A modulation, or a "key change" can be one of the most exciting parts of a pop song; it is the moment when the song shifts into a new gear. (note - there is some debate about the difference between a modulation and a key change; I won't get into that too much) It is also such a cliché that many modulations have almost no impact anymore. Typically they come near the end of a song, moving the chorus up a half or whole step. If they don't offer anything musical, and/or help shape the arc of the song, it can just sound bland and unnecessary.
With that in mind here are some of my favorite, often very clever, modulations:
Whitney Houston - I Will Always Love You
I start with this one because it is an example of a cliché done right. (3:05) Some modulations work well because they connect the original key to the new one without interrupting the flow of the song. Some work well because they surprise you. This is a case of the latter. I believe it wouldn't have worked nearly as well if there had been a chorus in the original key, then a modulation. Instead, they go right to it, but also create space to lure you in. Space in music is underrated. If you really want to knock people on the ground with a whole-step modulation, give them a few soft seconds of wondering what's coming.
Sting - If I Ever Lose My Faith In You
I always thought this one was particularly clever problem solving on Sting's part. He wanted to modulate the chorus at the end of this song, but the whole song is already ridiculously high in the key of E, even for a vocalist like Sting. So what does he do? He modulates the song DOWN a fourth to B with these two additional measures (3:15):
He does a chorus in B then brings it back up to E, making it sound like he's modulating up to something new. Brilliant!
Bonnie Tyler - Total Eclipse of the Heart
This is more of a key change, as it doesn't really modulate existing material but rather introduces new material in a new key. The verse itself goes through a couple keys, starting in Bb minor and working its way to E but the big moment, and part of what makes this song so epic, is the shift from E to Ab at the phrase "fall a-PART!" The G# in the key of E becomes the tonic Ab in the new key. It's unexpected and dramatic, and moving up a major third is pretty unusual, so big props to this one for originality.
Dusty Springfield - Son of a Preacher Man
This is the musical equivalent of hustling. She does the whole beginning of the song in A, then explodes out of the bridge at 1:43 in E, a full fourth higher.
Whitney Houston - How Will I Know
I'm just going to say it: women have better modulations than the men, at least on my list. I come back to Whitney to give a little shout out to this song. My first thought was to write about I Have Nothing, but I covered that one extensively in an earlier post.
The modulation in How Will I Know might be more interesting; despite sounding and feeling like an upward modulation, the song actually moves DOWN from Gb to Eb (at 3:30). It's magical. For a similar kind of thing, check out Roberta Flack's Set the Night to Music, which moves from F in the verse down to E in the chorus.
Celine Dion - All By Myself
I'm sure I've said this before, but I think Celine Dion has some of the best producers in the business. Her cover of Eric Carmen's power ballad almost merits its own post. The original is epic, but this cover takes it over the top. The modulation at 2:42 might be my all-time favorite. What happens here?
In the key of A she sings her way up to the flatted six, a high F. This note is a bit unusual, but she holds it, holds it, holds it, big drum fill and BOOM the band comes roaring back in Db, a major third higher. She's now siting on the 3rd of the key. Bold move, huge payoff.
A fun side note about this song: I once played in a circus band, and there was a ribbon aerialist who did her routine to the track of this song. She would climb to the top of the ribbons at this part of the song then fall (to gasps in the audience) only to catch the ribbons just as the band came back in. It gave me goosebumps every time.
Michael Jackson - Man in the Mirror
I'll end with the masters - MJ and Q - for another example of a cliché modulation done right. At 2:50 they pull out the carpet for a moment then explode back in with a gospel choir up a half-step, completely unprepared. A good modulation can make you want to stand up and cheer. Shock and awe, this is how it's done.
In yesterday's post I mentioned in passing that Spring Can Really Hang You Upcovers a pretty wide vocal range. That was an unqualified statement, so I figured I'd do a little research on popular vocal jazz standards to see if Spring is really unusual.
There was no method to choosing my list; this is just a sampling of songs that I have played with singers frequently over the years. It seems Spring really is in the top few, tied with My One and Only Love and second only to Misty. I would argue that it lingers on the high and low notes much more.
Since it is officially spring - never mind the snow and lack of flowers, warmth or sunshine - I figured I'd write about something spring-related. For some reason jazz musicians seem to love the topic of spring. I had my pick of Joy Spring, Up Jumped Spring, You Must Believe in Spring, It Might as Well Be Spring, etc. I went with:
Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most has always amused me. I don't know much about the composer, Tommy Wolf, but I'm going to guess that he hated singers. Parts are almost unsingable, guaranteed to weed out weak vocalists. Just look at the verse:
That second line is rough. (:16-:30 in the clip above) It requires picking notes out of the air that are very much not in the chord/key that you are currently in, several times in a row.
