Writing About Music

Two similar “roadmap” symbols that are often confused are DC and DS.

DC, which stands for “da capo,” means “go to the very beginning and play it again.” Think, C stands for cap, which you wear on your head. “Take it from the top.”

DS, which sands for “dal segno,” means “go to the funny looking ‘segno’ symbol (sign), and play from there.” It is always paired with the aforementioned funny looking segno symbol. Think, S stands for silly sign.

DSs are most common when there is an introduction that you don’t want to repeat.

Either can be paired with a further direction after you repeat, such as “al Fine” (play until the Fine sign, and then stop) or “al Coda” (play until the coda, or follow the “to coda” direction).

In this example of a DC al Fine, we do this:

1. Play measures 1 to 8.
2. Play measures 1 to 4, and then stop.

In this example of a DS al Coda, we do this:

1. Play measures 1 to 12.
2. Play measures 5 to 8.
3. Play measures 13 and 14, and then stop.

Some of the “rules” of music notation are really more appropriately considered “ideals, if you can manage it.” One of these is the desire to set four bars per system.

Often, this is great idea. So much music is based on phrases of four bars, and if you can keep a phrase intact, it is easier to read. Here’s an example of where this works out nicely.

But what if there was a busy bee-like accompaniment, say sixteenth note runs? Fitting four bars per system here would be pretty hard to read, even if we reduced the notation size to make it fit.

Tempting would be to set just two bars per line. This would preserve some sub-phrases and give the sixteenth notes room. However, it would also make the score a lot choppier to read, not only because of the system breaks, but also the additional page breaks that would be required. Figuring three systems per page, we’d need five pages, which is very obnoxious on a music stand or piano desk.

In this case, the best compromise would be three bars per line for the first two systems. Overall, this would be the most readable solution, and the whole piece would fit on three pages—relatively managable. Though the phrases don’t correspond to the systems, the notes are all clear, and this needs to be the primary consideration, in an imperfect world.

I might vary the number of bars per system, to make page breaks easier, and to generally cause logical groupings, where appropriate. The important thing is to let go of the sense that “the rule says four bars per line,” and to choose a measure layout that provides for the most readable score.

Here are some subtle delineations between similar audio engineering terms, all meaning “without something.”

Flat: no EQ

Dry: no reverb; sometimes refers to absence of other effects, but it’s usually about reverb

No Effects: no true effects such as delay, chorus, or reverb, but it might include EQ, which is considered sound processing (except in extreme applications, such as using EQ to imitate a shrill, lo-fi phone call voice)

Raw: no effects or sound processing of any kind

(Thanks to Michael Hamilton and Rob Jaczko for their input on this.)

People use the word “groove” to mean different things. The perspective that many at Berklee take is as follows, though this is by no means universal.

A groove is a multi-dimensional musical device that generally serves as a bed for a lead melody (or other types of solo, such as rap), though grooves can also occur on their own. Grooves include recurring rhythmic and harmonic patterns, such as a drum beat, chord patterns, and melodic fragments or “background lines,” which are like melodic motifs (sometimes called “licks” or “hooks”).

Rhythm-section based music makes grooves relatively obvious. A rhythm section is generally a drum set, a bass, and a “comping” instrument (usually guitar, piano, organ—basically, anything that can play chords). It plays the groove. The soloist (singer, sax player, rapper, etc.) plays/sings a melody that “hooks up” (intersects rhythmically) with the groove, but does usually not play the same kind of recurring rhythmic pattern exclusively.

A groove is like a mobile, with different recurring parts played by each instrument, each fulfilling a unique role, repeating and rotating around. Most commonly, drums play a drum beat. There might be additional percussion instruments too. The bass plays chord roots and other important harmony notes, generally hooking up rhythmically with the bass drum of the drum set. Comping instruments (guitar, keyboard, accordion, etc.) play chords. Melodic instruments in a groove can offer short melodies.

The roles are the important thing, not the specific instruments. A bari sax can play the bass line. A string quartet can comp chords. You can strum a beat on muted guitar strings.

Single instruments can play grooves solo. Pianos and guitars are especially good at it. But it gets harder from there. Most grooves are played by multiple instruments in a rhythm section. The musical roles are the important thing, not the instrumentation.

Each part in isolation can be very simple and not sound like much. But when the parts are combined, the whole composite sound object is revealed. The parts fit together, complementing and reinforcing each other.

