Lyrics that Stress the Wrong Syl-LA-ble

There’s a Dan Fogelberg song that was a hit back in 1975 called “Part of the Plan.” It’s a good tune that I’d forgotten all about until recently, when a friend of mine gave me a copy of the album Souvenirs. I listened to the opening track and scratched my head a bit, because while I remembered the tune, I still didn’t know what the heck Fogelberg was saying during the chorus. Was he mentioning an exotic city somewhere? A bar? A dance I’m unfamiliar with?

No, he was saying “One day we’ll all un-DER-stand,” stressing the wrong syl-LA-ble. It sounded weird when I was six. It sounds weird today at age 56.

And it brought to mind additional cases where songwriters have taken huge liberties with their lyrics, asking the audience to basically shrug off what is clearly artistic license gone awry.

On my podcast recently (episode 74), we featured a song called “Mirage Zone” by Hot Mama Silver. In preparation for the recording, I listened to the song multiple times, not knowing what it was called, and I didn’t figure the title out until I read it. The singer sings, “MEER-age Zone,” instead of “Mir-AGE Zone,” and it’s the most important part of the tune! The title! Hot Mama Silver did themselves no favors with this one.

I thought of some other tunes that stress wrong syllables for the sake of the melody, and some of them are hits - fantastic songs in every other way.

Stevie Wonder takes all sorts of liberties with the syllables on his amazing song, “I Wish,” the most egregious being in the chorus: “Why did those days e-VER have to go.”

The first line of Alanis Morissette’s breakout hit, “You Oughta Know,” stresses the wrong syllable:

“I want you to know, I’m hap-PY for you,” and she goes on to sing the words eloquent-LY and ba-BY. But hey, there’s no denying the song’s greatness. I still remember hearing it for the first time en route from Detroit to Muskegon, Michigan, and I was floored. Now, you could make the argument that the odd stresses in this song mirror the singer’s seething anger, a case when what one says doesn’t come out calm or controlled or correct.

You could argue that, but Morissette is a repeat offender, as a contributor to this link highlights. It was pointed out that she outdid her mis-syllabic self on the song “Uninvited,” (another song I like):

“I am fla-TERED by…”
“I have sim-PLY”
“An un-for-TUN-ate slight.”

Ugh. Yeah, I like the tune, but that’s pretty bad.

Another hit song with a misplaced stress is Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” when they sing, “When the rain wa-SHES you clean you’ll know.”

The above-referenced link of syllabic stresses has a lot more examples, including several I hadn’t thought of:

Eric Clapton, “Won’t you be my FOR-ever woman.”

Stevie Wonder again, from “You Are the Sunshine of My Life, when he sings, “Because you came to my res-CUE.”

The Beatles “Old Brown Shoe” with the line, “My love is something you can’t RE-ject.”

The list could go on and on. But what are we do make of it, especially if you’re a songwriter? Should lyrics always be sung the way we speak? Probably not, but I would say most of the time, yes. If you’re purposely stressing a wrong syllable to be clever or for comedic effect – a sort of “wink” to the audience – then I think it can be not only justified, but downright genius. One contributor to the above thread wrote about Ira Gershwin employing stresses for comedic effect in the song “It Ain’t Necessrily So”:

“He made his home in
that fish’s ab-DO-men.”

That’s great! And I imagine that showtunes are full of these types of examples. Hip hop and rap, too.

But many of the above examples seem to simply be laziness. When a word didn’t fit the meter, the songwriter just stuck with it even if it sounded odd. That certainly isn’t the ideal. No one is denying (or at least I’m not) the merits of each and every song I mentioned above, but I’m confident that they would all have benefited if the offending lyrics had been replaced by words that fit the stresses naturally.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!

But now I’m wondering how many misplaced stresses I’ve written in my repertoire. There are probably a few!

Ideal Album Lengths

We knew we were in trouble when Aerosmith started putting out 60-minute records.

I recently purchased two Van Halen albums on vinyl and noticed how quickly I had to flip the record. VH wasn’t prone to long-winded releases. Check out the times of their first several records:

Van Halen, 35:34
Van Halen II, 31:36
Women and Children First, 33:35
Fair Warning, 31:11
Diver Down, 31:04
1984, 33:22

Not until you get into the CD era do their albums go over 40 minutes.

