Modern ‘Art’ Music and its Indie Compatriots

by

Adam J. Strawbridge

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MP00 Music

Oct 11, 2013


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As anyone who has suffered through a 20th century music history class is aware, ‘Art Music’, or modern classical music, is not the type of playlist you want to blast on Friday night, or at the gym, or on a road trip – pretty much anywhere except maybe an opium den, or an elitist prison. When hearing for the first time the strange and alienating sounds so beloved by modern composers, most people react with asking: Why? Why was this music, so deliberately unrelatable and even offensive, composed and performed? Answering these questions is out of the scope of this article (and there aren’t always good answers), but I will say that ultimately, all that modern and contemporary composers are attempting in their work is to find new and exciting techniques to make sound have an emotional and resonating effect on a human. Sometimes this means placing paperclips on the coils in a piano and rearranging the structural elements of a sonata. Other times this means throwing sticks onto a grid in the dirt and letting the music follow from that. It’s not always good, it’s not always successful, and it’s not always really innovative. But against this general sentiment of ‘Why’, today’s composers ask, ‘why not?’

These composers, however, are not alone in the struggle. What’s fascinating about the development of popular music in this decade is that these composers, stuck so firmly in the ‘weird’ end of the music spectrum, are receiving unsolicited help in their efforts from the garage-band, amateur-turned-headliner music makers enjoying the limelight of music festivals and avid fans. Electronic music, dubstep, and indie rap are actually rife with the techniques and sounds pushed by composers from the 1950’s on. Chances are, if you’re listening to Aphex Twin, XXYYXX, Odd Future, or Danny Brown, you’re embracing the sort of musical idioms and strategies that you would hear coming from a sparsely attended quartet premier in the basement of a university Music department. Here is a brief survey of how, against your knowledge or even will, Arnold Schoenberg and his avant-garde cronies are changing the way you hear music:

Drop the Key

Probably the most significant development of music in the 20th century was the abandonment of keys and the birth of ‘atonality’. This leads to a lot of 20th century music sounding very alienating and disorienting, especially to listeners expecting the sort of harmonies used by Mozart and Beethoven. But atonality is in fact not unique to ‘Art Music’: it features pretty prominently in, weirdly enough, electronica, dubstep and rap. But maybe it’s not so weird: I think these genres are actually perfect for progressive treatment of tonality because they offer listeners other things to focus on rather than pitch, freeing up the artists to do some funky things tonally. Dubstep offers us in those classic breakdown sections an assault of crunchy, mechanical sonorities that are so immersive in themselves we don’t listen in for a tonal center the way we would with a Justine Timberlake chorus – we focus instead on the development of these sonorities themselves, the same way John Cage wanted us to focus on the interesting sounds of his modified piano, not the pitches being played. Rap is even more conducive for atonality. The pitch system of a rapper’s verse doesn’t correspond to the notes of a scale in the first place – the human voice has its own, more limited and idiosyncratic range. So we don’t find it so alienating and out of place when the beat and the bass go off to explore atonal territory.

Some artists just dip their toes in the water, the way my favorite composer Olivier Messiaen did in the 1950s. The electronic texture of “About You” (XXYYXX) and the grimy beat of “Hive” (Earl Sweatshirt) both are (technically) tonal but are so ambiguous that it took me, despite four semesters of music theory, a half hour to figure out how the pitches in both operate (they both create ‘bicentric’ chords, drawing the listener to expect two different yet simultaneous resolutions, if you’re dying to know). The wubwubwub breakdown of “Equinox” (Skrillex) is complemented by a tonal melody, but presents phrases of wubs without any tonal grounding, with only the texture of the sound to focus on. Other artists plunge into the strange headfirst: “I Will” (Danny Brown) presents a ‘soundscape’ which never truly lets the listener center themselves on a single pitch, thanks to a weird harmonic texture leaping all over the chromatic scale.  “Snow White” (Hodgy Beats feat. Frank Ocean) is, like much late 20th century music, constructed out of deliberately disorienting intervals and sonorities to disrupt whatever tonal center you much think you can hold on to. The song is a snow-storm of pitch and rhythm, with only Hodgy Beat’s angsty verse and Frank Ocean’s smooth voice to guide you through.

