First of all, a disclaimer: as a musician and dog lover myself, I mean for that statement to be a little flip. But there’s real truth there, and understanding this will make every one of your interactions with musicians go more smoothly onstage, in rehearsal, or in the studio.
Put aside the obvious jokes about shedding and the desire to be loved. To musicians, “shedding” means practicing, as in “going out to the woodshed to practice”… and we all want to be loved, right? This article is really about leadership, and how to get what you want as an artist from the musicians you work with.
Here’s the key point: if you don’t know what you want or how to communicate it, you won’t get it. Whether you see yourself as an “entertainer/front-person” or not, if you perform supported by others you are the focal point on stage to both the audience and the band. Not just visually as the person in the center, but in terms of onstage dynamics….everything that happens onstage is led in some way by your body language and explicit or implicit direction. The leader of every ensemble gathers and channels the energy of the band: like the lead dog in a sled race, you point the way and move the group ahead.
First and foremost, know how to give cues. You want to be able to let the band know when you’re about to sing, when sections of the song will change, and when and how to end. Most of this is worked out in rehearsal or written into the charts, but even so you need to be able to take the reins onstage. There’s lots of ways to do this, and you can find one that suits your performing style. When James Brown screamed out “take it to the bridge!” it sounded cool and fit perfectly with his vocal style, but he was also telling the band to go to the next section of the song.
If you’re a songwriter you already understand the importance of song form and structure, but you may not have thought much about the parts of the song that don’t involve a lyric. It’s important to be able to FEEL how long an 8-bar intro is, or know what the words “turnaround” or “tag” mean to musicians. Be clear on whether you start right with the band or whether they play an intro. If they do play an intro, know how long it lasts and when your vocal is supposed to begin. Know what key you sing the song in, and how to “count off” the tempo at the beginning to show how fast or slow you want it. Even better, learn to read and write charts, or at least learn how to follow the form or “map” of a tune from a chart. You don’t have to know more than a tiny bit of music theory, just a few basic principles (starting with how to count to four!) If you can do that, you’re already on your way.
Being solidly in command of these things allows you to speak the same language as the musicians who back you. This will not only earn you more respect but make them enjoy working with you more. Like dogs, most musicians are happiest when they know exactly what is expected of them….which means you need to be able to communicate effectively.
There’s a flip side of this, though….you shouldn’t need to micro-manage players to get what you want. If your directions are clear and you are in command of your role as leader, good musicians will know what to do and deliver what you need. If that’s not happening, you may not be working with the right people. Some dogs are stubborn and hard to lead. Some lack the training necessary to understand the commands. It’s not up to you to do the training, but to assess the personality and skill level of the people you work with. A skilled person accustomed to leading who is not receiving clear direction may quickly grow frustrated. A skilled side player accustomed to following will expect to be led or they won’t be able to deliver what you need. Happy musicians play better, bring more energy, and raise the level of the whole experience for you, them, and the audience. Just like happy dogs.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
You might be more musical than you think.
We all have strengths and weaknesses as writers, and as we learn what they are we often begin to seek out co-writers who are stronger in the areas where we are less skilled ourselves. A writer who is primarily a lyricist will seek out strong musicians, and vice versa. This can be a very effective way to work, and there have been iconic lyricist-composer teams throughout the history of popular music…from the Gershwin brothers to Rodgers & Hammerstein, Leiber & Stoller, and John & Taupin.
A prolific lyricist is likely to bring completed lyrics to the table at least some of the time. Let’s define “completed” by saying that in a complete lyric the meter, structure of verses and chorus, and the emotional content of the lyrics are clearly established. In such a case, some writers might say that the song is finished…it just “needs music”.
This might seem demeaning to music and musicians….that the melody, chords, and riffs are essentially finishing touches, and that the bulk of songwriting has to do with lyrical content. In a place like Nashville and a genre like country or folk, where story is king, I’m sure you could easily find writers who would agree with this assessment. But it’s possible that our lyricist may have actually written a good chunk of the music without even realizing it, and just needs a more skilled or more articulate musician to either (1) fill out and add color and interest to the formal structure or (2) help the lyricist articulate in greater detail how they already imagine the music. Either way, many of the decisions have already been made, and it can make the composer’s role relatively simple. Given a lyric with strong meter and form, a good composer/musician will simply fit the notes and chords into the framework the lyricist has already established.