It’s not as if the LP format was limited to 35 minutes’ worth of music. I remember back in the day dubbing LPs onto a side of a Maxwell 90-minute cassette tape and having to cut songs when copying Genesis records. My first two purchases from Genesis were …And Then There Were Three and Selling England by the Pound, which both came in at over 53 minutes, more than an entire album side of material than your typical Van Halen record. Talk about getting more bang for your buck.

You could argue that the fidelity of those old Genesis albums wasn’t very good due to the physical constraints of the LP format and the compromises that had to be made to pack in that much music, but there were very good-sounding records with more content than your standard hard rock album:

Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon: 42:50
Stevie Wonder, Innervisions: 43:52
Supertramp, Breakfast in America: 46:06
Toto IV: 42:17
Michael Jackson, Thriller: 42:16

Clearly, even during the vinyl era, bands could put out records that were over 40 minutes that still sounded amazing (which is why engineer Ken Caillat’s argument that the wonderful song ”Silver Springs” had to be dropped from the 38-minute Rumours doesn’t really hold water).

But then came the CD, and things started to get out of hand. Aerosmith’s 1993 release Get a Grip clocked in at a whopping 62 minutes! Who on Earth needed to hear over 60 minutes of Aerosmith in 1993? Van Halen’s 1998 release Van Halen III was 63 minutes. Rush got into the act too, with Vapor Trails and Snakes and Arrows both well over an hour long.

I’m a big Rush fan. But that’s too damn long.

Listening to records from the CD era, it’s hard not to conclude that if artists had had some self-discipline, they could have ended up with a perfect 40-minute record. I recently listened to the Genesis album We Can’t Dance from 1991, and it’s generally regarded as a subpar album, but it’s over 71 minutes! If you cut out five of the weakest tracks (and there are definitely five weak tracks), I think you’d end up with a very good 45-minute album.

For a more recent example, Peter Gabriel’s I/O from 2023 may contain some good songs, but once again, it runs at almost 70 minutes long. It’s just too much, with too many tracks that aren’t distinctive enough to hold a listener’s attention for over an hour.

One could rightly point out that some of the greatest records ever released have been double-LPs with a lot of material. Consider the following:

The Beatles, The Beatles (White Album): 93:33
The Rolling Stones, Exile on Main St.: 67:07
The Who, Quadrophenia: 81:42
Led Zeppelin, Physical Graffiti: 85:59
Fleetwood Mac, Tusk: 74:02
Stevie Wonder, Songs in the Key of Life: if you include the extra EP included with the double album, a whopping 104:29
The Clash, London Calling: 65:07
Pink Floyd, The Wall: 80:42
Prince, 1999: 70:29

That’s a pretty amazing list, so why was it okay for those bands to put out lengthy records but not Aerosmith, Van Halen and Rush?

Well, it would have been okay for those bands to put out a double album when they were at their creative peaks. You want to combine Toys in the Attic and Rocks into one double album? Sold! It would be among the all-time best. The same for Van Halen’s first two records or Rush’s Permanent Waves and Moving Pictures.

But by the 1990s, these bands were not producing their best stuff. Yes, some of it was good. Maybe a lot of it was good. But an awful lot was filler, fluff, overwrought, drawn out and tedious. Long albums should be reserved for artists at their peaks, creating so much material that they can hardly stop themselves from composing great track after great track, struggling to find a way to get it all out on record. That’s why in the CD era it made sense for artists like Smashing Pumpkins, 2Pac, Drive-By Truckers, Beyonce, Christina Aguilera and Arcade Fire to put out really long albums. It was their time.

In the 1990s, it was not Rush’s time, nor Genesis’s nor Van Halen’s.

And let’s face it: sometimes less is more. I’ll take a perfect half-an hour record by Van Halen any day over a bloated album that has me constantly reaching for the skip button.

After writing the above, I wondered if I’d ever committed the sin of producing an album that was way too long. I did a quick check, and the longest one I’ve ever completed was The Palisades from 2016, clocking in at 47:53. And you know what? It would probably have been better at 40 minutes.

So there you are.

Archie Bunker and the Pentatonic Scale

Cooking in the kitchen the other day, I began humming the theme song to the classic 70s sitcom All in the Family, “Those Were the Days.” (TV theme songs constantly pop up in my head – they were good tunes!). In short order I recognized that nearly the entire song is comprised of the major pentatonic scale. Not until the B section, as Carroll O’Connor pines for the days when “girls were girls and men were men,” is the 7th of the scale introduced. Good stuff! It reminded me of my first introduction to the pentatonic scale as a child, when my sister taught me how to play a version of “Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater” using only the black keys of our piano. I didn’t know at the time that the five keys made up a pentatonic scale, but in retrospect I probably became innately familiar with the scale’s sound.  

