Classic Beats

Bach, Beethoven, and Ravel rapping about how fly they are. Made with Ableton Live, samples from each composer during their rap section. For Music & Language class with Nora Beck. Check it out.

"Adjustment"

Before most musical performances, especially when stringed instruments are used, the performer prepares the instrument. First, the performer typically tunes, and then, frequently when amplifiers or external electronic effects are used, the performer hones his or her sound to perfection. Often, while tuning, I’ve experienced the pleasant sensation one feels while listening to music; to me, tuning is quite musical. It reminds me of spaceships, or some large objects, taking flight.

However, I think to most non-musicians, and to those who play non-stringed instruments, tuning is something to be ignored. Before an orchestral performance, the orchestra tunes, and the feeling of the audience is one of waiting and expectation, not of enjoyment. To most, tuning is not the content of a musical performance. But, today it will be.

I’d like to share with the world my positive, appreciative feelings for tuning. Additionally, I’d like to reveal what is often a subconscious routine to the spotlight of artistry. Every time I perform, I do this ritual in passing.

The piece should be performed with a calm perseverance by the performer, and a dedicated look. The formal layout of the piece is as such:

1. Bring gear on stage. Guitar in case, with cord underneath guitar in the case. Amp should have all equalizer knobs set to their highest values.

2. Plug in amplifier.

3. Lift guitar. Remove cord. Plug one end into amplifier.

4. Get strap. Place on guitar. Place on body. Adjust.

5. Plug cord into guitar. Turn amp on. Guitar should be with rhythm pickup selected, at full volume.

6. Place left hand over an A-major barre chord, with right hand as if it’s about to strum.

7. Take pause.

8. Go to piano. Play an A two measures below middle C. Tune A string to piano.

9. Switch to the bridge pickup.

10. Play the harmonic on the seventh fret of the A string followed by the harmonic on the fifth fret of the low E string. Repeat as necessary to tune E string.

11. Play the harmonic on the fifth fret of the A string followed by the harmonic on the seventh fret of the D string. Repeat as necessary to tune D string.

12. Play the harmonic on the fifth fret of the D string followed by the harmonic on the seventh fret of the G string. Repeat as necessary to tune the G string.

13. Play the fourth fret of the G string, followed by the B string open. Repeat as necessary to tune the B string.

14. Play the harmonic on the fifth fret of the B string followed by the harmonic on the seventh fret of the E string.

15. Confirm that the two E strings are in tune by playing the low E string followed by the high E string.

16. Look at the audience. Pause.

17. Place the left hand over an A-major barre chord, with right hand as if it’s about to strum.

18. Switch to the rhythm pickup.

19. Place the left hand over an A-major barre chord, with right hand as if it’s about to strum.

20. Take a pause.

21. Play a small series of notes (any notes). Adjust the treble to an appropriate level.

22. Repeat the previous step for mid and low.

23. Play an A-major barre chord.

24. Turn off amplifier.

25. Unplug, etc. clean up.

26. The end.


I think it’s preferable if the audience doesn’t understand that the tuning and sound adjustment is the performance. I’d like for them to feel mild, pleasant confusion momentarily as I walk off stage.

Dark Star (1 of 2)

For the purposes of this blog post, I'm speaking most specifically about the Grateful Dead before 1971, when their sound got more fleshed out, polished, and less free. 

The Grateful Dead don't get enough credit in respected, ivory tower musical circles. But, they should. Nothing Miles Davis did in 1970 wasn't done by the Grateful Dead first. Long, free-form compositions? Check. Extensive percussive elements? Check. World music instrumentation and influence? Check. Cohesion through melodic fragments? Check. Spacey, off-kilter explorations? Checkity check check (listen to Bitches Brew or Live-Evil and then to some early Dead for comparison, especially texturally and compositionally).

The Grateful Dead invented (or, perhaps, popularized) modal jazz rock. Modal jazz, which I've blogged about previously, is jazz based upon simple, one or two chord vamps. Instead of the busy harmonic motion of the previous fifty-or-so years of jazz, Miles Davis, in 1959, released Kind of Blue, which included, most notably, So What. So What consists of two minor chords. That's it. Through it's lack of complexity, the constraints of dense harmonic motion are eliminated. 

Undoubtedly, the Grateful Dead were influenced by Miles Davis (Jerry Garcia in his later years even released an acoustic album called So What with mandolin player David Grisman). Now, I don't mean to argue that the Grateful Dead play Jazz better than Miles Davis (that would be folly). But, they did put a rock feel behind Miles' ideas first, and their explorations are deep, and full in their own, not-jazzy way. And, the pinnacle of the Grateful Dead's psychedelic, modal explorations is Dark Star.

