Musical Clichés: Descending Major Scales

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about music clichés and how – if not overused – they help to anchor the listener in the familiar when digesting a new piece of music. 

One of the tried and true clichés in rock and pop music – and one of my favorites – is a descending major scale in the bass.  There are hundreds of examples, and I’d like to highlight a few.  If you’re not sure what a descending major scale is, consider the familiar Do-Re-Mi scale from “The Sound of Music,” but sing it backward (Do-Ti-La-So-Fa…).  If that doesn’t help you, try singing the first eight notes of the Christmas song, “Joy To The World.”

The Beatles song “For No One” is a good place to start, as the bass follows the B scale backward for five notes (B, A#, G#, F# and E):

John Lennon followed this pattern in his masterpiece, “A Day In The Life,” though he takes the scale down two additional notes (down to “Re”), and did the same as a solo artist with “Mind Games”:

And his son, Julian, showed he wasn’t above using the descending scale in his 1984 song, “Say You’re Wrong.”  Remember this one?

But the descending scale isn’t limited to The Beatles and their offspring.  A classic example is 1967’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harem.  In this song, clearly influenced by Bach’s Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D Major (Air on the G String), the bass descends the entire major scale, and as if that wasn’t enough, it goes back up to the fifth and descends again to the tonic:

Other examples include “Mr. Bojangles,” made famous by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” and “She’s Got A Way,” “Come Sail Away” by Styx, "Changes" by David Bowie, "All The Young Dudes" by Mott the Hoople (but also written by David Bowie) and “Accidents Will Happen” by Elvis Costello:

And lest you think I’m mocking those who use clichés in music, I’ve used it myself.  Here’s a sample of “No Point In Seeing Me Through” from my album, “Pause.”

The descending scale: an oldie but goodie.  If you’ve got some other examples you’d like to share, please comment below.  Don't forget to subscribe to the RSS Feed above for regular updates.

Rufus Wainwright Dazzles Chicago

Rufus Wainwright doesn’t make it easy on listeners.  Rarely allowing a simple melody to flourish without turning it on its head and ripping its insides out, Rufus’s collections of compositions are sometimes as difficult to digest in one sitting as a thirteen course meal (which reminds me of Emperor Joseph’s line in Amadeus: “There are simply too many notes.”).  But the listener who’s able to hang in there and familiarize himself with material is unquestionably rewarded.

At the Bank of America Theater in Chicago on Friday night, Rufus took the whole “difficult listening experience” one step further by requesting that the audience remain silent for the first set, during which he performed in its entirely his latest release, “All Days Are Nights: Songs For Lulu,” an album devoted to his recently departed mother.  He later admitted that his request for silence was rather audacious, though I thought it was more self-indulgent.  But what the hell.  So is this blog.  The talents of Rufus Wainwright are so staggering that I’m willing to laugh off a little bit of narcissism gone awry, especially when it’s followed up with a more colloquial and lighter second set.

Wainwright’s setlist repeated only three songs from his tour in 2007, making Friday’s concert an entirely different experience than the one captured on last year’s DVD release, “Milwaukee At Last.”   If the song selection wasn’t enough to breathe new life into his performance, the lack of a seven piece band practically guaranteed it.  Rather than attempting to reproduce note for note the elaborate productions of previous albums, Rufus’s only accompaniment was his piano and on a few well-chosen selections, his sister (and opening act) Martha’s vocals.

If there’s a more technically proficient piano player today in pop music, I haven’t heard it.  Fresh off the heels of his 2009 opera, “Prima Donna,” Rufus’s piano playing continues to astound.  He takes what artists like Elton John and Billy Joel started in the 70s and extends the boundaries of pop piano far closer to Chopin than to Jerry Lee Lewis.  Some of the playing bordered on absurd, as Rufus struggled to maintain his singing voice while balancing the ivory tightrope on the latter half of “The Dream,” both of his hands mounting their respective edges of the keyboard simultaneously.

Adorned in black with a 17-foot train during the first set, and an orange suit in the second, both Rufus and the audience made up for the concert’s quiet first-half by celebrating a more light-hearted second half, as Rufus offered self-effacing jokes and stories about his mother and departed musician Jeff Buckley, for whom the song "Memphis Skyline" was written.

Two albums that were entirely ignored on his last tour finally got their due, as Wainwright plucked gems from his self-titled debut and “Poses,” as well as five songs from his oft-overlooked collection “Want Two.”  Added to the repertoire were two French songs performed with his sister, Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” and his mother’s “Walking Song.” 

Rufus has already stated that his next album will have to be a pop record, and I’ll be curious to see if he can reign in his obvious talents a bit and create a true pop masterpiece, or if he'll continue to challenge his fans in ways that are sometimes exhausting.  Either way, I’ll be listening.

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.