Keelan's MUS116 Blog

I chose to practice repeated listening with Summertime, written by George Gershwin and performed by Lena Horne. I listened for about 45 minutes straight, and the whole experience was much more interesting than I anticipated. As soon as even the second listen, the overall tone of the piece appeared to transition from grandiose to more intimate and melancholic. Horne’s singing stood out nearly immediately, as she often pronounced words in ways I didn’t expect. But as time passed, I became accustomed to it, and instead all that stood out in her voice were the long full notes she held at the end of each phrase. As time passed, I began to notice small moments, such as when the band went from a swing feel to straight eighths to perform a horn lick, and then back to swing. With each repetition of the song, the intro served as a signifier as another turn around the carousel, each time I heard it I thought “well I’m about to go a lever deeper,” but at some point, maybe half an hour into the experiment, this seemed to wear off, my subconscious appeared to completely accept it’s new reality of only hearing this song for the indeterminate future, and who can blame it, it’s a pretty good song.

The beauty of a song such as Summertime is that there is simply too much going on in the mix to fully appreciate each element on first listen, same goes for a large majority of modern music. This shouldn’t overwhelm the listener, but instead excite them, as the complexity and layered instrumentation gives the song more replay value. There’s not much like the feeling of noticing a tiny detail in a song after hearing it countless times, I recently felt that while listening to Roses by jazz-hip-hop group Manwolves. The outro of the song is structured around a wonky horn lick that feels completely disconnected from the rest of the song, but if you’re listening closely, you can hear a lone trumpet playing the same lick earlier in the verses. Tiny details like this really show that the artist really cares about the music they’re making, and as a listener and fan, that means a lot. What repeated listening reveals most to the listener is how much of the music is left at the surface to be noticed by everybody, and what tiny details the artist sneaks in to make the music any little bit better.

I believe as time passes, the perceived importance of 18th Century German music theory will gradually decline. Although it is a useful way of viewing western classical music, it bears little to no relevance to so many other genres, and to put Western Classical music on a pedestal above the rest is morally and ethically wrong. Because of this, I feel that many schools will instead make any Classical theory courses an elective, or let Music Majors choose between a selection of music theory courses that focus on different teachings from around the world. Or instead, maybe more realistically, we could see schools keeping the Western Classical theory courses as the standard, and gradually change the curriculum to include more international theory and techniques, until we are left with one big melting pot of the world’s music theory in one class.

I feel that although this second possibility is more likely to happen, it would be very difficult to execute to the point that Western Classical is no longer the foundation of the course that is simply seasoned with tangents on music of other cultures, and that’s why I feel that the separate courses of equal value approach is more effective. I also believe it’s very important to educate students learning about figures like Heinrich Schenker of their beliefs and how they structured their studies to the tune of white supremacy. An overall effort to make the historical and political climates clear in the teaching of different movements in music history can only help students gain a stronger understanding of the music itself, and of how important it is to not focus solely on the works of old white men in 18th Century Germany.

I hope to see a day soon where it becomes a common understanding that white men didn’t invent great music. Nearly every musical genre on the planet has been greatly influenced by women and people of color, we wouldn’t have jazz without the wild innovation of black musicians in Louisiana in the early 20th century, and jazz surely wouldn’t be where it is today without the help of greats such as Miles and Coltrane. Rock and Roll might have never existed without the extremely talented Sister Rosetta Tharpe. We’ve seen this happen countless times, I can’t imagine a world without Soul, Funk, Hip-hop, or EDM, all impossible without the help of BIPOC artists. The mere suggestion that any of these genres mustn’t be studied until you have an understanding of classical music is as laughable as it is racist, and we are due for a drastic change in how we teach music.

When musicians include moments of participatory discrepancy in to their performance, a unique sensation is given to the listener. In OOIOO’s POLACCA, we see this on many levels. At the beginning of the piece, a slight disconnect from the vocals and the instrumentals can be heard, bringing a subtle human-like quality to the piece. As listeners we notice slight imperfections as this, but it doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb, our brains can do a good job of imagining how the music would sound in sync. As the song progresses, we see participatory discrepancy at more extreme heights. By the end, it feels as if each instrument is playing at a completely different tempo, no longer creating a feel of human imperfection, and instead creating a sort of sound ecosystem, as you feel each instrument begin to match the rhythm of another, only to fall out of sync again and become its own entity.

In Sly and The Family Stone’s Spaced Cowboy, the discrepancy is much more subtle, and is most noticably heard between the vocals and the band. Stone’s vocals often fall behind the beat, establishing a relaxed and carefree tone that is mirrored by the instrumentation.