What is Dark Star? Jerry Garcia once said (I'm paraphrasing), "There's a little bit of Dark Star in every thing we do." Dark Star is a very simple tune, alternating between two major chords, A and G. It's simplicity is truly it's greatest boon; it served as a template for the Grateful Dead's musical exploration, especially in the early years (when the boys used the gong and foreign percussion sounds, and really opened up the tune).


In many ways, Dark Star comes from the avant-garde musical tradition of the mid-20th century. The tradition, pioneered by John Cage and the like, favored abstract, often "spooky" musical elements and a free, open form. Many early Grateful Dead shows (from 67-69) have 2-5 minute sections simply called "Feedback," which are exactly that: distorted, feedback from electric instruments creating weird, off-setting noises.


This kind of musical exploration makes sense, given the Grateful Dead's origins: their first show as "The Grateful Dead" (they were called "The Warlocks" before) was 12/4/1965, at a Merry Pranksters Acid Test in San Jose, CA. And, what were the Acid Tests all about? In a word, freedom. Exploration and openness were paramount; the tried, over-done I-IV-V rock forms of the previous ten years were not enough (though they still sounded good, and the Grateful Dead still played them, interspersed with their free-form jams). 


In this way, I think the Grateful Dead really arose as a synthesis of styles. Rock was not enough. The Grateful Dead were  educated music listeners, especially bassist Phil Lesh, who was attending undergraduate music school, lead guitarist Jerry Garcia, who played jazz frequently in clubs around the Bay Area in the early sixties, and percussionist Mickey Hart, who was highly influenced by world music and percussion. These influences--classical, jazz, and world--fused with the American songbook and country-esque material that was the pop music of the day, and the result was The Grateful Dead.


And now I would like to discuss the form and explorations within Dark Star specifically, but it seems I've run out of time. More in-depth discussion tomorrow.

The Warlocks in 1965 in Palo Alto, CA. From left to right, 
Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, Billy Kreutzman (on drums in  back), 
Jerry Garcia, and Ron "Pig Pen" Mckernan

PS: Check out this Dark Star while you wait in anticipation. Actually, the whole show is awesome.

The Musical Tapestry - Music and Visual Art

[Transcribed from an in-class writing assignment]

Visual art and music share many similarities and are simultaneously contrasted by stark differences. Music is a performance-based art, while visual arts like sculpting, painting, and drawing, are static and unmoving. This might seem like it sharply separates the two arts, however visual art is brought to life by the observer similarly to the way music is brought to life by the performer (and listener). 


Through presentation and organization, a painting draws an observer's focus to elements chosen by the crafty artist. This is akin to the way that dynamics, timbre, and the orchestration draw the listener's ear to musical elements of the crafty composer's choice. Paintings are like musical snapshots--they are akin to one "musical moment,"one beat,  to continue with the comparison.


At the same time, it's slightly more complicated than that. A painting can represent more ideas than one beat of music because whole forms can be represented in an instant in a painting, while it may take a whole phrase (of several measures) for music to complete an organized, whole thought. I think this is perhaps a better comparison; the painting is akin to a musical unit that, although frozen in time, can convey complex ideas the way a whole passage of music could.


The observer of art has time to explore the meaning of the painting, as his or her eyes are drawn to certain aspects and interpret naturally (consciously and subconsciously). Ostensibly, there is one main point, a central motif or theme to a painting, which is the main point that the artist wishes to convey. Typically, there is also supportive, secondary material that reinforces the point. 


I think you can see where this is going. The musical phrase typically has a primary point--the melody--and secondary, supportive points--harmony--that reinforce the melody. But, how do the two arts form their points? Make their statements?


First, and of chief importance, are shapes. Visual artists craft forms (i.e., meaningful elements) with lines and shading. Discrete, often linear elements combine to form a shapes, which in turn combine to create forms. For example, a picture of a dog is comprised of many lines which form shapes--circles or ovals for the head and body, for example. When the shapes are put together, a whole form is represented.


A similar technique is used in music, where you have, essentially, the same tools: shapes and lines. The movement of a melody forms a pattern in our mind that we pick up on, just like in visual art. Just as we would notice steep ascending lines in a painting, we notice the contours of a melody. Does it jaggedly rise? Fall slowly? Bounce up and down haphazardly?This is especially true, I think, in improvisational music, where clear outlining of shapes is quite common. Additionally, we have whole shapes represented in music as well: chords. Every  aspect of a chord contributes to its shape in our sonic world: its inversion, the distance between its notes, and the specific voicing.


Visual art shares another critical similarity with music, and that is color. As you know, colors make visual elements distinct and beautiful. By adding color to a black-and-white painting, one adds another layer of organization and meaning. Visual contrasts in colors add drama, tension, tranquility, excitement, and many other emotions.


