What Makes Flea Such an Amazing Bass Player? A Video Essay Breaks Down His Style

When punk rock began to wend its way out of the three-chord gui­tar attack and into a new gen­er­a­tion of man­ner­isms, it tend­ed to be bass play­ers who led the way. Joy Division’s Peter Hook, Pub­lic Image Ltd’s Jah Wob­ble, The Cure’s Simon Gallup, Bauhaus’s David J. With their moody takes on dub reg­gae, chord-dri­ven melod­i­cism, and lead lines on the upper frets, these were inno­v­a­tive play­ers, but they still embraced the rel­a­tive sim­plic­i­ty of punk at their core. Across the pond, then across the con­ti­nent, how­ev­er, in South­ern Cal­i­for­nia, punk bass took a much more ani­mat­ed, vir­tu­osic char­ac­ter, thanks to jazz and funk-inspired leg­ends like Min­ute­men’s Mike Watt and the Red Hot Chili Pep­pers’ Flea, who has become, since his ear­ly 80s begin­nings one of the most famous rock musi­cians in the world for his speed and unpar­al­leled tech­nique.

The shirt­less won­der, who comes across both onstage and off as incred­i­bly gre­gar­i­ous, yet hum­ble, was once vot­ed by Rolling Stone read­ers as the sec­ond best bassist of all time, and it’s not hard to see why, for exam­ple, in the mind-blow­ing video just above. But it is hard to see how. How does he do it? And what exact­ly is “it,” that incom­pa­ra­ble Flea style? Where did it come from?

The Poly­phon­ic video at the top breaks it down for us, the com­bi­na­tion of funk slap­ping and pop­ping and punk speed and aggres­sion, com­bined with a melod­i­cism Flea devel­oped as a coun­ter­point to John Frusciante’s rhyth­mic gui­tar lines. Flea’s incred­i­bly detailed attacks stand out for their nov­el­ty and pre­ci­sion, but it’s his ear for melody that makes his play­ing so dis­tinc­tive­ly musi­cal, even when pared down and slowed down in RHCP’s bal­lads.

Some bassists weave lines around gui­tars and vocals, some most­ly syn­chro­nize with the drummer’s kicks and hits—Flea does both, shift­ing from style to style with­in songs, and some­times sound­ing like he’s play­ing two bass­es at once. His syn­co­pat­ed slap bass hits, cour­tesy of Sly Stone’s Lar­ry Gra­ham, cre­ate a sec­ondary back­beat slight­ly ahead or behind Chad Smith’s drum­ming; his use of strummed chords, wild leaps around the neck, and beau­ti­ful­ly melod­ic voic­ing make his bass play­ing an essen­tial ele­ment of every song, rather than a just a low-end har­mon­ic under­pin­ning for more notice­able instru­men­ta­tion. Funk music has always been bass-dri­ven, and the Chili Pep­pers’ funki­est tracks, and most excel­lent cov­ers, fol­low the tra­di­tion. But in rock the bass can feel “like an after­thought.”

In Flea’s more than capa­ble hands, a sim­ple rock bass riff, as in “Snow,” just above, can sud­den­ly become a thing of won­der (check it out at 1:51), even on its own and unac­com­pa­nied. Per­haps no bassist since Paul McCart­ney or John Paul Jones has done as much to turn rock bass into a lead instru­ment or has writ­ten as many mem­o­rable bass lines, only Flea can play them ten times faster while leap­ing sev­er­al feet in the air. His “astound­ing instru­men­tal­ism” has always been amaz­ing to behold, and not easy to imi­tate, to say the least. But why try? Bass play­ers can learn a lot from watch­ing Flea and incor­po­rat­ing his expres­sive tech­niques into their reper­toire. But even Flea him­self, per­haps the most rec­og­niz­able bass play­er in rock, under­stands the instru­ment first and fore­most as a sup­port­ing play­er. His best advice? Play in the “spir­it of giv­ing­ness,” as he says in his video les­son below, and lis­ten to the sub­tleties of the oth­er musi­cians’ play­ing. “You want to make every­one else sound good.” Hey, if it’s good enough for Flea.…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Genius of Paul McCartney’s Bass Play­ing in 7 Iso­lat­ed Tracks

