Are Videogames The New Jazz?

Why would I ever compare playing jazz to playing videogames? Apart from the obvious answer that I’m a big fan of both.

Well, they both depend on what gamers call “twitch”: instinctive use of patterns kept in muscle memory, and triggered subconsciously.

To achieve this, musicians and competitive gamers practise intricate finger and hand movements, chained together and timed precisely. (E.g. a fighting game might give only 1/60th of a second in which to counter an opponent’s attack).

Aggressive competition defines much online gaming and was also a celebrated aspect of early jazz and bebop. Speed, rhythmic intelligence and imaginative reharmonisations were prized in those scenes, demonstrated at jam sessions, battles and cutting contests.

Speed, timing and rule-breaking shortcuts are the hallmarks of video game speedrunning, where enthusiasts develop techniques and exploit glitches to achieve impossible trajectories and velocities…

I’m gonna get a little more abstract now. Hold onto your hats. Both video games and music are virtual worlds. They transport us to somewhere imaginary. They also change instantly in response to the performer’s decisions. (Bandmates providing the reaction in the one case, the computer and/or other players providing it in the other.)

And, music and games both happen in virtual space. The perception of space in music is complex, but here are some known aspects:

  • High notes are heard as being above low notes and never the other way around (although some cultures use a different binary, e.g. thin-thick). More here.
  • Our hearing automatically interprets stereo differences, echoes and reverberations to give us an impression of our surroundings. In music these effects are called “spatialisation”. They have always been an area of cutting-edge technology, because their virtual spaces seems so futuristic. Psychedelic music has always relied on spatialisation!
  • Most importantly, “music is the sound of human movement”. We interpret rhythm by imagining, using our kinesthetic sense, the body movements that could produce it.
  • Loosely speaking, musicians and informed listeners tend to imagine music as made of shapes (phrases, sections) and to imagine points in a cycle as locations. So, a jazz musician might ask another, “What are you playing on (or over) bar 5 of the form?”
  • These spaces must be learned off for high level performance. Set sequences of moves (i.e. licks in bebop, or a chain of jumps in a game) are used to navigate the space.

In general, I think the African-American tradition of improvisational music has game-like qualities anyway: misdirection, illusion, masking, changing context. Steve Coleman turned me on to this stuff. Further parallels can be drawn with sports, martial arts, and forms of ritual speech like telling tall tales.

So, music/games is obviously a fun analogy to ponder. But, beyond that, it suggested to me some interesting crossover ideas.

“Let’s Play” videos, of gamers commentating their own playthroughs, have become massively popular in the last few years. Could improvised music work with a commentary?

Actually, it traditionally does: non-verbal exclamations of approval, musical imitations, and jokes (“knock knock” at 0:50). Or in classic hip hop lyrics that turn attention to the present moment, “You’re in awe when I’m gripping my mic cord”, “Hey you sayin’ what the hell is this shit/Reaching for the cover, turning up your deck”.  I wonder could a contemporary artist build off these traditions and consciously add forms of commentary to improvised performance?

Visuals help a lot to make games accessible. The technology is available to visualise the harmonic choices made by improvisors – most simply, how about assigning a different colour to each note?

The practices of “modders” who repurpose commercial game content seem to mesh well with how jazzers used showtunes or classical music etudes for their own creative ends. Here, for example, is a level released in 2014 (for free) that uses content from a 1996 game in ways the original creators could not have imagined.

metmon2l.jpg
by Simon O’Callaghan

The open-source movement, meanwhile, reminds me of the great common pool of licks and ideas that jazz musicians take from and give to.

With my last band, Glitchpuke, I consciously copied indie game “development logs”by including analysis of my own mistakes in the band blog.

And these days, I’m feeling inspired by game level designers – particularly, their cycle of repeatedly exploring and then refining a space. I want to have a band that does that.

Can games learn from jazz? One thing I’m anticipating with interest is the appearance of black-coded movement/performance styles in virtual reality. As a point of comparison, think how twerking rapidly entered the cultural mainstream from both corporate music videos and home-made ones on Youtube – probably generating a lot of money for some people.

Okay, I’m gonna start rolling it up now, but first I’ll look at some instructive differences between jazz and videogames culture.

Games culture started in by far the more privileged milieu: prestigious US universities that turned Cold War funding into technologies like programming languages, the personal computer and the internet. As Jeru The Damaja put it, “Chips that powered nuclear bombs power my SEGA.” The people involved were predominantly white and guaranteed of social acceptance in the middle classes.

PDP Team

By contrast, jazz originated in African-American urban communities which experienced much racism and poverty, crime and corruption.

Then again, today, all kinds of people are represented in improvised music and in gaming. A book could be written about the changing demographics of each. Jazz has become broadly academicised, with its mass appeal claimed by rock, hip hop, dance etc. Gaming has gone from embodying both tech culture privilege and geeky outsiderhood, to hosting vocal feminist, transgender and non-Western communities. All these changes have provoked gatekeeping reactions of many kinds.

To wrap up, and to reassure any musician friends reading, I want to point out areas where computer gaming can’t compete with music performance.

  • Nuanced expression is one. Although performance capture technology and detail of simulation are always advancing, the complex, multi-layered, intimate connection of a live instrumental performance won’t be digitised for years to come.
  • Gaming, as we currently know it, is not a fully-fledged form of expression – you can’t convey feelings by how you jump around a map. Although maybe this fellow would disagree:
  • Finally, games are dependent on technology. Of course, you could say this about electronic music. But for me, that’s a major mark against electronic music – if it takes you a minute to start your computer and another to load up your preset banks, you can’t claim to have the immediacy of raising a horn to your lips and blowing.

Hope you enjoyed that! Back to my usual music chat next week! As always, your comments are welcome and you can show appreciation by liking or following on WordPress, or liking/sharing on Facebook.

6 Bassline Strategies

I had the privilege recently of writing bass grooves for two awesome bands, Zaska and Mescalito. When I pondered over the lines I’d composed, I noticed certain techniques recurring. Today, I’ll briefly explain each technique. Plus I’ll link to a nice example of it in the reggae, funk, jazz or hip hop repertoire.

(If you want to hear the actual lines I wrote, come see Mescalito on March 24th in the Opium Rooms supporting Vernon Jane, or on April 14th in Sweeney’s, or see Zaska’s single release on April 23rd in the Sugar Club!)

1. Space

Silence can be one of the most attractive features of a cyclical bass groove. A gap, whether for half a beat or a full bar or more, lets other parts emerge, particularly drum hits. (Cutting off a bass note right on a snare backbeat is a cliche example.)