In Agua que va a caer by Patato y Totoico, the use of rhythmic discrepancy is more symbolic. The drums are being played in constant sixteenth notes, but not in line with any other instrument, which to me feels like a reference to the song’s title, which is Spanish for “Water That is Going to Fall,” the drums appear to replicate a constant rain fall, more atmospheric in nature, while still managing to establish a very dynamic groove for the rest of the band to play in and out of.

Participatory discrepancy has been seen in such a variety of genres, and has been utilized in so many different ways, that it’s hard to even categorize it as a single concept. The one example of such a technique that has stuck with me for years is drummer and music legend Questlove’s story of how he had to train his brain to play “drunker” in order to fulfill D’Angelo’s vision on his 1999 record Voodoo.

Questlove had to practically forget everything he knew about keeping a steady tempo to make the instrumentation of Voodoo sound loose and organic, and along with the music of the late J Dilla, influenced a movement of un-quantized drumming that is still present in music today.

These are unprecedented times for everyone, and that is definitely no exception to musicians. Many musicians depend on live performances as a substantial portion of their income, and in a time where such a thing is a massive health hazard, the music industry had no choice but to get creative.

One of the most common responses to the live concert prohibition is a great increase in the popularity of livestreamed concerts. Musicians thankfully have a lot of options with this direction, some putting their livestream behind a paywall, similar to paying for tickets to a real concert, and others simply giving out free online concerts, and welcoming donations of any size from the viewers. Luckily, it’s only become easier to livestream over the years, and anyone from a band playing in a garage, to a local jazz club, (Hermann’s is doing a great job!) to huge music festivals such as Lollapalooza and Rolling Loud can make their show available to anyone from the comfort of their homes.

Although this method of performance often returns a much smaller profit than live concerts, there are many other ways musicians are turning a profit in 2020. One common way is through merchandise. Nearly every artist I listen to and is still working to this day has some form of a merch website, and services such as Shopify and Squarespace have made the process of creating an online store extremely easy, and although that sounds like I got paid to put a Squarespace ad into my prompt, it doesn’t make the statement any less true. The artist I believe has pushed the merchandise game to almost depressing heights is rapper Travis Scott, who in the last 3 months has dropped no less than half a dozen collections of branded clothing and accessories, partnering with companies such as Playstation and McDonalds to sell sponsored atrocities only possible through a painfully consumerist society, such as a $90, 3-foot-long chicken nugget body pillow, which unsurprisingly sold out very quickly if for nothing more than the novelty.

But this extreme example is besides the point, any musician with a knack for graphic design (or who knows someone that does) can easily put together a nice t-shirt design that their fans can connect to, and there are more than enough resources on the internet to help along the way.

On top of the difficulties a musician faces in the midst of a global pandemic, it already hasn’t been easy for many to make a living off of selling their music alone, due to the surge in popularity of streaming services in the last decade and their insultingly low rates they pay artists per stream. But luckily, not all streaming services are equally evil. The most popular of these services that actually seems to care about their artists is bandcamp, where users are encouraged to buy digital or physical copies of the artists music, and recently, due to the pandemic, have waived their revenue share on certain occasions to put 100% of the money going through the service into the pockets of artists and labels.

Another lesser known streaming service that is making a big difference is Resonate Co-operative, a service completely owned by the artists and listeners themselves. Resonate runs on a “Pay for what you play” system, where listeners are charged progressively more the more they listen to a song, and after nine plays of a particular song, they own that song, after paying about a dollar thirty. This way listeners are paying for the music they actually enjoy, and that money is going straight to the artists they love. It’s a bit of a complicated process, but Resonate claims that for the average listener, this ends up costing about the same as the average streaming service, but the artists get paid a whole lot more. The service is still in the early stages of development, but I expect big things. You can see more on how they operate at https://resonate.is/about/

