You Don’t Love Me” (1961) and “She’s Fine, She’s Mine” (1955).

“The Bo Diddley scenario is that they had an issue with Cher with a song named [“She’s Fine, She’s Mine”]. That has nothing to do with “You Don’t Love Me, No, No, No”, you understand? …. That’s what I’m telling you, the music was new, there was no music like that before that music.” – Dawn Penn, interviewed for UnitedReggae.com

“This was the first I’d heard these records, but the royalties were split three ways and some of my payments are still held up today.” – Dawn Penn, interviewed for The Guardian

I suspect the ways blues, reggae, jazz and hip hop build new creations from endlessly reused fragments and themes, are not fairly accommodated by copyright law. It’s also entirely credible that people ripped off Penn, a female artist with little legal or management assistance. And, as I think Ethan Iverson pointed out recently, obscurity about the origin of ideas was a necessary defensive reaction against the music business for black musicians in the US, at least.

All that said, there’s clearly a musical link between Penn’s song, Diddley’s, Cobb’s and also Sonny and Cher’s 1965 rock cover. The intermediate versions between Diddley and Penn’s each added something new: Willie Cobbs came up with the use of the IV7 at the top of the form (it’s obscured in my chart, but the first 4 bars are D7), and also the juxtaposition of Diddley’s wordless wails and lyrics (which Diddley does in separate verses) to create the hook, “Aw aw aw you don’t love me”. Sonny and Cher streamlined the hook’s melody (probably to make their two-part vocal work), providing the crucial b5 to 4 slide.

Here is the bar structure of the first verse of each song/version:
Bo Diddley: (3 + 5), (4 + 5), (4 + 5)
Willie Cobbs: (4 + 5), (4 + 5), (4 + 5)
Sonny and Cher: (4 + 5), (4 + 5), (4 + 5) (I think this is the version Dawn Penn worked off… there were other similar ones in 1965 but by much more obscure bands)
Dawn Penn: (3 + 3), (3 + 4), (4 + 4)

By the way, verse 2 of Bo Diddley’s track also mixes (3 + 5) and (4 + 5), but in different order, so he wasn’t consistent. I think the (3 + 5) sounds good while his (4 + 5) sounds like an awkward hesitation, particularly with lyrics.

Why the odd numbers of bars? Bo Diddley’s blues-based song runs a 2-bar guitar riff twice (which would be expected) and then lets it resolve (not expected) before he goes to the next chord, requiring an extra bar for the resolution. 2 + 2 + 1 = a 5-bar section between all the vocal phrases. Most later versions kept this 5-bar section.

These riffs are very downhome and almost pre-harmonic – they work mostly as rhythmic shapes cycling around to the tonic note. Different notes from their basic pentatonic mode could be easily substituted without losing the driving effect, as indeed is heard in the harmonica in Diddley’s track (which plays E instead of the guitar’s G). Other classic examples of this kind of guitar riff would be “Smokestack Lightning” and “Wang Dang Doodle”.

What I think is the secret behind Penn’s song is that this guitar riff has disappeared, but is still present as an unusual negative shape, i.e. the odd 3 bars of Am before the second “No no no”. Yes, that’s now 3 rather than 5 bars, but it still gives the sensation of letting the groove go round twice and resolve before coming in with the pick-up. (The radically lower rocksteady tempo means a single bar of groove functions as a unit comparable to the 2-bar guitar riff in the other tracks). The switch to 4 bars next time increases the pleasant frustration of being stuck waiting for the pick-up, and also aligns with the 4-bar sections of the upcoming blues-type release section (bars 14-29).

Oh, I almost forgot, there’s another crucial contribution by Jackie Mittoo and that’s the unusual juxtaposition of a dominant IV chord with a minor I chord, in a blues context. I don’t know any other track that does this, but it undeniably works. The minor I chord is idiomatically appropriate for a dark reggae vibe, but the IV7 works best with the blues slide of the hook. (A contemporaneous reggae cover uses IVm if you want to compare.)

“You Don’t Love Me No No No” distills the earlier structures into a mysterious but effective form, both innovative and soaked in tradition. Penn’s lyrical edits – i.e. the substitution of “no no no” for “aw aw aw”, which she says was inspired by church music’s “yes yes yes” refrains – and her combination of the raw bluesy timbrality of the earlier r’n’b vocals with the streamlined melody of Sonny and Cher’s pop version, make for a pop classic. While also being an astounding example of what how “African-American forms were borrowed and set to work in new locations and deliberately reconstructed in novel patterns that did not respect their originators’ proprietary claims” (Paul Gilroy).

I hope to follow up ASAP with a post on imitating the transformation of ideas between versions of this song, as a composing exercise. But I won’t say anything more now to avoid what happened last time, where I wrote two articles on composing and never posted any actual work.

Hope you enjoyed the post!

Funky Structures

The two bands I’m working with right now are both making albums this year. So I’ve been listening out for ways to structure albums. I found a lot to like in Charlie Hunter’s 2010 release, entitled Gentlemen, I Regret To Inform You You Will Not Be Getting Paid.

Because this album is modern I feel pretty bad linking to it on Youtube. If you dig it, buy it. My copy arrived last week and I instantly realised I wanted to blog about it.

The hook for today’s article is a term I made up, “funky structures”. By that I mean, ways of organising groove music on the medium or large scale (bigger than phrase or riff). Jazz/blues/hip hop/funk/techno etc. are built on cycles. Ideas of development, drama and narrative arc that suit European art music are not always the best explanations for those African-American-derived styles.