What Makes John Bon­ham Such a Good Drum­mer? A New Video Essay Breaks Down His Inim­itable Style

The Neu­ro­science of Bass: New Study Explains Why Bass Instru­ments Are Fun­da­men­tal to Music

Watch the Evo­lu­tion of Ringo Starr, Dave Grohl, Tré Cool & 19 Oth­er Drum­mers in Short 5‑Minute Videos

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

H.P. Lovecraft’s Poem “Nemesis” Gets Unexpectedly Sung to the Tune of Billy Joel’s “Piano Man”

“The inter­net made me do it,” says musi­cian Julian Velard. For what­ev­er rea­son, it made him take H.P Love­craft’s 1917 poem “Neme­sis” and mash it up with Bil­ly Joel’s “Piano Man.” Find the orig­i­nal poem below. But know Velard “had to cut a cou­ple lines to get it to fit.” Enjoy.

Thro’ the ghoul-guard­ed gate­ways of slum­ber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,
I have liv’d o’er my lives with­out num­ber,
I have sound­ed all things with my sight;
And I strug­gle and shriek ere the day­break, being dri­ven to mad­ness with fright.

I have whirl’d with the earth at the dawn­ing,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark uni­verse yawn­ing,
Where the black plan­ets roll with­out aim;
Where they roll in their hor­ror unheed­ed, with­out knowl­edge or lus­tre or name.

I had drift­ed o’er seas with­out end­ing,
Under sin­is­ter grey-cloud­ed skies
That the many-fork’d light­ning is rend­ing,
That resound with hys­ter­i­cal cries;
With the moans of invis­i­ble dae­mons that out of the green waters rise.

I have plung’d like a deer thro’ the arch­es
Of the hoary pri­mor­dial grove,
Where the oaks feel the pres­ence that march­es
And stalks on where no spir­it dares rove;
And I flee from a thing that sur­rounds me, and leers thro’ dead branch­es above.

I have stum­bled by cave-rid­den moun­tains
That rise bar­ren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid foun­tains
That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things I care not to gaze on again.

I have scann’d the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenant­ed hall,
Where the moon writhing up from the val­leys
Shews the tapes­tried things on the wall;
Strange fig­ures dis­cor­dant­ly woven, which I can­not endure to recall.

I have peer’d from the case­ment in won­der
At the moul­der­ing mead­ows around,
At the many-roof’d vil­lage laid under
The curse of a grave-gir­dled ground;
And from rows of white urn-car­ven mar­ble I lis­ten intent­ly for sound.

I have haunt­ed the tombs of the ages,
I have flown on the pin­ions of fear
Where the smoke-belch­ing Ere­bus rages,
Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert con­sumes what it nev­er can cheer.

I was old when the Pharaohs first mount­ed
The jewel-deck’d throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncount­ed
When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untaint­ed and hap­py, dwelt in bliss on the far Arc­tic isle.

Oh, great was the sin of my spir­it,
And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heav­en can cheer it,
Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infi­nite aeons come beat­ing the wings of unmer­ci­ful gloom.

Thro’ the ghoul-guard­ed gate­ways of slum­ber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,
I have liv’d o’er my lives with­out num­ber,
I have sound­ed all things with my sight;
And I strug­gle and shriek ere the day­break, being dri­ven to mad­ness with fright.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 14 Hours of Weird H.P. Love­craft Sto­ries on Hal­loween: “The Call of Cthul­hu,” “The Dun­wich Hor­ror” & More

23 Hours of H.P. Love­craft Sto­ries: Hear Read­ings & Drama­ti­za­tions of “The Call of Cthul­hu,” “The Shad­ow Over Inns­mouth,” & Oth­er Weird Tales

Hear Drama­ti­za­tions of H.P. Lovecraft’s Sto­ries On His Birth­day: “The Call of Cthul­hu,” “The Dun­wich Hor­ror,” & More

H.P. Lovecraft’s Mon­ster Draw­ings: Cthul­hu & Oth­er Crea­tures from the “Bound­less and Hideous Unknown”