A short gap works as punctuation, giving the groove more of a shape, and therefore, it seems to me, more physical catchiness/danceability. For example, the “Stalag” riddim (which you may know as the groove for Sister Nancy’s “Bam Bam”), here underpinning Tenor Saw‘s hit “Ring The Alarm”…

 

Strat 1 Stalag.png
The “Stalag” bassline

Here’s another awesome 1-beat-ish gap in a reggae groove (beat 3 in the 2nd bar):

 

 

Strat 2 Sly & Robbie
Robbie Shakespeare’s line on “Computer Malfunction”

Longer spaces have a call-and-answer effect, as in this afrobeat groove…

 

Strat 3 Soffry.png
Leaving space for call-and-response (I’m not certain that this is really where the 1 is, by the way…)

2. Funky Melodic Cells

Like any other musical part, a strong bassline should be melodic. In a funky context, though, the tendency is usually towards blues melody rather than diatonicism. Out of the pool of blues notes I discussed a while back, a few 3- or 4-note cells emerge that are by far the strongest for constructing basslines. For example, 1 2 b3, 1 6 b7, 5 6 8 9, and the definitive cell for funk basslines, 1 5 b7. A catchy hook (i.e. with an intriguing rhythm) made from one of these cells can easily be a strong enough bassline to carry a tune.

 

Strat 4 Holland.png
The opening bass riff on “Not For Nothing” uses the 1 6 b7 cell

 

Strat 12 Hunter
The basic groove (coming in around 0:32) played by Hunter on 8-string guitar, using the 1 5 b7 cell

Here’s an example of a hook-y bassline built off the 1 2 b3 cell followed by a sequenced, retrograded version (that is, the first three notes are then transposed up a fifth and reversed in order).

 

Strat 5 ACR
Slap riff from A Certain Ratio’s “Waterline” (0:21)

More important than the motivic derivation, though, is the space in every 2nd bar which is used for call-and-response (in the form of improvised fills). Check out that nasty double-tracked slap sound too.

Contour

Another important aspect of that line is the clear direction of movement – up and then down, quite simply. A clear, uncomplicated contour like that strengthens the riff. For instance, the ascending bassline off the classic Scofield/Metheny collaboration…

Strat 6 Swallow.png
The A section groove for “Everybody’s Party”, with an ascending contour in each bar

As an aside, I would bet that this groove and the Dave Holland groove were both originally notated using 8th notes where I have 16th notes. Jazz musicians like reading 8th notes. It’s purely a notation decision with little or no musical impact, but I think 16ths are a more accurate reflection.

Octave Jumps

Steve Swallow’s bassline ascends a minor pentatonic scale before jumping from the b7 (Eb) back down to the root (F). We can imagine a variation of the where the scalar ascent continued, so instead of a jump down a minor 7th we would have a step-wise movement to the higher F:

Strat 7 No Displacement
Steve Swallow’s groove without the octave displacement at bar 2

The played line uses octave displacement of what would otherwise be step-wise movement. Another example of this is Marcus Miller’s nifty elaboration of the classic “Red Baron” groove (composed originally by Billy Cobham).

 

Strat 8 MIller.png
Octave displacement of step-wise movement

The Meters’ “Funky Miracle”, here sampled by DJ Premier for an early Gang Starr track, features both a (pentatonic) stepwise melody and then its octave displacement.

 

Strat 9 Meters
Octave displacement of expected high Ab

Even simpler than octave displacement of step-wise movement, is a plain leap of an octave. This James Brown sample (1973’s “Blind Man Can See It”) has a downwards octave leap to the tonic note:

Strat 10 Brown
Sampled bassline used in “Funky Technician”

(Note also the clear contour and the use of space, albeit with the note ringing out rather than silence.)

Here’s an upwards octave leap from the IV note. (Fred Wesley and the Horny Horns’ “Four Play”, sampled by DJ Premier.)

Strat 11 Wesley.png
What a rugged groove! Premier’s sub-bass and scratching helps of course.

5. Circularity Via Pick-Up

Emphasising the cyclic nature of a groove creates a hypnotic, trancy effect. One way is to use a phrase that starts before beat one. I read somewhere that landing on, rather than starting from, the downbeat is a characteristic of African-derived music. That’s surely a huge generalisation, but it does tie in well to how bebop improvisation and alternate paths are based on directionality towards target chords.

Starting basslines on a pickup in this way is not a very common technique, but here’s a nice example:

 

Strat 13 Headhunters.png
Paul Jackson’s line on “God Make Me Funky” (drops around 0:50)

6. Circularity Via Dynamic Balance

This is a concept I picked up from Steve Coleman’s writings, but I’m not at all qualified to say much about it. As I see it, it’s a characteristic of African-derived rhythms such as clave… basically, the quality of having points of rest alternating with points of tension in a syncopated rhythmic cycle, producing forward motion (“dynamic”) and also a self-contained, universal circularity (“balance”). Hmmm, my prose is not really up to the task here! Anyway, do we find clave-like rhythms in the funk repertoire? Of course we do, in these classic basslines:

 

Gonna sign off here! Hope you picked up some groove wisdom from all of that. Like, follow and share!

History Of A Passing Chord

Today I’m investigating variations of a parallel chord movement targeting bar 9 of a 12-bar blues: III- bIII- II-. I think it’s been somewhat written out of history. Although I am just a bass player, I’ll talk a bit about harmonisations of the movement, and finally look at some melodic inventions over it.

I’ll start with Satchmo. “West End Blues” (1928) is harmonically old-fashioned by our standards, with two bars of V7 at bars 9 and 10. Although there are hints of the III- bIII- II- movement at 1:10 and 1:46, it only emerges fully in Earl Hine’s piano chorus (1:59). From bar 8 of an Eb blues he plays:

Satch

Although he plays some extra weird bass notes (like E to F#), we can discern a chord progression: I VII7/#II II-, very similar to the better-known I bIIIo7 II-. How does this relate to my III- bIII- II-? They all share this parallel shift of a minor 3rd:

Passing 1 3rds.png
In the key of C

Does this mean anything? Well, I suggest you play just that minor 3rd shift in that spot (last 2 beats or last 4 beats before bar 9) of a blues. It sounds extremely bluesy and, as best I can express it, world-weary. Voice-leading-wise, it can land on the 1st and b3rd of a II- but equally the 5th and b7th of a V7. It’s parallel movement, which, as I suggest in this post, harks back to blues’ basis in overtones, which always move in parallel.

 

More evidence, please! you demand. Let’s look at recordings from two Delta bluesmen.

Skip James uses the chromatic minor 3rds in “Yola My Blues Away” (1931). This amazing song is in his characteristic open D minor tuning. It’s an unusual elaboration of a 12-bar blues, with a V7 on bar 2 and a bVI on bar 6. In the lyrics verses, the V7 is substituted by a bVII targeted with our parallel minor 3rds, e.g. at 0:35 after “in the morning”.