Years later, when I played baritone horn in my school’s band, one of my favorite pieces was “Variations of a Korean Folk Song” by John Barnes Chance, a ubiquitous piece among band circles at the time. Nearly the entire composition’s melody uses a pentatonic scale, and the impact of the song’s climax is probably heightened because the melody is played over a low brass line that finally introduces the 7th and 4th degrees of the scale, surprising the listener who by that point has grown accustomed to hearing only the five notes of the pentatonic scale. Really lovely.  

Traditional Chinese music utilizes the pentatonic scale, something American composer Alan Menken tapped into when composing songs for the Disney film, Mulan. The A section of the opening track, “Honor to us All,” is comprised solely of the pentatonic scale.

When I was a junior in high school, after I’d saved up my dishwashing money and skipped my high school’s homecoming dance to purchase by buddy’s older brother’s Peavey T40 bass guitar, I learned the familiar beginning notes to “My Girl,” the Temptations classic. Not only does the opening guitar riff use the pentatonic scale, the melody of the entire tune is comprised of only five notes.

Somewhere along the line my piano teacher Fred Tesch taught me the blues scale, and probably even intimated its association with the pentatonic scale, but it wasn’t until I was older that I truly understood the relationship. When I first learned the intro to Supertramp’s “Bloody Well Right,” it finally sunk in that the blues scale is essentially a major pentatonic scale starting on the 6th degree (which is simply called a minor pentatonic scale), plus one additional “blue” note. When Supertramp pianist Rick Davies plays his fabulous intro on the Wurlitzer, he’s primarily jamming on a G blues scale, though the song is in B-flat. The same technique is employed in Stevie Wonder’s “Sir Duke.” When I doubled the riff in my horn band years ago, I was well aware that I was doing the same thing Rick Davies had done in Supertramp: playing a major key’s relative minor blues scale (in this case a G-sharp blues scale, though the song is in the key of B).

Over the years, I dutifully took note, and even now when I’m soloing, I’m hopelessly tied to the pentatonic scale (I’m a pretty good keyboard player, but creative soloing is not exactly my forte).

Irving Berlin is famous for (among composing many great songs) preferring to play the black keys of a piano, and he had a transposing piano built so that he could always play in the key of F sharp.  Here he is demonstrating the invention.

It would be wrong to conclude that Berlin only played the black keys – far from it – but it’s nice to know that as the younger me was pounding out “Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater,” I was playing the notes that Berlin favored. Not a bad way to begin a musical journey.

Twelve Albums from the 50s through the 80s

Last week I highlighted eleven albums from the past thirty years that have grabbed my attention as of late. Below I’ve listed an additional twelve albums in reverse chronological order from the 50s through the 80s that have inspired me recently. Next week I’ll discuss new musical artists and their struggle to find an audience. Stay tuned.

Dire Straits – Love Over Gold (1982).  Rewinding almost a decade from last week’s blog, this release was a regretful omission from my original list a few years ago. One of my all-time favorites. I’ll never forget camping up in Shawano, Wisconsin and awaking to the live version of “Telegraph Road” from the live Alchemy album (that is sadly unavailable on Spotify). It’s such a moody and moving piece, rivaled perhaps by the title track and “Private Investigations.” Wonderful.

Missing Persons – Spring Sessions M (1982).  Back when I was a snotty little teenager, I played in a band called The Grab, and we did the song “Walking in LA” by Missing Persons. Something prompted me to listen to the whole album a few years ago, and my, oh my, what a powerhouse of a record, led by the then-husband/wife duo of Dale and drummer extraordinaire Terry Bozzio. The album still sounds fresh and present, not of its time despite the synths. This might have something to the superb drums – the work of Terry on “U.S. Drag” is ridiculous.  In addition to “Walking in LA,” you probably know “Words,” “Windows,” and “Destination Unknown.” Once of those bands that never again reached the heights of their debut LP.

Donald Fagen – The Nightfly (1982).  Make it a trifecta from 1982!  Another album I overlooked in my top albums blogs, this is such a fun, positive and sophisticated album, in contrast to the ofttimes cynical Steely Dan. Not a bad cut on it. I love the comedic elements of the title track and the tight harmonies of “Walk Between Raindrops” and “Ruby.”

