As part of the Second Viennese School, Webern captured my interest while I was an undergrad theory major (three guesses who I’m saving for last). This guy’s material is concentrated. His longest work, a cantata, clocks in at just over a quarter hour; but even his shortest pieces lend themselves to rather deep analysis.
As with any music, Webern’s music is better appreciated when you can watch it live. Enjoy this piece for string quartet:
John Dowland was an English Renaissance composer and lutenist, who wrote a whole mess of songs. Here is one, which I performed in my senior recital. These guys do it better than we did.
20th century composer Benjamin Britten composed a theme and variations on a Dowland song, “Come Heavy Sleep,” which appears on an album by one of my former teachers, Michael Nicolella. I recommend checking it out.
Pop music is a perennial source of frustration for serious musicians. No amount of formal training can grant you the instinct for crafting a mega-hit. There are, however, patterns I have noticed that may predict a track’s future in the charts.
There are popular songs, and then there are songs that only come along once every year or so, that send people flocking to the iTunes store while we serious musicians pull our hair out in fits of rabid jealousy. For a single to traverse beyond mere fame into the realm of outright phenomena, it helps to belong to one of these classic archetypes:
1. The Ultimate Anthem
Of these archetypes, the Ultimate Anthem is probably the one containing the most critically praise-worthy music. Rock Anthems are most effective when placed within some extramusical context. “Don’t Stop Believin’” enjoyed a recent surge of popularity thanks to its inclusion in Glee. “We’re Not Gonna Take It” and “Home Sweet Home” would undoubtedly have not become the classics that they are had they not been released during the height of the music video age. There are exceptions to this rule (“We Will Rock You/We are the Champions,” “Paradise City,” “Kashmir”), but they need to be damned good without crutches.
Notable Examples: “Eye of the Tiger” (Survivor), “Don’t Stop Believin’” (Journey), “Home Sweet Home” (Mötley Crüe), “Freebird” (Lynyrd Skynyrd), “We Will Rock You / We are the Champions” (Queen), “One Vision” (Queen), “Firework” (Katy Perry), “Defying Gravity” (from Wicked), “Circle of Life” (Elton John), “Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2″ (Pink Floyd), “Live and Let Die” (Paul McCartney and Wings)
2. The “Love Equals Pain” Ballad
Here’s the cash cow. One of the most lucrative target demographics is teenage girls; and if they enjoy anything, they enjoy melodrama. Twilight, for example, is an everygirl’s fantasy: A plain jane misanthrope finds herself at the center of a battle for her affection, between two chilvalrous boys who are themselves outsiders in spite of their stunning good looks. The message in Twilight and so many great teenage love songs is that it hurts to love.
Twice while I was in high school, a girlfriend suggested that something “be our song.” In one instance, it was Atlantic Starr’s “Secret Lovers,” and in another it was Richard Marx’s “Right Here Waiting.” Both share a theme of love in the face of obstacles. I find this telling. Can we conclude that young women have a sort of complex, which compels them to seek out the dark side of their romances, thus acting out a sort of dramatic fantasy?
Among the greatest examples of painful love in song is Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” in which the subject not only mourns her dead lover, she consigns herself to a lifetime of devoted loneliness. Couple this with the film tie-in (see “Ultimate Anthem,” above), and we have an all-time winner.
Notable Examples: “Right Here Waiting” (Richard Marx), “Secret Lovers” (Atlantic Starr), “My Heart Will Go On” (Celine Dion), “Love Hurts” (Nazareth), “Nothing Compares 2 U” (Sinead O’Connor), “I Will Survive” (Gloria Gaynor)
3. The Dance Floor Staple
Music belonging to this category is mind-numblingly simple — so much that is pains those of us who are more accustomed to active listening experiences to hear it. But the point isn’t to engage active listeners. It’s to put casual listeners in a trance. Extra points if you make up a special dance for it.
The key is simplicity. Keep the words to a minimum, don’t modulate, use a generous amount of repetition, and hell — why not just include instructions for the dance right in the lyrics?