Passing 2 Skip
We’re getting away from my theme here, but out of interest… Skip James’ “Special Rider” uses a similar coloration but with a V root note. I think Skip James used this combined V- and bVII sound as a single modal area with vocal melody influenced by both I and V blues scales, not easily translatable to Western or jazz harmony.

In Robert Johnson’s slicker, almost pop idiom, we also find III bIII II, in his case as a bassline targeting a standard V7 on bar 9. (“Malted Milk” was recorded in 1937.) Actually, it’s not a bassline – the tune mostly doesn’t use bass notes – but rather a single-line movement to the 5th of a V7 which then uses a low open A string as a strong bass note. You can perhaps see what I mean better if I notate it:

Passing 3 Johnson
Okay so we’ve seen the movement in early jazz and early(ish) blues. What about performers straddling that border? Nat King Cole’s lovely “Easy Listening Blues” (1944) is a great jazzy instrumental blues, that features the III bIII II movement from piano, bass and guitar – but at different speeds, leading to clashes.

Check out 2:16 – the guitar and bass imply the movement over the last two beats of the bar, but Cole gives two beats of the bar to III- and bIII- respectively (using some syncopation). A similar thing happens in the first chorus between bass and piano at 0:23. Are the clashes a bad thing? Not at all in my opinion. We’re merely seeing the dominance of directionality – as long as the paths converge on the same goal, it’s fine to use different paths or the same path at different speeds. The moments of tension are a consequence of three players navigating the form together, and contribute to the blue feeling of the piece. Note as well that Cole plays |II-7 V7|II7 V7 |, similar to Earl Hines’ progression, with a tasty inner voice movement to #4 during the II7.

Charles Brown’s classic “Driftin’ Blues” (1945) is harmonically simpler. Here the whole band agrees on a one-chord-per-beat III- bIII- movement targeting II-, for example at 1:46, in the 2nd chorus of guitar solo. Even soloist Johnny Moore outlines the movement. He superimposes some really hip clusters in the rest of the song, for example the descending idea at 2:09, or this outside, but very bluesy, superimposition of 9th chord upper structures on top of the bass’s III bIII II movement.

Passing 4 Charles
Top staff chord symbols show guitar’s implied harmony, bottom staff piano/bass’s implied harmony

Note the trickiness: the chromatic movement seems like it will land on A9, not the usual chord but one with a strong blues identity and also somewhat related to the expected F#-7 subdominant (A6)… in any case, instead of A9 the third chord leaps to form the upper structure of an F-6!

Moore also uses the exact same basic descending minor 3rds idea we’ve been finding all along as an approach to an implied V-7 (II chord of IV) in bar 4 of the blues form, at 1:30.

Both of these performances, as well navigating the form with elegance, navigate the idioms of jazz and blues with ease. Nat King Cole uses grace notes and drone notes to create blues effects in the lead while using sophisticated harmony below. Charles Brown contrasts simple minor pentatonic fills with Johnny Moore’s hipper guitar (which still depends strongly on ultimately African-influenced parallelism/timbralism)!

Okay I want to finish now with some classic Charlie Parker blues to show how the III- bIII- II- movement worked in bebop. Our first example has Dizzy Gillespie playing a literal A-7 Ab-7 G-7 every single time on bar 9 of the form! The bass player gets it after the first chorus.

Finally, a composition whose progression is now named after Parker… but we know now that the A-7 to Ab-7 to G-7 movement has a long history. Parker takes the III- bIII- II- progression that we’ve previously seen at the rate of two beats or one beat per chord, and gives four beats to each chord. (On the recording, they’re not played as II Vs by the pianist).

 

Passing 8 BFA Chords.png
Harmonic sketch of “Blues For Alice”

Check Parker’s melody in the head and in the first two choruses of his solo on bars 7-8:

BFA All

He doesn’t sequence downwards or baldly state the chords. His solutions are far more melodic, guided by diatonic-ish intervals and simple guide tone movements. To my ear, the one in the head seems to imply a negative dominant resolution to V (so, Ab- to C), the next one implies a negative dominant resolution to II- (A- C- to G-) and the next a different minor 3rd colour switch from A- to A major (or F#-) before settling as an Ab-9.

I’d love to hear about your own ways of navigating the blues form! Sorry for the late post and see you next weekend!

Independence Day

In this short post, I’ll look at some ideas for practising rhythmic independence over a Charlie Parker melody.

“He started playing a song, he didn’t play any of the original melody but I knew which song he was playing; you could hear the whole rhythm section and everything. My father used to say the guys sounded like they had a drum in the horn, they had such strong time.” – Steve Coleman reminiscing about Sonny Stitt, from this interview.

This is a great quote, and one that started me thinking when I encountered it some months ago. It suggests that great jazz musicians imagine rhythm section parts as they play, convey that in their improvising, and that this contributes to their great time feel.

To try get to grips about how that could work, I made exercises for imagining rhythmic parts independently of a melodic line.

I chose Charlie Parker’s famous tune “Blues For Alice” as my basis. The first thing I did was count through it, 4 beats per bar. What’s nice about this is that, when you first try (and fail), you can feel very clearly what parts are tripping you up. In this melody, after the basic 8th note syncopations are internalised, the hard parts are the triplets in bars 4 and 9.

I discovered something when I first started using this exercise. Namely, that I was using my vocal imagination to perform the rhythms, making little muscle movements in my mouth as if singing the melody “boo bap a doo bap a dooby apa dapada ba”. How I discovered it was that my “1 2 3 4” count kept getting dragged into the melody rhythm, because my mouth was trying to phrase the melody.

So, even by simply counting through the tune, I tapped into another way of imagining the melody – by muscle memory and by ear. The two ways feel quite different.

When I’m using my vocal thinking to guide the melody, it feels like it’s in the front of my head, behind my nose, say, kind of blocking out other aspects. When I imagine it by how it feels in my hands and how it sounds, it feels like the melody is surrounding me, and I can connect more to the head-nod feeling of the swing pulse – and also imagine hits against the melody.

(Obviously this epiphany is not relevant to wind instruments or vocalists who have to use their mouth to play their instrument. I suspect that drummers also are used to the muscle memory mode because drummers often say they are singing the melody to themselves as they play.)

Some ways to make this more complex are to use a different length of pattern instead of 4 beats, to use syllables other than numbers, and to use a different subdivision than quarter notes. Here I am repeating ten syllables from Charles Dickens’ Hard Times in swung 8ths.