Jackson Browne – Hold Out (1980).  I’ve already listed Browne’s 2014 masterpiece Standing in the Breach as one of my favorite albums, but this release from when I was 12 years old put him on the map for me, and it hangs together oh so well, with a great combination of rockers along with some heart-felt numbers. Friends of mine who are a bit older prefer Jackson’s earlier records, but for me those releases have amazing songs along with some real clunkers. Hold Out holds up! If you want an example of horrific rock journalism, read the original Rolling Stone review of this release. It’s a mess.

Cheap Trick – Dream Police (1979).  Another one of those gems from the greatest year in music, I eliminated this from my original list of desert albums because of one song, “I Know What I Want,” but that was silly. The album is amazing! For me it’s one of the two best power-pop albums ever released, along with Off Broadway’s On.  I have some friends for whom “Gonna Raise Hell” doesn’t work, but I could probably put that song on repeat for several hours before pressing pause. Marvelous.

Gerry Rafferty – City to City (1978).  My son became familiar with “Baker Street” through a movie or game or something, and he would quiz me on the singer’s name, because, well, my mind is sometimes a jumbled mess of pop culture references and I can’t always keep things straight. But since then I dived into Rafferty’s City to City and I no longer have that problem. My favorite track – one that I have a faint recollection hearing in my childhood – is “Home and Dry,” without a doubt among my top 100 songs of all-time, but the whole album is strong. Rafferty has one of those voices that is instantly recognizable, but after a few follow-up albums, he disappeared from the charts.

Procol Harum – Grand Hotel (1973).  I was told that their 1969 release, Salty Dog, was the bee’s knees, but this one wins the prize for me. Full of bombast that might turn some people off, I love the complex chord changes and soaring melodies of the title track, “TV Caesar,” and “A Rum Tale,” a lover’s lament if ever there was one. And there’s some humor here too with “A Souvenir of London,” which was banned from the radio at the time!

Stevie Wonder – Innervisions (1973).  Another release from ’73 (a darn-good year for music – Quadrophenia, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Selling England by the Pound, Dark Side of the Moon, Houses of the Holy, Tales from Topographic Oceans, Band on the Run, etc.), I listened to this album in the car a few months ago, and damn, it’s nearly perfect, with Wonder doing the “wonderful” and handling virtually every instrument and vocal on the album. The funky tunes are balanced out nicely with the beautiful “All In Love Is Fair,” and “Visions,” a heartbreaking wish for a better world that seems especially current. The opening of “Living for the City” gives me chills. Perfect.

Rod Stewart – Every Picture Tells a Story (1971).  I originally went back and forth on this one, but there’s simply no denying that this is a stupendous effort from Stewart. The music is rough and raw and sloppy, the downbeats often played by three instruments at three different times, but damn, the energy the band (basically The Faces) exudes is infectious. One of those country-tinged efforts that I often eschew, but this one hits the mark for me, with wisely-chosen covers balancing out the marvelous “Mandolin Rain,” Maggie May,” and – among my favorites ever – the inimitable title track.

Emitt Rhodes – Emitt Rhodes (1970).  Chalk another one up for Spotify. While listening to Utopia’s self-titled 1982 release (which has already made by best-of list), the streaming service’s algorithm played the song “Somebody Made For Me” and my ears pricked up. Rhodes is another one of those artists like Nick Drake and Rodriquez who didn’t make the splash he deserved and got royally screwed by the record company. This is a power-pop masterpiece, with every instrument and vocal performed by the man himself. There’s a nice 2009 documentary about Rhodes called The One Man Beatles, and after a 43 year hiatus he managed to put out an album in 2016 before dying in 2020.  Here’s a nice summary of another record collector’s discovery of this fantastic musician. Isn’t it cool that my knowledge of Utopia led to Emitt Rhodes who then led to The Red Button (mentioned in last week’s blog). The musical rabbit holes you can go down are endless, especially since the advent of streaming services.

The Zombies – Odessey & Oracle (1968).  Yeah, I apparently was the only person on the planet who had never heard of this album despite it being listed as one of the best on most rock album retrospectives.  I came upon the 2008 40th anniversary live concert of this album on Spotify and actually like it better than the original release. The transition from “Brief Candles” to “Hung up on a Dream” makes to cry every time. I don’t know why, but the crowd reaction helps, and the chord progression of the latter tune is perfect, surprising the listener with the six-major chord after what starts as a very basic sequence. I’ve since discovered that my daughter sometimes plays “This Will Be Our Year” for her psych patients as a music therapist. Nice! Odessey & Oracle is the first new-pressing album I purchased since 1986! I’ve purchased quite a few more since then.  Once you break the seal, you’re in trouble.

