Playing Music without Understanding Theory

My musical ear is decent – not great.  If you play me a complicated jazz tune or a song by King Crimson and the like, I will not be able to play along, but for most rock/folk/blues tunes, I can figure out what’s happening pretty quickly, and my ability to play the song isn’t usually beholden to a particular key.  Like many musicians, I can think of chord changes in terms of Roman numerals, which is hugely helpful when “hearing” changes and playing along.  I’m often made fun of in band practice because I’ll always ask what key a song is in before we start playing.  I can never remember.  Once I know the key, I’m good to go (usually).

What I find amazing is just how many musicians – good one, too – play their instruments without really understanding the language of music, what we often call music theory.  A friend of mine put it this way: it’s like learning a second language by memorizing a lot of sentences.  Yes, it’s impressive to learn so many sentences, and you may be able to utter hundreds of them correctly, like “I’d like my breakfast with two eggs and toast,” but if you instead want to say, “I’d like my lunch with three pickles and coleslaw,” you’ll be in a fix.

This is a great analogy for what some musicians do.  And I’m not knocking them.  I think it’s amazing.  What they do is actually harder than what I do, because they’re memorizing songs.  I’m usually not.  I’m following chord changes that I hear in my head.  I know guitar players who can play crazy difficult solos note for note but who don’t know what a C7#9 chord is.  By contrast, I can’t learn a complicated solo without a great deal of effort;  I can, however, play along to a tune and tell you that the iv minor chord that the band is playing is incorrect – that it’s a flat VII major 9 (as recently happened when my band was learning “Brass in Pocket”).  I’m relatively good at that kind of thing.  Different skill sets, I suppose, and my ear still isn’t what it should be.  A good jazz musician might wonder how I dare to call myself a musician when I don’t know what mode to play over the aforementioned C7#9 chord.  I’ve got a lot to learn, for sure.

But those among us who literally memorize their parts should be revered on some level, because it’s a huge feat to memorize parts and excel in doing so.  The problems arise when you’re trying to communicate with each other.  I’ve had bandmates who don’t know what I’m talking about when I ask them to go to a III major chord, or who can’t change song keys without a lot of preparation.  That can be problematic and, at times, limiting, just as I would be a limiting factor in a jazz combo.

But I think it’s also encouraging that there are multiple ways to approach and enjoy music, and that one can be proficient in some aspect of music but not in others. Ultimately, those differences might even be invaluable to the makeup of a band.

Journey's "Too Late"

For a couple of decades, it was in vogue to trash the band Journey.  With their at-times schmaltzy lyrics, histrionic videos and sappy ballads, the band were easy targets and critics were quick to dismiss them, but I’ve always felt that Journey were a cut above their arena rock peers; their musicianship alone took them beyond bands like Head East, Def Leppard, Loverboy, Foreigner and April Wine.   And during the transitional period from their fusion prog-rock roots to radio-friendly AOR during 1978-1980, they achieved – in my mind – rock gold with the studio albums Infinity, Evolution and Departure.  Subsequent years would bring the band greater success, but I love the period when Steve Perry shared vocal duties with keyboardist Gregg Rolie, culminating in 1981’s live Captured, which I received as a present for my thirteenth birthday that year.

It’s this live album that came to mind recently as I drove from Chicago to Cincinnati, where during the commute I spied the exit sign for “Dixie Highway,” which also happens to be the title of a song off of Captured.  For the next hour of my drive, my mental jukebox went through the entire album track by track, and then replayed a song that I’ve always loved but is largely absent from radio these days, not to mention Journey’s setlists.  Journey may have experienced a resurgence over the past decade in a half, perhaps even garnering some respect that had been denied the band early on, but along the way some of their old radio standards have gone by the wayside.  One such song is “Too Late,” one of my favorites off of Evolution, and while I replayed the song in my mind several times during my trip, I noticed a nifty melodic trick that the band employs.

The song’s verse has a simple chord pattern – D A  Bmin  F#min G  (I V vi iii IV) – and the chorus continues in D, employing the non-diatonic flat-7 chord, C major.  It all works well, with Perry’s singable melody working nicely on top.

What elevates the song is twofold:  first, the solo section has some fun with the chords, first transposing to the key of E and then leading us to the key of A, eventually building on a sustained E chord, begging to resolve back to an A. 

But then the second interesting thing happens.  Instead of the next verse starting on A and continuing the verse in that key, we hear the same chords as in the first verse: D A  Bmin F#min and G.  But they now sound like the song is in the key of A, so instead of hearing it as I V vi iii, we hear it as IV I ii vi.   When the band hits the A chord, it sounds like the tonic, and by the time they get to G, we’re back in the key of D, and the song resolves to the chorus as heard twice before.