Layering is a technique familiar from techno and funk, where new elements are added predictably to a cycle. A canonical example would be Herbie Hancock’s 1973 version of Watermelon Man. The rather paradoxical thing about layering is that every new part adds to the groove, yet the groove is fully present in the initial, smallest texture. I’ll get back to that later.

How does Charlie Hunter use it? Here is the order of added elements on the album’s first track:

(Charlie Hunter plays the basslines on this album on the bottom two strings of a custom 7-string guitar, but for convenience I’ll talk about the bass parts as a separate instrument.)

  • 0:00 Bass, 1-note stutter in staccato 8ths, and kick drum and high-hats.
  • 0:10 Drum fill introduces melody, snare and 8ths on hats
  • 0:31 Horns playing stabs
  • 0:41 Horns playing whole-note pads
  • 1:32 Ride cymbal
  • 1:54 Hocket-type texture as build into guitar solo

Or “Drop A Dime”:

  • 0:00 Bass and slow rock beat (a la Led Zeppelin’s When The Levee Breaks[LINK])
  • 0:17 Guitar melody
  • 0:55 Add answering horns melody
  • 1:19 Interlocking guitar-and-horns payoff section
  • 1:41 Long-note hits w/ drum fills, then solo

But, what exactly distinguishes this layering from increases of density in non-groove-based music? Well, first let’s investigate some other funky structures. If layering is gradually filling up space, what about emptying space?

Hunter places large gaps at the end of phrases in most of the tunes.

  • Track 1 0:18 has a one-bar space after three bars of melody – at 0:59 the same space is now filled by horns and guitar
  • Track 2 0:43 has a two-bar space for a long bass fill. The entire melody uses long notes which, particularly on a plucked (weak sustain) instrument like guitar, function a lot like space.
  • Track 3 0:18 has long note over two bars of groove after every two-bar phrase.
  • Track 4 again has half-and-half phrase-and-rest structure for the first part of its melody. Hunter fills one of the gaps with laconic chord stabs.
  • Track 6 has the same structure.

These intentional gaps in the melodies remind me of Thelonious Monk’s penchant for spaces in his themes in which the drummer can respond. On this Charlie Hunter album however, drummer Eric Kalb often maintains an unchanging beat through the spaces rather than improvising comments. Horns, guitar or bass sometimes comment instead. In all these cases, the point is to expose, and celebrate, the rhythm section.

There’s a tendency in blues for phrases to taper away, starting off high and active and ending up with smaller and smaller movements around the floor note, e.g. “I’d Rather Be The Devil”. Hunter’s melody in “Tout Ce Qui Brille Ne Pas Or”, with its wheeling descent to a rest, uses this feeling. Whether tapering, ending on a long note, or ending on a rest, the idea is to return to the ground layer – the underlying groove/harmony.

A related gesture is the breakdown. Here, instead of leaving space in the weak parts (2nd halves) of phrases, sounds are stripped out on a strong bar (start of a section). Just to be clear on terminology, we could note that this is different to a jazz “break” which is typically before the top of a form (i.e. “A Night In Tunisia”). The breakdown/stripping out of sounds is more characteristic of electronic dance music and funk.

This structure is used in tracks 1, 4, 5, 6 at the start of solos. And tracks 3 & 8 work as breakdowns within the whole album due to their trio instrumentation.

Exposure is the key to these gestures. There is a feeling of contrast, and emotional vulnerability on the part of the remaining musicians. “Tout Ce Qui Brille” at 2:32 demonstrates how this can work really well. The second note of the guitar melody rings out with a bit of buzzing, creating a unique timbral moment that is very beautiful in context – the more so for probably being accidental.

This sense of exposure mustn’t distract players from the groove. I believe this requires a mental independence – part of you must keep track of the underlying ground, whether or not anyone else is playing it.

In a breakdown, those abilities are proved by spotlighting some part previously absorbed in the group texture. Despite the changed perspective (which might radically change how the part sounds/feels subjectively, simply by focusing attention on it) musicians must smoothly maintain their simultaneous awareness of the underlying pulse versus the musical surface.

The reason that I’m going so deeply into this topic is because I used to have difficulty navigating breaks because I didn’t know what I was trying to do. I’ve been thinking this over in order to improve my own playing.

The last specific gesture I want to mention is what could be called limited improvisation or use of routines. Quite often on this album, there is improvisation so restricted that it could be pre-written. The trumpet riff at 2:01 in “High Pockets And A Fanny Pack” probably is written because it’s repeated verbatim, but it sounds improvised when you first hear it. (I love the descent to a different harmonic level there as well.)

On “Antoine” from 1:53-2:20 there is improvisation strictly around a harmonised riff. And of course the challenge inherent in Hunter’s combined bass & guitar approach means that much of his solo vocab must have been figured out beforehand: for instance the complex key-changing double-stops line at a peak moment in the form, 4:13 in “Tout Ce Qui Brille”. This reinforces thoughts I’ve been having on the importance of familiar gestures and internalised vocab in so-called “improvisation”.

So, what’s the meaning of these structures? I shortlisted some aesthetics that I believe Charlie Hunter uses.