Wild Bill Davison – Pretty Wild (1956).  This one is courtesy of my dad, who cleared out a bunch of his vinyl a half a decade ago or so, and I inherited a couple of dozen jazz records, some of which I’d neglected to listen to until recently. This recording is one of those lilting listens that calms my nagging nerves, neither calling too much attention to itself nor putting me to sleep. I don’t know if this is considered great jazz, but the combo of strings and Davison’s pure tone hits the spot.

So there you are! Twenty-three albums (between last week and this week) that have caught my attention over the past three years. Some of it old and familiar, much of it old and oddly unfamiliar to me, and a couple of newer releases.

There are some people who argue that there isn’t any good music today, to which I cry, bullshit. It’s harder to find good music on the radio than ever before, but there is so much good music coming out today it’s overwhelming. I’ll write about new music and how it’s harder and harder for today’s artists to find an audience in next week’s blog.

Delving into the Harpejji (scales and fingering)

It had been in the back of my mind ever since watching Stevie Wonder tear into one during his Songs in the Key of Life tour back in 2015.  The harpejji.  This amazing, awe-inspiring instrument that seemed to be a godsend for keyboardists – a stringed instrument with an enormous expressional palette that’s played much like a keyboard instrument, with hands in a piano-like position.  Being the genius that he is, Wonder appeared to master this relatively new instrument created by Tim Meeks of Marcodi Musical Products in no time flat.  As for me, after finally taking the plunge and purchasing a beautiful G16 harpejji last winter, I found myself floundering after several months.  I’d thought that I could approach the instrument intuitively, eschewing the formality that accompanied my piano instruction decades ago, and to some degree, I succeeded.  But after months if piddling around and coming up with a few nice motifs and learning a few songs, I realized that I had to approach things in a more systematic way. 

A big challenge for me was fingering and how to best approach notes quickly and comfortably.  I kept on second guessing myself when viewing tutorials on YouTube, as the techniques they displayed seemed anything but efficient, offering one-octave scales that required sliding into notes and that didn’t allow for multiple octave movements.  Even the newly-added charts on the Marcodi website don’t achieve what I’d like to see.

In the midst of my exploration, I happened upon a blog entry by Matthieu Amiguet of Switzerland through the “harpejji hangout” forum, and this cracked the door open for me.  It confirmed my suspicions about what I’d been viewing online, and it inspired me to really nail down fingering for the most useful scales.  The fingering that Amiguet decided upon for the major scales are exactly what I settled on, and I’ve since (mostly) settled on fingering for minor, harmonic minor, blues and pentatonic scales. For all of the examples below, I’ve written fingering that assumes you’ll continue to go up the scale. You might end up using slightly different fingering once you reach the end of your run.

Here is the fingering for major scales as I originally viewed at Amiguet’s blog.

After some additional exploration, I decided that for natural minor scales I’d use the same fingering as above, but starting on the scale’s 6th note.

For harmonic minor, it’s easy to adjust the right hand to accommodate raising the 7th note.  For the left hand, this isn’t as easy.  I’ve offered two solutions, the first without a sliding note, which would normally be preferred, the second including a slide.  Although the first solution requires a bit of a jump, it actually works pretty well. with a little practice.

For pentatonic scales, the following fingering allows for quicker movements than what you’ll find at some of the online tutorials.  It looks a bit awkward at first, but really works well once you get the hang of it. I’ve also included an alternative right-hand version that may come in handy sometimes.

For a variation of the pentatonic scale – the blues scale – once again the right hand fingering is easily achieved, fast and efficient.  This is a blast to play using only the first three fingers.  For the left hand, the fingering is clunky and hard to manage.  I’ve looked for other possibilities and just can’t find one that I like.  Fortunately, the times when I would rip through a blues scale on the left hand are few and far between.

That’s what I’ve come up with so far, and it’s helped me navigate the harpejji much better than I was able to before.  I’ve still got a long way to go, but thanks to Matthieu Amiguet I’ve been able to at least start cracking the code.

If you’ve got your own preferred fingerings for these scales or others that I haven’t yet address, please consider sharing them with me or adding them on the Harpejji Hangout forum.  And if you’re a harpejji player in the Chicago area, I’d love to meet you and exchange ideas.  Give me a shout.