Over the years I’ve been teaching I have had countless people tell me they have no musical ability. (This begs the question of how one might expect to succeed at music lessons when starting off with that mindset, but that’s another article). And it’s true that we’re all given gifts in varying degrees and in different areas. But it’s also easy to imagine that a writer who has carefully constructed a tight, catchy lyric already has an idea of how the music should go. You don’t have to know what the notes and chords are to have a sense of the rise and fall of a melody….even speech has a natural sense of up and down, of emphasis and release….or whether the lyrical content suggests a ballad or a driving rocker. If you DO have a sense of these things, then that song is very close to being finished.
I don’t mean to diminish the importance of a great melody, or a killer riff that grabs the ear and never lets go. My point is that it’s our job as writers to REALLY know how much we know, and to be clear about what we need to learn. A lyricist who hears music but doesn’t know how to communicate it needs to learn how to understand and speak about what they hear….and also to recognize when they’ve envisioned enough of the song that what they need is an arranger rather than a co-writer. If you can sing a melody all the way through your lyric, (even badly!), that song could be considered finished…and as I understand the law, the U.S. Copyright Office agrees. On the other side, musicians who don’t write lyrics need to cultivate an appreciation for song structure and wordplay, and enough flexibility as a composer to solve the “puzzle” of matching music to a finished lyric.
Over twenty-some years of teaching and co-writing, I’ve come to believe that many people, and probably most writers, have more musical ability than they give themselves credit for…what they may lack is the ability to play an instrument well enough to convey what they hear in their heads to someone else. And bringing an 80-percent finished song to a writing session creates a totally different dynamic than starting together from the ground up. That’s fine if everyone understands where you’re starting from, but it can create unnecessary challenges if that dynamic is unclear. So be clear yourself on the extent of your abilities and skills, and don’t demean or dismiss your own musicality just because you don’t happen to play an instrument well. Your co-writers will thank you for it, and you yourself will be far more likely to come away from the writing session feeling that things turned out just as you had imagined.
A prolific lyricist is likely to bring completed lyrics to the table at least some of the time. Let’s define “completed” by saying that in a complete lyric the meter, structure of verses and chorus, and the emotional content of the lyrics are clearly established. In such a case, some writers might say that the song is finished…it just “needs music”.
This might seem demeaning to music and musicians….that the melody, chords, and riffs are essentially finishing touches, and that the bulk of songwriting has to do with lyrical content. In a place like Nashville and a genre like country or folk, where story is king, I’m sure you could easily find writers who would agree with this assessment. But it’s possible that our lyricist may have actually written a good chunk of the music without even realizing it, and just needs a more skilled or more articulate musician to either (1) fill out and add color and interest to the formal structure or (2) help the lyricist articulate in greater detail how they already imagine the music. Either way, many of the decisions have already been made, and it can make the composer’s role relatively simple. Given a lyric with strong meter and form, a good composer/musician will simply fit the notes and chords into the framework the lyricist has already established.
Over the years I’ve been teaching I have had countless people tell me they have no musical ability. (This begs the question of how one might expect to succeed at music lessons when starting off with that mindset, but that’s another article). And it’s true that we’re all given gifts in varying degrees and in different areas. But it’s also easy to imagine that a writer who has carefully constructed a tight, catchy lyric already has an idea of how the music should go. You don’t have to know what the notes and chords are to have a sense of the rise and fall of a melody….even speech has a natural sense of up and down, of emphasis and release….or whether the lyrical content suggests a ballad or a driving rocker. If you DO have a sense of these things, then that song is very close to being finished.
I don’t mean to diminish the importance of a great melody, or a killer riff that grabs the ear and never lets go. My point is that it’s our job as writers to REALLY know how much we know, and to be clear about what we need to learn. A lyricist who hears music but doesn’t know how to communicate it needs to learn how to understand and speak about what they hear….and also to recognize when they’ve envisioned enough of the song that what they need is an arranger rather than a co-writer. If you can sing a melody all the way through your lyric, (even badly!), that song could be considered finished…and as I understand the law, the U.S. Copyright Office agrees. On the other side, musicians who don’t write lyrics need to cultivate an appreciation for song structure and wordplay, and enough flexibility as a composer to solve the “puzzle” of matching music to a finished lyric.
Over twenty-some years of teaching and co-writing, I’ve come to believe that many people, and probably most writers, have more musical ability than they give themselves credit for…what they may lack is the ability to play an instrument well enough to convey what they hear in their heads to someone else. And bringing an 80-percent finished song to a writing session creates a totally different dynamic than starting together from the ground up. That’s fine if everyone understands where you’re starting from, but it can create unnecessary challenges if that dynamic is unclear. So be clear yourself on the extent of your abilities and skills, and don’t demean or dismiss your own musicality just because you don’t happen to play an instrument well. Your co-writers will thank you for it, and you yourself will be far more likely to come away from the writing session feeling that things turned out just as you had imagined.
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