The bulk of the song itself is not too bad, totally singable:
I especially love what happens at the end of the bridge. After a little hairiness, it's like Mr. Wolf wrote himself into a corner with the ii-V leading back to G, not the song's key of C. So rather than rework it, he does the first measure of the last "A" section in G, then abruptly goes back to C. Brilliant.
The Coda is where he really kicks you in the mouth. (5:07 in the clip) If you miss the coda of this song, you are boned. That Eb-7, and the melody over it, come out of nowhere. It's a pretty long coda, which is refreshing, and the composer makes sure to get a few more jabs in before the end. The whole last line is pretty acrobatic, with big leaps, then a descending line with two consecutive half-steps to end on what is a pretty low note for most singers. If you can tell the character of composers from their work, I would guess that Tommy Wolf was a very clever, total pain in the ass.
Add to these things a pretty large vocal range and an obscene amount of verses and lyrics - it is no surprise that the song is not performed very often. Its obnoxiousness is no accident; this is the work of someone who wanted to make singers unhappy. I can't help but admire.
Beginning pianists are often drawn to the white keys. They are orderly, collectively making up a major scale; it's easy to noodle on white keys and come up with something that sounds loosely musical.
But the black keys are not without their charm. Making up a pentatonic scale, they allow young players to play some familiar sounds and melodies without worrying about hitting an off note. Pedagogically it is often preferable to start young students on the black keys, as they are grouped in twos in threes, allowing players to start seeing patterns on the keyboard.
I have a theory that Stevie Wonder was drawn to the black keys from the beginning because of his blindness. To a blind man the white keys are uniform and indistinguishable without noodling for a bit. But the groupings of the black keys allow him to find his place immediately. Where many pianist/songwriters are drawn to common keys, I feel that Stevie is more comfortable in the deep keys. For example, here are ten famous Elton John songs and their keys:
Your Song - Eb
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - F/Ab
Tiny Dancer - C
I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues - C
Saturday Night's Alright - C
Crockodile Rock - G
Bennie & the Jets - G
Someone Saved My Life Tonight - Ab
Can You Feel the Love Tonight - Bb
Daniel - C
Not too adventurous. For contrast, here are the top 12 "frequently mentioned" Stevie songs (according to Google):
I Just Called to Say I Love You - Db, modulates to D and Eb
Superstition - Eb minor
You Are the Sunshine of My Life - C, modulates to Db
For Once in My Life - F, modulates to Gb
Isn't She Lovely - E
Higher Ground - Eb minor
Living for the City - Gb
My Cherie Amour - C, modulates to Db
Boogie on Reggae Woman - Ab
I Was Made to Love Her - F
I Wish - Eb minor
Sir Duke - B
7/12 of them are in what I would call uncommon keys - Gb, B, Db, Eb minor - and those in common keys usually modulate at some point.
Playing in these keys also allows Stevie to do some glissando tricks on the black keys at times. As mentioned, the black keys constitute either an Eb minor pentatonic scale or a Gb Major pentatonic scale. Running your hand up and down the black keys makes for a pretty cool effect, when used well. Stevie uses it on several keyboards for the intro of You Haven't Done Nothing:
It also works well over certain chords, particularly the Ab11 chord. This type of chord is called many different names - sus9, Ab/Gb, 7sus, etc...I like calling it an 11 chord. Its function is typically to act as the V chord, in this case in the key of Db.
In Knocks Me Off My Feet, you hear Stevie go to town on this when the big Ab11 chord sets up the modulation. Check it out around 2:40:
It also works well over a BMajor7 chord, as the black notes turn it into a BMajor13 chord. In Summer Soft, which modulates constantly, you can hear Stevie do this around 3:40:
There is no physical reason one key should have a different sound than others; it all depends on the song. But anecdotally speaking (as a musician) there is a definite warmth to the darker keys. It may just be that they are less cliche, and thus sound more novel. I'm sure the musicians who played with Stevie were pushed out of their comfort zones and probably in to much more explorative areas by having to play in uncommon keys. It is one of the ways that blindness may have contributed to his musical brilliance, by simply giving Stevie a proclivity for the ebony keys.
The church service I played yesterday started with this video clip from the intro of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood:
That brought back some memories. I knew that the show had a great band, but I hadn't really watched it as an adult or noticed the music when I was a kid. As with many people, Mr. Rogers was a big part of my childhood. It's not that the show was popular; it was just ubiquitous, in a very unobtrusive way. We only had a handful of channels and PBS was one of them. So, like Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers was always just kind of there.
