“Serious” Improvisation-Surfing the Third Stream

I’m writing a piece for string quartet and 3 percussionists. In this piece I want to have the players improvise in certain passages. This creates many challenges, not the least of which is how to notate improvisation. I’ve done this before in chamber music with some success using spatial and box notation, and mixing it up so no more than a few players are improvising at a time.

However, I don’t know who some of the players are, and I want to write a piece I can take to other ensembles, that’s approachable and player-friendly. I’m a bit nervous about what the players’ approach might be, probably unnecessarily though, because I’ve found that most modern players are well versed in many styles, having performed in jazz and rock settings, and having more than just classical music on their iPods.

I’m always curious how other composers might use improv in their work, and what success they’ve had in a jazz/classical hybrid, or what Gunther Schuller first termed Third Stream music.

I’m used to chord changes, and specific idiomatic and tonal jazz styles. This piece won’t swing, but some of it will sound like free jazz within a modern classical framework. Also, there’s no rhythm section per se, but I can evoke rhythms that lay down a framework within which to work.

I tried this sort of hybrid piece in music school, and I had players who refused to perform it. The thought of improvisation intimidated a few, but one backed out because he felt it would upset the serious classical teachers. How’s that for paranoia? But that was back in the day…

I’ll post some examples of what I come up with. I’d appreciate any comments or advice.

The Doctor is In

In an arrangement for my ensemble I performed a lot of surgery on Duke’s classic Solitude. I’ll provide an analysis and score and musical samples in my next post, but I wanted to give a little background on the technique of gestural writing and how it can be used to extend jazz composition.

“Re-texturizing” is as good name as any for some of the procedures I use while a piece is undergoing such surgery. Traditional jazz arranging uses some tried and true techniques: reharmonizing chord changes, composing lines around the melody, and developing material. In Solitude I sought to rethink phrase length and ensemble sound, loosen up the textures, and radically change the point of view of the tune and the sound of the band.

In modern music we can rethink “melody”– it’s quite a plastic concept. Orchestrational texture can be used in a melodic way, so that the overall gesture becomes an idea, a nugget, a recognizable sound. Just because you can’t sing along with it doesn’t mean it’s not melodic.

This is nothing composers like Stravinsky and Berio weren’t doing 80 years ago. As far as altering broad ensemble gestures and utilizing cool and expressive ensemble textures to develop an idea, check out the work Legetti, Crumb, or for that matter any “modernist” composer of the last century. Even the minimalists had a different view of melody and how phrases are expressed over time by the ensemble.

Gestural writing in jazz asks a lot of the ensemble and of the listener, and it poses some tricky issues for the composer, not the least of which is properly communicating your ideas to the players. In an idiom where so much depends on “feel”, it’s easy to over-notate your music. How classical do you want to get? Where does improvisation fit in, or does it at all? What’s the role of the rhythm section? Is it supposed to swing, and how much?

Here are a few ideas to chew on:

• Disassemble and reassemble—use a few ideas and work them to death.
• Start simple. Dangle things from the top line, work from the top down.
• Let ideas resonate—break up or stop the time, breathe.
• Involve the rhythm section in music that isn’t accompaniment. Make them part of the overall texture, or give them leadership positions.
  
• Remember that with the proper feel, and with your players all on the same creative page, highly notated passages can sound like controlled group improvisation.
• Use the whole group to create forward motion, not just the rhythm section. Write out your ritards and accelerandos in time.
• Don’t overwrite (or at least not too much!) Open up ideas; create headspace for the listener; allow things to happen.
• Don’t be afraid to take a chance on something! You can always jettison or revise an idea.

Steal this Score

To follow-up on my post about Gil Evans’ piece Blues for Pablo (Blues for Pablo True to Form),  I confess I’m guilty of petty theft. In a few bars of a new piece, Gaslight, which I performed with my Tentet last week, I used Gil’s idea, his sound from four bars of his piece. Please see my earlier post for a full explanation of how Gil expresses tension and resolution in these measures. Here’s a quick summary: In M. 13 Gil creates a striking dissonance between the brass and ww’s above, and the tuba, bass bone and bass clarinet below. Harmonic tension resolves by M. 16, as the triadic and classical voicing style of M. 13 moves to a more to open modern jazz style. Four short bars become a “mini-cell” containing drama and movement, and while Gil’s treatment is much more intense and dramatic than mine, the sound and concept are the same.