In music, our colors are pitches and the relationships between pitches (i.e., keys). The most apparent example is in the subtle (sometimes not so subtle) changes to one's perception of musical color as the key dramatically switches, as in a direct modulation. Suddenly, different notes are accented, and there is a new central color to which all other colors are contrasted.


Keys affect my perception of the brightness or darkness of a piece of music. For example, during John Coltrane's version of "My Favorite Things," (originally from The Sound of Music) there is a long vamp and piano solo over two minor chords, e and f#. At the ideal moment, pianist McCoy Tyner changes to an E major chord, and the sensation is of the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Where there was darkness, suddenly there is light.


Music has one crucial element that is seemingly difficult to compare to visual art, and that is rhythm. One of the most important and defining aspects of a musical work, rhythm would seem at first hard to conceptualize in a non-musical setting.

Starry Night. Click for bigger.

It's visual analog lies in the organization of the various elements of a visual work. One observes art subconsciously at the fastest possible rate that the brain can observe art, which, in a way, gives the piece a tempo. The combination of elements, the size of the shapes and the way that the shapes interlock and interweave, can thus create a rhythm, with larger, bulkier elements taking longer to understand, and having a longer rhythmic value. 

Obviously, complex meaningful fine art is quite complex rhythmically and is harder to interpret in a clear-cut way. But, tell me you look at Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and don't see movement and rhythm (albeit, a spacey impressionist rhythm).


And, really, "Starry Night" is a great example for everything talked about here. The colors, lines, shapes, and movement are a snapshot, an encapsulation of an experience and are complete, just like in a well constructed musical idea. I would like to explore thinking of and writing music visually--perhaps there could be some interesting results.

Music and culture (Part 2 of 2)

Cultures across the globe have notably varied music. Different cultures use different instruments, compose different styles and forms for their music, and use music in many different ways in their society. 

Ghanaian Drummers

In Ghana, drums are used as ceremonial and celebratory. Indian classical music is perhaps more like Western, given its more-composed (though still improvisatory) forms and it's relaxing-though-trancelike presentation. In Indonesia, music for the Gamelan, a large, South East Asian orchestra, was very well composed in a manner quite similar to Western symphonies and orchestras, but the music often made use of non-Western scales, rhythms, and motifs. 

Can I--a Westerner bred on rock and roll, jazz, drum kits, electric guitars, and symphonies--understand what the gamelan means? Is there some aspect of the gamelan that is only significant to Indonesians?

This is a complex issue. Through a series of thought experiments, I'll try and elucidate it.

Indian Classical Music

Imagine a culture to which music is very important and sacred. Our imaginary culture believes that the world, a giant reverberating string, was brought to life from stillness by God, who plucked the string and so brought all of creation into existence. For this culture, the playing of music represents the height of spiritual ecstasy. 

Such a situation is quite plausible, I think you'll agree. Now, pretend I've heard this culture's music and I like it. It pleases me, and it makes sense to me in my Western way--I hear pitches, rhythms, motifs, and it has all of the aspects of music that make music so great. I like listening to it, and would even pay for it. But, there is no way that it could mean the same thing to me that it means to members of our imaginary culture.

Indonesian Gamelan

Culture is not static, though. It is not a blanket--if you come from a certain place, a certain ethnicity, it is not necessarily true that you feel the same way as everyone in your group about art. For example, imagine a youth rebelling against our imaginary culture. It's quite possible he would not feel spiritual ecstasy at the playing of his people's music, because he rejects it.

In this way, I think, we can really see that culture is personal. I may not be able to understand another culture's music, but culture lives within individuals. It's not that I don't understand another culture, it's that I don't understand the shared perspective that many of these individuals have. If I'd grown up around members of our imaginary culture, perhaps I'd understand; then again, perhaps not. 

What it comes down to, really, is that it is impossible to understand the way any other person hears music, just as it is impossible to understand the way that any other person sees the color red, for example. We both can point to the same piece of fabric and call it red, but I can never be sure that we see the same red, the same subtleties of the color. Perhaps someone else's red is green--I'd have no way of knowing.

Music and culture (Part 1 of 2)

In a new two-part series, I'll explore first the cultural authenticity of music, and then the cultural transmissibility of music. The former follows below. 



On the first day of my World Music class, it was suggested that Paul Simon was a cheat and a scoundrel. He went into Africa, my professor maintained, stole the people's music, and sold it for a great deal of money (his widely successful solo album "Graceland"). 

I was horrified. I love Paul Simon. I soon dropped the class, but before I did, I got in a few good arguments with my professor. Paul Simon went to South Africa and, in many ways, collaborated with South African musicians. The record was a hit, and Paul made a lot of money, while the South Africans made significantly less. The situation is complicated given that South Africa was in the middle of apartheid and the rest of the world had a "cultural boycott" against South Africa. 