H.P. Love­craft Gives Five Tips for Writ­ing a Hor­ror Sto­ry, or Any Piece of “Weird Fic­tion”

Love­craft: Fear of the Unknown (Free Doc­u­men­tary)

Hear Ursula K. Le Guin’s Space Rock Opera Rigel 9: A Rare Recording from 1985

In her remem­brance of recent­ly depart­ed sci-fi great Ursu­la K. Le Guin, Mar­garet Atwood describes “an absurd vision” she drew from Le Guin’s fan­ta­sy nov­el A Wiz­ard of Earth­sea: “There was Ursu­la, mov­ing calm­ly down a hill of whis­per­ing sand under the unchang­ing stars; and there was me, dis­traught and run­ning after her and call­ing ‘No! Come Back! We need you here and now!’” Atwood longs for Le Guin’s respons­es to the crises of the present, the old hier­ar­chies of pow­er and priv­i­lege reassert­ing their cru­el dom­i­nance over men, women, chil­dren, and an already over­bur­dened envi­ron­ment.

The prob­lem of pow­er and its abus­es is one Le Guin returned to over and over in her work. “As an anar­chist,” writes Atwood,” she would have want­ed a self-gov­ern­ing soci­ety, with gen­der and racial equal­i­ty.” As a keen anthro­po­log­i­cal observ­er of human behav­ior, she saw how and why tech­no­log­i­cal­ly-advanced, yet psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly reac­tionary soci­eties stray from these ideals, desta­bi­liz­ing the eco­log­i­cal bal­ance they depend on to sur­vive and thrive. Le Guin fought back in her way. She was a pro­lif­ic builder of poet­ic new worlds. Through them, we will always have her wis­dom, and in a few rare instances, we have her music.

No, Le Guin didn’t com­pose, but she did write libret­tos for three dif­fer­ent col­lab­o­ra­tive projects. Above, we have her “most note­wor­thy melod­ic under­tak­ing,” accord­ing to Locus magazine’s Jeff Berk­wits, Rigel 9, a space opera with music by avant-garde com­pos­er David Bed­ford, record­ed and released in 1985. (It’s also stream­able on Spo­ti­fy. Lis­ten below or here.) Rigel 9 “tells a pret­ty clas­sic space sto­ry,” Cara Giaimo  writes at Atlas Obscu­ra. “Three astro­nauts, named Anders, Kap­per, and Lee, are sent to explore a strange world. After Anders goes off to col­lect plant sam­ples and is kid­napped by extrater­res­tri­als, Kap­per and Lee argue over whether to res­cue him or save them­selves.”

Amidst this dra­ma of tiny red aliens, a dou­ble sun, air that smells of cin­na­mon and yel­low and orange trees, we learn a few unset­tling facts about what has hap­pened back on Earth. “The Earth has no more forests,” sings Anders, “no wilder­ness, no still places.” Evok­ing a Sartre­an hor­ror on a plan­e­tary scale, he gives us an image of “only human faces, only human voic­es…. The Earth has no more silence.” The resources we need to replen­ish not only air and water, but also weary minds have dis­ap­peared. These rev­e­la­tions set up Anders’ seduc­tion by the lush­ness and qui­et of Rigel 9, and the gor­geous sopra­no voic­es of its inhab­i­tants.

Bedford’s music is trans­port­ing, with “Bowie-esque synth sweeps” and sax­o­phones, thrilling choral move­ments, and a pound­ing rhythm sec­tion that puts one in mind of Queen. Scot­tish New Wave duo Straw­ber­ry Switch­blade make an appear­ance, as the lead voic­es of an alien funer­al pro­ces­sion (top). The dia­logue and spo­ken per­for­mances can be a bit corny, but the space rock opera has nev­er been suit­ed for sub­tle­ty, and Le Guin and Bed­ford pur­pose­ful­ly cre­at­ed the dra­ma as a radio play of sorts. “We had talked about the com­po­si­tion as ‘opera for ear,” she explained, “That is, a ‘radio opera… We liked the idea of being able to imag­ine the scenery, and then putting that scenery into the words and the music.”