Making the exercise harder like this increases the benefits. Talking in swung 8ths is particularly nice because it forced me to fully internalise and understand the triplets. Having part of my brain occupied with the spoken phrase meant I also felt as if I was supervising my hands instead of forcing them to do things. Both of these things made me feel very relaxed, physically and in terms of time feel.

However my tempo in that video isn’t as bang on as I’d like it. I worked on a different exercise to try bring together laid-back/behind-the-beat playing and strict tempo-keeping.

Although here I’m improvising on a 3-chord blues, there is a similarity to all the other exercises – I’m trying to open up what’s going on in my head, feeling the music streaming by instead of having the current line in the forefront of my attention. In particular, finding space between my tempo perception and my played phrasing. Attempting to play laid-back can disturb my pulse if I don’t have this space.

In this video, I stay conscious of how every note relates to the nearest beat, using my kinesthetic sense. This is instead of trying to somehow play in a steady stream that is just off-set from the pulse – I can’t do that yet. I have to keep track of every beat, feel it slotting in correctly, and place my laid-back notes intentionally around it.

(The feeling of the kinesthetic sense, by the way, for me is kind of imagining a bigger wind-up movement for notes I want to be laid-back, i.e. imagining swinging my arm way back to hit a drum. So the notes are late as if I had to travel further to hit them.)

Obviously there’s much further to go in that direction.

That’s all I have this week. These exercises gave me a glimpse of what it would be like to play at a higher level – relaxed and open. I’d have liked to get into improvising over spoken counts and rhythms, speaking normally while playing the melody, and other vocalising techniques. Check this cool video if you haven’t seen it already:

I’d love to hear your experiences with time feel, independence, and what goes on inside your head when you play. Follow, comment, like and share!

Enough With The Scales

Today’s post is not research but opinion. I’ll keep it short, as I’d like it to be a starting point for discussion. You are invited to comment!

I’m going to argue that chord-scale theory, the conceptual framework used in jazz college courses world-wide, is flawed even as a teaching tool. I swallowed it whole in jazz school, and frankly I think I wasted years trying to make music according to it.

The basic idea, of matching scales to chord symbols, is useful and I’m glad I learned it early. But it can’t be your only guide. I’m with the widespread view that learning bebop is key to navigating changes. Chord-scale theory is bad at explaining what bebop and bebop-influenced players did. (Music made by people who learned chord-scale theory at jazz school, unsurprisingly, fits it better. In fairness, the theory has enabled some great music and great advances in playing.)

Is chord-scale theory a useful simplification for teaching? I believe it loses too much in return for too little understanding.

(By the way, I’m going on my memories of ensembles and courses, and books such as Mark Levine’s The Jazz Theory Book. I may not be completely fair to them. But I’m talking about the overall results of this teaching system.)

The first thing chord-scale theory misses out on is the idea of key. Jazz until the 60s (and most of it after that) was in major or minor keys (with a lot of room to manoeuvre of course). Playing in key, whether diatonically or bluesily, is a basic element of jazz improv and melody. Yet this can’t really be expressed in terms of chord-scale theory. Sure, basic chord progressions like I IV or II V I, when explained with the theory, do yield the 7 notes of a major key. But that’s an unproductive way of restating that chords can belong to a major key.

It’s not that chord-scale advocates were against the traditional view of keys and chords. Rather, they took it as given, and tried to progress from it. Unfortunately, their supplementary ideas are taught as a complete system to beginners or rock-oriented musicians who don’t understand functional harmony.

So, in the theory, chords are reduced to signposting 7-note scales/modes – supposedly a pool of equally “valid” tones. This misses out on a lot. All the inner organisation of chords is de-emphasised. That’s a massive melodic resource thrown away. The crucial functionality of dominant chords via voice-leading resolution of their tritones becomes a vague notion of “avoid notes”. The whole lovely world of functional chord relationships within a key, as well as its developments via blues and alternate paths, is defused and obscured.

To be precise for a moment… it’s valid to try make a new system to deal with e.g. extended, suspended and altered chords. But chord-scale theory fails to look in detail at directionality, acoustic effects, or any other audible aspect of those chords.

For another example, the all-important fact that melodies inescapably suggest chord progressions (which needn’t be the accompanying chord progression), is barely glimpsed in Mark Levine’s famous textbook. I went back and checked just there.

… By the way, check out this funny quote: “Why does the blues scale – with so many “wrong” notes – sound so right when played over a blues? Your guess is as good as mine.” Cheers Mark, I’m only after spending 30 quid on your book.

518mumyzhal-_sy344_bo1204203200_
His book

Sadly, this lack of specific talk on harmony means that African-American contributions may not get their due. Let me explain that. Going beyond chord-scale theory means recognising the importance of European classical concepts in jazz: tonality, chord- and non-chord tones, etc. But, observing those also forces you to observe when they don’t apply, which is often – so then you have to face African-associated forces like timbralism, pentatonicism, parallelism and alternate paths. Chord-scale theory completely flattens all this cultural/historical stuff out.

More abstractly, it doesn’t invite investigation into the underlying structures of music such as symmetry, the harmonic series and maximally even sets.

If I had to find something genuinely progressive in the theory, it’s the possibility of getting away from relating tones down to the root of a chord, and instead imagining a harmonic space to be freely divided. I like that.

Am I asking too much from a learning aid for students? Well, I think a lot of people, like I did, come to music courses without very clear ideas, searching for meaning which they sense is somewhere in the music. It’s insulting to put anything but the best ideas before anyone sincerely looking for knowledge.

I’m starting to get rather idealistic. Okay, I think chord-scale theory is popular because it is a shortcut allowing students to quickly start playing and interacting rhythmically while avoiding wrong notes, which is cool. The problem is they will probably play bad melodies.

(I did.)

What are your thoughts?

Truck on Down and Dig Me, Jack

Today’s (tonight’s) post will be a quick one because I spent my time on another idea that didn’t work out! I’m gonna talk about Louis Jordan, one of the all-time great African-American entertainers, who (this isn’t just my opinion) doesn’t get his due in jazz circles. Specifically, I want to try investigate coded meanings in his songs and lyrics.

Louis Jordan was a famous hit-making bandleader who churned out dozens of singles in the 40s and 50s. They’re in a distinctive style, with heavy piano basslines, powerful swing/shuffle grooves, bluesy harmonised vocals, lots of blues vocabulary in general, and sax and piano solos.

Jordan’s persona as a singer is also distinctive – he is hip, ironic, and uses a lot of jive talk and witty rhymes. His music has been called proto-rap and proto-rock’n’roll, and Chuck Berry, Little Richard and James Brown were all influenced by him. I really like a lot of his music, for one thing because it grooves and has great riffs and solos, but also because of the humour and double entendres in the lyrics.