I also poached the shape of Gil’s low melody as it moves up against the Bbmi chord.

My four stolen bars start at 5 after letter B.

I believe it was Stravinsky who said “steal from the best”. I think I got away with it, but I hope I didn’t go too far; judge for yourself.

Excerpt from Gaslight as performed last week by my Tentet, mp3 and score:

Excerpt from Gil Evans’ Blues for Pablo  M 13-16, mp3 and score reduction:

“Blues for Pablo”–True to Form

After the Ellington study group last week, a few of us were hanging out having lunch. For 2.5 hours we were buried in the score of Gil Evans’ Blues for Pablo. I had struggled with one particular passage, so I posed my question: “Help me out…what do you call it when a phrase starts with harmonic and sonic tension, then as the phrase plays out the orchestration changes and the harmony resolves–all within a few bars? Isn’t there a term for that?”

Silence.

Curtis looked at me and smiled wryly. Then he spoke. “It’s called ‘music’.”

I had envisioned an erudite response fitting the educated and theoretical vibe with which I had battered them all morning. Perhaps something like orchestrational and harmonic gestural writing, or tonal consequence, or even temporal textural tautological antiphony…but Curtis was right on.

Blues for Pablo is to me the best piece of music on the great Miles Davis/Gil Evans 1958 record Miles Ahead (also titled Miles +19.) It’s a rich and detailed work with much of what Curtis calls music. Gil’s techniques–transparent orchestration,  use of instruments such as alto flute, french horns, tuba and muted brass, inter-choir unison doublings, cross-doubling, no piano, non-traditional yet balanced voicings–all have become the meat and potatoes of modern jazz large ensemble writing.

But this business of writing a short phrase that has a beginning and an end, that encapsulates the tonal vibe and moves the piece forward, was what struck me the most when I got into examining Blues for Pablo. Consider the following passage, M. 13-17, audio excerpt and score reduction below:

These four short bars, M. 13-17 of "Blues for Pablo," propel the piece forward by creating harmonic and textural tension, then resolving.

Gil evokes harmonic tension and resolution through the phrase in two ways:

• Changing intervalic tension through melody and register: The first chord, a straight G minor triad is thrown into turmoil by the low melodic unison beginning on A. This results in a minor 9th between the low A and the Bbmaj (or perhaps Gmi7) triad above. On the fourth beat is a similar dissonance, a low C passing tone against a Dbmin triad, this time a little less striking due to its quick movement up to the root. Then the melody rises up to a G in the middle of the bass clef, creating a momentary rub again with the Ab (the 3rd of the F minor chord) on the downbeat of M. 15 (an appoggiatura, it jumps above and resolve down.) In the next bar the low melody dips down low, but this time lands on the root on the downbeat of M. 16. Consonance. The flutes and two trombones move down in thirds to the Ebmaj7 on the downbeat of 17, again the low melody is on the root–interestingly the bass clarinet splits off and plays the 3rd of the chord forming a rich, consonant 10th in the two lowest voices (see the next paragraph.) On beat 2 we hear the intensely cool blues riff, which although it rubs against the major 7th chord, its coolness is consonant–same with the Db on beat 3 against the D7b9 chord. The overall chord progression starts with the Spanish parallel minor chords, and ends with a minor blues cadence: bIVmaj7-V7(b9)-i.