That same year, Le Guin released anoth­er musi­cal effort, team­ing with musi­cian Todd Bar­ton for a cas­sette-only pro­duc­tion called Music and Poet­ry of Kesh, released togeth­er with her nov­el Always Com­ing Home. And ten years lat­er, she worked with clas­si­cal com­pos­er Eli­nor Armer on Uses of Music in Utter­most Parts. This eight-move­ment work fea­tures Le Guin her­self, nar­rat­ing a text about “a fan­tas­ti­cal realm,” Berk­wits writes, “the Utter­most Arch­i­pel­ago in the fifth quar­ter of Island Earth—where sound lit­er­al­ly sus­tains life.” Just above, hear one move­ment, “The Sea­sons of Oling,” a fur­ther reminder that Le Guin, who nev­er shrank from the vio­lence of our world, could always imag­ine enthralling alter­na­tives.

via Atlas Obscu­ra

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cel­e­brate the Life & Writ­ing of Ursu­la K. Le Guin (R.I.P.) with Clas­sic Radio Drama­ti­za­tions of Her Sto­ries

Ursu­la Le Guin Gives Insight­ful Writ­ing Advice in Her Free Online Work­shop

Ursu­la K. Le Guin Names the Books She Likes and Wants You to Read

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Watch Animated Scores to Music by Radiohead, Talking Heads, LCD Soundsystem, Photek & Other Electronic/Post-Punk/Avant-Garde Musicians

A few weeks ago, we told you about Stephen Mali­nows­ki and the Music Ani­ma­tion Machine, a pop­u­lar and pret­ty expan­sive YouTube chan­nel that fea­tures scrolling, col­or-coor­di­nat­ed ani­mat­ed “scores” for clas­si­cal works from Debussy to Bach and Stravin­sky.

But what if there was a ver­sion of this, some­where some­how, for elec­tron­ic music?

Ask the ques­tion of the Inter­net, dear read­er, and the gods will pro­vide. For just over a year motion graph­ics design­er Johannes Lam­pert has been work­ing in a sim­i­lar style to inter­pret the work of elec­tron­ic, post-punk, and mod­ern com­posers like Steve Reich and Arvo Pärt in which every sound is rep­re­sent­ed by a dif­fer­ent ani­mat­ed sym­bol.

In the above video, Lam­pert takes on Talk­ing Heads’ mul­ti­lay­ered, Fela Kuti-inspired “The Great Curve” from Remain in Light. The video gives us jagged lines for Tina Weymouth’s bass, a steady bor­der of dots for Chris Frantz’ propul­sive drum tracks, and sev­er­al gaps into which the three vocal lines of the song—David Byrne’s lead, and Nona Hendryx and the band’s mul­ti­tracked call-and-response back­ing vocals—drop and pulse. Add to that an unbro­ken jagged line that repli­cates Adri­an Belew’s sear­ing and soar­ing solo.

Cur­rent­ly there are 12 tracks avail­able on Anato­my of a Track’s Youtube chan­nel, with a post­ing record that sug­gests Johannes Lam­pert is work­ing on one every two months.

Lam­pert exper­i­ments with the lay­out and graph­ics of his ani­ma­tions, mak­ing their design com­ple­ment the music. Hence “The Great Curve” look­ing like African tex­tiles, Gil-Scott Heron’s “New York Is Killing Me” aping the New York Sub­way map, and Photek’s “The Rain” as a pud­dle filled with puls­ing rain­drops.

Maybe the most com­plex video so far is for Radiohead’s “Bloom,” which is just as chaot­ic as the band’s tum­bling drum machine. But it does uncov­er how steady the bass is in this track while all around the oth­er instru­ments are shim­mer­ing and ethe­re­al. And for just a good time, Justice’s “Phan­tom” is turned into a dynam­ic light show that looks like a night dri­ve down a Japan­ese express­way.

I would put it to you that mod­ern elec­tron­ic artists think about their music much like these ani­ma­tions. I mean, what are music edit­ing pro­grams like Pro­Tools or Log­ic Pro but hor­i­zon­tal scrolls of dots and sound waves?