I’m going to speculate that Jordan covertly attacked white oppression in his songs. But let’s start with an obvious double entendre from 1946 just to see how he works.

So, to put it bluntly, this song is about the sexual potential of underage girls, as you may have guessed from the title. The innuendo is transparent, but by placing himself in the moralising position of warning males away from girls who are too young, Jordan somewhat lightens the effect. It’s still a creepy song by today’s standards! Not one of my favourites.

“Blue Lite Boogie” (1950) is not so bad, because Jordan plays up the humour and pathos of his persona, the guy who’s too old and uncool for a really hip party, “I was like a chaperone”. But the undercurrent of teenage sexuality can still be pieced together. The partygoers are “bobby-soxers” doing “the boogie real slow with the blue light way down low”. They are too young to drink, seeing as the police find only “ice cream and lemonade” after a raid. Plus the atmosphere of the tune is so blue it borders on the debauched! But I quite like that nasty vocal harmony.

Let’s move on to “Ain’t Nobody Here But Us Chickens”. This song has been covered by the white Western Swing band Asleep At The Wheel, as well as by B.B. King and James Brown! All the cover versions present it as a light-hearted number. A late version by Louis Jordan on French TV is extremely interesting for its introduction:

Important points:
– this is for a white audience
– Jordan plays up to the stereotype that black Americans like chicken. He visibly decides to switch to an exaggerated accent “And I’m sure that – you know ah lu-uv chicken.”
– he references his previous song about chickens, which could only be “This Chick’s Too Young To Fry”

I’m not well-informed enough to know a name for Jordan’s use of stereotype, but I think I recognise it. It’s an evasive maneouvre of acting out what’s expected of a black performer so as to let the white audience think they have his measure, while they actually don’t at all. And Jordan references “Too Young To Fry” which is built on innuendo, but in such a way that only someone who knew his back catalogue would understand. So, this song is getting an introduction heavy with double meaning.

What is the song about? It is sung in the persona of “us”, the “chickens”. It’s a song of protest addressed to a farmer who “shouts”, “butts in”, “stompin’ around and shakin’ the ground”, disturbing the chickens who have their own business to attend to, “We got things to do”. There are references to the farmer’s authority as manager – he does the locking up of the property – and that he menaces the chickens with a gun. A final element is that this is music for urban black people, for whom the rural countryside was a memory of even more extreme racism than they experienced in the cities.

So, I think the farmer represents terrorising white authority and the chickens black people who just want to be left alone. Interestingly, in the 70s performance, Jordan gives some genuinely disturbing shouts “oh no uh uh oh no” over the song’s ending, eyes wide as if with fear, before switching instantly to his genial smile. I’d tentatively interpret it as an angry challenge to his audience to recognise to real meaning of the song.

I have no idea if B.B. King, James Brown and Asleep At The Wheel thought about this perspective on the song. Maybe they all did.

A more light-hearted, yet more viciously ironic look at a similar theme is “Cole Slaw”. I’m certain that this song is slagging off Southern whites for their European diet and manners. It’s also an absolutely bad-ass honking horn arrangement.

The lyrics are very funny with their silly rhymes on “-aw”, yet cuttingly sarcastic, “it ain’t nothing but some cabbage raw”, “just a simple Southern treat”, “that’s good strategy without a flaw”. Frankly I think this is a simmeringly angry song. The ending confirms it, with a mocking repetition of “cole slaw” followed by dark hits on a V7 with sour bends up to its 3rd and b7th.

Okay, one more for you, which, if I’m right, is also a mocking song but with a more problematic target.

“Five Guys Named Moe” brought Jordan to the attention of white audiences and was his early breakthrough hit. It’s about a band whose members are all called “Moe” and who “came out of nowhere” to be “the talk of rhythm town”. Jordan presented this (as you see in the video) as if the “five guys named Moe” were his band. However, a quick look at Wikipedia shows that the notable Moes in the US were all Eastern European Jews. I don’t have much more to go on, but I think this song might be satirising the success of Jewish pop songwriters and musicians. The use of a moment of barbershop harmony at 0:29 is interesting. Although barbershop was probably an African-American style originally, by its 1940s revival it seems to have been coded as white. For instance, Norman Rockwell depicted it thusly in 1936:

9360926
“Sharp Harmony” by Norman Rockwell

So, Jordan was not including barbershop harmony to be hip. I have read that anti-Semitism was widespread in black communities in the first half of the 20th century, and I suspect, that, although it’s a nifty tune, “Five Guys Named Moe” might be a reflection of that. Check out Joe Jackson’s great version by the way (off his album of jump blues covers, Jumpin’ Jive, that first introduced me to Louis Jordan’s songs, featuring pumping electric bass by Graham Maby – not as swinging as the originals but an excellent effort).

To finish, a tune that I’m not really sure if I’ve figured out.

There is definitely some Signifying and double entendre going on here. For one thing, unlike his earlier hits, “Beans And Cornbread” (1949) makes references to traditional, rural black styles of work and church music. Check out the interlocking of the vocal harmony with the bluesy hollers, “I’ll be ready”. Even more countrified are the wordless vocal effects at 1:03 and 1:28. The whole outro references the call and answer of a preacher and his congregation. Jordan puts overwrought tremblings and whoops in his voice, then hams up a naive gospel ending over a corny I V I cadence. This is in contrast to the key-changing slickness of the intro. What the heck is going on?

The lyrics describe how two food items, beans and cornbread, have a fight, then “Beans” goes on a sentimental rant about how they should be friends and socialise together all the time, “Every Saturday night, we should hang out!” And a long list of foods that go together are referenced.

There’s one line that might be the key, “Beans told cornbread, it makes no difference what you think about me, but it makes a whole lot of difference what I think about you.” So, very clearly, theirs is not a friendship of equals. My tentative reading is that, basically, “Beans” represents whites who are offensively over-familiar to blacks (“Cornbread”) and who use their privileged position to insist on fraternity while ignoring injustice.

Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. As always, please leave a comment if you have any, and also follow the blog to make sure you won’t miss my weekly posts! Till next time.

Alternate Paths on a Blues

Today I’ll use “negative dominant” progressions to solo on a jazz blues. These ideas are from Steve Coleman – and I’m not the only one to have tried to interpret them. I had to cut them down a lot, so I recommend you read his stuff, with the warning that it is hard! After I do my best to explain the idea, I’ll show how these movements are present in typical jazz harmony, then play through entire alternate chord progressions built off them.

To understand a “negative dominant” progression, we should consider a traditional dominant to tonic cadence.

Trad 2

The tritone B F (actually tritone plus an octave in this voicing) resolves to C E, a major 3rd (plus an octave). The chord moves down a 5th (or up a 4th) – G7 to C. These resolutions are the basis of mainstream jazz harmony… but not the whole story.