Weird Meter

Another big development that crosses genres from the haute to the underground is the effort to stretch, bend or defy conventions of meter and rhythm in music. For 20th century composers this meant new time signatures, reorganized musical structures, or even abandoning meter altogether. Doing so, abandoning the metrical conventions of contemporary music, makes demands on the artist to keep the music interesting and engaging enough for the listener to stay committed throughout. This is a challenge that again the avant-garde of electronica and rap have taken up well.

Dubstep and EDM are pioneers of a new musical structure, best characterized by the drop. For so long the landscape of popular music was dominated by essentially one structural form with minimal variation: Introduction, chorus, verse, chorus, verse, bridge, chorus, maybe a coda with a key change if the producer was feeling adventurous. Dubstep musicians (and some electronic artists) broke out of this mold boldly with a form that focuses not on a chorus but on a musically sophisticated structure based on tension and resolution, two staples of the modern composer’s toolbox. ‘The Drop’ of a dubstep song represents the culmination of a long and hopefully smoothly constructed buildup of dissonance and rhythmic acceleration (tension) leading to a climactic moment when for a second sound stops, to be dominated subsequently by an ear-filling torrent of sound, back in the initial meter and lush with consonance (resolution). Despite presenting such a climax early in the song, many dubstep songs stay interesting thanks to a structure that maintains this exciting tension-resolution pattern.

The New Sonorities

Probably the most ubiquitous development in hip hop and electronica that mirrors the developments of Art Music is one which has been latent throughout this article: the focus and prioritization of new sounds and textures. The flexible and amped voice of Kendrick Lamar, the funky hard-to-place metallic chants of Gold Panda, and of course those delicious wubwubwubs of Dubstep all around have listeners eager to consume new sounds, excited to ‘enter new sound worlds’, to phrase it as a music theorist, a dream long held by modern composers.  These trends of course started way back – the Beatles experimented with South Asian music just decades after John Cage and his colleagues began incorporating Indian and Indonesian instruments and traditions into their works. The progressive and enveloping rock of The Dark Side of the Moon came just off the cusp of composers in the 60’s eschewing standard concert set ups and creating pieces for an orchestra seated around a circular room to create a fully immersive ‘sound world’ experience. And it continues strong to this day: Danny Brown’s new album Old presents a rapper who’s own voice becomes as versatile and pitched as a violin. Leaping up and down lines, bouncing off the beats with a succinct percussive sense and building intensity like a Coltrane solo, Danny Brown proves himself, like many of his peers (El-P, Killer Mike and Kool A.D.) to be ahead of the game musically – we don’t even have notation capable of capturing the musical intricacies of these verses. Listening to Danny Brown rap is akin to entering a hectic, new sonic environment, full of interesting new sonorities, colors and timbers to engage with.

This isn’t to say I’m about to burn my College’s pianos to the ground, dump my scores in the river and preach the musical virtue of avant-garde hip hop and electronica to my teachers. There is, I believe, always a time and a place for each kind of music, and though it may be relegated to the obscure and snobby, I still love the weird, pioneering and daring techniques modern composers of Art Music take to make innovative and challenging music. But I also love how this has influenced the world over in unexpected ways. Even when I’m head-bobbing in a grungy basement to that crunchy, dirty new single, I’m thanking that old homie Arnold Schoenberg and all his disciples for, in the face of all the obstacles, having the balls to ask “why not?” It’s paid off in ways he nor anyway could have imagined: a world of new and exciting music, across the spectrum.