• Altering the doubling and the ensemble voicing style. Within the span of four measures Gil moves methodically from a brilliant and dissonant “classical” sound to a more transparent, rich and calm “jazz” sound. Cross-doubling, unisons and octave doubling are used in different ways. The pickup in M. 13 and the first beat of M. 14 are triads doubled at the octave, the downbeat of M. 15 is a close-voiced Fmin9 chord again doubled at the octave; the Dbmin on beat 3 is similarly octave doubled. The tension starts to break with the pickup to M. 16, contrary motion in the outer voices enhances the melodic ensemble movement. When the thirds split off and move down in M. 16 the texture breaks, the French horn cross-doubled with a trombone hold the D through the first two beats of M. 17, and the bass clarinet jumps up and doubles the third trombone on the G as the top of the tenth in the bass register. In the context of the rich Ebmaj7 and D7b9 chords in the cross-doubled notes enhance the “power tone” 3rds moving down–and the blues riff is strong yet transparent as a result of unison doubling. Cross-doubling the flutes with the trumpets and the 2nd French horn with the 1st trombone in M. 13-16 supports the melody and creates a transparent ensemble texture. The “classical” voicing style in these measures, i.e., 5ths and roots doubled, makes the ensemble ring with reinforced perfect intervals, and the parallel motion is distinctly “non-jazzy.” Then Gil shifts gears and lets the air out of it, and beginning in M. 16 and through M. 17, the cross-doubled blues riff, the spread spacing with no doubled roots and no 5ths, fits right in and brings us back to the jazz realm.

I like.

PS–I just picked up this incredible book: Gil Evans & Miles Davis: Historic Collaborations by Steve Lajoie. Check it out, it’s only 430 pages.

Revealing Ellington’s “The Clothed Woman”

I first heard Ellington’s The Clothed Woman on the Smithsonian Classic Jazz box, LP edition. For some reason it is left off of the CD edition. The original Columbia recording from December 30th, 1947 is available on “The Chronological Duke Ellington and his Orchestra 1947-1948.” Ellington had performed the piece a few nights earlier at Carnegie Hall. Dick Hyman and Marion McPartland have played it live, and I’m sure others have attempted to recreate this magical work.

Some have described The Clothed Woman as enigmatic, atonal, angular, ahead of its time, revolutionary, dissonant…an ABA form where an atonal and dissonant “A”  intro and outro surround a “B” stride/swing improvisation.  This is how I heard it the first 30 or so times I listened. It’s really hard to get a grasp on what he’s doing in the “A” part–it sounds like a barrage of modernist cluster chords and disjointed atonal figures. Most of the tune is solo piano; there’s a brief band groove interlude that sets up the B section. Then it’s back to the angular and dissonant A section.

But as it turns out, the A sections are not atonal.  THE A SECTIONS ARE BLUES.

That’s right, the so-called atonal, enigmatic A section of The Clothed Woman is a shrouded 12-bar blues in F.

The first clue is the overall tonality of the A section–it’s clearly in the key of F. The second clue is the strong move to the IV chord (m.5 on my transcription.) I had to transcribe it and play it a few times before it made sense. Once I got it, every note, even the most “dissonant and atonal,” fell into place. Duke is playing around with an F blues, using wide left hand voicings, punctuated by right hand grace note runs, chords and cluster-y structures that embellish the basic I-IV-V tonality.

Following the A section there’s quick band interlude with rhythm section and couple of horn figures, then more solo piano; this time it’s an in-the-pocket swing piece with a clear chord progression and a driving 4/4 swing feel. I’ve heard Ellington perform this middle piece by itself as a tribute to Willie “The Lion” Smith.

Duke had done this long form before, sandwiching a real tune in between bookends of the blues. He recorded Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue in 1937 with a short piano interlude bridging the two sides of the 78. Yet when he performed it publicly in 1945, he experimented by replacing the middle interlude with Rocks In My Bed, Carnegie Blues and I Got It Bad, and renamed the entire suite Blues Cluster. I think we have a similar situation with The Clothed Woman: ABA form: blues/tune/blues.

