Well-Hung (a short grammar lesson)

When I was young, I used the words dove and hung, as in, “I dove in the water,” and “I hung the picture on the wall.”

More and more lately, I’ve seen the words dived and hanged, especially in print, and I wondered if I’ve been saying it incorrectly all these years or if the words have gradually transformed due to common usage (will “irregardless” one day be considered a word?  Probably).

A little research in my handy dictionary (and on-line just to confirm) allowed me to learn the following:

With dive, both dived and dove are considered acceptable past tense verbs.  Dived is the earlier form, but the newer form of dove echoes words such as flung (past tense of fling) and drove (past tense of drive).  (thanks to our scuba diving brethren for this little insight – click here)

As for hang, hung is the proper past tense verb in every case except with executions, as in “He was hanged until he was dead.”  (click here)

Who knew?

Another interesting transformation: when I was young, it was pounded into our little brains again and again that we should say, for example, “Paul and I are going to the store,” not “Paul and me…”  This lesson appears to have been stressed so vehemently that now many people have gone to the other extreme, using “I” when “me” should be used, as in, “He went to the store with Paul and I.”  (It should be "me.")

And in the interest of marital harmony, it should be noted that correcting one’s wife about the aforementioned ill-use of “me” is ill-advised.

New Song, "Two For The Price Of One"

Here's a new tune you can download, Two For The Price Of One, written for my daughters' b'not mitzvah.  Enjoy!  And thanks to Anthony Calderisi for his lead guitar work.

Two For The Price Of One

There's a feeling, that you're on to something good

This bears repeating

You're on to something good

And as you get there, you can be assured

We've got your backside covered darlings

You are the priceless culmination

A linkage in a chain of generations

Two for the price of one, and look what you've become

Two for the price of one, the journey's just begun

There are moments when I can't believe my eyes

My mind is reeling

Do you ever get this feeling?

'Cuz I remember only yesterday

You twirled your summer dresses darlings

You are the sum of our ambitions

A journey from the past to new traditions

Two for the price of one, sometimes I'm overcome by

  Two for the price of one, something's just begun

What's In A Name? (album titles)

Album titles.   A their best, they can help evoke the mood of the music within or announce the band's attitude, be it humorous, agressive, self-indulgent or self-loathing.  At their worst, they simply copy the song title that’s most likely to get radio play (Genesis's Invisible Touch wins the "Most Shameful Album Title" award in my book).

Some album titles are legendary: Exile on Main Street, The Dark Side of the Moon, Blood on the Tracks, Physical Graffiti, OK Computer.  Others are forgettable, like the self-titled debuts of countless bands or the predictable Roman numeral titles that follow (the band Chicago wins the award for this category, their last album titled Chicago XXXII).  Some albums have numbers that have nothing to do with chronology: 90125, 5150.  Others have letters and numbers that represent words: OU812.  Some are lengthy and cumbersome: A Momentary Lapse of Reason, St. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Don’t Shoot Me – I’m Only the Piano Player.  Others are sparse and to the point: Valotte, Imagine, Fragile, Tommy, Graceland, Trust.  Some album titles help define a band’s attitude: Destroyer, Ballbreaker, Pyromania, Lovesexy.  Others are more elusive: In Through the Out Door, Panorama, Green, Skylarking.  Some are funny: Bricks Are Heavy, Got Any Gum?  Others are introspective: Blue, Even in the Quietest Moments…  Some album titles copy other artist's songs and books: Night and Day, Love and Hope and Sex and Dreams, Tales of Mystery and Imagination.  Others have songs that have inspired filmmakers and authors to do the same: Jumpin' Jack Flash, Sweet Caroline, Are You Experienced?

The worst album title I can recall is The Earth, a Small Man, His Dog and a Chicken by REO Speedwagon.  Even Kevin Cronin, the band’s lead singer, regretted this title years later, though that may have had more to do with the album’s poor sales.

As a kid, I was always enthralled with Journey’s album titles (and their accompanying artwork): Infinity, Evolution, Departure, though in hindsight the titles are incongruous with what was basically a solid pop band.  A better pairing of music and album titles is the band Yes.  If a fan was displeased after purchasing the album Tales from Topographic Oceans, a double album that contains only four songs, he couldn’t say he wasn’t forewarned.

But my vote for the greatest album title of all-time: The Ego Has Landed by Robbie Williams.  I've never listened to the album itself, but it hardly matters.  The title is brilliant, and I wish to hell I’d thought of it first.

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.