Some thoughts on great tunes
by
, Aug-26-2009 at 2:39pm (4108 Views)
I am presently addicted to old timey music. I still have my love for Irish, Scottish, and Cape Breton traditional music, and French Canadian fiddle tunes, and I still love the New England old time tradition, as well as Klezmer and Eastern European music, and Western Swing, Tango, and... and...
But right now I am addicted to the music of Appalachia. And in particular, Southern Appalachia.
What I like best about old timey music is its worship of the tune. This is not unique to old timey of course, but it is particularly evident. In old timey music, the tune is king, which is why we play each one 368716837436874 times before moving to the next one. This also explains why old time doesn’t go in for improvisation all that much. Its fine to decorate and accentuate the tune in various ways, but by and large we don’t do the spontaneous real time composition of the bluegrass break or jazz solo. The tune is fine as it is, it doesn’t need fixing.
The A part of the tune makes us yearn for the B part, the way Oreo cookies make us want milk. And the B part of a good tune makes us want to get back on at the beginning and do it all again. There are many tunes where there is some question as to which is the A part and which the B, both parts call for each other like puppies and little children. Over and over and over, like chant, till we are mesmerized, walking around on a sonic landscape unaware of the world. Its almost like the tune never ends. After a while it just stops.
A tune tells us a story. The better the story and the better its telling, the better the tune. Great tunes tell unforgettable, timeless stories, that delight us anew with each hearing.
I am not talking about the feelings and experiences of our lives evoked by the tune. I don’t mean the way someone can sing my life, or how a tune might conjure up the adventure of a new love, or the loss of an old one.
I am referring to something deeper - the way the tune is about itself. A great tune takes us on a unique little acoustic journey - a travel story told in the language of melody and rhythm - without necessary reference to anything outside of itself. And the more fun the journey, the better the tune.
The journey of a tune should of course surprise and delight, by providing interesting and unforeseen elements. But in order to surprise us the tune needs to establish expectations - which are then in some way pierced. It is a very precarious balance, between the familiar and comfortable and the fresh and exciting. Avoiding cliche on the one hand, and heading off alienating novelty on the other. Finding this enchanting balance - that is what separates a great tune from a merely good tune.
In a great tune, we respond upon first hearing as if we have always known it. You don’t have to “break in” a great tune. It is like a brand new “old friend”, talking to us about new and exciting things, but talking familiarly, confidently, in a language we understand, have always understood. Somehow it is new and simultaneously very old - fresh and even strange perhaps, while being intimate and conversant with our personal universe of musical experiences.
I know I have been playing well when someone compliments the tune I am playing - as opposed to my playing of it. “What a lovely tune” means more to me than “good job, great playing on that”. The hand of the craftsperson is invisible. Which is the better compliment to the carver of duck decoys - that people like his work or that ducks come close to snuggle.
I like it best when I, like the craftsperson, have become invisible, the music I am playing has transcended my playing of it, and become of interest and delightful on its own. I mentally step back a bit and see the tune as the others sees it, and marvel as my hands and fingers and pick find themselves in service of the music itself, compelled along not by my will, but by the narrative logic of the tune.