He hadn’t done anything as “modern” as the A section of The Clothed Woman before, as a soloist or as a writer–such angular momentum, extended harmony, crunchy grace note figures, a rubato, slow groove with an implied swing, all with wide leaps across every register of the piano. Who else was doing this? Thelonious Monk? But Monk was just getting going as a solo artist in 1947, in fact he recorded his first record that year. But threads of modern jazz piano reach back to the mid 1930′s–Ellington was there. He and Monk share a similar harmonic outlook: playing extensions on the dominant chord, triads over bass pedals, lots of substitute dominants and chromatic embellishments. Monk was younger but on the scene in NY–who knows who influenced whom…Strayhorn? He’s a wild card with classical training and a great command of harmony and dissonance. I’d like to hear what a real historian has to say on this issue.

The Clothed Woman begins with a high chord hit, then a swooping downward arpeggio ending on a Gb, which resolves down a step to F (Ex.1.). The arpeggio chord could be called Gb7(#9)–a chromatic “tritone” substitute for the V chord in the key of F–a perfect intro (Ex.1.) It’s a spooky chord, and the harp-like arpeggio adds to the exotic quality of the intro. Play it with the pedal down, if you can with just your right hand. You can grab four notes with the RH, the next 4 with the LH, cross over the RH, etc…but that’s hard to pull off and make it smooth.

Ex. 1 Duke's descending run on "The Clothed Woman" which outlines an Gb7(#9) chord--without the root. Enharmonic spellings show the m3rd-p4th architecture.

A basic harmonic device in the piece is the substitute dominant, or tritone sub. Chromatic voice movement and strong, melodic resolution are what this makes this progression work (Ex. 2.)

Ex. 2 The movement of Gb7(#9) to F major is good example of the chromatic chord and melody movement in this piece. Gb is a substitute dominant, or V7 chord--put a C in the bass and it's C13(b9). This is certainly not atonal.

Many of the RH grace note licks have motivic similarities, and they fit the hand well. In Ex. 3 three of the grace note figures share common notes: an Ab triad. The Ab-A “blue note” motion reinforces the blues feeling, and provides chromatic embellishment.

Ex. 3 The texture the Ellington establishes, grace note to chord, is angular, austere and evocative. In this example he sets up movement to the IV chord with I-V-I- bII7/IV then the IV chord. He also uses the C alt scale, a more exotic sound.

One way to approach the style of The Clothed Woman is to think of the grace notes having a dual function: melodic upper extensions and stratified harmony. The hands are separated, and so are the strata of the harmonies (Ex. 4.)

Ex. 4 In M 5-6 RH grace notes move to chord structures on the strong beats. On the third beat of M5 the chord is Bb7(b9b5)--but also it's also an E triad over a Bb triad (with the B thrown in.) On the fourth beat the triplet is both an E13(#5b9), or Bbmi9 (or Dbmaj7) over an E triad--polytonal, melodic, dissonant, separated and stratified.

More interesting functional harmony is in M 8-10 (Ex 5).

Ex. 5 Passing chord Abdim moves down to G7(b5) then to an C9, which begins the II-V of the blues progression. Then back to what can be called a Gmi7 in inversion, then to E7, which moves up to F to complete the cadence. Grace notes embellish from above, but also from the side chromatically. This passage requires the RH over the LH.

Below is a youtube link to the original studio recording of The Clothed Woman, and my transcription of the piano part, as best as I could hear it. I’ve added a 1st ending and a repeat for soloing, and I show how to extend bar 2  to make the soloing section into a true 12 bar blues. I’m going to take a crack at this piece with my trio on September 28th at Vitello’s Jazz Club in Studio City, CA. Wish me luck!

Duke Ellington: The Clothed Woman (original recording)

The Clothed Woman (transcription–score)

Don’t Let Them See You Coming

Orchestration is a controlled filling of sound space. The process of fleshing out a piece can involve difficult composing questions, like “who do I give the melody to?” and “who’s playing the accompaniment now?” It’s difficult, and it’s hard to keep your cool.

Then there’s the nagging, self-doubting “am I giving everyone enough to do? I’m seeing lots of blank space on the score.” We pile on notes that fill every register: chords become big and ringing…more power, more sound…all these instruments..use it or lose it. It happens everyday, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Just listen to most Hollywood scores and hear the plain, yet powerful and bold richness that is the bread and butter soundtrack of our lives. As everyone says out here on the left coast, “it’s all good.”