These are unprecedented times for everyone, and that is definitely no exception to musicians. Many musicians depend on live performances as a substantial portion of their income, and in a time where such a thing is a massive health hazard, the music industry had no choice but to get creative. One of the most common responses to the live concert prohibition is a great increase in the popularity of livestreamed concerts. Musicians thankfully have a lot of options with this direction, some putting their livestream behind a paywall, similar to paying for tickets to a real concert, and others simply giving out free online concerts, and welcoming donations of any size from the viewers. Luckily, it’s only become easier to livestream over the years, and anyone from a band playing in a garage, to a local jazz club (Hermann’s is doing a great job!) to huge music festivals such as Lollapalooza and Rolling Loud can make their show available to anyone from the comfort of their homes. Although this method of performance often returns a much smaller profit than live concerts, there are many other ways musicians are turning a profit in 2020. One common way is through merch. Nearly every artist I listen to and is still working to this day has some form of a merch website, and services such as Shopify and Squarespace have made the process of creating an online store extremely easy. The artist I believe has pushed the merchandise game to almost depressing heights is rapper Travis Scott, who in the last 3 months has dropped no less than half a dozen collections of branded clothing and accessories, partnering with companies such as Playstation and McDonalds to sell sponsored atrocities only possible through a painfully consumerist society, such as a $90, 3-foot-long chicken nugget body pillow, which unsurprisingly sold out very quickly if for nothing more than the novelty. But this extreme example is besides the point, any musician with a knack for graphic design (or who knows someone that does) can easily put together a nice t-shirt design that their fans can connect to, and there are more than enough resources on the internet to help along the way.

What makes the term “Latin American Music” problematic is that it is commonly used as an umbrella term for the dozens of musical styles and dances originating anywhere from Mexico to Argentina. These styles differ greatly from one another, each with their own history and influences, so to group all of these under one genre, and to imply that they are all simply sub-genres or variations of one general feel, is wildly inaccurate.

Latin American Music is music that comes from any region in Latin America, that is, any region south of the United States. Latin Music is defined as any music made by the descendants of Latin Americans that reside in the United States, I feel that this distinction that Dr. Munarriz makes is slightly inaccurate, as I find it strange that these descendants of Latin Americans must be living in the United States to make Latin Music. I believe it would be more correct to say “made outside of Latin America,” but that is based on gut-feeling and I am clearly less of an expert on the subject than Dr. Munarriz.

Ostinatos is any musical patterns that are repeated throughout a piece. Ostinatos  often form the foundation of many Caribbean and Latin American musical expressions, as a rhythmical phrase such as the Habanera pattern or the “three-two” clave pattern is played underneath the entire composition.

Two Latin American Expressions that fit nicely in the Habanero pattern are the Portuguese “Mani tostao” and the Spanish “Cafe con pan.” The accented second syllables of both “mani” and “cafe” align with the musical accents of the Habanero pattern.

When musicians include moments of participatory discrepancy in to their performance, a unique sensation is given to the listener. In OOIOO’s POLACCA, we see this on many levels. At the beginning of the piece, a slight disconnect from the vocals and the instrumentals can be heard, bringing a subtle human-like quality to the piece. As listeners we notice slight imperfections as this, but it doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb, our brains can do a good job of imagining how the music would sound in sync. As the song progresses, we see participatory discrepancy at more extreme heights. By the end, it feels as if each instrument is playing at a completely different tempo, no longer creating a feel of human imperfection, and instead creating a sort of sound ecosystem, as you feel each instrument begin to match the rhythm of another, only to fall out of sync again and become its own entity. In Sly and The Family Stone’s Spaced Cowboy, the discrepancy is much more subtle, and is most noticably heard between the vocals and the band. Stone’s vocals often fall behind the beat, establishing a relaxed and carefree tone that is mirrored by the instrumentation. In Agua que va a caer by Patato y Totoico, the use of rhythmic discrepancy is more symbolic. The drums are being played in constant sixteenth notes, but not in line with any other instrument, which to me feels like a reference to the song’s title, which is Spanish for “Water That is Going to Fall,” the drums appear to replicate a constant rain fall, more atmospheric in nature, while still managing to establish a very dynamic groove for the rest of the band to play in and out of.

I believe as time passes, the perceived importance of 18th Century German music theory will gradually decline. Although it is a useful way of viewing western classical music, it bears little to no relevance to so many other genres, and to put Western Classical music on a pedestal above the rest is morally and ethically wrong. Because of this, I feel that many schools will instead make any Classical theory courses an elective, or let Music Majors choose between a selection of music theory courses that focus on different teachings from around the world. Or instead, maybe more realistically, we could see schools keeping the Western Classical theory courses as the standard, and gradually change the curriculum to include more international theory and techniques, until we are left with one big melting pot of the world’s music theory in one class. I feel that although this second possibility is more likely to happen, it would be very difficult to execute to the point that Western Classical is no longer the foundation of the course that is simply seasoned with tangents on music of other cultures, and that’s why I feel that the separate courses of equal value approach if more effective. I also believe it’s very important to educate students learning about figures like Heinrich Schenker of their beliefs and how they structured their studies to the tune of white supremacy. An overall effort to make the historical and political climates clear in the teaching of different movements in music history can only help students gain a stronger understanding of the music itself, and of how important it is to not focus solely on the works of old white men in 18th Century Germany. I hope to see a day soon where it becomes a common understanding that white men didn’t invent great music.

