Musical Cliches, part 1

All musical genres, be it classical, jazz, folk, rock or pop, use musical clichés.  Clichés aren’t evil; they’re necessary.  Yes, they can be overused (and by definition they HAVE been overused), but the commonalities we perceive in music help anchor us in the familiar and allow us to digest a forty minute symphony or a new rock record without feeling completely overwhelmed.  

When an artist goes out if his way to avoid the familiar, (Rufus Wainwright’s latest album, “All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu” comes to mind) it can be difficult for the listener to truly absorb the songs upon first rotation (or even second or third).   Ultimately, these songs might end up having lasting power, the ones that provide a deeper and more interesting musical experience, but there’s still something to be said about instant appeal, when a song achieves that spine-tingling perfection. 

Paul McCartney’s song “Wanderlust” from 1982 comes to mind.  It employs all of four chords, and I’m still amazed that the guy could continue to discover excitement and beauty in the same chords he’d been playing for over twenty years.  Tracy Chapman’s “Give Me One Reason” from 1997 is another example.  It’s a simple 12-bar blues, but it’s oh, so good, and I never tire of hearing it.

In the weeks ahead, I’d like to highlight some of my favorite clichés in pop music and how artists have used them in ways that still capture our attention.  If you’ve got any you’d like to mention, please chime in.  First up for me will be the descending major scale bass line.  It’s an oldie but goodie, and I’ll address it in two weeks.

Next week: a review of Rufus Wainwright’s Friday night show at the Chicago Theatre.

Who's Not In The Hall

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  A more subjective institution there has never been, and few take it seriously, but it is interesting to note the performers not currently represented in Cleveland.  A friend of mine recently provided me with a list of acts he thinks should be included in the Hall, and I’d like to highlight a few (and add a few of my own).   Consider the following:

The Cars, Cheap Trick, Dire Straits, Yes, ELO, Peter Gabriel, Randy Newman and Rush (the latter two, incidentally, just had stars dedicated on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame).

Not sure about that list?  Well, how about:

Kiss, Steve Miller, INXS, Heart, REO Speedwagon, Boston, Kansas, Styx, Journey, The Cure, Supertramp, Chicago, Three Dog Night, Neil Diamond, Pat Benatar, The Moody Blues, Foreigner, The Replacements, XTC, Joe Jackson and Def Leppard.

Not sure they deserve to be included with the likes of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who and Led Zeppelin?  I’m not either.  Do you base it on sales?  Hits?  Longevity?  Inventiveness?  Impact on the music around them? 

Comment below and let me know who you think should be in the hall.  To check a list of who’s in, click here.

Basements and Water

I like basements.  I like basements the way some people like newly remodeled kitchens with custom-made cabinets, granite counter tops and glimmering mosaic tiles with the words “Home Sweet Home” patterned into the backsplash.  A basement is the one room that truthfully recounts a house’s history with lengthy prose instead of sleek sound bites.  I love the smell of an old basement whose beauty hasn’t been tarnished by the modern notion that a cellar impersonating a living room is preferable to one with shiny paneling, stained ceiling tiles, and unadorned flooring. 

When our Realtor first showed my wife and me our future home a decade ago, I knew.  I knew as I descended the narrow stairs, the lilting rhythm of our steps along the creaky floorboards, that this was going to be the discovery to end all searches.  It was love at first scent.  And then scent was backed up by sight.  The basement’s floor dipped and raised inexplicably, it’s contours giving it a feel of a natural cavern rather than man-made perfection; the ceiling tiles displayed just a touch of rusty-colored water stains, not an indication of a failing foundation, but of a family who’s children had splashed too zealously in the bathtub above; the low support beam running along the center of the room was just high enough so as not to require a six-foot man to duck, but it nonetheless prompted me to duck each and every time I passed under as a matter of instinct; the window wells with white cloth curtains were recently vacuumed for the sale, but still showed traces of the spider webs left unchecked for so long.  In the weeks that followed, my wife and I discussed the placement of furniture and how each room was to be arranged, but all I could think of was the ping pong table on the far end of the support pole and a throw-rug on the near-side where I’d set up my old Kenwood receiver and Phillips turntable. 

In recent days, as I’ve watched the destruction in Milwaukee and Chicago, I’ve begun to wonder.  Eight inches of water from the sky – that’s all it takes to make life difficult, as people are forced to discard miles of saturated carpet, piles of drenched drywall and hundreds of sofas, chairs, recliners, toys and boxes.  I hope those who’ve been hit hardest can rebound.  And it makes me wonder if maybe basements aren’t meant to be finished the way we finish other rooms.  All basements, under the right circumstances, will fill with water.  Even the best of them.  Maybe finishing a basement is like building a home along the banks of the Mississippi.

When Less Is More

From time to time in my blog I’d like to highlight music that contributes something of interest.  This week, I’m including a clip of one of my all-time favorite solos, provided by The Dave Matthews Band’s saxophonist Leroi Moore, who died tragically in 2008 from complications after an all-terrain vehicle accident. 

Providing a solo in a rock and roll song can lead to numerous outcomes: it can be electric, momentous, mind-baffling, stimulating, tear-inducing, dull, messy, sloppy, and – on occasion – absolutely perfect.  Although there's a time and a place for nearly every type of solo, the ones that typically appeal to me are melodious and sparse rather than infused with a gazzilion notes, which is why I’ve always preferred David Gilmore to Alex Lifeson, David Brubeck to Art Tatum and John Helliwell  (you might have to look him up) to say…Charlie Parker (which is an unfair comparison since they’re from different genres, but what the hell).

The solo from Leroi Moore below is from “What Would You Say,” the second song off The Dave Matthew Band's debut album, Under the Table and Dreaming.

Leroi spends almost a full four measures on only three different notes (concert E, G and A), a beautiful example of restraint for an accomplished musician, and it raises the tension of the song as the listener awaits a more conventional solo, which Leroi eventually provides.

When I’m playing, I’ve often found myself in the midst of solo and instead of coming up with something melodious, I've ended up just ripping through a blues scale as fast as my tension-filled fingers can muster.  But playing as fast as you can not only isn’t necessary, it’s far less interesting in most cases from a carefully selected group of notes that could serve as a sort of secondary melody. 

Consider the lead guitar Neil Schon plays in "Don't Stop Believing":

How much less of a song would it be if he hadn't added that memorable phrase?

Do you have a favorite solo you'd like to highlight?  If so, please post a comment and I'll try to mention it or provide clips for it in a future post. 

In the meantime, rest in peace, Mr. Moore.

A cover of Billy Joel's Vienna

Along with the many originals Tricia and I recorded for Trainsongs, we also did a cover of Billy Joel's Vienna.  Give a listen!