The song itself was written by Fred Rogers, as were most of the pieces on the show. Rogers had a B.A. in Music Composition, and was an excellent pianist. The trio on the show featured jazz virtuoso Johnny Costa. I love that such great musicianship has been in the background of our childhoods, exposing kids indirectly to rich chords, rhythms and melodies. Rogers also frequently interviewed musicians and even introduced his band:
The show's opening song "Won't You Be My Neighbor" has a pretty busy intro, but the song itself is a simple AABA form with a short tag at the end. I'm surprised - given its nice chords, familiarity and simple form - that I don't really ever hear piano trios playing the song. Maybe some people find it a bit hokey, but if someone's too cool for Mr. Rogers then who really cares what they think?
As it turns out, a bunch of Rogers' songs are featured on the show's website, complete with PDF simplified piano music. I'm guessing this site was build at some point during the dot com boom, given the late-90s look and the Real Player audio files. The chart to "Won't You Be My Neighbor" is quite good and includes the chords for those who want to improvise. My gripes with it are that: a) it's not in Mr. Rogers' key and b) it's two pages long with three staves, unlike a typical lead sheet style chart that most jazz musicians would use. I figured I'd write it out in C as an iPad-friendly one-page PDF, for those who might like to play it:
The PDF can be downloaded HERE, along with versions in D, F, G, A and Bb. Enjoy!
So why is this song great? I don't know. Most of this blog is an excuse for me to be a theory nerd, or to point out some profound cleverness in well-known pop songs. There's nothing particularly clever about the song. It is profound only because it connects so many of us to our youth.
As I said, Mr. Rogers was always just there. No matter how much you grow up, he knew you before you were an adult. He knew you before you were cool, angry, smart, selfish, or hurt. No matter how brilliant someone might be, there is no guarantee that they will write music that connects with people. It matters where the music comes from, and in the case of Mr. Rogers it came from someone who saw the best in people and asked us to be better to each other. For that, I am grateful that he was around when I was a child.
For those of us enjoying care-free youth in the mid-80s and early 90s, the beep-boop tones of the NES are the soundtrack of our childhood. When it comes to music, everyone has some bias toward the music they grew up with, and I am aware that there may be some nostalgia in my love of NES music.
As an art form, video game music has grown to the point where major releases are often fully scored and orchestrated, sometimes with a budget on par with Hollywood movies. Great art is everywhere and composers continue create amazing, enduring melodies with the resources available to them.
But I continue to be amazed by those early Nintendo games. How did the composers for those early games create such indelible themes with so little? There are few who wouldn't immediately recognize music from Super Mario Bros or The Legend of Zelda, and those early composers had a tiny fraction of the capabilities of modern soft/hardware. It wasn't even close.
My theory, and I believe most artists would agree, is that limitation breeds creativity. This is the paradox of choice in practice. I've noticed it throughout my career. Drop a piece of manuscript paper and a pencil in front of me and I will stare blankly. Tell me I need to write a 2-minute piece for oboe, violin, and organ, and my creative mind will engage. I noticed in theory classes that I had a wealth of creative ideas when my parameters were defined (say, by the rules of counterpoint). Bach himself seemed to have very clear "rules" he worked with when writing fugues, inventions and choral works.
At a point, too much limitation is constricting. Music from early Atari consoles is pretty much non-existent or completely forgettable. There just wasn't much that could be done with them. The NES seemed to have just enough tools to unlock the creative minds of composers at the time.
Before I dig into the NES music, first a clarifying point: there is really no such thing as "8-bit" music, in the sense that most people tend to mean it. The term 8-bit in this context refers to the capabilities of the microprocessors of that generation of consoles, not the quality of the sound. The capabilities of the music were limited somewhat by the hardware, and that affected the sound, but the term "8-bit" doesn't really tell you anything about the sound of the music. It's an important distinction to make, but I do think "8-bit" is a useful colloquialism for "NES-like" so I won't make too much of a stink over it.
So what are the limitations/capabilities of the NES? The biggest is probably its polyphony, or how many sounds it could play at once. The NES had 5 channels to work with:
Most of the melodies that people recognize are on the first two channels. The third is typically a bass part and drum tracks are usually on the fourth. The fifth track can have samples, but these would have to be loaded on the game cart itself, and storage was at a premium in those days. (the Super Mario Bros/ Duck Hunt ROM is a whopping 82kb, smaller than many emails!) Nevertheless, this track was useful for adding musical variety such as orchestra hits, or the tympani that can be heard in Super Mario Bros 3.
So the composers essentially had 3 voices and a drum track, plus some sound effects. Keep in mind that they also had to cover the game noises: jumping, hitting things, coins. All of these challenges were addressed in often clever ways, and the limitations of the NES were used to make some brilliant music.
Let's start at the beginning, with Super Mario Bros:
Listen carefully and you will notice that the melody often drops out to make room for the sound effects. It is especially noticeable at :35 when Mario gets a bunch of coins in a row. The melodic coin noise is obviously on one of the first two channels, along with the music. Many composers wrote music with this in mind, knowing that parts of it might have to drop out and the music should still carry with fewer parts.