No doubt Lam­pert has more tricks up his sleeve and more tracks to ani­mate. Stay tuned.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Clas­si­cal Music Come to Life in Art­ful­ly Ani­mat­ed Scores: Stravin­sky, Debussy, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart & More

Opti­cal Poems by Oskar Fischinger, the Avant-Garde Ani­ma­tor Hat­ed by Hitler, Dissed by Dis­ney

Watch Clas­si­cal Music Get Per­fect­ly Visu­al­ized as an Emo­tion­al Roller Coast­er Ride

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Artificial Intelligence Writes a Piece in the Style of Bach: Can You Tell the Difference Between JS Bach and AI Bach?

This week, the arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence com­mu­ni­ty Bot­nik pub­lished a 2018 Coachel­la Line­up poster com­posed entire­ly of per­former names gen­er­at­ed by neur­al net­works. It does get one won­der­ing what the music of “Lil Hack,” “House of the Gavins,” or “Paper Cop” might sound like — or, giv­en the direc­tion of tech­nol­o­gy these days, how long it will take before anoth­er neur­al net­work can actu­al­ly com­pose it. But why use AI to cre­ate yet anoth­er mil­len­ni­al-mind­ed Coachel­la act, you might ask, when it could cre­ate anoth­er Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach?

“One form of music that Bach excelled in was a type of poly­phon­ic hymn known as a chorale can­ta­ta,” says the MIT Tech­nol­o­gy Review. “The com­pos­er starts with a well-known tune which is sung by the sopra­no and then com­pos­es three har­monies sung by the alto, tenor, and bass voic­es.” Such com­po­si­tions “have attract­ed com­put­er sci­en­tists because the process of pro­duc­ing them is step-like and algo­rith­mic. But doing this well is also hard because of the del­i­cate inter­play between har­mo­ny and melody.” Hence the fas­ci­na­tion of the ques­tion of whether a com­put­er could ever com­pose a tru­ly Bach-like chorale.

The video at the top of the post offers a lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ence that points toward an answer. The minute-long piece you hear, and whose score you see, comes not from Bach him­self, nor from any human Bach imi­ta­tor, but from a neur­al net­work called Deep­Bach, a sys­tem devel­oped by Gae­tan Had­jeres and Fran­cois Pachet at the Sony Com­put­er Sci­ence Lab­o­ra­to­ries in Paris.

Like any such deep learn­ing sys­tem, the more exist­ing mate­r­i­al it has to “learn” from, the more con­vinc­ing a prod­uct it can pro­duce on its own: just as Bot­nik’s net­work could learn from all the band names fea­tured on Coachel­la posters since 1999, Deep­Bach could learn from the more than 300 short chorale com­po­si­tions the real Bach wrote in his life­time.

“About half the time,” says the MIT Tech­nol­o­gy Review, “these com­po­si­tions fool human experts into think­ing they were actu­al­ly writ­ten by Bach.” But of course, this sort of arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence has a greater and more diverse poten­tial than trick­ing its lis­ten­ers, as oth­er exper­i­ments at Sony CSL-Paris sug­gest: the AI-com­posed “Bea­t­les” song “Dad­dy’s Car,” for instance, or the “Flow Machine” that re-inter­prets Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” in the style of the Bea­t­les, Take 6, and even elec­tron­ic lounge music. But we won’t know the tech­nol­o­gy has matured until the day we find our­selves book­ing tick­ets for arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence-com­posed music fes­ti­vals.

via  MIT Tech­nol­o­gy Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Pro­gram Tries to Write a Bea­t­les Song: Lis­ten to “Daddy’s Car”

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Cre­ativ­i­ty Machine Learns to Play Beethoven in the Style of The Bea­t­les’ “Pen­ny Lane”

Hear What Music Sounds Like When It’s Cre­at­ed by Syn­the­siz­ers Made with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

Google Launch­es Free Course on Deep Learn­ing: The Sci­ence of Teach­ing Com­put­ers How to Teach Them­selves

Neur­al Net­works for Machine Learn­ing: A Free Online Course

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A YouTube Channel Completely Devoted to Medieval Sacred Music: Hear Gregorian Chant, Byzantine Chant & More