Process: this album celebrates process: “how it’s said” over “what is said”, just like in that hip hop track I analysed last year. Eric Kalb’s drumming is a clear illustration. There’s huge craft and a deep moment-to-moment concentration on laid-back grooving in Kalb’s playing – but little remarkable content. It’s all about “doing it”, not expressing new ideas. The high points of the drumming are either cliched fills or attractive timbres (like the opening of “Antoine”). Along with this, the album is entirely in 4/4 and almost all tracks start with a straightforward vamp intro.

Restraint: one of the key themes of the album is holding back. This can be traced back to the instrumentation (7-string guitar, drums, trumpet, trombone, trombone). All of the instruments are technically demanding and impose physical limits. This naturally leads to slow melodies, space, sparse textures and simple comping patterns.

That restraint creates tension – used to propel songs from intro to melody in tracks 4 and 5, or to create epic payoffs whether improvised or written. A great example is from 2:50 in “Drop A Dime”. Massive horns and massive drums and fierce bluesy guitar playing (whose “hold a note over changing bass” hook epitomises Hunter’s self-developed style) – but only after a build-up of intensity over more than half the album.

Subverting sweet chords: Charlie Hunter has an interesting way of using sweet harmony within a mostly ruggedly-grooving context. He writes gorgeous, sophisticatedly harmonised sections for the horns, that are emotional peaks in the album. However, these moments are then wryly undercut by breakdowns to sparse grooving and improv. 0:38-0:45 in “Ode To My Honda Odyssey” is a neat example. The same effect happens on a large scale from 1:17-1:44. The contrast can be a little shocking, but the overall effect is to have the best of both worlds (sweetness and funkiness), while also allowing each to comment on the other. Plus, the album’s sparseness of texture – no standard “comping instrument” like piano – is a statement in itself.

To return to layering…. It seems to me to work off the same principles as the breakdowns and spaces. That is, celebrating the unity of the continuous, all-encompassing groove that is felt equally in every instrumental combination, large and small. In African-American music (and probably a lot of other musics around the world), a blurring occurs between musicians and the audience, whose vocal exclamations, finger snaps, claps, etc. – and dancing – are a valuable element in a performance. I think the joy of layering up and breaking down relates to the social feeling of a group of people entrained in the groove. Each addition or subtraction can provoke new perspectives on all the other material in a play of multiple simultaneous interpretations that are both individual and collective.

I’d better wrap up. I didn’t get around to talking about the note choices and harmony on this album which add so much to its melancholy mood – in particular, the masterful use of major-minor colour shifts. Also I would’ve liked to talk about the transparency which I think this album shares with, e.g., Thelonious Monk’s work. Well, another time.

I’ve been thinking about the purpose of this blog, as I’ve been doing it for over half a year. It has succeeded wildly in helping me figure out concepts. But I’m wondering what should my next step be, i.e., what to do with this knowledge. I’d love to write for an improvising band again, but it will take some discipline to realise these ideas.

Anyway, I’ll try do a nice technical post next week after the last few conceptual ones. See you then.

Buy the album!

Monk’s Powerful Melodies, Part 1

I gigged some Thelonious Monk tunes last week and remembered how much I love his music. And I’m not alone… one of my bass teachers was playing an all-Monk set in Italy recently – and in the school I was in last year they run a yearly Monk-themed competition.

Today I’ve less transcription than in my last Monk article, but hopefully some nice ideas. I want to explore how Monk balances bright energy emanating from the powerful tonic triad with much darker tones, within a bluesy context.

This immediately reminds me of the binary: “rootedness-displacement” which I heard Vijay Iyer quote from Paul Gilroy. The concept is that a tension between these two properties powers much African-American culture. Some musical examples would be:

  • Time feel – a metronomic pulse is emphasised (rootedness) yet skilled players play ahead of or behind the beat (displacement)
  • Phrasing – a driving beat is made as powerful as possible, yet accents are typically off the beat. In music with underlying rhythms such as clave, many parts play against the rhythm.
  • Blues melody – there is a powerful gravity towards the tonic triad and the root, yet all the expressivity is in deviations – bends and melisma – from the tonic notes.
  • Standard jazz form – 12-bar and 32-bar cycles are an unchanging ground, which yet is constantly challenged via anticipation/delay/substitution of chord changes.

As far as I can make out (here in my white suburb in Ireland…) what’s distinctively African-American is the simultaneous multiple meanings. (The ground-surface dichotomy is from African drumming, I’ve read.) The different possibilities are present, or threaten to be present, at the same time: I7 and IV7 harmonic sounds in blues; ahead and behind the beat in a swing feel; “where beat 1 is” in a polyrhythmic techno piece. Something similar may apply in Signifyin’.

Enough of my usual vague ponderings on black culture! It’s analysis time.

I’ve played this tune since I was a teenager. You can hear why a youngster would like it – it’s extremely catchy and cool-sounding.

Well A
The A section of “Well You Needn’t”

There’s a lot going on here, including a lovely low-register chromatic comping voice (more about that in a bit) and a strong 2-bar syncopation driving the phrase structure. Note the groups of 3 in the concluding phrase.

The bridge shows Monk’s mastery of 32-bar AABA form. It repeats the groups-of-3 idea up a semitone – a seamless connection. The phrase structure (one bar riff followed by one bar rest) and harmonic idea (sequencing up a semitone) are familiar from the A section – although the harmonic rhythm is slower.

Well Bridge
Bridge from “Well You Needn’t”

The B section’s second half is brilliant. The harmonic rhythm suddenly is twice as fast as the A rather than twice as slow (symmetry), and the F to Gb up-a-semitone idea is allowed to continue its movement. This makes an exhilarating sequence of 7 chromatically connected flourishes, which (together with the first two chords of the bridge) sketch out the exact movement of the A section’s low-register counter melody… and then continue past it to land on a Cb, a tritone away from the home key.