Although this cadence happens all the time, spelling the notes of a plain V I progression makes a very corny melody. Jazz musicians have long avoided that sound in favour of altered and substitute chords.

Steve Coleman has characterised the harmonic/melodic techniques used by Charlie Parker to avoid the V I sound as “alternate paths” or “invisible paths”. He brilliantly uses symmetry to explain how they are the “dark side” of a normal V I. (He is also brilliant at coining names for these things, evidently.)

Symmetry emerges from mirror images.

6317943810_22fa0077ed_b

What would be a mirror image of a V I? I can “reflect” it by inverting it, for instance around the axis note D. (For the nerds, this is because the C major scale is symmetrical around the note D.) So, every note in the original progression is replaced by one equally distant to middle D…

Inv Loran Fixed.png
The process of reflecting each chord of the original progression. G7 turns into D-6, C turns into A-.

… but on the opposite side of the D axis note. Below D if it was originally above, and above D if it was originally below. E.g., the B in the G7 ends up as the high F in the D-6.

Inv Full Progs.png
Comparing the original progression with its reflection in bar 2.

What is the new progression? D-6 to A-. It has a tritone resolving to a major 3rd (B F to C E, again separated by an additional octave) but the chord moves up a fifth, not down (D-6 going to A-, not G7 going to C). And both chords are minor, not major. Steve Coleman calls this a “negative dominant” resolution to A minor.

This by itself might explain how a lot of II V licks seem to be more tonally weighted on the II- than the V7. A melody over a II V I could imply a II-6 to VI- movement (negative dominant resolution) rather than a V7 to I movement. Although the chord tones are almost the same, the mental model and the tonal gravity would be different.

Such melodic shapes can be shifted to other positions and still retain their cadential power. This is due to the phenomenon of borrowed chords, or modal interchange in jazz speak. So, instead of the negative dominant that fits in the C major scale (D-6), we could use the one that fits C minor, i.e. F-6. It still resolves down a fourth (because it’s a negative dominant), but with the distinctively pretty sound of landing on a tonic major: F-6 Cmaj. Coleman notes that this IV-6 sound is often used over a V7 chord, creating a “dominant 7th complex” notated V11b9 (G Ab B C D F). The darkening substitution of D-6 by F-6 can be re-applied to the F-6, changing F-6 to Ab-6. The resulting bVI-6 sound is also used on dominant chords forming an altered V7#5b9 chord.

So, without going any further into symmetry, we have three melodic-tonal centres that can be used as dominant chords to target a tonic chord: II-6, IV-6 and bVI-6, targeting I. Crucially, these negative dominants are present as upper structures in most functional  jazz progressions.

Often, one of these negative dominant chords will be found as an upper structure of a jazz chord, followed by one of the darker versions (e.g. II-6 followed by IV-6) as an upper structure of the next chord. So:

D- F- is present in the following functional chord progressions:
B-7b5 E7alt
B-7b5 Bb7
D-7 G7b9 (probably in the key of C)
D-7 Ealt (probably in A minor)
Fmaj7 Bb7 (probably in F major)

I’m being flexible with chord spellings – to make the point clearest I could say F6 Bb9, because clearly D- and F- are the exact upper structures of those chords. But I’m using Fmaj7 Bb7 as a shorthand for two chord types, not exact voicings. Same deal with the G7b9, it technically should be the 11b9 mentioned above.

There’s another darkening movement, which is shifting up a tritone:

D- Ab- is present in:
D-7 G7alt
D-7 Db7

As well as these darkening movements, there are the actual negative dominant resolutions to a target chord.

D- A- is in:
B-7b5 E7b9 A-
E7b9 A-
G7 Cmaj
D-7 G7 Cmaj
G7 F#-7b5
C#7alt F#-7b5

F- Cmaj is in:
D-7b5 G7b9 Cmaj
G7b9 Cmaj
F-6 Cmaj (back door, same with the next two)
Bb7 Cmaj
F-7 Bb7 Cmaj
Bb7 A-
F-7 Bb7 A-

Ab- Cmaj is in:
G7alt Cmaj
Db7 Cmaj
Ab- A- (not seen as a written chord progression but I’ll be using it later)

Okay, let’s stop with the wall of chord symbols. The take-away is: a small set of negative dominant progressions (and their associated voice-leading and cliches) can be re-used on a huge variety of jazz changes. Today I’ll use the two basic types of movement: darkening and resolving – to navigate inside and outside the harmony on a jazz blues.

2 2 Stave

My alternate pathways in the first video, with the second staff showing example bebop harmony compatible with the alternate pathways.

My alternate pathways here are inspired by the original melody of Blues For Alice (transposed to C). Then I take a somewhat strange turn in bar 9. I work from II- VI7 II-7 V7, a common decoration of a II V progression, e.g. as implied by the melody of Billie’s Bounce…

BB Lick

… but I use a C#- to target the second D-, and then straightforward negative dominants to target the E-7 of the turnaround.

3

Here there are two main ideas: bar 1 has an unexpected B- (equivalent to Bb7alt) targeting Eb-6 in bar 2, which I interpret as a C blues scale shape (because it has the notes Eb, Gb, Bb and C). This is another way to use minor shapes – as blues colours, primarily I-6 and bIII-6 against a I or IV chord. But here the Eb- (bIII-) is also functional, implying a D7alt sound going to G-.

Then I use what could be standard bebop changes to reach the bar 9: interpretable as, say, Cmaj7 F7 E-7 A7b9 (bars 7-8). But I keep up this rate of movement to arrive at a tonic chord (A- which could be Cmaj) in bar 10 rather than bar 11 as expected. I create a cyclical feel by repeating the exact pathway for the next 3 bars. Every pair of chords involves a shift up a minor 3rd, but it’s not a strict pattern because the G- D- resolution breaks it.

4
The first pathway in video no. 3.

 

5
The second pathway in video no. 3.

If you find it hard to hear how this relates to a blues, here is the same solo with bass notes added (and abominable sound quality!).

I had to slow down even more to get some juice out of these progressions. (I play the first one once and the second twice.) The first uses those blues colours again. The second uses unexpected resolutions of a minor chord to major chord a fourth below (so, the F#- is an Amaj, and the C#- is an Emaj), with that major chord changing to a minor chord. It also strictly uses only the darkening and dominant cadential movements, lending it quite a lot of momentum.

There are so many more possibilities, of course. For example, diverging from the subdominant chords in the blues, i.e. the IV in bar 5 and the II in bar 9. In my examples I stick to the original subdominants. Obviously I’m only barely scratching the surface!