The artists of medieval Europe, at least accord­ing to the impres­sion we get in his­to­ry class, gave far less con­sid­er­a­tion to the world around them than the world above. His­to­ri­ans argue about how much that gen­er­al atti­tude hin­dered the improve­ment of the human lot dur­ing those ten cen­turies or so, but even we denizens of the 21st cen­tu­ry can feel that the imag­i­na­tions of the Mid­dle Ages did tap into some­thing res­o­nant — and in the domain of music quite lit­er­al­ly res­o­nant, since the sacred songs of that time still cre­ate a prop­er­ly oth­er­world­ly son­ic atmos­phere when they echo through cathe­drals.

If you don’t hap­pen to live near a cathe­dral, you can expe­ri­ence some­thing of that atmos­phere through your head­phones any­where you hap­pen to be with Cal­lix­tus, a chan­nel on the not nor­mal­ly sacred space of Youtube. “Per­haps named in hon­or of either Pope Cal­lis­tus or Xan­oth­opou­los Cal­lis­tus, Patri­arch of Con­stan­tino­ple,” writes Catholic web site Aleteia’s Daniel Esparza, it offers “an impres­sive col­lec­tion of sacred music, most­ly medieval, includ­ing choral works belong­ing to both West­ern Chris­tian­i­ty and the East­ern tra­di­tion.”

Cal­lix­tus’ playlist includes such endur­ing “hits” of these tra­di­tions as the Gre­go­ri­an chant “Invi­ta­to­ri­um: Deum Verum,” the Byzan­tine chant “Δεύτε λαοί” (“Come Ye Peo­ples”), and the mul­ti-part Medieval Chant of the Tem­plars.

How did this still-haunt­ing style of music come about? Accord­ing to for­mer Talk­ing Heads front­man David Byrne, who laid out these ideas in a pop­u­lar TED Talk, it evolved along­side the hous­es of wor­ship them­selves, the archi­tec­ture shap­ing the music and the music shap­ing the archi­tec­ture: “In a goth­ic cathe­dral, this kind of music is per­fect,” says Byrne. “It does­n’t change key, the notes are long, there’s almost no rhythm what­so­ev­er, and the room flat­ters the music. It actu­al­ly improves it.” So famil­iar­ize your­self with all this sacred music through Cal­lix­tus, but as soon as you get the chance, hie thee to a goth­ic cathe­dral: no mat­ter your reli­gious sen­si­bil­i­ties, it will cer­tain­ly enrich your aes­thet­ic ones.

via Aleteia and @dark_shark

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Byrne: How Archi­tec­ture Helped Music Evolve

The His­to­ry of Clas­si­cal Music in 1200 Tracks: From Gre­go­ri­an Chant to Górec­ki (100 Hours of Audio)

Hear What Homer’s Odyssey Sound­ed Like When Sung in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

Lis­ten to the Old­est Song in the World: A Sumer­ian Hymn Writ­ten 3,400 Years Ago

Hear the Hagia Sophia’s Awe-Inspir­ing Acoustics Get Recre­at­ed with Com­put­er Sim­u­la­tions, and Let Your­self Get Trans­port­ed Back to the Mid­dle Ages

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Western Music Moves in Three and Even Four (!) Dimensional Spaces: How the Pioneering Research of Princeton Theorist Dmitri Tymoczko Helps Us Visualize Music in Radical, New Ways

Every musi­cian has some basic sense of how math and music relate con­cep­tu­al­ly through geom­e­try, in the cir­cu­lar and tri­adic shapes formed by clus­ters of notes when grouped togeth­er in chords and scales. The con­nec­tions date back to the work of Pythago­ras, and com­posers who explore and exploit those con­nec­tions hap­pen upon pro­found, some­times mys­ti­cal, insights. For exam­ple, the two-dimen­sion­al geom­e­try of music finds near-reli­gious expres­sion in the com­po­si­tion­al strate­gies of John Coltrane, who left behind dia­grams of his chro­mat­ic mod­u­la­tion that the­o­rists still puz­zle over and find inspir­ing. It will be inter­est­ing to see what imag­i­na­tive com­posers do with a the­o­ry that extends the geom­e­try of music into three—and even four (!)—dimen­sions.