“Transparent orchestration” is a way to combat arrangement bloating, a way to clear up your ideas and make them speak clearly. Jazz writers in the late 30′s began to borrow some well-established techniques from classical music like cross doubling, spread voicing, gestural orchestration and instrument layering and combining.  Later in the 50′s modern recording techniques like closer mic’ing helped this process by allowing composers to exploit evocative textures, sounds and combinations of instruments that wouldn’t speak well on the dance floor or stage.

Transparent orchestration is an effect more than a technique; in a large ensemble, transparency comes at the moment the listener can suddenly see through the texture, the moment when the ordinary opaque grinding of the orchestration melts away and the sound becomes clear and resonant.

Gil Evans was a master of transparent orchestration. Duke Ellington (and many others) experimented by splitting up the choirs of the band, moving away from the strict antiphonal jazz style that had evolved since the 20′s. Gil Evans used this as a point of departure.

Here are a few of Gil’s trademark effects: exposed, dissonant mid and upper range intervals, clusters, the root high in the voicing, the melody below the accompaniment. He often left the piano out,  and incorporated tuba and french horn as well as brass mutes and woodwinds into the jazz orchestra. He mixed up his instruments and recombined them, and created unique sounds that rang through the fray. Gil had control over everything he wrote–even his thickest textures weren’t turgid and overbearing.

One basic technique that evolved is cross doubling, which eventually became standard practice in jazz arranging. Writers like Thad used it to distribute dissonance and create an intense, buzzing voicing, others used it to create transparency and spread.

Use cross doubling to pare down and clear up your voicings. It’s simple: a few instruments from one section double the notes of another section within a chord. Here’s an example of a cross doubled chord voicing for a low and dark, yet rich and clear Bbmaj76/9 chord:

Trombones low to high: 4th-low Bb, 3rd-D in the staff, 2nd-G above it, 1st-middle C. Saxes: Tenor 2 doubling the 3rd bone on D, tenor 1 on A (next to the G in the 2nd bone), 2nd alto doubling the 1st bone on middle C, 1st alto on the F above that.

That’s 8 instruments playing 6 notes, cross doubling 2 of the notes. The bones alone have a chord that sounds complete on its own, as do the saxes, but they lock together. The cool rub between the 2nd bone and the 1st tenor resonates, but the doubled notes ring out. It would sound totally different if you stacked the saxes on top of the bones, or had them all playing different notes. This voicing is rich but not heavy.

A technique related to cross doubling is unison doubling, such as a single trombone and tenor sax playing a mid register counterline. Just two instruments in unison will sound prominent yet transparent. There’s a super-stereo effect that happens in these doublings that broadens the sound; the instrumental timbres coalesce and ring over and around the ensemble. If you try it, don’t chicken out and cover it up by overwriting around and below it. Leave a little space and it will happen.

There are lots of opportunities for transparent unison writing in jazz. Brass and reed instruments have rich overtones, and most combinations sound great: alto and bone; high bari with bone (actually, anything with bone;) midrange trumpet with alto; flute with brass, muted or open. Then there’s acoustic bass–double any instrument with pizz bass and it sounds great. Even within the section, doubling harmon mute and cup muted trumpets creates a cool sonority that takes off.

How do you start to make your writing transparent? Simplify. Define your melody and counterlines. Move midrange air with unisons. Don’t bury your dissonant intervals inside a huge voicing and don’t worry so much about supporting things that happen in the higher registers. Use cross doubling to pare down your voicings. Stop writing the low instruments first, or “filling up” the page with chordal accompaniment. You needn’t use everyone in the sections together, find smaller combinations of solo instruments. You can split brass into different combinations of mutes. For the woodwinds try the bari high in a voicing above the trombones, write the clarinet down under the trumpets. Use counterpoint and moving unison cross-doubled lines to define harmony, save the big chord stacks for when you want drama, and stop writing footballs that cloud everything up.

