How Does It Feel?

Today’s post is inspired by a sound-bite from Dave Douglas: when practising, your swing feel should “make the metronome feel good”.

I’ve tried various interpretations of this since I heard it in the Banff Centre in 2012.
(And I balance it against the opposing perspective from Matt Brewer: “All the metronome stuff has almost nothing to do with grooving”.)

One way to make the metronome feel good would be playing very precisely along with it. But there’s also the whole world of playing ahead of and behind the beat. That’s an area which can seem quite mysterious.

I wrote before how laying back behind the beat could be an audio encoding of rolling, elastic styles of body movement. A laid-back note symbolises a movement which, though you start its muscle impulse on the beat, takes a moment to propagate through the body and reach the point of impact. Or, for a more familiar example, imagine any kind of rocking or swaying dance. Different parts of your body will reach the furthest extent of a (forward, sideways or backwards) movement at slightly different times – but still feel like part of one movement.

Steve Coleman wrote about how in the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis big band, the entire band played behind the beat. (Meaning that, until he learned their time feel, Coleman repeatedly came in too early from count-ins.) Even though nobody plays it, Coleman suggests the earlier beat placement (i.e. the count-in) is the actual pulse while the played placement is “behind”.

Putting these ideas into words doesn’t of course mean that we can perform them. But thinking through all this suggested a framework: view all different beat placements as different degrees of laying back from a reference pulse.

Now we come to today’s exercise. Normally when practising with the metronome, it represents the “correct” pulse. But if I tapped my foot slightly ahead of the metronome, the tap would be the reference pulse and the metronome would be laid-back.

In this video I tried to maintain a clear flam between the metronome and my foot – this puts the snare quite exaggeratedly behind the beat. Note the “trashy” sound this creates (not entirely due to the tinny sample used). On the bass I try hit the reference downbeat along with my foot but go for the extreme laying back during the rest of the bar. Other options would be playing the whole bassline behind or alternatively playing the entire bassline with my reference foot tap while keeping the snares behind.

A quick word about what’s going on in my head… I’m conscious of the foot tap as an independence thing. I imagine a wave motion (rolling up along my back, maybe) to connect with the laid-back snare. (To me, it’s crucial that the snare doesn’t feel like a separate note to the foot tap, but more an elongated part of it.) Finally there’s a sensation, similar to keeping your balance, of maintaining the tempo.

This is a brand new exercise for me and has a ways to go. Once I have it consistent, I’d like to try all the usual practising ideas: counting aloud (with my foot taps), putting gaps in the metronome pattern to practice keeping tempo, adding fills to the bassline. I’d like to get rid of the tension that you can see in my fretting finger movements.

One criticism of this exercise occurs to me. What if, in trying to create that flam sound, I’m training my foot tap to creep ahead on beats 2 and 4? I think this has been happening a little, but I also think I can avoid it by concentrating on a relaxed, consistent physicality for the foot taps.

For comparison, here I am playing the same bassline without (intentionally!) tapping ahead of the snares. I do four rounds in straight 16ths and four in heavily swung 16ths. I think I prefer the swung 16ths of all three variations.

I heard Indonesian-Dutch drummer Chander Sardjoe say at a workshop, years ago, something along the lines of “a short cue can contain lots of information, more than you could verbalise”. He also said that the two essential rhythmic aspects of such a cue, or of any music, for him were the pulse and the “quality of the pulse”.

If microtiming devices like laying back are an encoding of styles of movement, perhaps that is how a short stretch of music can have a “quality of its pulse” that conveys so much information non-verbally.

Well, it’s a long road to achieve the rhythmic ability of a Chander Sardjoe who can perform feats like an 11 against 12 polyrhythm. But I’m glad to have, for the moment, a paradigm for practising microtiming: tapping what I consider to be the actual pulse (and getting that consistent), then working all divergences around that.

I’ll let you know how I get on. Any and all thoughts on grooving, laying back, etc. are very welcome in the comments!

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!