I had fun coming up with and playing through these progressions. To conclude, I think the relationship of these pathways to conventional jazz harmony is crucial. I’m thinking both ways as I play. Also, obviously, the pathways are only a technique. These sequences have a rather severe sound due to the unrelenting drive of the cadences and the minor colouration – that mightn’t always be what you want.

Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for the late post. Please comment with any related ideas, thoughts, questions or criticisms!

Thanks to Loran Witteveen for correcting my examples!

Manifesting

[I edited this piece on 27/01/2016 to make a stronger start by moving some stuff to the end.]

Today I want to focus on an idea from my first post. I claimed that Gang Starr’s 1993 hip hop track “The Planet” celebrates the process of making music and developing skills. This idea of an African-American “processual” aesthetic stayed in my head. Recently I realised what it was missing: how respect for creative work applies to creative work happening right now – in the moment and “in time” to the beat.

Hip hop and jazz and jazz both value a performer opening their imagination and voicing ideas while staying cool (represented by controlled time feel and timbre). In jazz this is called spontaneous composition. Although rap is usually much less free than jazz soloing, it nonetheless privileges the idea of improvisation. Many features of rap are clearly improvisers’ techniques: routines and cliches which give the rapper time to think, repeating of words or lines as if correcting a mistake, and free, intuitive association of thoughts or sounds.

I believe that hip hop values in particular the willed act of in-the-moment creative expression. This is clear in the spoken introductions prefacing so many classic tracks. They are a ritual hyping up of the upcoming creative act. For example…

Burnt Batch’s “Artform” features a beautiful spoken intro and outro that lays out the song’s purpose: to “explain this artform of hip hop”.

It invokes two qualities of virtuosic improvisation: transportive/visionary power, “take me on another journey”, and unexpected switches of scale, “in a twisted world where everything is in the palm of your hand”. The speaker’s voice creates a great vibe by using the pitching, although not the strict rhythm, of rap. Still, his timing is very intentional, as in the hesitant “You know what I mean it’s like… takin’ a trip… you ain’t comin’ back” finishing right before the bass-heavy beat enters with a snare drop and a sublime laid-back kick on the downbeat at 0:24. It’s a lovely build-up.

These intros represent and stylise the social function of cheering on the performer. This is a facet of call-and-response, an archetypal feature of African and African-American music. A clear example of that is the chorus chant in Freestyle Fellowship’s “Cornbread”.

T-Spoon Iodine calls out “Aceyalone I hear ya” to the main performer, reacting and spurring him on. By the way, this brilliant rap has many indicators of improvisation – free association, leaps of imagination, playing with sounds, filler lines, etc. – whether or not it was spontaneous.

Big L, in this radio performance, claims that he is improvising “I  don’t know how I’ma do this” even though the actual rap is pre-written. It’s just one of a few stock phrases he uses to build up to his rap – and a good demonstration of the idea of improv in hip hop.

His tone of voice and even facial expression change when he switches to full-on rapping. This mental transition, and the “here it comes” feeling, are integral parts of the performance – as are the exclamations and contributions of the others in the studio. I believe that in this aesthetic, there is a unification of intention, invention, utterance and audience reaction. There is no word in standard English that covers all of these (“expounding” and “holding forth” have no connotation of creativity) – but later we’ll see what terms rappers themselves have used.

Let’s not forget that I’m looking at a little slice of music history here. Actually, I should put my hand up and say first of all that categorising and defining aspects of black music that I only know from records puts me at risk of making the similar mistakes, and perpetuating the same racialised dynamics, that plagued many white blues/jazz commentators. I try stay aware of that!

Anyway, my point was that these techniques have a different meaning today than in the mid-90s, because they’ve been assimilated into mass culture. The chorus of Jurassic 5’s pleasant but backwards-looking “What’s Golden” (2002) uses a typical crowd-interaction/call-and-response chant as a convenient stand-in for classic hip hop: “We’re taking it back to yes-y’allin’“. What was a behaviour becomes more like a sign.

And I should also make clear that these African-derived techniques have become transplanted into other cultures. For instance I saw an all-white, all-European jazz band in JJ Smyth’s last week that made exuberant use of call-and-response, when drummer Eric Ineke punctuated bassist Ronan Guilfoyle‘s solo phrases with detailed rhythmic comments.

So with that said, and having looked at the hyping introductions, let’s examine celebration of improvisational thinking in the actual lyrics. I isolated two types of tropes: metaphorical descriptions of the in-the-moment creative act; and mind-blowing imaginative leaps. The metaphors celebrate improv with heroic comparisons, while the flights of fancy celebrate it by demonstrating mastery of it.

There are a huge number of metaphors for rapping. One important type is physical metaphors, most obviously of violence. “I’ma hit ya with the blow of death” from Rakim’s “Microphone Fiend”, or “I wake you with hundreds of thousands of volts” from Rakim’s “Lyrics of Fury”. Rap may be viewed as  a “slang blade” (Binary Star, “Slang Blade”) or a “rappin’ sword” (EPMD, “You Gots To Chill”), or a gun, “be prepared for the mental head shots” (Company Flow, “Vital Nerve”). Also physically-derived are the many verbs used for the intentional creative act I’ve been discussing: bust, kick it, flip shit, flow, hit, drop…

One rapper was a master of these verbs and he is Guru of Gang Starr. It’s no coincidence that he popularised jazz-rap and collaborated with top jazz players: he obviously prioritised the aesthetic of spontaneous composition. Check out the incredible amount of terms for the creative act in his early track, “Manifest”:

I profess

I manifest

I select a clear message

I go for glory

I narrate, relate and equate, dictate and debate

I’m kickin’ clout

Right about to spin it

I instill

I impress upon you

Let me uplift and shift my gift

To ignite, excite and delight

I’m about to let off

I convey

I give you lyrics to live to

Guru was also conscious of the effect of using all these words in the first-person present tense: to say “I speak” is to prove the truth of the words, collapsing the distance between word and reality. Guru intentionally played with truth and “realness”, I think.

Another class of metaphors are those about unleashing, or threatening to unleash, hidden energy – an essential component of black cool, Questlove claims.

“Wanna rhyme one time, to release the steam”

“Because I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee”

“My rhymes are hungry plus they haven’t been fed” – “You’re A Customer” – EPMD

“I come in peace to release the effect of my voice” – 2 Deep – Gang Starr, Step In The Arena (holy shit that is such a good line it gives me goosebumps… check it out in context, it’s at around 2:47)

“Grab the microphone and let your words rip” – “Check The Rhyme” – A Tribe Called Quest

“Your optics will not be able to detect/The deadly hypnotical gases” – “Releasing Hypnotical Gases” – Organized Konfusion

Releasing hidden energy isn’t a common trope, but it’s important to me because it crops up in a few of my absolute top-rated tracks. For instance, this line by Pharoah Monche of Organized Konfusion, comparing his rapping to a volcano, is one of the heaviest I’ve ever encountered.