Notable Examples: “Macarena” (Los del Rio), “Cha Cha Slide” (Mr C and the Slide Man), “Chicken Dance” (Werner Thomas), “Single Ladies” (Beyonce), “Electric Boogie” (Marcia Griffiths)
4. Something Naughty
Never underestimate the power of titillation. Dance floors, bars, and parties are where the squares congregate to express their wild side, so give them something a little dirty. Not too dirty — just some lyrical heavy petting.
Everyone knows rock stars are fiends. Rock audiences want in on the action without the horrid consequences. They want to entertain perverse thought, but will quickly fasten their psychic bra straps if you take things too far. Innuendo or a single mildly dirty word may do just fine.
Songs from this category tend to cross over into others: The Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps” is both naughty and danceable. It also uses comedy words, so bonus points. You could paint a sleazy picture, as in “Superfreak,” or simply utter a grown-up word, as is repeatedly done in “Crazy Bitch.”
Groups like Cannibal Corpse go way over the top with vulgarity, and I believe this to be an effective means of protecting the integrity of one’s fan base by staving off mainstream listeners. But if you want to go platinum, create the next catch phrase that will send an eight year-old to the principal’s office.
Notable Examples: “You Shook Me All Night Long” (AC/DC), “Crazy Bitch” (Buckcherry), “Stacy’s Mom” (Fountains of Wayne), “My Humps” (Black Eyed Peas), “I Want Your Sex” (George Michael), “Add It Up” (Violent Femmes), “Family Tradition” (Hank Williams, Jr.), “Superfreak” (Rick James)
Would you call these archetypes predictors of pop success or symptoms of formulaic songwriting? Perhaps a bit of both? I suppose every song needs to be judged on its own merit, but at least I’ll have a starting point should I ever take a stab at writing the next frat party blockbuster.
My last group, Avengers Assemble!, recorded a 5-song EP containing original compositions by the lead singer and rhythm guitarist, Pat Peterson. The opening track is a ballad — not the slow-dancing type, but the “El Paso” type — which told the story of a renegade that met a Spanish honey while running for the border, only to die with her in a firefight. Here’s an excerpt of the track (available on iTunes), followed by an outline of my creative process:
Ballad of Johnny Eldorado — bridge and solo
This excerpt fades in during the end of the second chorus, in a song that utilizes the standard contrasting verse-chorus form. You should hear enough to get the flavor: The vocals and chord progression inspire a latin style, which I exploit during the bridge. Listen for the latin rock riff; I don’t know what it’s called (bolero? flamenco?), I only know how it’s played. I usually tried to play the single-note portions of the riff behind the beat, but this proved difficult live, while singing backup vocals.
After the drum/fx break, we modulate from Gm to Am. The whole-step modulation is a common technique in Pat’s music from this period, but usually reserved for a final chorus. Here, we modulate early and stay in the new key throughout the remainder of the song.
The solo is way out of character for the tune. Shredding when I probably should have done something more rootsy may have been my worst decision during these sessions, but I recall thinking that this was my least favorite track, so I might as well indulge myself. This is a case of showing off, and perhaps even borderline sabotage; but in hindsight I suppose we could justify the decision by calling this a modern update of the flashy Spanish guitar tradition.
I wrote most of the solo at home before entering the studio. At first, I committed the common error of writing material that was too difficult to perform at tempo. Usually when that happens, I simplify until I can bring the licks up to speed. My solution this time was to treat the solo as a two guitar call-and-response. I figured that by allowing myself to record the solo one lick at a time, there would be less pressure to get things right in one pass.
I alternated guitars between licks. One is an early 90′s Ibanez RG570 with pretty hot pickups, and the other is a late 80′s Ibanez RG560. Both are playing through the exact same rig — a Hughes & Kettner preamp using the built-in distortion, going into an Alesis EQ and a Peavey Classic 60/60 power amp, driving a Rivera Q212 speaker cabinet. I can’t remember if I used the lead channel, or the crunch channel plus a Boss CS3 compressor. The use of two guitars with the same amplification rig creates just enough tonal differentiation to help the listener discern between two “dueling” parts, without the guitars sounding so different as to disrupt the overall texture. We also panned the two leads left and right — something you usually do more with rhythm parts than leads.