Blues Parallelism

Ever since last year when it clicked that parallel chord movements are probably an essential part of blues, I’ve been working them into my bass style. As a musical force, parallelism is probably familiar to jazz listeners from the style of guitarists like Wes Montgomery. Check out his playing from 4:16 in this iconic performance.

What I’ve been trying to do relates very much to jazz guitar and even more so blues guitar traditions. I remember how refreshing it was to hear Simon Jermyn once point out that bass guitar and guitar are closely related instruments. Rather than model my approach on double bass or synth bass, I’ve often taken guitaristic paths in my playing. So, to my mind, the parallel chord movements I’ll look at today are completely native to fretted bass guitar.

“Parallel”, for anyone unfamiliar with the term, means that each new chord has the exact same inner structure (distance between its component notes) as the one before, but starting in a different place. So, each note moves in “parallel” with the others to reach the corresponding notes in the new chord.

The reason this is native to guitar and bass guitar, is that you can form a chord shape, and then easily slide the whole shape up or down to make a new chord. (You’ll see it in the solo I do at the end of the post.)

The first time I really noticed parallelism was in electro house tracks with basslines doubled in major 10ths. Remember this one?

But, actually, since childhood I’ve loved hearing blues slide guitar which is built on completely parallel “open-tuned” chords sliding up and down. Guys like the hippy blues savant Alan Wilson (seriously check out that magnificent performance by his band Canned Heat!) or George Thorogood.

Not all chord shapes are equal for this application. The strongest shapes are those that resemble part of the overtone series. This similarity causes the notes to interact and buzz. Gerhard Kubik calls acoustically resonant chords like this “timbre-harmonic clusters”.

D Harmonics to 11th

So, the first interval (counting up from the bottom note) in the series is the octave. Wes Montgomery is famous for his use of parallel octaves, for example at 2:50 in the first video above. But I don’t particularly like the sound of them on bass. This is partly due to the lack of a satisfying way of sounding them – Wes strums them with a muted string between the root and octave, but that doesn’t work for me. Also, they don’t achieve that chiming sound in the bass’s register.

The next interval is the perfect 5th found between the second and third harmonics (D and G). This one is, again, completely guitaristic – the “power chord” of rock and metal. As an interesting demonstration of a distinctive resonance, if you play a power chord on bass or guitar with distortion, a strong difference tone an octave below appears.

(Sorry for the poor sound quality by the way – I’ve upgraded my microphone but forgot to plug it in here.)

Without distortion, the phenomenon is much weaker, but still noticeable as an extra fatness/bassiness at gigging volume levels. (Actually I think that’s due to the slight distortion in the preamp stage of my amp.) So I do use power chords sometimes at gigs to augment a simple bassline.

Okay so some quick thoughts on the use of the other intervals available… 4ths are very buzzy and strong, and obviously easy to play on an instrument tuned in fourths. Major 3rds are strident and bright, sometimes overwhelmingly so, but it can be used for some parallel cliches. In particular, the blues scale fragment b5 4 b3 can be harmonised a major 3rd away by b7 6 5, another bluesy cell.

Another interval I use a lot is the 10th – it’s good for “prog house” or “electro house” sounds. One interesting thing about lines consistently harmonised in major 10ths is that it becomes unclear whether the top or bottom note is the “main” one, despite the fact that a single 10th interval definitely sounds like the root is the bottom note. Try it!

Minor 3rds are a flexible interval for parallel cliches, and I wrote an article about one of those. Major 6ths are used in the classic blues chromatic descending run, but can also be extended into half-whole diminished sounds like Scott Henderson’s. Minor 6ths basically can work as the 3rd and octave of a dominant chord or its 2nd and b7th. Minor 7ths sound good but can only really function as the 1st and b7th or the 3rd and 9th of a dominant chord. So minor 7th and minor 6th parallelisms in blues are basically targeting these landing points.

An interesting larger shape is one using the fourth, seventh and ninth harmonics, which ends up as a root, minor 7th and 9th (a dominant 9th with no 3rd or 5th):

9th no 3rd no 5th

This shape has a lovely resonance. Other 3-note shapes that are nice for parallelism are the 3rd inversion of a major triad (fourth on the bottom) and 2nd inversion of a minor triad (fourth on top). These are both particularly compact shapes on bass. And of course the skeletal dominant 7th, 1st 3rd b7th.