All these connective devices create a powerful flow – and perhaps the most important single device is the well-crafted pattern of syncopated accents tying everything together. For instance, the “and of 2” note that ends the bridge melody is the only such accent in the whole piece, forming a peak before the return to A. As I wrote before, Monk is really good at balancing the forces in the final bar before returning to familiar material – the top of a 12-bar blues, or the last A of today’s 32-bar examples.

Charlie Rouse, long-time associate of Monk, also used darkness at peak moments: check the b9 at 2:30 in “Well You Needn’t” on the last bar of the bridge. (I’d love to know the history of this bluesy phrygian sound… Paul Gonsalvez features it in his famous Newport solo.)

The way Monk uses chromaticism in the “Well You Needn’t” bridge is revealing. It is a voice movement away and then towards the 5th (C) of the key. The accelerating harmonic rhythm gives a sensation of exhilarating unleashed energy. At the end there is the gesture of the descending line overshooting its C start point to reach B, a note outside the key. We’ll see this exact concept elsewhere: the momentum of a movement carrying it outside the key at the end of a section. Rouse’ b9 is an example too.

Just to connect this to some past themes and buzzwords… Monk is virtuosically “navigating the form”, he’s using the “hidden energy” trope of black cool, and his music works in metaphors of movement (accelerating, momentum), so that it has “directionality”.

Let’s have a quick look at “Monk’s Dream”, title track of the 1962 album. Now, alas, I’m far from qualified to deal with the beautiful chords that comp the melody. As Vijay Iyer puts it:

“These chord-jewels of his were palpable, physical objects. By this I mean that they took advantage of the physics of sound; they were resonant.”

I’d struggle to get even a doubtful transcription of the chords in “Monk’s Dream”, so I’ll just talk melody.

Dream A
The A Section of “Monk’s Dream”, pathetically lacking in the chords I can’t transcribe

There’s an obvious resemblance to “Well You Needn’t”: the opening tonic arpeggio and the first phrase repeated every two bars with variations.

(I love how Monk’s voicing absorbs the major 7th on beat 1 of the tune into a gorgeous timbral object, so much so that it fits seamlessly in a bluesy tonality.)

The first bars run up and down a distinctive cell that I think of as III minor pentatonic over I (E minor pentatonic over C bass). After reading Origins of the Popular Style by Peter van der Merwe, I’m on the look out for the tendency to emphasise the 3rd and 6th so much that the melody outlines a VI minor or III minor modality against the I major key. “Just Friends” is a great example – the melody is mostly in the relative minor mode (including melodic minor 7 and 6).

The end of the A section involves a chromatic run taking us outside of the key – sound familiar? Like “Well You Needn’t”, the chromaticism seems to fit in between notes of the tonic triad frame. It finishes with a salient b2.

The B section is audacious. It uses the crude directionality of a melody climbing from root to octave – all over a I chord! And, apart from a #4 (part of the idiomatic blues run 3 4 #4 5), only C mixolydian notes are used. So, the only drive comes from the ascending contour and the syncopation.

Dream Bridge
Bridge melody of “Monk’s Dream”

Nothing more is required because of Monk’s adeptness with timbre and call-and-response. Drummer Frankie Dunlop neatly fills the gaps, while gorgeous chords followed by a lovely change from sustain-pedal tremolo to choked staccato tell a story in textures. Notice John Ore’s bassline reverting from 4 notes to 2 notes to the bar in the bridge’s final measure – somehow compensating a bit for the lack of cadential emphasis returning to the A section.

Well it’s nearly time to sign off (and leave some tunes to analyse another time). What did I learn?

Vijay Iyer’s article helped me sum it all up. Monk’s music feels really good pretty much all the time. He deals in groove, flow and sound. His compositions let those things happen. There’s an urgent creativity there, but it never impedes those qualities.

In my last couple of articles I’ve reflected on applying new concepts to my own music. I’ll do that again now.

First lesson: moments of the simplest, strongest possible melody – if the rhythms are hip – can and should be the opposite of corny. More subtly, they can work in an “extended blues” aesthetic that coherently incorporates major-minor ambiguity (i.e. modal interchange), symmetry, and the crunchiest dissonances. And finally, this style of melody should be used as an aid in constructing powerful large-scale shapes (again, with slick rhythm).

More generally, I had a glimpse of an idea, building on my initial investigations into independence, laying back, and gestural playing: what if every musical decision I made was by feel, by awareness of body sensations/embodied knowledge?

That’s a wide-ranging thought, and it reminds me of Vijay Iyer saying that the heritage of great jazz contains “codes for transformation: of yourself, your community, and your surroundings”.

Thanks for reading! Have a good week.

What I Learned from Hollering Blues for an Hour

Last week I mentioned my growing interest in the kind of melodies I might naturally sing. So I decided to sit down (in a soundproofed area) and record myself singing freely.

I soon realised there were no original “natural” melodies inside me waiting to be mystically released. Everything I sang was familiar. I ended up using one basic pentatonic melodic skeleton:

Blues Singing Skeleton 1

Which tended to grow into something like this:

Blues Singing Skeleton 2

What “I felt like singing” turned out to be often unnotateable: blues material relying on fast, gliding ornaments, flexible pitch areas and emphasis on overtones.