 

Snarky Puppy, Hybrid Theory

by

Danny Schwartz

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MP00 Music

Oct 09, 2013


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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apxBAqgSrSw

It all started one evening in 2011, on a recommendation from Jonny Mo the stoned bassist in the back of jazz ensemble rehearsal. Snarky Puppy, he said sagely. Check em out. So later that night I googled Snarky Puppy and clicked on the first hit, a song called ‘Flood’. It started simply enough, in a recording studio with a dorkish-looking fellow standing at a keyboard, bopping his head to the beat as he plunked out the melody in some obscure time signature. The drums and bass entered the fray, and then the horns, then the keyboards, then the guitars, then the strings. And then, as someone let off a pressure valve, the groove dissolved and one of the guitarists embarked on a hypnotic new melody in some other obscure time signature. It was an unexpected but appetizing change of pace. The guitarist’s spiderlike fingers, the latent energy of a nine-minute video with seven minutes to go.

It went like this for a while, tension and release. The stakes rose, slowly, until a moment came when the song indisputably arrived. The horns took their line up an octave and the organ screamed and the drummer unleashed his mighty wrath upon his kit. It truly seemed to be the musical manifestation of a flood, as if all this time the water had been brooding behind the dam, and then the dam burst and the water poured forth, emancipated, crashing onto the rocks below.

Impressed as I was, Snarky Puppy fell off my radar and didn’t reappear for a year or so, until they released a new album called groundUp. Each song on groundUp was tight, bound by lean arrangements and the rhythm section’s magnetic groove. Each song had a distinct narrative arc, conducting two or three main ideas across various textures and instrumentations, always culminating with the entire band playing something greater than its component parts. Each song was a thriller in the end by virtue of its humble beginnings.

groundUp runs deep but the highlight is without a doubt ‘Thing of Gold’. There was a time when I watched ‘Thing of Gold’ on a daily basis for six weeks, maybe longer, primarily because of the solo Shaun Martin delivers at the end on Moog synth. The chord progression essentially rises in whole steps, and his solo triggers a series of key changes that also rises in whole steps. So there is an austere, mathematical sort of beauty in place, and it is in this context that Shaun Martin, toothpick akimbo, takes flight in ineffable improvisation.

How to categorize Snarky Puppy? They borrow elements from all types of music, particularly jazz, rock, and funk. They tend to defy genre. I guess you’d call that amorphous style ‘fusion’, but fusion is a vague and boring term. One of the properties shared by most Snarky Puppy songs is the interplay of major and minor — it happens in ‘Flood’ and ‘Thing of Gold’ for example, and they even called a song on groundUp ‘Minjor’. The interplay of major and minor is one of the fundamental tenets of the blues, and I prefer to think of them as a sort of hypermodern blues band. It may be a vague term, but at least it’s more thought-provoking than fusion.

Here’s the weird thing though– as much as I listen to groundUp, I’ve never downloaded it. I don’t have any Snarky Puppy songs on my iTunes. I just go to YouTube and watch their videos. Of the eight songs on groundUp, seven are on YouTube, and unlike with ‘Flood’, their videos are gorgeous, shot in HD with soft turquoise light cast around the perimeter of the room onto brick walls painted white. A small headphone’d audience sits in the middle, surrounded by the band. The band is even bigger this time, 21 people. This is it — this is them recording the album. Several cameras shoot from various angles, which is disorienting, so you never really figure out how the band members are positioned in relation to each other — you just know they are there.

The visual component of Snarky Puppy’s music is crucial to their visibility and popularity. They are not signed to a big label. They are independent, doing it all by themselves. Look at Macklemore, another independent artist. He blew up for one big reason: his videos, which are creative, fun to watch, and beautifully shot and color edited thanks to the genius of Ryan Lewis. In 12 months, the ‘Thrift Shop’ video has garnered 400 million views on YouTube. In 18 months, the ‘Thing of Gold’ video has garnered 600,000 views, a number that pales in comparison to Macklemore but is nevertheless significant.

Live music experiences these days are often compressed into mega-festivals like Coachella and EDM raves like Electric Zoo. Throw in uTorrent, and it seems as though it is harder than ever for mid-level musicians like Snarky Puppy to thrive. But in fact, the opposite is true. Snarky Puppy has a powerful weapon: YouTube. YouTube has become one of the main channels through which people consume music. Search any song, it’s probably there. I would go so far as to say that YouTube has also become the best way to consume music, period, because it inherently provides that visual component that greatly enhances the quality of the music itself.