I busted a blues solo using many of these shapes in parallel movement. Have a listen and let me know what you think! I’ve timelined the appearance of different chord/interval types below.

0:02 6th

0:06 minor 3rd

0:12 minor 6th

0:22 dominant 7th (no 5th)

0:27 minor 7th

0:31 major 3rd

0:47 4th

1:02 major 10th

1:08 dominant 9th (no 3rd no 5th)

Thanks for reading/watching!

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

 

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!

Circular Rhythm

[Edit 28/04/16 – fixed the notation of the voice-leading exercise]

A few months ago I was jamming with a trio I’m in (featuring Dylan Lynch and Max Zaska) and I improvised a riff I really liked.
Riff

It felt really inviting to play over, and Dylan coined the term “circular rhythm” for how we were freely choosing different points to accent within the cycle, not at all constrained by the barlines. I knew vaguely that this was an African-inspired approach to rhythm, and that it felt really good.

Today I’ll investigate what gives any riff or vamp this inviting, cyclical grooviness. Then I’ll look at techniques for getting very rhythmically free on the riff while still “inhabiting” it. This metaphor of the improvising musician being inside a rhythmic of harmonic form comes from Anthony Braxton’s phrase “navigating the form”.

The first nice thing about the groove is that it is compatible with two distinct divisions of the beat: 8ths (2 possible note placements per beat) or 16ths (4 possible placements).

8ths 16ths.png
2 possible underlying subdivisions

To me, these have a very different feeling, with the 8ths being smoother, more elegant, perhaps more amenable to laying back and legato playing. When soloing, I could switch between the two feelings to change the mood. Here though I just demonstrate the two one after the other.

The next nice thing I discovered is that the groove is clearly divided in groups of 3 (mostly) – a feature shared with most of the drum chants in 7 I posted about a few weeks back.

Groups 3

To come to grips with this perspective, I made a drum chant outlining the groups.

Drum Chant

…and improvised slight variations on the riff while singing it. You can see by how I’m weaving my body around that I’m feeling the rolling, triplet-ish physicality of those groups of threes! Like with those 7/4 drum chants, it was really nice to feel rhythmic independence (as drummers would call it) between my voice and hands.

A really strong technique that works nicely with this riff is rhythmic voice-leading, which I discussed already in my post on Charlie Parker’s melodies. In this video I play a bunch of different groupings that voice-lead to (i.e. land/resolve on) accents in the original riff.

Voice Leading Fixed 28 04 16
What I played in the video – groupings targeting notes of the riff

While recording that I was finding it hard to resist using two  other techniques. The first is using triplets over a 16ths groove which I do in the video below at 0:15 and 0:38. I like this because it brings out the resemblance between broken 16th rhythms and triplet rhythms – in fact, it’s really nice to “warp” between the two, playing rhythms that are in-between 16ths and triplets (0:24, 0:32). This happens a lot in both Afro-Cuban and Brazilian music.

 

The other technique is to just displace the notes of the riff like I do at 0:09 or 0:19. The distinctive Ab G notes at the start of the riff are great for this because they are so recogniseable even in different placements. This reminds me of something I heard Vijay Iyer say about being able to displace the downbeats of complex rhythmic forms – not letting the material master you. (Though obviously this is a bigger challenge in music as complicated as his!)

Finally, here’s a fun exercise that was my original idea for this post. To really face the 3 energy inherent in the riff, I tap every 3/8 – a “dotted quarter note” pulse – while nonetheless feeling the music in 4/4.

That’s all for today. Think I’m gonna post on Saturdays from now on, I never seem to make Friday. At some stage soon I want to talk about the political and cultural questions around being a white European studying music derived from and associated with African American communities. Also I want to interview some of the black musicians active in Dublin. But next week will probably be about lyrics.

Leave comments, on Facebook or even better here. Cheers!

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!