Not all music has a groove—certainly not an obvious groove. It’s really a sense of recurring rhythm, serving as an underlying accompaniment. People could argue that, say, Beethoven had his grooves. But in terms of modern usage of the term, that’s something of a stretch, and said with a wry smile.

Much contemporary classical music deliberately avoids having a groove, perhaps holding as important to the styles an avoidance of repetition in favor of constantly fresh or ambient sounds. So, drum beats are out if you are anti-groove.

But most popular music is groove-based. Some forms (dance music, hip-hop, funk) put the groove as the most prominent and obvious feature. You could just have the groove and never get around to an actual song. Rock, country, etc. use the groove as the bedrock accompaniment for a song, and the lyrics/melody are more what distinguishes the music. The groove still identifies the style, though.

Some people use the words “groove” and “feel” interchangeably, but I find it more useful to distinguish them. A “feel” is a purely rhythmic device, referencing the beat subdivision and emphasis. A “groove” has a feel, but also chords, instrumentation, hooks, and so forth. You could say, “A funk groove has a sixteenth-note feel and a strong backbeat.” (A backbeat is beats 2 and 4, in 4/4 time.) Or, “A swing groove has a triplet feel.”

Another way “groove” is used is as a verb. “That really grooves.” This means that it has momentum, and sounds distinguishable as its own object. It implies “musically good.” If it “doesn’t groove,” it means that the time doesn’t flow naturally and easily. Maybe it is too cluttered, maybe there is an awkward hesitation, or maybe it is just boring.

But if it is “grooving,” it cuts a line aligned with the natural gravity of the universe, and its resulting motion and momentum. Like a tire track.

In musical terms, it means it rhythmically well executed, cleanly orchestrated, and proficiently performed.

Groovy?

Discussions of imaginary barlines tend to get very mathematical. It’s easier to think of them in terms of clarifying syncopation.

An imaginary barline is a notation convention designed to help the music reader know what’s syncopated—off the beat—and what’s not. It’s not an actual notation mark; it is an understanding and a notation convention.

In 4/4, the imaginary barline separates beats 1 and 2 from beats 3 and 4. Only whole notes and non-syncopated half and dotted half notes can be notated as “crossing the imaginary barline.” No other note durations can cross them. Rather, they must be rewritten as pairs of tied notes, with beat 3 being shown. This makes the notation much easier to read.

So, these are acceptable:

The ones below are not acceptable. Again, the reason is that the notes crossing the imaginary barline disguise the fact that the music is syncopated.

Much easier to follow are the following revisions. The notes are tied, and the target note of the tie re-articulates beat 3, and thus clarifies where the syncopation lies.

In some Latin music, there is a notable notation exception to this convention: bass lines with the following syncopated rhythm. But this is a rare acceptable exception to the general rule.

Beams never cross imaginary barlines. Some publishers group beats on each side of it together, while others begin new beam groups on every beat. These are other ways to clarify the metric organization.

These are correct:

These are incorrect:

Similarly, beams are used to clarify other meters besides 4/4, and the other rules of imaginary barlines also apply to them. Many of these signatures can be interpreted in a variety of ways, and thoughtful beaming can greatly clarify how the music is to be performed. Again, it’s about clarifying subdivisions and which beats are emphasized. Meters have subdivisions every two or three beats, and more complex time signatures (e.g., 7/8, 12/8) might have multiple imaginary barlines to consider. Below, the beams show how some other meters are commonly organized. Other options are available.

This concept of clarifying syncopations also applies when you drill down deeper, into smaller divisions of the measure. For example, this notation clarifies beat 2, and thus the fact that the notation is off the beat. This is a clear way to write that rhythm because the relationship between the sounding notes and the meter is clarified, via the tie.

Here, however, the syncopation is more difficult to figure out, and thus, to be avoided.

These “rules” of notation help make music as easy to read, and thus, interpret. When the notation follows the music’s intent, it becomes much easier for the reader to understand, especially at a glance.

Are you all set with your New Year’s resolutions? Last year, I’m afraid I broke pretty much all of the ones I made, but I did make some progress on one: to be more organized. I’m definitely a convert to the Getting Things Done (GTD) approach by David Allen, though I’m more zealot than master.