Next time I’m going to take apart Gil Evans’ amazing work “Blues for Pablo” from the album “Miles Ahead.” He wrote so clearly you can see right through it. Sounds like a party! Stay tuned.

Lines Intertwining….

(spoken in your best movie trailer voice:) In a world….full of hackneyed cultural references and tunes in D minor…, a composer seeks to break free. Free from the confines of the oppressive overlord…tonality…reality…How does a sailor lost at the sea find his way back? How can a lone composer write without utilizing chords? This film asks the question: “why and how…harmony…melody…how can I find my way home?” Follow Nigel as his lines intertwine in a linear fashion…straight and line-like…like lines intertwining…and not just in the saddest of all keys, but in any key…and in no key.

I have mixed thoughts about using my own music to illustrate my ideas, but since I have the scores, and since there are no copyright issues I’m going to give it a go.

Ornette freed us from chords with “harmalodics,” which I notice someone on Wikipedia calls “avant garde.” Listen to “Something Else” and tell me that’s avant garde, c’mon. The roots are straight-up bebop, and pretty tame compared the real “out” guys, especially in the classical world. But it’s awesome.

Other composers, like Gil Evans and Sun Ra used linear writing to extend traditional harmony, usually upwards, using what some call strata writing, where independent layers are related to chords but are also free and full of identity and purpose. In “modern” concert music (ie 90+years) ago composers such as Schoenberg and Hindemith fully freed us from chords, following in the footsteps of Ravel, Debussy, Mahler and Brahms.  Have you listened to “Verklärte Nacht” recently? This is nothing new.

This evolving freedom some call “linear” composition.  It’s not a regimen like traditional harmony, it’s a concept and a tool. It’s a way of working from the top down, but also a way of freeing up your ideas to do things that you can’t explain with chord symbols. It sounds really cool too.

Linear writing (and improvising for that matter) works great in jazz, because our ears are really used to hearing dissonant tones moving, used to hearing implied harmony. When we listen we naturally compare a melody to what’s below it, and we judge and experience consonance, dissonance,  tension and resolution.

In the linear world, even without the chord progression we’re used to, we can still hear momentary tonality, draw parallels, and our listening is suddenly freer. Somehow, without a chord progression we don’t have our usual expectation for where any note is going to go. Our ears can now accept dissonance when it makes sense, even when it doesn’t “resolve” Strong linear motion and counterpoint can drive notes on a collision course and it’s not a problem. Thus, is would seem that the only rule to linear writing is like Duke says: “if it sounds good, then it is good.”

After that big introduction and buildup I’m noticing that my tune has a ton of D minor, the saddest of all keys, or maybe just lots of Dmi chord symbols (if you haven’t picked up on the Spinal Tap reference yet I feel for you.) “Take it Inside” doesn’t sound like D minor though. It starts with a simple white note melody which has some shape and movement, played over a descending bass line. Everything that follows relates back to the original melody, even as the musical gestures become more complicated and the form becomes obscured. The three soloists work as a team, the rest of the ensemble answers them and moves them along, ideas are bounced back and forth. The piece moves into some traditionally tonal areas, but look at the piano chord in m.1: Dmi/C is not really a chord, and it’s hardly a tonal “center,” really just an indication of a sound, an idea, a point of departure and the beginning of movement down in the bass.

Letter C on page 6, about 1:46 is where the counterpoint starts to take off. Without chordal accompaniment the texture is suddenly cool and open. You have heard the pickup and the descending bass line a few times, so anything happening above it seems more acceptable. After the first 8 bar trumpet solo the next ensemble entrance is more chromatic, that’s m. 96. I put the descending bass idea in the bari and the 2nd bone in unison, but up a 4th–what do you hear, F major? C major? I don’t hear anything but the melody and the movement. That’s the idea.

Measure 96--The counterpoint becomes more involved.