Was Paul exploitative? The album is highly African-influenced, to be sure. But, is influence exploitation? Many of the musicians on the album (notably Ladysmith Black Mambazo) went on to become internationally famous because of Paul Simon--in other words, he discovered them. 


The native music of Paul Simon, a North American, is quite different from the music of his album, "Graceland." But, as I argued in World Music class, no one owns music, and every composer is influenced by everything he or she hears. 

Oh, Claude!

Claude Debussy was supposedly very influenced by the gamelan he heard at the 1889 World Fair. Debussy took the things that struck him--the off, poly-rhythmic feel perhaps, and the use of the pentatonic scale--and integrated them with his more western ideas of music. This is exactly the process Paul Simon went through. The entire album is written by Paul (though he has some featured composers on some tracks). True, the Africans had a lot to do with it. But, clearly, so did Paul Simon, without whom there would not be a multi-million dollar album.


Could Paul Simon have made "Graceland" just the same without the South Africans? Nope. Could the South Africans have made an album like "Graceland" without Paul Simon? Nope. Paul Simon got the lion's share of the payoff for the album, and that's too bad, but it's not musically unsound. We should be influenced by other cultures' music, other ways of thinking about sound. What peeved me off about World Music class was that my professor seemed to claim that it was not only immoral of Paul Simon but that the album was bad music because of it. And that's just not the case.

Ladysmith Black Mambazo, a picture of whom
is easily available on the internet, thanks to
Mr. Paul Simon.

In 1974, twelve years before Paul Simon released "Graceland," Wayne Shorter, renowned saxophonist (who I have blogged about previously), released "Native Dancer." Shorter linked up with Brazilian musician Milton Nascimiento, who wrote half of the tracks on the album. Despite Nascimiento's important influence on the album, Shorter is credited as the leader (though he wrote less than half of the tracks). 

Clearly, as with Paul Simon's album, there is a great deal of collaboration going on. Check out Ponta de Areia, a Nascimiento composition. Shorter gives it life and breadth. The tune is a synthesis of Brazilian music and Jazz, and is truly a joint effort. Who was influenced by whom?


Interpreting and being influenced by another culture's music isn't theft (though, there may be some theft involved if the work of one performer is not monetarily recognized as may be the case with "Graceland"). It's not poor musicianship or a-musical to take what you like from another culture and integrate it into your compositions. In fact, I'd argue that it's usually quite hip and groovy.

Of course, this brings up an entirely new set of questions: Is it possible to understand the music of another culture the same way that someone from that other culture understands it? I'll tackle that one next post.

Mood & Music

Why do certain types of music appeal to some people more than others? Further, how can the same piece of music appeal to a person on one day and seem repulsive on another? Mood.

Mood--which I'm using here to mean a person's immediate emotional character, be it happy, sad, etc.--is a squirrely, hard-to-define thing. Naturally, it's quite subjective. Additionally, it's hard to precisely identify: we've spent thousands of years trying to encapsulate and convey human moods and emotions in art and literature. And, it's hard to control. If I'm feeling down, I can't will myself up, and if I'm jealous I can't think it away, and likewise with all other emotions.

Music has a special relationship with mood. It has the power to amplify and alter moods, to smooth out their rough parts and to create pleasure. The music of social groups reflects the emotions of those groups--or, at least, reflects tonic emotions that balance the emotions of the group. 

For example, perhaps a person whose life is full of harsh movement, roughness, and energy, would turn to hardcore punk or metal music. Their baseline mood, their most common mood, is probably quite different from mine (though, how the hell do I know, really?); when they hear the highly-rhythmic, distorted, and powerful music of punk and metal, they are not jarred from an inner tranquility. Rather, the harshness of their mood is excited. And, since it is music, and not pain, not physical violence, there is a comfort in the harshness of music, which, though being intense, is just sound, is just pleasure. 

Doesn't that couch look comfy?

So: when I'm down, I listen to Radiohead, because it's kind of somber, but with an upbeat tempo and a powerful musical force, that makes the loneliness feel beautiful, wholesome, and proper. When it's been a long, strange night, I like to kick back with the Grateful Dead, which is some of the comfiest music I know, to ease the rough parts of my soul into slumber and peace. If I'm feeling awake, lively, and intelligent, I get down with some 60's jazz, and if I'm feeling chill, lively, and intelligent, I might be down with some ethnic/jazz-influenced electronica.

But, maybe not at the same time. I don't really have control over my mood, as I said before. And, it's so subtle, and so is music. Perhaps I'll be feeling too sad for one band, too happy for another, too sleepy for a third, and then what do I do? Oh, yes: Compose.