David Allen likes to say that acceptable rules of hygiene evolve, and generally speaking, we tolerate less and less skuzziness in our lives as generations pass. For example, people bathe and brush their teeth more often than they did in former decades and centuries. Our tolerance for being dirty and stinky has decreased. He evangelizes for a similar cleanup of personal and professional work habits.

I’m not sure that computer hard drive hygiene has been similarly evolving, in these days where memory is so cheap and plentiful. Maybe we’re a few generations away from really being digitally tidy. But there are great benefits to being organized. You can find things, for instance. Other people can find them too. You can keep track of what’s the most recent version. You can see at a glance what’s missing or where things go. And you can generally escape the feeling (and perception) that your hard disk (and thus, your workplace) is a skuzzy place (different than SCSI!), and generally feel in control of at least part of your environment.

Here are some tips that might help you organize your hard drive—and thus, your work/art.

1. Only use the Documents folder for storage. Avoid storing your files on the desktop or in application folders. If all your personal work is in the Documents folder, you will have a much easier time backing it up, transferring it to a new computer, finding it, and generally living with yourself.

2. In most cases, try to have no more than twenty files in a folder. If you have more than that, additional layers of subfolders might help you. It becomes annoying to try to find items on lists greater than this. Only have more items in a folder if there is a logical sort of sub-organization that goes on within the folder, such as sequentially numbered file names.

3. If you have many projects of a certain type or logical classification, consider bundling them up together in a Projects folder. For example, in my work, I have a folder for Berklee Press projects (books and DVDs), which is part of a higher level of organization called Berklee. I have another folder for my personal compositions. And I have another for my community service activities. There are others, too, but for the sake of this blog, let’s say that there are just those. A snapshot of my hard drive Goose (always name your hard drive), then, looks something like this. Note that I have no files on my desktop. None. Nada. Yesterday, I had about twenty, but that was skuzzy, and it’s cleaned up now, as it gets cleaned up at least once a week (when I am behaving).

4. If you have projects of similar types, consider recurring folder names within them. For example, for book projects, I generally have the same folder types. I’ve found it easiest to organize these projects by the author’s last name. Recent project authors have included Jon Damian, David Franz, and Andrea Stolpe, so here’s what their folder setup looks like:

I currently have 42 active Berklee Press projects! That’s a big, horrible folder: far more than twenty items. I’m always trying to get stuff out of that folder and into my Completed Projects folder. That folder has over 150 subfolders! But since it is seldom accessed, that’s okay.

Note the “Drafts” folders. That’s one step away from the trash, and in fact, once a book is published and I’ve created a CD archive of all the files, I delete all the Drafts folders. (All drafts are still stored on CD.) But it’s helpful to me to have Drafts folders associated with each project.

5. Name your files carefully. When it’s logical, include a sequential number in your file, and a concise descriptor of what it is. Mix case.

For example:

The Chapter folders have numbered chapter files. (Some books, such as Andrea Stolpe’s Popular Lyric Writing, don’t really require separate files for each chapter. It depends on how many embedded graphics there are.)

For Dave Franz’s new edition of Producing in the Home Studio with Pro Tools, the chapter files look something like this (simplified, for the sake of this post):

Graphics files get numbered sequentially by chapter and by image within the chapter. For example, here, chapter 2’s first graphic is called New Session. The second graphic in chapter 2 is called New Track Dialog. Each chapter gets its own folder.

For notation, I used to think that there should be separate folders for Finale files and for graphical export files, but I ultimately found that too cumbersome, in practice. Now, I just have all those files in a Graphics folder, even among other graphical types such as screen shots and diagrams. So, in Jon Damian’s new book The Chord Factory, a typical graphics folder looks something like this, mixing Finale files (.mus), exported notation (.tif), and charts he made in Clarisworks (.cwk):

Keeping them sequential keeps them organized.

If you live like this, your life gets easier. I can’t imagine how many tens of thousands of files are on my computer. Lack of strict organization schemes such as this would make my work grind to a standstill!

If this is an alien idea to you, I recommend that you mend your evil ways, for your own sanity. Simplify! Organization will set you free. For all new work, try to come up with a simple, usable system for organizing your files. In spare moments, try to make sense of any disorganized areas you might have.

Make it a New Year’s resolution to get ALL data files off your desktop at least once a week. The first time you try this might be a painful procedure, but if you’ve got a logical hierarchical setup, it becomes easy to keep it all neat and organized.

Good luck, and happy new year!