The next ensemble entrance at m. 106 is suddenly even more “dissonant.” I like the way this little phrase completes the idea of the one that goes before it, and notice the lower part in the bari and trombone are moving up instead of down. The contrary motion against the bass line provides tension, and makes the vibe suddenly richer. If you try to analyze a bar with chords, say measure 109, you’d find the 9th of the Dmi chord “resolving” down to an Eb, which grinds against the D bass, and then the G/Eb in the piano. In jazz harmony 9ths resolve chromatically all the time, but not when the chord is moving down the white notes. Traditional resolutions happen with root motion in 5ths and the contrary movement of the 7th going down and the leading tone going up. Tension becomes a sound and a musical idea just like any other; resolution is not required.

Letter E, Measure 106--more active lines and motion

Check out letter I on page 11, about 4:30. It’s getting “out there,” but still melodic. In m. 152 the time starts to stretch a little. I’ve already been writing phrase lengths that don’t line up with the bass line at all, and now even the quarter note pulse is being challenged a bit. It’s up to the rhythm section to hold it together, or maybe react to the lines and float for a minute.

Letter I--more dissonance, the time starts to stretch, the phrases become uneven.

The only rule is there are no rules. Writing linear, horizontal music frees you up to develop melodic ideas without regard to the harmony they imply. Any counterpoint is justified on its own merits, just use your inner ear and your sense of phrases and pacing to make it happen.

The score (which is transposed) is attached, as well as a live performance. Copyright 2010, all rights reserved.

click here for the score:
Take It Inside

A Jazz Chord to Say….

I rarely hear musicians discuss harmony, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not on their minds.

They discuss sound, and here’s how it usually goes: “What’s that chord?” “Which one” “The funny one?” “Oh that, it’s this…” bling, strum…“Oh right, thanks, that’s cool.”

So what if you’re writing and you come up with something that you don’t know what it is? A natural impulse is to rely on training, whatever that may have been (school, books, gigs etc) and analyze your idea with chord symbols. This involves mentally stacking the notes in a way that makes sense. That’s what we’re taught to do. Then we might ask “where does it go? what key are we in? what’s the associated scale?”

A drawback to thinking in terms of chord analysis is that it’s after the fact, and usually chord symbols say nothing about their actual application and tonal function. Our perception of harmony is dependent upon what we perceive as a progression or movement of voices that imply tension and resolution (or not)–tonality (or non-tonality) develops over time, and has as much to do with orchestration, texture, style and voicing than with what the actual “chord progression” may be. That’s why a simple melody can imply harmonic movement, and two voice counterpoint can sound full and tonally complete, even with no “bass.” That’s why we can hear a progression in our heads while we’re listening, even if nobody is playing chords.

If you stop to analyze a chord, especially when you’re writing or improvising, you break the flow and the process grinds to a halt. If you ask “where can it go?” like you learned in theory class, you’re screwed, cause the chord doesn’t write the music, you do. You can make it go anywhere you want, and call by any name.

I like calling chord structures this, or thinking of a short description, like “this moving up over a pedal point.” If I just wrote it or improvised I might intuitively know what it is without naming it, and without disrupting its sound by putting the voices in order of root, 3rd, 5th etc.

Now consider the difference between a Eb/B chord and a Bmaj7#5, two chord ideas with common pitches yet distinctive sounds. Play an Eb triad in your right hand: Bb-Eb-G, and stick a B bass note under it in your left hand. Now compare that sound to Bmaj7#5:  B-D#-G-A#. The presence of the B now in the upper register changes the sound. The stacked thirds have a certain ring, so different from the Eb triad over a B bass note. Moreover, the symbol Eb/B demands no B in the upper register, and with good reason: it’s a different sound than Bmaj7#5.

Then how ’bout the structure: A#-B-Eb -G?  This might be called an “inversion,” but really it’s a new sound altogether. The half step rub at the bottom changes everything.

Slide the A# down an octave or two into the bass register,  and the “chord” is Baug/A#–that looks bad on paper, and also implies an augmented triad over a bass note when really it’s a B whole tone scale over a Bb pedal. We’re falling into a black hole. Voicing the structure and exploiting its sound within your music is what’s important, not the structure’s name.