“…I strike/Sight beyond sight, sound beyond sound/Which comes from below the magma, the granite, the ground/The surface will separate, dispersing harmful ashes”

(Notice the utterly virtuosic shift of perspective in one line from deep in the earth to where the listener stands on top of it, and the tricky switch-up – like a fighter or dancer’s – of the phrasing “Which comes from”, prepared by the abstraction of the previous line.) That, and the first line of his verse, “I am the one who is one with all things”, are powerful expressions of what Amiri Baraka called “the classic African sensibility… everything that exists… is part of, connected as, the same thing”.

These head-melting shifts of location, context and/or scale are a trope too: agility of imagination. E.g. Gang Starr’s “Comin’ for Datazz”:

“True indeed I believe in taking my words’ power/Across the seas and deserts through the trees and grass, and if you ain’t on point then we coming for that ass”

Just like Monche, Guru creates a progression of locations homing in on the listener. This tricky thought switches context from foreign lands and oceans to the here and now. Nas pulls a similar stunt in his classic “N.Y. State Of Mind”: “Don’t put me in your box if your shit eats tapes”, bringing the message home to the listener’s cassette player.

So what kind of conclusion can we draw from surveying these tropes and aesthetic tendencies? Well, I’m reminded of a thing Vijay Iyer said in the Banff International Workshop in Jazz & Creative Music in 2012: Great Black Music contains within itself the codes for transformation: of yourself, your community, and your surroundings.

Transformation of everyday situations by manifesting a rhyme happens to be the final hip hop trope I want to mention.

“Rhymes attract the crowd once I got em down pat” – “Slave To My Soundwave”, Lord Finesse

“When I rock street kids rejoice” – “Mostly The Voice” – Gang Starr

What I’ve picked up from thinking through all this, is a view of creativity as a social act of generosity and courage – bringing joy to a situation by unleashing, and trusting in, subconscious powers. Two kinds of discipline are involved: the woodshedding discipline of internalising patterns that can be used later in the moment; and the performance discipline of trusting in imagination and controlling sound and time feel, which comes down to being connected to your body and to the present moment.

I hope you enjoyed the read and that you picked up some new ways to listen to rap lyrics and improvise, and to think about creativity. Please comment!

[Here are two paragraphs that were originally at the start of the piece, about the politics of technology.]

Writing comments is unpaid labour, or so it was suggested on The Quietus yesterday. Is blogging similarly a donation of work to corporations monetising ad clicks? Do they deserve it for the services they provide?

I guess it comes down to whether you broadly agree with the way our technological world has gone. From a musician’s perspective, the internet reduced investment in recorded music. In return it’s given us free music to listen to, which can be handy. Vijay Iyer hopes that the spontaneous emergence of deeply organised structures from apparent disorder is the future of music. But honestly, I haven’t seen this yet on the internet – though I appreciate how Youtube, Google Drive and Facebook let me swap musical ideas with bandmates.

Fun In Seven

A bunch of nice drum chants in 7/4 popped into my head while I was hiking around Powerscourt Waterfall last week. So today I’ll show various applications for them, and talk about a basic force in syncopation: maximally even rhythms.

Here I’m singing one of my drum chants while improvising over “Like Someone In Love” (one repetition of the chant per bar of the original song). The chant uses the grouping 2 3 3 3 3.

Drum Chants In 7 - 2 3 3 3 3

What’s fun about this is that it really exposed weaknesses in my rhythmic conception. I noticed I was playing notes without knowing exactly where they were placed. Normally I would rely on my foot tapping to get back in time. But now that I was busy singing the drum chant, these vague notes made the whole thing collapse. To avoid this, I had to clearly imagine phrases before they were played, and also rely much more on my muscle memory to let my fingers solve the problems. Both of these techniques required a lot of relaxation and focus. I’ll be trying this again for sure.

Here I took the shape of the drum chant – its rhythm and use of a high and low tone – and turned it into a bassline consisting of two moving guide tones through the A sections of “What Is This Thing Called Love”. The grouping this time is 3 2 2.

Drum Chants In 7 - 3 2 2
In the B section of “What Is This Thing Called Love” I use a grouping of 3 2 2 2 3 2 (or 5 4 5) as a variation. I made that into a chant of its own.

Drum Chants In 7 - 5 4 5 2

Then I turned that into a bassline and used it for some slow metronome practice, in different placements.

Finally, I took the distinctive “short short short long” part of the previous rhythm…

Drum Chants In 7 - S S S L

… and arranged it three times across two bars of 7.

Drum Chants In 7 - Long

The long notes (the Ls) now mark out a large-scale grouping of 9 10 9. There’s an important similarity between the last few drum chants: they all split 7 beats into three “maximally even” parts.
With 7 beats, the maximally even grouping is 3 2 2 (or a mode of that such as 2 3 2).
With 14 beats (or 7 beats divided into 8th notes), the maximally even grouping is 5 4 5 (or a mode).
With 28 beats (or 7 beats divided into 16th notes, or 14 beats divided into 8th notes), the maximally even division is 9 10 9 (or a mode).

Maximally even divisions are crucial in syncopation: 12/8 clave, for instance, is a maximally even division of 12 notes into 5 parts (2 3 2 2 3). For that matter, the major scale itself is a maximally even division of 12 chromatic notes into 7 parts (2 2 1 2 2 2 1). The principle is that the “odd ones out”, e.g. the 1s in the major scale, should be spread as far as possible away from each other. So a 2 2 1 1 2 2 2 scale wouldn’t be maximally even because the 1s are beside each other. For an example of a maximally even rhythmic division in 4/4 swing, check out the vamps in my band’s version of I Remember You. Stream it here.

To develop my 9 10 9 drum chant, I smoothly subdivided the 9s and 10s to make a cymbal pattern (3 3 3) (3 4 3) (3 3 3).

Drum Chants In 7 - CYmbal

As you can hear, it sounds very much like a simple triplet pattern, with a barely noticeable skip:

Then I wanted to add a cowbell but realised it would need a three-armed drummer. So I turned the rhythm of the original chant into a blues scale bassline (much like the one I used for the metronome practice above), with drums playing a “long seven” kick pulse and the cymbal and bell parts.

Drum Chants In 7 - Re-Orchestrated

Here’s a video of me smiling smugly as I play all the parts:

Hope you enjoyed that. Let me know if you’ve any thoughts or if anything should’ve been presented differently. And merry Christmas to those of you celebrating it!