My favorite college professor Michael J. Lewis always liked to say, “good writing happens when the emotional and the intellectual overlap, causing the words to vibrate.” To drive the point home he would place one hand on top of the other, like the awkward turtle sign, and give the turtle a few vigorous shakes. Professor Lewis’s words of wisdom closely mirror Snarky Puppy’s motto: “music for the booty and brain.” Snarky Puppy’s music is enjoyable from an intellectual perspective, but doesn’t truly vibrate until you watch their videos and see their actual, physical booties in motion. Watching the band play gives you a more intimate relationship with them, but just as importantly it gives you access to the intimacy within the band. You unlock their synergy. When a recording gets mixed, there is a vacuum effect, as if the mix sucks out all the air and leaves the finished product tighter. When Snarky Puppy introduces the visual component, they restore much of the energy lost in the mix via the physical energy of the band, spurred on in part by the presence of the small audience. Their videos are more than recordings — they are performances.

Two of my favorite DVDS are concert films. AC/DC, Live in Donington 1991, and Bruce Springsteen, Live in Barcelona 2002. The music itself is great. What’s even better is the shot of the fanatic horde jumping around and singing along. The shot of 5’2” Angus Young opening the show by playing the ‘Thunderstruck’ riff and duck-walking his way across the stage in his maroon suit and shorts. The shot of Bruce Springsteen and Stevie Van Zandt, belting ‘Dancing in the Dark’ into the same mic two hours into the show, their shirts drenched in sweat, their old man lips inches apart. It’s a pretty homoerotic image, but then again, it’s not homoerotic at all. It’s just music.

The image that sticks with me most from Snarky Puppy videos is Michael League, the frizzy-haired bassist. Snarky Puppy has world-class soloists — Shaun Martin, Cory Henry on organ, Sput Searight on drums — but League is the heart of the band. He is the mastermind, the producer, the author and arranger. Whenever the camera cuts in his direction, his face is either fixed in a warm, cherubic smile or convulsed in an unmistakable O-face. His ecstasy is even more apparent in the way he assumes awkward, unforeseeable postures with the rest of his gangly body. He looks silly, but that’s how you know he’s feeling it. His id gangsta leans with the best of them. There is no pretense with him, and his passion naturally bubbles to the surface so that he is more nimbus than flesh. Michael League is pure. Michael League is love.

***

In 4th grade, all I knew was Eiffel 65, Aaron Carter, and Lou Bega. Until I unwrapped Hybrid Theory by Linkin Park, popped it in the CD player, and learned the true meaning of rock. Hybrid Theory sucked me through a vortex. It opened up an entire universe I hadn’t known existed, or could exist. Its appeal was not unlike that of Pokemon Red or Redwall.

Those were the days. Since then it has become much harder for a piece of music, or anything, to come along and alter my perception of the limits of human possibility. That increasingly elusive sensation is only attainable via something radical. I suppose that’s the appeal of dubstep or Hannah Montana all of the sudden porning it up.

Consuming music these days lends itself more to eclecticism than devotion to a single group, and I am almost ashamed to say that I have found a favorite band, but I suppose Snarky Puppy fits the bill. They have taken me on journeys. They have taken me to the Lonely Mountain and back again. They expertly straddle the line between the intellectual and the emotional. The brain-bending and the booty-quaking. The awkward turtle-shaking.

Snarky Puppy recently released an album called Family Dinner, with each song featuring a different guest singer. The majority of the songs have been posted on YouTube as recording sessions filmed in HD, in the groundUp video style. As I watched these videos, I was blown away by the singers but found myself wanting them to go away. League arranged the songs with the intent of showcasing the singers and nothing more. If Family Dinner was an economic market, it would be riddled with inefficiencies. It was conceived in the spirit of collaboration, sure, but the end result, however unflawed, left a lot on the table. That is, Snarky Puppy’s remarkable imagination, the potential for innovation, to go further and change the definition of what music can be.