What’s more, these effects were all highly reliant on the physicality of my voice, i.e. they combined:

  • switching between head, throat and chest voice
  • use of vocal fry (growling)
  • yodelling-type leaps
  • nasal tone
  • humming
  • breathiness

I’m no singer of course, but if you’re curious what I was sounding like here’s a fragment:

My conclusion – and this is a familiar theme here – it’s just as meaningful to understand these blues phrases as body movements (i.e. in your throat, lungs and mouth) than as melodies.

That’s all very well to say, but the nice thing about doing this exercise just once is that I can feel a new awareness of this physical basis. When I was singing I imitated some familiar sounds: John Lee Hooker’s “hey hey”s and Andy Bey’s hiccup-y pentatonic noodlings. Now I know how those sounds feel to perform.

Also, since doing the exercise, melodic fragments have been coming spontaneously to my mind together with an impression of how they feel to sing. Seeing as melody has been a weak point for me in the past, it’s cool to have little ideas springing to mind fully formed (heard and felt) like that.

It was also nice to grapple a bit with the different registers of the voice. That’s a singer’s bread and butter, but it was novel for me to feel different parts of the blues scale as inhabiting different registers of my voice, e.g. everything above the octave was in my head voice when singing in B, and I could use this to create breaks and yodels.

I noticed one really interesting thing trying to sing these blues phrases. A lot of the mannerisms I’m imitating clearly signify emotion: wails, groans, fall-offs. However, to make them work, they have to be practised till they’re in muscle memory. So they’re practised patterns and not spontaneous outbreaks.

This invalidates the (completely patronising) myth that blues was a direct, naive expression of the pain of the black folk. Emotions in blues are only as sincerely felt as an actor’s performance. Although the performer may completely inhabit the persona, he/she can snap out of it at will.

This explains how ostensibly depressive blues has always been party music. The performer makes a game of its seemingly dark emotions – ambiguously either lampooning them them through exaggeration and stylisation, or seriously inhabiting them. Weariness, sickness, defeat are turned into stylisms subject to slick manipulation. Thus, the bluesman or woman can both conquer them and yield to them. (Albert Murray makes a similar point in Stomping The Blues.) That keeping-in-tension of alternate mindstates recalls Dubois’ “Double Consciousness”. (African Americans’ survival ability to simultaneously navigate white and black cultural values.)

The use of dark emotions has sometimes confused outsider fans of black music. For example, in the awesome slide-guitar blues I discussed a few weeks ago, by white rockers Canned Heat, we can hear singer (and blues collector) Bob Hite call for a “real quiet and ghostly” vibe from the band. This phrase comes from a white record collector tradition of interpreting deep blues as “eerie”, “ghostly” or “weird”. But performers like Skip James, Tommy Johnson or Robert Johnson – who did indeed use wailing, plangent sounds and sing about death and the devil – did not think of their songs in these terms, as far as I know. To them it was probably mostly about sex: “sinful music” was its well-documented reputation.

I think certain rappers in more recent decades generated a similar confusion. For example, Big L’s lyrics seem depraved and appalling on their own terms. However, in context, I believe they were mostly a stylistic innovation to keep Big L ahead of the competition.

Well, this week’s post was mostly just re-emphasising some ideas. But this kind of thing helps me form my artistic direction. For example, if I was to start a new art music project now (say along the lines of my old band Nature) I would immediately ask myself – should the vocal lines be notateable as written music? Or is there another way to create them that would suit me and the singer better, and afford more expressivity in the areas I like? Or, for instance, why not base the melody around the singer’s range, using the breaks between registers as part of the music? And why feel the need to deviate from one mode/scale? What if I wrote write in my key, and then transposed so that the same effects happen in the singer’s preferred key?

Interesting stuff. Pretty basic too, of course, but trying to sing for myself hammered it all home nicely!

Encountering Some Trad

For the first time in my life I’ve been checking out some Irish traditional music. It’s something I know sweet nothing about. (Meaning you get a mercifully brief post today.)

So far I’ve really enjoyed it. I thought I’d give my jazz/bluesman’s thoughts on a couple of pieces I’ve worked on.

This all ties in with the awesome book I reviewed recently, van der Merwe’s Origins Of The Popular Style. After reading it I’m primed to find unexpected resemblances between Irish and African-American music. Van der Merwe opened my mind to how constant and complex interchanges between African, British and Irish cultures were the backdrop for the development of blues in the US. That book also put me in the mood for simple, modal melodies.

The first thing I liked about trad was that it’s dance music played with “metronomic” pulse, i.e. without the expressive tempo alterations of Western classical music. So, it grooves.

As well as that, I heard time feels that were triplet-based and exploited the flexibility of triplets. In jazz, a “swing 8ths” jazz feel can encompass placements of the off-beat varying from almost in the middle of the beat to right at the end. In a similarly physical way (by physical I mean deriving from the movements of playing the instrument), the different phrases of this piece lean differently against the steady beat, depending on how complex a figure is being fit into each beat (2 or 3 notes, or much more when trills and ornaments are used):

At this slow tempo, the piece has a ceremonial and martial feel befitting the title. The fanfare-like phrase at 0:20-0:25, and the overall use of a mixolydian mode, evokes “natural horn” instruments that can only play overtones of a single note.

(The King of Laois referred to, by the way, is the Irish nobleman Rory O’Moore who, after the violent destruction of his clan, led a rebellion against the English Crown in 1641.)