How?  How the heck does this work?  I’ve tried figuring it out and it isn’t a no-brainer.  It all seems to stem from the altered melody.  If Steve Perry had sung the same melody as in the first verse, our ears would quickly adjust and accept that the band is now back in the key of D.  Instead, Perry does a wonderful melodic variation:

• The original verse has the melodic motif: F# A B A F# D F# E.  D pentatonic.  Cool. 

• But AFTER the solo Perry sings A A B B B C# B A. 

And THAT is all it takes to make the verse sound like it’s in a different key.  Why does this work?  After all, all of the notes are diatonic to both the key of D and the key of A.  What the heck is happening here?

Truthfully, I don’t know.  I’ve sung the second melody over some different chords in the key of D, and it isn’t required that our ears hear it in the key of A, but they do.  Part of it is the fact that the solo ends on an E chord, which at that point sounds like the V chord.  But dang, I find it all a bit baffling.

It just goes to show how melodic alterations can totally flip a chord progression around, and I have to give guitarist Neil Schon and vocalist Steve Perry credit for employing this technique, whether it was by design or by pure chance, and whether or not they could articulate why it works.  It does work, and that’s what matters.  I wish I could understand it enough to employ the technique to my own songwriting, but I’m not sure I’d know where to begin.

And this is one little example of why Journey was not your average arena rock band.  And why seeing a sign that reads “Dixie Highway” can take you down a long ‘journey’ of musical discovery.  Rock on.

Learning the Guitar - Again

For some keyboard players – me included – the guitar is a very mysterious instrument.  The visual logic of a piano, with its repeating 12-note pattern of black and white keys, each key corresponding to a unique note, is lost when trying to decipher the fretboard of a guitar.  (“What do you mean middle C can be played here…and here…and here…and here?”)

Sure, learning the basic open chords is easy enough.  Back in the late 80s I borrowed my friend Shawn’s acoustic guitar, bought a chord book, and pretty soon I was playing songs like “Driver 8” by R.E.M. and the similar jangly “I’m Looking Through You” by the Beatles, my fingertips pulsing painfully with each passing hour.  I even figured out open E tuning so that I could play Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi.” 

But dang, it got hard after that.  Like, REALLY hard.  As soon as I placed my fingers further up the fretboard, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.  Over the past thirty years, I’ve made a concerted effort to improve my guitar playing at least a half a dozen times.  I’ve taken lessons.  I’ve watched videos.  I’ve learned songs.  But each time my efforts have fizzled out after a few months.

But not this year.  I recently started to break down the guitar in ways I hadn’t been dedicated enough to do before.  It started with a terrific set of tutorials on YouTube by guitar instructor Mark Zabel.   This guy is terrific, and I like his instruction techniques.  Of particular help to me were his videos on “Playing the right notes” and the CAGED system of instruction.  CAGED may not work for some people, but it helped me to better visualize the fretboard, and I can now work my way up and down the guitar neck (slowly) to play different chord intervals. I also enjoyed this guy’s video:

Despite CAGED being helpful, in a way it overcomplicates things.  There are really only three shapes for major triads:  D, A and E.  C is basically the same as D.  G is basically the same as A.  At least that’s how I’ve looked at it, and it’s been helpful.   It’s similar for minor chords.  I learned the shapes for D minor, A minor and E minor.  G minor is basically the same as E minor.  C minor is basically the same as D minor. 

These videos put me on the right track, but just as important has been my commitment to learn how to shape chords depending on where the tonic is.  If the tonic is on the second string, how do I shape a major chord?  A minor chord?  A dominant 7 chord?  What if the tonic is on the fourth string?  I’ve worked hard at this, and gradually I’ve better grasped the different chord shapes. 

With the above tools, as long as I can follow where the tonic is, I’m able to play whatever triad I want.  (for CAGED 7th chords, I like this guy’s video). I’m gradually figuring out the proper hand position no matter where I am on the fret board, and over time patterns have emerged.  I’ve found it helpful to do the following:

1)      Go from a major chord to its relative minor, and vice versa.
2)      Play a I, IV, V blues patterns.
3)      Play chords over descending roots of the major scale (think the “Piano Man” by Billy Joel, and see my blog about this musical cliché here.)

Now, none of the above is going to make me a great guitar player, or even a good one.  Hell, just a few days ago I tried playing the opening lick to David Bowie’s “Rebel Rebel,” and I could not get my left had to cooperate!  I may never play a lead line that anyone would like to hear.  But my goal for the foreseeable future is to be able to play major, minor, dominant 7, major 7 and minor 7 chords from anywhere on the guitar.  If I can do that confidently by the end of year, that will go a long way towards making me moderately competent at the guitar. 

A good start, anyhow.