The first thing you might notice about the bass channel is that it is much higher than a typical bass part. This might be due in part to the limited frequency response of most TVs in that era. Lower bass parts just wouldn't be heard. But moving the bass into the upper registers was a way to fill out more parts. Like Bobby McFerrin, the third channel was often dropping a quick bass note then harmonizing or arpeggiating in a higher register. Much like the cellist in a string quartet, the bass part played a larger role in the music than, say, Tom Petty's bass player.
Mario's power-up sound (at :26) is an example of a fast arpeggio, or rapidly alternating notes on a single channel, which was the best way for the composers to make a few tracks sound like much more. Games like Soltice and Silver Surfer used arpeggios to make a huge sound! (both composed by Tim Follin)
Another ingenious trick was to use the first two channels in unison, instead of harmony, with the second track slightly softer and delayed. This created a reverb effect, a kind of audio depth not seen in many video games at that time. It also meant that the composer only had two melodic parts to work with, instead of three. One major benefit of this was that, if the second channel needed to switch to a sound effect, you would only lose the reverb, not any notes. Check out the reverb effect in Mega Man 2, at :08 and especially at the bridge (:22). Anytime the sound becomes reverby you will hear that it is in two parts instead of three. You can also hear how much busier and higher the bass is at those parts to fill out the space.
One of my favorite and earliest examples of the reverb effect is the dungeon music from The Legend of Zelda. Check it out at :45.
Technical issues aside, it is an unusual and brilliant piece; the melody is in the bass, it's seven measures long with an extra beat in the last measure, and there are some unusual note choices in a few places. Pardon this transcription - I believe I did it in high school, but as far as I can tell it's accurate:
The arpeggios keep it from sounding too thin, and the reverb effect is perfect for a dungeon. The curious part is that it does not appear to have been arranged as I wrote it above with a doubled track for reverb. Instead, the alternating 16th notes are on different tracks, creating an echo sound by overlapping. This is done so that the "warning" beep can occur on the second channel when Link's health is down to one heart or less. In that case the 16th notes turn to 8th notes, as can be heard in the clip above from 1:37-1:54. My transcription:
The same effect can be heard in the clip at 8:32, on the overworld theme. The piece is in three parts: bass, melody and a countermelody. When the beeping starts the countermelody will drop out. The other two parts work fine without the inner voice, and it has the added benefit of not sounding overwhelmingly cluttered. The alarm sound gets your attention but isn't too jarring because the dropped part makes room for it.
There is a long list of ways that NES composer used the tools available to them, from using volume adjustments to create an echo effect on one track to reinforcing the drum parts with the bass track. My point in all this is to illustrate the way composers benefitted from their limitations. To artists struggling to create, I would recommend taking inspiration from the early video game designers who created long-lasting memories for millions of people with a fraction of the tools we have available today. To a painter, maybe limit the number colors you work with, just to get the juices flowing. For someone working in design, maybe start with a couple pencils. For a recording engineer, maybe you don't need 200 reverb plugins. Less is usually more. Creativity requires space and boundaries, and if they aren't provided for you sometimes you have to define your own parameters.
Since watching the new X-Men movie I have been on a bit of a kick lately, going back and watching the original films. While watching X-Men First Class last night, I was particularly enjoying Magneto's theme:
There is very little to the theme, melodically speaking. It goes to show how powerful harmony can be when two chords can provide so much energy and drama. I wonder if the composer (Henry Jackman) started out with the intention to add a melody over the chords, but then decided it was strong enough without. The closest thing to a melody is in the strings, seen here:
It's really more of an ostinato than a melody. What really interests me is the chord progression, as it instantly reminded me of my post on The Imperial March theme. In the post, I mentioned how movie scores often use minor chords moving to other minor chords in different keys as a way to create a mysterious, ominous sound...perfect for Magneto.
Darth Vader's theme also goes back and forth between two minor chords a third apart - Gm and Ebm - which I discuss exhaustively in the original post. Jackman's score slows them down and really milks the flow between the chords. The cool thing about these two chords is how well they flow back and forth. Each note voice-leads smoothly:
The theme uses this flow in the ostinato and in the harmonies throughout. Jackman, surprisingly, seems to avoid using the common note, Eb, to bridge the two chords. Instead, if he carries a note over the bar line it is to add some awesome crunchiness. The B on the Ab chord becomes a Major 7 over the C, or a D carries from a sharp 11 on the Ab chord to a 9 on the C.
For whatever reason, there must be something about two minor chords a Major third apart that just screams "conflicted super villain with a tortured, sympathetic back story." And that is what Magneto and Darth Vader have in common.