The mixolydian mode, distinguished from a major scale by its use of a flattened seventh note, is common in Irish trad. That flattened seventh, and in particular its use as a plaintive high note is common to blues, English folk song and Irish trad. You can hear it a 0:58 in this pretty tune by famous 70s Irish folk band Planxty.

Notice how the accompanying chord is an F, bVII in the key of G major. The chord after is a C, the IV of the key, with an A melody note. The chord progression F C gives a more “modal” feeling than the other possibility, G7 C, which would be strongly “functional”.

I’m honestly completely ignorant as to the history of chordal accompaniment in this tradition. Nowadays it’s part of the standard trad session format. But it’s clear that the melodies are by far more important, and they’re what has come down the centuries. Not all of them are modal, though. This awesome little piece is clearly harmonically oriented.

Tying back to what I said earlier, again there are varieties of triplet feel: compare the percussive start of the phrase at 0:33 with the smoother triplet at 0:35. The former has the first two notes shortened and the third lengthened, while the latter is more rhythmically even. I won’t start pontificating about a style I’m ignorant of, but these kinds of subtleties clearly add to the lilt and groove of the tune. Nicely played, anonymous Youtube whistle guy.

But I was talking about harmony. The second strain at 0:22, for instance, sketches a clear I V I V harmony. Interestingly the cell outlining the first V chord starts with B, the 6th of the key and the 9th of the implied A7 (or A9) chord. Another interesting implication is the II- we hear from the low E at 0:07. Very simple stuff, of course. But clearly the writer understood basic chord progressions and upper structures. I can’t find info on Google but I’ve heard this tune is 200 years old.

It sounds silly to say, but in a way this music reminds me of bebop! Not in its mood or texture, but in its construction from blocks (typically either arpeggios or diatonic cells like 3 4 3 1 or 6 5 6 8), use of interspersed triplets and sixteenths (often generated by turns/trills) and outlining of syncopations by accenting notes (for example a high note) within a steady stream of swung notes.

Also, the “fractal” aspect that Steve Coleman finds in Charlie Parker’s music, whereby strongly melodic movements are found at different levels of scale, is present here: the first note of each bar could be isolated into a completely coherent melody of its own.

I enjoyed discovering these tunes. These days, I feel I’m homing in on my preferred melodic style after many, many years of believing that I would discover it in some advanced harmonic concept. Actually, it’s been under my nose all this time: I like modal melodies and melodies with simple, strong harmonic implications. This kind of thing, say:

Somehow, the idea that I should try write or work with the sort of melodies I enjoy or naturally sing has taken a long time to filter into my head! I think it’s almost impossible to go through jazz education without acquiring a prejudice in favour of complex or systematic melodies (i.e. derived from symmetry, synthetic scales, bitonality, or what-have-you). But at the end of the day, only your inner melodic ear – the part that responds natively to melody – can tell you what sounds good.

I’m not writing jazz at the moment, but I think when I return to it I’ll have a much stronger idea of what materials to work with than ever before.

Anyway! Hope you enjoyed my naive dip into Irish trad. Here I am trying to play “Pat Ward’s Jig”. I was pleased to find that all the hours I’ve spent in my life noodling blues lines meant that I was able to approximate some of the beautiful ornaments that characterise this style. (Of course, this is trifling compared to the art of a trad musician who has studied an entire system and aesthetic of ornamentation.)

And here’s the proper version I based mine on.

See you next time! Please comment if you’ve any thoughts, whether about Irish music or about developing and discovering your own melodic style.

Book Review: Origins of the Popular Style

I’d been meaning to read Origins of the Popular Style by Peter van der Merwe (published 1989) for quite a while. It’s a musicological look at the origins – European and African – of 20th century styles like popular song, jazz, blues and rock’n’roll. I finished it a few days ago.

Basically, author Peter van der Merwe has turned around my ideas on the development of black music, including ideas I’ve written about on this blog. Today, I’ll first of all look at these revelations.

After that, I’ll evaluate the book’s approach and style.

So, first up, what are the big ideas? Number one is the complex connection between British folk music and blues. Van der Merwe is great at matching up variants of a song or song type, on different staves, so you can identify bar-by-bar how they changed over time and in passing between cultures. This reveals how blues song forms slowly evolved. For instance, the “4 bars of verse, 8 bars of refrain” structure of “Good Golly Miss Molly” and “Long Tall Sally” are traced back through the early blues “Tight Like That” then to Mississippi John Hurt’s “Frankie” to the hillbilly song “Josie”, itself a variant of a Scottish folk song, “Tattie Jock”.

As well as stanza shapes, melodic skeletons can be traced back to Europe. So, a prison work song like this one recorded by Alan Lomax, as stereotypically African-American and rootsy as one can imagine….

… uses a melodic skeleton from 15th century France, known as “Le Petit Roysin”.

An example that amazed me was the use of the flat 7th in blues. This note often features beautifully on the V chord of blues songs, for example at 0:30 in Barbecue Bob’s “Going Up The Country” (you can also hear it in both the improvised harmonies and the main line of the prison song above, e.g. at 0:50). I had always assumed that it was an African-derived use of the 7th harmonic of the root. This book neatly points out that it is a feature of British song known as the English cadence. But this is not to discount the African lineage. Van der Merwe is at pains to show how similarities between two different cultures reinforce each other during cultural interchange. He makes that point about, for instance, the originally separate British and African tradition of songs of complaint. I think it applies well to the merging of separate African timbral and British folk music derivations of the flat 7th.