On September 18th, I attended The Ryan Oliver Quartet’s fourth annual Birthday Tribute to John Coltrane at Hermann’s Jazz Club through a livestream.  As the title of the concert suggests, the set list was made up of the works of the late jazz legend John Coltrane. Although the entire venue wasn’t displayed in the livestream, it was clear that Hermann’s Jazz club bore a friendly and welcoming feel, the perfect location for the celebration of a jazz icon. The members of the quartet appeared relaxed, charismatic, and overall happy to be there, and wore the standard dress pants and shirt combo associated with a jazz performance.

The quartet’s instrumentation is textbook Coltrane. The drums, played by John Lee, emanate confidence in each beat, cementing a steady swing while still remaining exciting and dynamic throughout each piece. The piano, played by Nick Peck, beautifully lays down the chordal foundation for the tenor sax to dance on, and at times taking the spotlight with impressive solos. The upright bass, played by Alex Coleman, in true jazz fashion, moseys along each chord, adding stability and warmth to the ensemble.  Finally, the star of the show, Ryan Oliver,  takes on the challenge of replicating Coltrane’s sax in stride, so confidently leading the quartet throughout a majority of the concert. The quartet never struggles to keep the show interesting, taking turns playing intricate solos that help drive each piece, and over all “spice up” the performance. One point that especially surprised me was the drum solo in their performance of Impressions, as what’s customary in drum solos of popular music is basically just to make as loud of a sound as possible, but John Lee uses silence to his advantage, and somehow manages to keep nearly the whole crowd engaged. In the recording of the concert, an audience member can be heard shouting a euphoric “YEAH!” out of the pure joy that drum solo gave him.

It’s clear to any Coltrane fan that this set list wasn’t chosen to be simply a performance of his greatest hits, but instead the songs that truly resonated with the players, and as a result, the love for the music shines through the performance. Songs like 26-2 are played with genuine intimacy while Body and Soul and Village Blues are performed with such a swagger and showmanship you’d expect to see from a world-class quartet. At most times my direction was held by Oliver’s tenor sax, but as solos were passed across the ensemble, Oliver would remove himself from the stage to give them their well deserved spotlights. As someone born into easily the most distracted generation, I couldn’t honestly tell you that my attention was held throughout the whole concert, but I feel that is also a consequence of not physically being at the venue. In the privacy of my bedroom, I didn’t feel as guilty checking my phone from time to time, but The Ryan Oliver Quartet did a great job at pulling my attention right back into the action with such a dynamic performance. If I were to graph my excitement throughout the performance, I think I started at a 75, rose up to an 85 a couple songs in, dipped to maybe a 60 as I started to build my expectations of what this quartet was capable of, and then shot to 100 when Ryan Oliver announced they’d wrap up the concert with the first two movements of A Love Supreme, because I absolutely love that record, and they really did it justice. The only ways I could imagine the concert being any better would be if I was actually there, listening to the performance through my headphone speakers can’t be nearly as good as hearing each instrument reverberate across the room. As for the set list, I definitely would have picked different pieces to be played, but that’s mostly because I’m a pretty basic Coltrane fan, and I’m glad that they chose deeper cuts instead of the more popular tunes.

I thoroughly enjoyed this performance as a whole. The Ryan Oliver Quartet are naturals at replicating the greatness that the works of John Coltrane embody, and as a result, they put on a wonderfully engaging show. I would say in terms of watching a live concert in the midst of a global pandemic, this was definitely a new experience, and I truly hope that if this annual tribute continues into next year, I’ll be able to go see it in person.

I chose to practice repeated listening with Summertime, written by George Gershwin and performed by Lena Horne. I listened for about 45 minutes straight, and the whole experience was much more interesting than I anticipated. As soon as even the second listen, the overall tone of the piece appeared to transition from grandiose to more intimate and melancholic. Horne’s singing stood out nearly immediately, as she often pronounced words in ways I didn’t expect. But as time passed, I became accustomed to it, and instead all that stood out in her voice were the long full notes she held at the end of each phrase. As time passed, I began to notice small moments, such as when the band went from a swing feel to straight eighths to perform a horn lick, and then back to swing. With each repetition of the song, the intro served as a signifier as another turn around the carousel, each time I heard it I thought “well I’m about to go a lever deeper,” but at some point, maybe half an hour into the experiment, this seemed to wear off, my subconscious appeared to completely accept it’s new reality of only hearing this song for the indeterminate future, and who can blame it, it’s a pretty good song.