Hindemith talks about structures and why voicings create sound and imply harmony in “The Craft of Musical Composition, Volume 1.”

Harmonic analysis is after the fact, so don’t name your chords until you’re done writing, and don’t worry if you write something that you don’t know what it is. Think of harmony as happening over time and save the play by play analysis for the classroom.

Write for the Players and Play like a Writer

How can a composer control the flow of musical information in a piece that’s improvised?

How do you get a group to improvise together without it turning into an out of control free jazz fusion blowing session?

Use the best players you know and write from the top down; try to channel Duke Ellington and write for the musical personalities on the band; hone your ideas down to just a few, and spread them around amongst the players.

Composers like Sun Ra, Ornette Coleman and even Miles Davis used musical cells, short phrases and gestures as a point of departure for improvisation.  This is a “sketch” mode of writing where the composer suggests music, the band supplies the orchestration. This technique requires clear intent by the composer and relies on the openness and creativity of the improvisors. I can’t post others’ copyrighted material here, so I’ll use one of my tunes to show this mode of top-down writing:  “c0k3″ — from 2006, written for and recorded by The Coalition. I’m playing clavinet, Glenn Alexander is on guitar, Michael Merritt is on bass and Shawn Pelton plays drums and live electronica.

Here’s how I think it works: the cells or gestures (can’t really call them ‘melody’, just try to sing along) happen first and influence the direction and placement of the answering figures, and the placement and groove of the rhythm section. The opening phrases are played “out of time,” but with an inner pulse of their own. The sound of the band develops over time, and as things happen, players make choices which effect others’ choices, all within a clearly defined form.

Check out letter B where the clavinet and the guitar improvise on the double stop Db-Ab pattern–I wrote “E6″ to suggest an overall tonality. I left it up to MM to decide exactly how and where to groove the three note bass patterns. The higher double stop gesture drives the bus, playing in time but also not “in tempo” with the rhythm section. After the first fermata I cue the next system by simply playing the next series of notes. Everyone follows and the tonal center shifts as the tune builds.

This goes on for a while until there is a defined solo area with a bar count and chords in more of a traditional style. The melodic cells imply chords and the chords are melodic. When you listen back it seems seamless the way the piece moves from the in-time out-of-tempo ad lib feel into the regulated 4/4 time. The group improvisation is controlled, defined, melodic and harmonic, but has a cool freedom. I give the credit to the players for making it happen.

Here’s the mp3:

Here’s the chart:

Think Ahead and Write Backwards

Here’s what comes to mind when I try to come up with a direct way to explain “top-down” writing. Pick and choose words that fit as you see it:

The TOP (melody, gesture, idea, phrase) influences (changes, guides, moves, anticipates, justifies) the BOTTOM (chords, accompaniment, beat, progression, phrase length, groove, feel, rhythm section backing).

When you’re improvising on a jazz tune, and the chord progression is set and unyielding, your solo is moving against the expectations of the progression, your own expectations and reactions, the listeners’, and those of your fellow cats in the band. You cant “move” the chords, but over time, the chords feed back to you their own tension and resolution, allowing you the opportunity to exploit and enter into a dialogue with this sonic loop; hopefully the other players in the band respond to your ideas and move with you. Or maybe they don’t move…maybe that rigidity intensifies your solo.

We carry the improvising spirit and the freedom of the jazz language with us at all times, and the best writers I know can also play their asses off.

When you’re composing a tune within a rigid song form structure, or for example, arranging a standard tune, you might find clear ways to work within the form to impose your creativity. So you can’t move the chords too much…write from the “top” and guide them. If you have some linear chops you can use good melody, voice leading and counterpoint to imply substitute harmony.  If you need the space, add a beat, or a bar or two (or three) to the form…how far you go depends on the commercial and creative confines of your mental workspace, and the demands of the job at hand.

When you’re starting from scratch, staring at the blank page, you have the opportunity to manipulate both strata of expression. I find that just being aware of forward-thinking backward-writing is enough to set me on the right track.