A Quick Quote

While I'd like to write something vast and epic and heartfelt and meaningfull as 2011 approaches, I find that sledding, movies, parties and card games are devouring the 16-day break that just two weeks ago seemed infinitely long. 

Instead, I'd like to finish 2010 with a quote from Keith Richards, whose biography, "Life," squeeked into a few top ten non-fiction book lists this year (I'll refrain from giving a full review of the book, but I think I can summarize it in a few words: guitar, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, fight with Mick, drugs, love, drugs, composing, off drugs). 

This quote is, to me, among the best ever put down on paper:

"Mick's album was called 'She's The Boss,' which said it all.  I've never listened to the entire thing all the way through.  Who has?  It's like 'Mein Kampf.'  Everybody had a copy, but nobody listened to it."

It brings tears to the eyes.

So there you go.  A very happy New Year to everyone, and I look forward to an exciting and healthy 2011.

PKH

Ringo's Signature Drum Fill

I recently heard a radio interview with Ringo Starr, who was promoting his latest solo album, “Y Not.”  And as much fun as it was to hear one of the Fab Four reminisce in a relaxed and affable manner, I winced upon hearing a recording of Ringo and Joss Stone singing the new track, “Who’s Your Daddy.”  Good gracious me - embarrassingly bad. 

But regardless of what you can say about Ringo’s singing and songwriting prowess, you can’t knock his drumming. 

Or can you?  Certainly, as snot-nosed children, my friends and I did, as if somehow playing drums for the world’s most successful rock band deserved admonishment.   True, the movie “The Caveman” had just been released and warranted some condemnation, but it wasn’t really Ringo’s acting that was the target of our reproach – it was his drumming. 

And what was wrong with it?  Well, it wasn’t over-the-top, flashy and intricate.  In short, we criticized Ringo for not being Neil Peart, John Bonham, Keith Moon or Bill Bruford.

In hindsight, this seems rather silly.  After all, one didn’t need ten toms, seven cymbals and a double kick drum to lay down a solid rhythm track on “I Saw Her Standing There.”  And while Ringo’s virtuosity might pale in comparison to some other drummers, today I appreciate his minimalist playing.   Listen to tracks like “She Said, She Said,” “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “Come Together” and “A Day In A Life,” and I think it can be agreed that Ringo was an innovate drummer and an important contributor to The Beatles’ sound.

But what really sticks with me when I consider Ringo’s drumming is his signature drum fill: two sixteenth notes on the one beat, followed by a sixteenth rest, followed by four or five more sixteenth notes.  Here's how it sounds:

The earliest example of this drum fill that I can find is on “Hey Jude.”  Then, during the recording of the White Album, the man either fell in love with this lick, or he was in a creative rut, for he played it on no fewer than five songs (and multiple times on some of them – check out “Helter Skelter”).  He continued to use the fill for the remaining Beatle albums, especially on Abbey Road.

But it’s a great fill: simple and memorable.  Without further ado, here’s a compilation of Ringo’s Signature Drum Fill.

Living in the Moment vs. Recording the Moment

Two years ago I attended a concert with a friend who texted his way through most of it - he apparently had some very urgent message that simply couldn't wait.  This is in sharp contrast to the days my wife and I go without communicating with each other when she's on the road, as the most riveting text I could probably come up with would be: "Just completed my fourth load of laundry. Love you!"  My friend's interest in (euphemism for "addiction to") his backlit companion irked me for several reasons during the show, not the least of which was, "Can't you for two hours manage to enjoy the moment?" 

Of course, one needn't have a cellphone (I don't) to fall victim to an electronic obsession.  Cameras have often served as security blankets, as their owners worry more about documenting an occasion and less about actually participating in the occasion.  And I'm not necessarily busting the chops of the photo enthusiast.  I too have had spurts during which I was hell-bent on capturing a moment on film, but far too often these efforts resulted in a memory that exists only within the confines of the .jpeg files that seem to have obliterated my own capacity to remember.  When I imagine a party I attended two summer's ago in Milwaukee, I don't imagine the party - I imagine the photo of the party that's saved on my computer. 

With the advent of Youtube, Facebook and Twitter (not to mention self-indulgent blogs) our ability and desire to document that which is meaningless has never been stronger, and the results at live concerts haven't gone unnoticed.  This week, the Wall Street Journal has a great article about differing sides of the video-taking coin.  Some musical acts, like Radiohead, not only except fans taking concert videos, they encourage it and, in one case, even supplied the master recording for a fan's video project.  Others groups attempt to limit those who take videos of their concerts, not so much because of the monetary ramifications, but because they believe that the concert-going experience should be sacrosanct, and hundreds of glowing cell-phones undermine the thrill of The Moment.

I've benefitted from those who've worked to capture a moment on film, and I've suffered for it as well.  It isn't the no-brainer that some might make claim.  When I see a parent texting at a park while a child begs for attention, I can't help but think that something's wrong with this picture.  When I see a fan recording a concert, I can't help but wonder if it'll be posted on Youtube by morning.

Descending Half-Steps

The human ear likes to hear descending half-steps (a half-step is the smallest interval between notes,  e.g., going from C to B or G to G flat).  I don’t know the science behind it, but something about descending notes pleases us.  Last month I spoke about how artists commonly use descending major scales in music, but descending half-steps are no less commonly used. 

In my search for examples for descending half-steps, the clear-cut victor is the guitar work by Jesse Harris on “Don’t Know Why,” a hit from Norah Jones’s 2002 album, Come Away With Me (Jesse also composed the song).  On this song, in the key of B-flat, the guitar descends from the major 7th (the note A) all the way down to the major third (D).  A full fifth!  It’s one of those classic examples of “less is more,” a perfect selection of just the write notes.

Give a listen.

Descending half-steps are used in shorter runs all the time.  Some songs that come to mind are Eric Clapton's "Tears In Heaven," Radiohead's "Paranoid Android," "My Way" - made famous by Frank Sinatra - and nearly every jazz song ever written.  It's just one more thing to consider when listening to or performing music. 

New Song, "Two For The Price Of One"

Here's a new tune you can download, Two For The Price Of One, written for my daughters' b'not mitzvah.  Enjoy!  And thanks to Anthony Calderisi for his lead guitar work.

Two For The Price Of One

There's a feeling, that you're on to something good

This bears repeating

You're on to something good

And as you get there, you can be assured

We've got your backside covered darlings

You are the priceless culmination

A linkage in a chain of generations

Two for the price of one, and look what you've become

Two for the price of one, the journey's just begun

There are moments when I can't believe my eyes

My mind is reeling

Do you ever get this feeling?

'Cuz I remember only yesterday

You twirled your summer dresses darlings

You are the sum of our ambitions

A journey from the past to new traditions

Two for the price of one, sometimes I'm overcome by

  Two for the price of one, something's just begun