Another aspect with much emotional resonance for me, the lyrics of blues songs, also turned out to have more British ancestry than I realised. For example, “One Kind Favour” (here in a seriously great boogie version by white hippy blues experts Canned Heat) is a  compilation of floating couplets of English lyric and poetry.

Moving on, the second major discovery for me in this book was about jazz and blues harmony. Van der Merwe paints a convincing picture of 32-bar popular songs (which became jazz standards) being the end result of harmonic/melodic trends initiated by great Romantic composers. To over-simplify, melody became more and more independent of harmony, by granting the 3rd, 7th and 6th greater modal power. A classic example is “Mack The Knife”. The melody is completely built off the 6th, which becomes a chord extension over standard major harmony (e.g. the 9th of the V7 under “und die tragt” at 0:31).

One of the great insights of the book is that such techniques pioneered by Liszt and Schubert became too vulgar for “serious” or “art” music in the middle of the 19th century but thrived in the trashier end of Victorian music: music-hall, salon music, arrangements for amateurs, dance music, etc. (The book names all of this “parlour music”). From there, they went directly into the jazz standards.

The biggest surprise for me in “Origins of the Popular Style” was the origin of blues chromatic parallel cliches. I’m talking about the descending 6ths used by almost all blues guitarists, discussed in this article, and the descending minor thirds that permeate music as disparate as Chuck Berry, Skip James and Thelonious Monk, discussed here. Very simply, these are Romantic-era innovations that became cliches of parlour music, and from there, ragtime and early jazz and blues.

That descending 6ths figure? Here it is in 1841 (at 2:16, in the bottom right of the score on the video).

Last year when I first discovered the extent of these parallelisms in jazz and blues, I thought they were a basically African-derived phenomenon, of treating chords or chord fragments as “timbre-harmonic” units – sounds prized for their physical quality rather than harmonic function. So I’m really glad that this book opened my eyes. Now I would say the parallelisms are European material that fitted the African timbre-harmonic conception and so gained a new life, and completely new and sophisticated meanings, in African-American music.

A third idea from the book is blindingly obvious and yet blew my mind – that many folk and blues songs have a “mode” or melodic basis of as few as two notes! This is an extremely refreshing perspective for anyone with classical or jazz training. Van der Merwe is really strong on analysing melodies and dealing seriously with the simplest of tunes, sometimes irreverently comparing them with Western art music. For instance, placing Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony beside “Oh! Mr. Porter” as two examples of a pentatonic mode.

And how well does he treat African music? Well, for one thing he’s clear about the unparseable variety of musics found on that continent and the impossibility of tracing African-American techniques to particular African styles (because of the cultural destructiveness of slavery).

Beyond that, though, the author impressed me with some insights into African-derived style. He mentions “the “false trail” introduction, in which the listener is presented with a rhythm which turns out, once the main beat is brought in, to be something quite different from what it seemed at first.”

Van der Merwe also mentions African “tapering” melodies that settle towards a powerful low “floor” note. “Devil Got My Woman” is a perfect example.

All in all, van der Merwe is not a specialist in African music, but his ideas seemed sound to me. And this is a general trend in the book. He doesn’t have academic rigour, (notably, he doesn’t work in a university or have qualifications as far as I can find) but everything he says is on-the-ball and backed up by examples. This position as outsider scholar frees him up to make bold but attractive generalisations. Out of many examples:

“Most African languages have… a fixed melodic relation between syllables…. This makes ordinary speech musical, and greatly narrows the gap between speech and song.”
“With most classical tunes, if you get a note wrong you spoil the whole. This is not true of the great folk tune patterns.”
“Bad taste, in the arts, is always a sort of failed good taste.”

Van der Merwe’s thinking style, based on bold, sometimes surprising connections, added a lot to the appeal of the book for me. Probably because I have a similar generalising, transcendental (“this thing is really that thing!!!”) thinking style.

Well, I better stop soon. All in all, this book gave me new ways to interrogate so-called Classical music and deepened my understanding of jazz and blues history. The lesson I learned is that connectedness and interchange are much stronger forces than we imagine.

Paradoxically, even though this book revealed a stronger European contribution to black music than I had expected, it still deepened my respect for the black music tradition. This is because I got a glimpse of how absolutely massive and sophisticated jazz and blues are. The mind-blowing achievements of 20th century greats like Parker, Ellington, Basie, Monk, etc., etc. were built off a subtle and complex body of work resulting from many decades, indeed centuries, of previous musicians’ experimentation and transformation.

After thinking about this development process, more and more I’m learning not to look for “roots” of African-American brilliance. Techno, hip hop, funk, bebop, swing, blues, etc. feature African stylistic retentions, but these were consciously developed and improved by black musicians. There is no mystical essence of African-American music filtering down from a forgotten past. Instead, African-derived approaches are constantly being reconsidered and recast to make new music.

To finish, let’s take a van der Merwe-influenced look at this jazz classic.

What do we have?A simple melody likely built off a folk skeleton. (Another famous Rollins track, “St. Thomas”, actually is a folk melody from England via the Caribbean.) Parlour music harmony such as extended dominants and use of the chromatic 5 b5/#4 4 voice movement. Almost banal reliance on the AABA form of popular song. Yet all of these materials are completely transcended by the sophisticated, part-ironic, bluesy, Signifying approach – and the remorseless swinging – that I don’t think could have been matched by any white band at the time.