Pio­neer­ing Prince­ton Uni­ver­si­ty music the­o­rist and com­pos­er Dmitri Tymoczko has made dis­cov­er­ies that allow us to visu­al­ize music in entire­ly new ways. He began with the insight that two-note chords on the piano could form a Möbius strip, as Prince­ton Alum­ni Week­ly report­ed in 2011, a two-dimen­sion­al sur­face extend­ed into three-dimen­sion­al space. (See one such Möbius strip dia­gram above.) “Music is not just some­thing that can be heard, he real­ized. It has a shape.”

He soon saw that he could trans­form more com­plex chords the same way. Three-note chords occu­py a twist­ed three-dimen­sion­al space, and four-note chords live in a cor­re­spond­ing but impos­si­ble-to-visu­al­ize four-dimen­sion­al space. In fact, it worked for any num­ber of notes — each chord inhab­it­ed a mul­ti­di­men­sion­al space that twist­ed back on itself in unusu­al ways — a non-Euclid­ean space that does not adhere to the clas­si­cal rules of geom­e­try. 

Tymoczko dis­cov­ered that musi­cal geom­e­try (as Coltrane—and Ein­stein—had ear­li­er intu­it­ed) has a close rela­tion­ship to physics, when a physi­cist friend told him the mul­ti­di­men­sion­al spaces he was explor­ing were called “orb­ifolds,” which had found some appli­ca­tion “in arcane areas of string the­o­ry.” These dis­cov­er­ies have “phys­i­cal­ized” music, pro­vid­ing a way to “con­vert melodies and har­monies into move­ments in high­er dimen­sion­al spaces.”

This work has caused “quite a buzz in Anglo-Amer­i­can music-the­o­ry cir­cles,” says Prince­ton music his­to­ri­an Scott Burn­ham. As Tymoczko puts it in his short report “The Geom­e­try of Musi­cal Chords,” the “orb­ifold” the­o­ry seems to answer a ques­tion that occu­pied music the­o­rists for cen­turies: “how is it that West­ern music can sat­is­fy har­mon­ic and con­tra­pun­tal con­straints at once?” On his web­site, he out­lines his the­o­ry of “macro­har­mon­ic con­sis­ten­cy,” the com­po­si­tion­al con­straints that make music sound “good.” He also intro­duces a soft­ware appli­ca­tion, Chord­Ge­ome­tries 1.1, that cre­ates com­plex visu­al­iza­tions of musi­cal “orb­ifolds” like that you see above of Chopin sup­pos­ed­ly mov­ing through four-dimen­sions.

The the­o­rist first pub­lished his work in a 2006 issue of Sci­ence, then fol­lowed up two years lat­er with a paper co-writ­ten with Clifton Cal­len­dar and Ian Quinn called “Gen­er­al­ized Voice-Lead­ing Spaces” (read a three-page sum­ma­ry here). Final­ly, he turned his work into a book, A Geom­e­try of Music: Har­mo­ny and Coun­ter­point in the Extend­ed Com­mon Prac­tice, which explores the geo­met­ric con­nec­tions between clas­si­cal and mod­ernist com­po­si­tion, jazz, and rock. Those con­nec­tions have nev­er been sole­ly con­cep­tu­al for Tymoczko. A long­time fan of Coltrane, as well as Talk­ing Heads, Bri­an Eno, and Stravin­sky, he has put his the­o­ry into prac­tice in a num­ber of strange­ly mov­ing com­po­si­tions of his own, such as The Agony of Mod­ern Music (hear move­ment one above) and Straw­ber­ry Field The­o­ry (move­ment one below). His com­po­si­tion­al work is as nov­el-sound­ing as his the­o­ret­i­cal work is bril­liant: his two Sci­ence pub­li­ca­tions were the first on music the­o­ry in the magazine’s 129-year his­to­ry. It’s well worth pay­ing close atten­tion to where his work, and that of those inspired by it, goes next.