Even after the careful planning and rehearsal, I struggle to remain on top of the beat during the first two licks. The entire tapped portion of the second lick is played on the first string, which enables me to play an ascending line more easily than I would across multiple strings. I miss a couple of notes, and I have wondered since whether listeners mentally fill in the gaps. For the third lick I’m playing a rather simple minor pentatonic sequence, but the hemiola (5 against 4) and my sliding from one position to the next with each iteration of the pattern creates a Vai-esque sound. The fourth lick was improvised in the studio. I can’t remember if this was specifically because I had a canned lick that didn’t work out, or — more likely — because I knew that it would be more appropriate to end with something that just flows spontaneously, so I didn’t even bother writing a final lick.
Most of my solos are improvised, or at least written through multiple improvised takes. This one is a rare example of something that I prepared before going in to the studio. If you plan to use showy, technically challenging licks, you’ll save your bandmates’ and producer’s time by going into the studio as well-rehearsed as possible.
Guillaume de Machaut‘s Notre Dame Mass is one of the most recognized achievements of Medieval music. This rendition of the Kyrie is controversial: Critics feel the aggressive, unrefined singing style and hyper-ornamentation are not historically accurate, but the director, Marcel Peres, apparently was attempting to reflect the Moorish influence that presumably would have existed in France during the time of the mass’s composition. I enjoy Peres’ interpretation greatly:
Here is a more straightforward interpretation for comparison:
Recently, I was contracted to record a solo for the tail-out section of an indie rock track. My only instruction was to “shred.” So I did:
My strategy was to go nuts and let the client narrow down his expectations after hearing what I could offer. I was fully aware that a metal solo is probably not welcome in an alt-rock track. I also knew that I had succumbed to diarrhea of the hands, especially after 0:31, and that I’d need to trim some fat. He responded as I expected, requesting something simpler.
The client helped me out by sending a recording of himself soloing in a scratch track, and describing which moments in his solo he wanted me to preserve. Specifically, the opening of the solo — alternating unison notes on adjacent strings — and the repetition of the f-naturals in the end were his contributions. I “Raymondized” those moments, and filled in the gaps with something more lyrical. Here was the final take:
What can we learn from this? Often, the progression from seed ideas to a finished product involves breaking down, not building up. Restraint is a virtue. Also, I thrive on suggestions. As soon as I heard the songwriter’s conception of how the solo would flow, I was in better touch with his vision.
Nicolo Paganini has garnered a following among electric guitarists, presumably because he is often described as a “rock star” of his time, whose virtuosity inspired the recent careers neo-classical shredders like Randy Rhoads and Yngwie Malmsteen. Here is his Caprice no. 5:
Paganini, Caprice 5 (YouTube link).
Poor Paganini is often described as a man best appreciated as a performer, but whose compositions are dull. To me, his pieces are as enjoyable as most from his time. We know they were at least engaging enough to inspire derivative works by the likes of Chopin, Liszt, and Rachmaninoff. Perhaps the criticism stems from our innate tendency to poke holes in the work of those we resent for their greatness. If that is even partly true, it would only be appropriate, considering the usual criticisms levied against the modern guitarists who have carried Paganini’s torch.
Today we mourn the passing of a vital yet under-appreciated member of the jazz elite: pianist George Shearing.
Shearing infused jazz with classical profundity, and enjoyed commercial success that eludes even the greatest jazz artists. You might call him “the Other Dave Brubeck.” His tune, “Lullaby of Birdland” is a staple of jazz repertoire.
Witness his brilliance in this performance of “Conception,” the head of which I regard as one of my all-time favorite melodies:
Miles Davis recorded a number of Shearing tunes, and you can hear his jubilant take on “Conception” as a bonus track on Dig (Prestige, 1956). Davis and the Birth of the Cool nonet also performed a clever reworking of the piece, titled “Deception:”
This group, more than any, could respectfully convey the bouncing quality of Shearing’s melody.
Although Shearing will be missed, it is comforting to see an icon outlive his most productive creative period. His generous output has been rewarded with a long life.