Independence and Improvising

Today I’m returning to some ideas from this piece. I look at how the ability to play two or more different parts at the same time, known as independence, might help with jazz soloing. My overall theme is the gestural side of improvisation – the movements we make on our instruments.

This is kind of opposed to the common harmonic/melodic idea of soloing which could be paraphrased as “consciously select notes to create new melodies that you can imagine singing.” The gestural approach is instead about letting your hands choose the notes for you.

This is fraught with the danger of playing stuff you didn’t mean to, as most students know too well. Why even investigate it?

Musical motion is, first and foremost, audible human motion.

Many sophisticated musical concepts develop as an extension of physical activities, such as walking, strumming, hitting, cutting, scratching […].

Those are some awesome quotes from Vijay Iyer’s “Exploding the Narrative in Jazz Improvisation”. They suggest that how musicians move around their instrument is a lot of what we enjoy in the African-American traditions of improvising.

For example, check out Jimmie Vaughan’s on a slow blues by the Fabulous Thunderbirds. (Vaughan and his brother Stevie Ray Vaughan immersed themselves in Dallas’ black music scene from their early teens. I think it shows in their music.)

I love the faint off-mic vocalisations that answer the solo at 0:03, 0:17 and 0:43 – someone was digging it!

Vaughan’s note choices are unremarkable. He expresses himself via time feel and a sophisticated repertoire of hand movements: bends, hesitations, vibrato, etc. His touch is phenomenal, for instance, the unexpectedly soft and gentle notes deftly placed in the middle of phrases at 0:07 and 0:11. (A tenderness befitting a track called “Full-Time Lover”. Check out the live versions on Youtube.)

Let’s move onto some jazz. Charlie Parker used much more sophisticated harmony than a blues guitarist. But I believe he similarly formed his improvisations by chaining together gestures – not guitar bends and pull-offs, but small cells, arpeggios and mordents. As we’ll see in his solo on “Relaxin’ At Camarillo”.

Solo Extract.png
Example of cell in bar 3, filling out the phrase and voice-leading smoothly

The harmony implied by this cell is the negative dominant resolution IV- to VI-, occurring 2 beats later (i.e. displaced) from where it would typically happen in a “Parker Blues” progression. But more important than the harmonic side, is the melodic strength and the effortlessly smooth insertion into a long fluid line.

My way of practising towards this gestural playing is to count the beats in the bar aloud as I play.

As I mentioned in my other post, this feels like untangling the melody from the lingual part of the mind. Anything not fully internalised will disturb the count, revealing how well you’ve learnt something.

This video shows a work in progress; the tempo is a good deal slower than Parker’s and I haven’t got Parker’s microtiming. This is a serious omission because his laid-back feel is a massive part of his artistry. But I’m still working towards being able to lay back while counting. The tendency is for the count to drag along with the notes.

This reminds me of a general question. When laying back consistently, should your foot tap the original pulse ahead of the laid-back playing? My current philosophy, considering drummers’ and pianists’ ability to have different microtiming in different limbs, is that it should. What do you think?

I want to have a quick look at some of the ways Parker uses those cells I mentioned. I think I’ll write a post about it after I study it properly.

In his head melody, solo, and in the head melody of “Blues For Alice”, Parker uses a 1 2 4 5 cell in bar 5 or 6 of the blues form – in each case, it resolves to a strong b3 tone.

 

Examples 2.png
1st two examples from “Relaxin’ At Camarillo”, 3rd from “Blues For Alice” (transposed to C)

This resolution shows that the cell has a powerful inherent directionality – it wants to go somewhere. The idea of knitting together a solo from rhythmic elaborations of these elementally simple and strong melodies, is beautiful to me. Other examples are: 1 2 3 4; #1 2 3 4; 2 3 4 5; and major seventh and minor seventh arpeggios.

Parker’s use of cells means there is subtle re-use of material from the head in his solo. In his second and last chorus, he starts a chromatic descent with 4 3, the signature notes of the melody’s first phrase. Bar 8 in the solos and head uses the cell 2 3 4 5. And the distinctive blues scale finish to the head melody is reflected in two strong affirmations of the tonic in the last two bars of both solo choruses.

Let’s move on to something I didn’t tackle in my last article on independence: improvising!

There are a few cool things that emerge from applying the counting exercise to improv. For one, it forces phrases not only to interact with the beat at all times, but particularly to finish with a strongly defined rhythm.

Secondly, the only way to avoid tripping up the count is to chain together familiar shapes. If I start thinking of particular notes or rhythmic details, I lose it. But thinking strictly in shapes (that have a set melody and rhythm) allows the imagination to make choices instantly about what sound to go for, opening up possibilities for forward planning and complex composite phrases. I suspect that high-level jazz players might have something like this in their heads when they play, and be able to sustain it without interruptions.

In this little solo, I try to use this internalised shape (taken from Parker’s 2nd solo chorus), which, if I didn’t have it in muscle memory, would certainly trip me up:

Solo Lick

Gesture-based playing can sound quite annoying, i.e. when someone busts the same lick for the third time that didn’t sound appropriate the first time. This is the danger I talked about at the start of the post. But I now believe the gestural approach is not the problem (because many of the greatest jazz players obviously made use of it). It’s the lack of awareness: not knowing what licks you use repeatedly or not checking that it’s actually an attractive melody.

Thanks for reading!

Vinnie Colaiuta
Vinnie Colaiuta’s take on independence