via Prince­ton Alum­ni Week­ly/@dark_shark

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Coltrane Draws a Mys­te­ri­ous Dia­gram Illus­trat­ing the Math­e­mat­i­cal & Mys­ti­cal Qual­i­ties of Music

The Musi­cal Mind of Albert Ein­stein: Great Physi­cist, Ama­teur Vio­lin­ist and Devo­tee of Mozart

The Secret Link Between Jazz and Physics: How Ein­stein & Coltrane Shared Impro­vi­sa­tion and Intu­ition in Com­mon

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Hear Dolores O’Riordan’s Beautifully-Pained Vocals in the Unplugged Version of The Cranberries’ 1994 Hit “Zombie”

Yes­ter­day, amidst the many trib­utes and inevitable dis­sention over the lega­cy of Mar­tin Luther King, Jr., a sad piece of news seemed to get buried: the death of Cran­ber­ries singer Dolores O’Riordan, at the far-too-young age of 46. The Irish vocal­ist not only “defined the sound of The Cran­ber­ries,” as her NPR obit­u­ary notes, she defined the sound of the 90s. Any­one who remem­bers the decade remem­bers spend­ing a sub­stan­tial part of it with Cran­ber­ries’ hits “Linger,” “Dreams,” and “Zom­bie” loop­ing in their heads.

Just 18 when she audi­tioned for them in 1989, O’Riordan took the band from what might have been rather for­mu­la­ic mopey, jan­g­ly dream­pop and gave it “a smoky hue in full cry” as well as “a sweet, del­i­cate tone that evoked cen­turies of Gael­ic folk tra­di­tion.”

Like anoth­er recent, trag­ic loss from the Gen X heyday—Soundgarden singer Chris Cornell—she ful­ly embod­ied pas­sion­ate inten­si­ty with a voice that was an arrest­ing force. Whether you were a fan or not, you sim­ply had to pay atten­tion.

Lis­ten, for exam­ple, to the band’s 1994 protest song “Zom­bie,” which memo­ri­al­izes two boys killed the pre­vi­ous year in an IRA bomb­ing. It’s a track that “sounds wild­ly anom­alous,” writes Rob Harvil­la at The Ringer, “giv­en the oth­er songs that made her famous.” While the “plod­ding rum­ble” and “crush­ing dis­tor­tion” evoke any num­ber of angsty qui­et-loud anthems of the time, O’Riordan’s “was the last voice you expect­ed to hear howl­ing over it.” The con­trast is haunt­ing, yet the song works just as well with­out fuzzed-out gui­tars and thun­der­ous drums, as in the orches­tral MTV Unplugged ver­sion above.

The “Zom­bie” video offers a clas­sic col­lec­tion of 90s styl­is­tic quirks, from Derek Jar­man-inspired set­pieces to the use of black and white and earnest polit­i­cal mes­sag­ing. For us old folks, it’s an almost pure hit of nos­tal­gia, and for the young, a near­ly per­fect spec­i­men of the decade’s rock aes­thet­ics, which includ­ed a refresh­ing num­ber of famous female solo artists and front­women just as like­ly as the men to dom­i­nate rock radio and tele­vi­sion. Indeed, it seems like the 90s may have pro­duced more promi­nent female-front­ed bands than any oth­er decade before or since. Or maybe I just remem­ber it that way. In any case, cen­tral to that mem­o­ry is Dolores O’Riordan’s “sta­di­um-size hit about dead­ly vio­lence in North­ern Ire­land,” and its beau­ti­ful­ly pained laments and point­ed­ly unsub­tle yelps and wails—a stun­ning expres­sion of mourn­ing that rever­ber­ates still some 25 years lat­er as we mourn its singer’s untime­ly pass­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Soundgarden’s Chris Cor­nell Sings Haunt­ing Acoustic Cov­ers of Prince’s “Noth­ing Com­pares 2 U,” Michael Jackson’s “Bil­lie Jean” & Bob Marley’s “Redemp­tion Song”

Prince (RIP) Per­forms Ear­ly Hits in a 1982 Con­cert: “Con­tro­ver­sy,” “I Wan­na Be Your Lover” & More

David Bowie: The Last Five Years Is Now Airing/Streaming on HBO

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast