And here’s the full song — contains much explicit language.

The hook samples the line “Biggie Smalls is the illest” from “The What” on the same album. It’s twenty-three seconds in.

Sampling is a severely underappreciated songwriting tool. Even if you have moral or legal issues with sampling from others, sampling from yourself is still a good idea. Biggie’s line about himself being the illest is just part of a verse in “The What.” The producer on “Unbelievable,” the great DJ Premier, was smart enough to recognize that Biggie’s line could stand on its own as a hook. DJ Premier also produced “Nas Is Like,” and built its chorus through similar means.

The word “Unbelievable” itself comes from R Kelly, sped up a little and raised in pitch to sound female. Listen at 0:58.

Sampled vocals aside, the chopped-up keyboard part is the most musically sophisticated aspect of the track. Its original source is “Remind Me” by Patrice Rushen — I’m pretty sure it comes from the end of the solo section around 4:10.

Premier chopped up this little keyboard phrase and resequenced it beyond recognition. The result is a hip angularity that a normal keyboard player would probably not have arrived at organically.

The beat in “Unbelievable” is an old standby, “Impeach The President.”

The string ambiance in the background comes from the very odd Quincy Jones song “Kitty With The Bent Frame.” Listen at 1:08.

Quincy’s record is a favorite for hip-hop producers looking for an uneasy mood.

Here’s a diagram showing the sample genealogy of “Unbelievable.”

The meaning of self-sampling

Like I said above, self-sampling is so interesting to me because it’s recursive, self-referential. Most of the music we like is full of self-reference, and generally, the more self-referential it is, the more structured and meaningful it feels. Even simple-seeming nursery rhymes can be recursive and self-similar. Here’s a visualization by Lee Byron showing self-similarity in the nursery rhyme “Hickory Dickory Dock.”

Self-similarity makes for compelling visual art, too. One reason we find nature attractive is its rich fractal self-similarity. Here’s a leaf I photographed in my neighborhood; notice how the same veiny structure repeats itself at different size scales:

Even very simple recursive mathematical equations can produce stunningly complex, biological-looking forms, like the classic fractal known as the Mandelbrot set.

Recursion isn’t just attractive. It’s fundamental to computer science — self-reference is a key programming technique. Recursion may be essential to the very nature of consciousness itself. Some neuroscientists think that your entire sense of self emerges out of recursive self-referential loops as your brain represents different parts of itself to itself.

No wonder recursive music is so fascinating. Keep on sampling yourselves, musicians; let’s see what other recursive truths we can uncover.

There’s much to love about this album beyond its joyously ridiculous science fiction theme. There are the deft, bebop-flavored horn charts by James Brown’s trombonist Fred Wesley. There are the irresistible beats by Jerome Brailey, who laid the rhythmic foundation of hip-hop (along with Clyde Stubblefield and the Incredible Bongo Band.) And there are the squiggly Moog synths by Bernie Worrell.

Bernie’s hottest lick out of many on this album is the one that kicks off “Do That Stuff:”

Bernie’s little synth phrase has had a long musical life outside its original context. Nice And Smooth used it as the hook for their classic “Funky For You.”

“Funky For You” made a big enough impact on hip-hop to have been sampled itself quite a few times. Red Hot Lover Tone used it on “Wanna Make Moves,” featuring Greg Nice himself.

The sample works just as well outside hip-hop. Röyksopp used it just last year in their delightful dance track, “Happy Up Here:”

The most exciting part of this track for me is the bridge, when Röyksopp transposes the sample to fit over a dramatic chord progression. I love it when samplers do this kind of adventurous reharmonizing, it brings electronic music closer to the intellectual spirit of jazz.

George Clinton has always been enthusiastically positive about the use of P-funk samples in hip-hop and elsewhere (though the owners of his copyrights aren’t nearly so open-minded, sadly.) Clinton’s pro-sampling attitude makes sense, given that he sometimes sampled from himself. “Do That Stuff” recycles a riff he used in an earlier song, “You Can’t Miss What You Can’t Measure” by Funkadelic.

Hear a mashup of all the tracks mentioned above:

Do That Stuff Megamix by ethanhein

The Clones Of Dr Funkenstein as a whole has been a rich source of inspiration for electronic musicians. Here’s a map of all the noteworthy samples; click through to see it bigger.

Bernie Worrell’s keyboards have had a bigger footprint in my music-listening life than just P-Funk and the many hip-hop songs sampling them. In the early eighties he was a regular guest member of Talking Heads. He plays on The Name Of This Band Is Talking Heads, Speaking In Tongues and Stop Making Sense. His plangent keyboard melody in “This Must Be The Place” is just begging to be sampled. Pretty much everything he’s put down sounds as fresh now as the day it was recorded. I want to go back and get more of that funky stuff!

Ms Heap is accompanying herself with artificial harmonies created by a Digitech Vocalist Workstation. The device reads her pitch in the manner of Auto-tune. She tells it what notes to shift her voice to using the MIDI keyboard. She also uses some digital delay for the echo effect, and towards the end, she samples herself singing the chorus so she can sing the last verse over the playback.

The result is one of the most futuristic sounds I’ve ever heard, and yet it’s also warm and intimate, not icily posthuman like you’d expect from such a high-tech performance. Because the harmony responds on the fly to her singing and keybs playing, she’s free to improvise, phrase and embellish in the moment. Real live choral harmony is cool and everything, but if you want multiple complex parts, you need to write everything out ahead of time, and conduct the singers exactly. It doesn’t leave much room for spontaneity, and spontaneity is key to truth-telling in music. When I say that “fake” technology can result in more real music, this is exactly what I mean. Here’s how Imogen Heap describes the writing of this song in an interview with Electronic Musician:

My favorite computer blew up on me, but I didn’t want to leave the studio without having done anything that day. I saw the [DigiTech Vocalist Workstation] on a shelf and just plugged it into my little 4-track MiniDisc with my mic and my keyboard and pressed Record. The first thing that I sang was those first few lines, “Where are we? What the hell is going on?” I set the vocalist to a four-note polyphony, so even if I play ten notes on the keyboard, it will only choose four of them. It’s quite nicely surprising when it comes back with a strange combination. When it gets really high in the second chorus, that’s a result of it choosing higher rather than low notes, so I ended up going even higher to compensate, above the chord. I recorded it in, like, four-and-a-half minutes, and it ended up on the album in exactly the structure of how it came out of me then. I love it because it doesn’t feel like my song. It just came out of nowhere, and I’m not questioning that one at all.

Brian Eno says that for synths to have the soul of traditional instruments, they need to be a little bit unpredictable. All the glossy perfection the computer makes possible can get to be oppressive. You get the best results when you don’t have total control, when there’s room for the happy accident. By confusing the harmony algorithms, you can get unexpected notes that sound way more hip than anything you could have worked out on paper ahead of time. It’s why I’m so addicted to Auto-tune. If you set it right, it reacts in surprising ways, live as it’s happening, opening up new avenues of expression.

Some people think that artificial harmonizers and Auto-tune are dishonest, that they’re cheating, that they’re part of a larger trend towards fakery that’s destroying western civilization as we know it. We have an abiding anxiety about the authenticity of our music. The Online Etymology Dictionary says that the word “authentic” descends from ancient Greek authentikos, meaning “original, genuine, principal.” This word in turn descends from authentes, “one acting on one’s own authority,” a composite of autos, “self,” and hentes, “doer, being.” The related word “genuine” descends from the Latin genuinus meaning “native, natural,” from the root of gignere, “to beget.” The thinking goes that the word originally referred to paternity.

I think it’s reasonable to be concerned with the parentage of our music, but it’s wrong to be repulsed by the bastardized and the mongrel. All the really exciting music is hybridized. Hip-hop combines the phrasing and improvisation of jazz with European electronic beats. Jazz combines African-American traditions with European harmonies and song structures. Let’s have some mongrel pride! The president of the United States is a self-described mutt. So am I. Purity is lame.

By the way, gorgeously recorded a capellas are irresistable to samplers, so it’s no big surprise that someone would take an interest in using Imogen Heap samples. The best example I could find is Jason Derulo’s song “Whatcha Say.” It won’t change your life or anything, but I give him props for venturing it. I feel less of an urge to sample Imogen Heap and more of an urge to get my hands on a Vocalist Workstation and try out some harmonies of my own.

Here’s a screenshot of the program that the game controller is connected to.

The outer space background is my desktop image and isn’t part of the program itself. But maybe it should be.

Hear the game controller in action on the synth in this track:

Take The 2-3 Train by ethanhein

The software maps the buttons and knobs on the controller to different MIDI values. I can play one octave of each of a few different scales (blues, major, harmonic and melodic minor, diminished) in all twelve keys. I can scroll through the circle of fifths with the controller’s D-pad. It’s set so that my left index and middle fingers control the root and third of the scale, my right index and middle control the fourth and fifth, and my right thumb reaches the rest of the scale tones. With the thumb sticks I can control pitch bend, modulation and other parameters, depending on which software instrument is dialed up.

The controller plays anything that any other MIDI instrument can play, not just synthesizers. I can map any batch of recorded sounds to the buttons. It’s fun loading bells or speech samples or bird calls onto it and playing them through heavy delay over a beat.

The controller interface software was written by Ben Lacker in Max/MSP. It works with any USB video game controller, but it was specifically designed for the one in the screenshot, a Logitech Dual Action Gamepad.

I mostly played guitar in my bands through my twenties, using lots of digital delay and other high-tech effects. As my sound got more electronic I started using a keyboard hooked up to my laptop. For a while I was carrying around a Korg 49, which has a bunch of cool drum pads and control knobs in addition to a half-piano’s worth of keybs. It was way more controller than I needed. I felt kind of like a chump carrying such a big instrument around just to play one note while twiddling a knob for the entire song. Part of the motivation to set up the game controller was to be able to have the same control scheme on a device I could more easily carry around on the subway.

The Korg 49′s keys and drum pads are pressure-sensitive. The game controller isn’t. Its buttons have only has two settings, on and off. It offers no control of dynamics at all. This limitation has turned out to be mostly a good thing for live situations, and even for home sequencing. For samples especially, it sounds better to mix everything to a nice balance and then be forced to keep it that way. It moves my complete focus to rhythm. I can pitch bend or filter with the thumbsticks for expressiveness when I need it.

I’ve tried a few other game controllers with the MIDI interface program. Some of them show potential. The most intriguing one is the Dance Dance Revolution pad. It would be perfect if it didn’t map itself to strange MIDI parameters by default. Out of the box, half the buttons don’t do anything useful, and I don’t have the programming mojo to fix it. Maybe in the future I’ll get it ironed out. It could be like a customizable, more ergonomic version of the giant ground piano in Big, as seen in this extremely bootleg Youtube video.

The Guitar Hero and Rock Band controllers have potential too, but they don’t have as many buttons or parameters as the Logitech pad. Same with the Taiko Drum Master controller. This is nothing against any of these controllers in their original contexts, where they work great. I haven’t gotten to try DJ Hero but I expect it’ll be a similar deal. The Nintendo Wii controller is becoming the game controller of choice for futuristic computer musicians. I haven’t used one for anything except games yet, but there are some cool-looking things on my list. Specifically, I’m looking forward to experimenting with Wii Loop Machine and Wii Drum High. There are also some groovy-looking things for the Game Boy DS, like Korg DS-10 and Nitrotracker. For all of the above plus iPhone there’s a thing called Osculator that looks fun.

I slept on Prince straight through the eighties and most of the nineties. I was more of a Michael Jackson guy. Prince was a little too grown up for me. I definitely wasn’t ready for his naked butt in the cassette liner notes. He won me over when I learned how to play some of his songs with bands. We did “Let’s Go Crazy” in my non-serious college hipster cover band. A few years later I played with a singer-songwriter named Kimberly West, and we had “Kiss” in the set list for a while as a straight-ahead cover.

“Kiss” is one of the most pleasurable songs I’ve ever played on guitar. The solo and fills are as tightly structured as if Prince copied and pasted them together with a sampler. For all I know, that’s how he comes up with all of his guitar parts. The harmony is jagged and angular, based on tritones, and that tension balances out the smooth rhythms well. The wah-wah pedal part is as structured as the drum machine part. And he’s got synth marimba under there! Futuristic stuff.

My more recent connection with Prince is that my sister has been living in Minneapolis, where he was born and where he still lives and works. It’s a much hipper place than you would think given its midwestern surroundings. Along with Prince, the Minneapolis music scene has produced Bob Dylan and Garrison Keillor. I can’t quite figure out the pattern there, but all three of those guys are fearlessly idiosyncratic and committed to a personal sound.

“Prince”, by the way, is not a stage name. His given name is Prince Rogers Nelson. It’s an optimistic name, and Prince is a confident guy. I guess that’s why I resisted him as a self-doubting angst-ridden teenager. Now it’s why I like him.

Prince has mostly produced his music by sequencing drums and synths and layering live instruments on top. For most of his classic hits, he did beats on a Linn LM-1 drum machine. He did his synths and sampled instruments with a Fairlight CMI. See a demonstration of this instrument by Herbie Hancock and Quincy Jones.

Prince hasn’t done a whole lot of sampling, but when he does, he chooses like a hip-hop producer. He used George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog” on his song “Style.” George Clinton returned the compliment by sampling Prince’s “Sex” on his song “Hysterical.”

In his song “Gett Off”, Prince used samples of “The Funky Drummer” and “There It Is” by James Brown and “Shack Up” by Banbarra.

“Gett Off” has itself been sampled in “Jump Around” by House Of Pain and “Funk Liberation” by X-Clan.

Prince is also supposed to have borrowed the main riff in “1999″ from the backing vocal part in the first verse of “Monday, Monday” by The Mamas And The Papas. This inspired me to mash the two songs up, along with two other post-apocalyptic tunes, “99 Luftballons” and “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.”

1999 Luftballons by ethanhein

Finally, enjoy some Dave Chappelle.

Quoted on Chartreuse B’s Tumblr

My parents and stepparents loved music when I was growing up, more as spectators than participants.

My mom and stepfather had a lot cool stuff in their collective record and CD collection: Beatles, Motown, Paul Simon, Duke Ellington. They were into the idea of people playing musical instruments in an abstract way, but didn’t partake themselves. They were generally supportive of me and my sister’s efforts, without quite knowing how to involve themselves. Mom is more into musical instruments as decorative objects than functional ones, like the antique pump organ in the living room or the Mongolian horsehair fiddle hanging by the dining room table. Mom and Ralph keep an admirably open mind about new sounds, and have faithfully trooped out to hear us all play in some really avant-garde bands, for which, bless their hearts.

With my dad and stepmother the situation was more complicated. They had a lot of classical music recordings that they listened to regularly. They also kept a lot of musical instruments around the house, which they just about never touched. My dad in particular would have been a natural musician. He loved listening, his tastes ranged from Beethoven to Elvis, he was a natural mathematician and aesthete and had a vivid imagination. When I was a kid, I couldn’t figure out why he would have surrounded himself with musical instruments without wanting to use them.

Things with Dad and Giovanna were tense. They had a complicated relationship from the beginning and as Giovanna’s health deteriorated, it only got more complicated. Anna asked me recently if Dad and Giovanna ever danced. She might as well have asked me if they ever performed animal sacrifices by the light of the full moon. They came from non-dancing households and weren’t in the right emotional place to break with tradition.  As an adult I understand better, but it still makes me sad to think about it.

The centerpiece of Dad and Giovanna’s collection of unused instruments was a beautiful Yamaha digital keyboard with eighty-eight weighted keys, a variety of realistic-sounding patches and an assortment of rhythm loops. It could even walk bass if you played a note or chord. They had some introductory piano methods and approachable classical scores piled up on it, but only aspirationally. I don’t remember Dad or Giovanna so much as switching the keyboard on. When they weren’t around I’d play around with it. I even tried taping some wild synthesized generative freebop. The keyboard is the big one in the photo above. It’s an anchor of my home studio. It makes a great MIDI controller, and some of its built-in sounds are gorgeous.

Dad had an accordion that he did play a little bit. My sister’s fiancé has it now. Giovanna had a beautiful small Celtic harp. This was understood to be off-limits to anyone but her, but as with the piano, she never once touched it. Same with the dulcimer, which I claimed after they died. I tried some strumming around on it that sounded okay. The best results came from sampling it, slowing it down and reversing it.

After Dad died and we were going through his stuff we discovered Grandma’s alto sax. There’s a photo of her when she was young with the alto slung around her neck. This is not the humorless old lady who scolded us for taking the Lord’s name in vain. I’m curious now to hear what kind of music she played on that saxophone. What kind of music did they like in South Dakota in the late Depression years? In addition to his billion classical CDs, Dad had one album by Bob Wills & The Texas Playboys. He never played it for us or mentioned it, we found it after he died. Who knows, maybe Grandma was playing western swing. I wish I could ask them about it.

Dad and Giovanna also kept us kids well-supplied with music toys. We had a series of little synthesizers, including the red Yamaha keytar so beloved by hipsters like the Autotune The News people and Brian on Family Guy. Seth McFarlane’s sense of humor is like what I imagine my dad’s unfiltered stream of consciousness might have looked like.

In my teen years Dad and I drifted further out of touch, but he continued to have a way of anticipating my interests. He gave me a cassette of Howlin’ Wolf in high school. In college he heard me talking about Miles Davis so he steered me into Gil Evans. He found me some live radio performances by the Duke Ellington Orchestra that doctors should be able to prescribe as mood elevators. I’m looking forward to playing Ellington for my kids. As we plan the family of our own, my hope is that we do more participating, less spectating.

Vocalist Dieter Meier recorded the words “oh oh, chicka chicka” and “oh yeah” at a relatively normal pitch into the sampler, and keyboardist Boris Blank played them back lower and slowed down. There are also some cool sampled Tarzan yells and Lord Of The Rings synthesized men’s chorus. This track could have been recorded last week.

We think of sampling as this high-tech modern practice, but analog sampling keyboards go back to the early fifties. The first one was the Chamberlin. It played short tape recordings of a few different instruments when you pressed the keys. The Chamberlin has a much more famous descendant (some might say ripoff), the Mellotron. Here’s a little branding 101: don’t name your invention after yourself, unless you have a cool name like Robert Moog. Pick something retrofuture and groovy. The Mellotron sounds like something from Sleeper that you use between the Orb and the Orgasmatron. The intro of the Beatles’  “Strawberry Fields Forever” is Paul McCartney playing sampled flutes on a Mellotron.

Analog tape isn’t a great sample medium. The mechanisms are delicate and bulky. The tape decays over time. The little motors have to be running at exactly the right speed for the notes to play back in tune. Sampling keyboards didn’t really take off until the invention of inexpensive digital audio. Now that computers can play back audio recordings and perform all kinds of strange mathematical operations on them in real time, anything with a processor and a sound card can act as a sampler. Even high-end cell phones can perform the same functions as Ferris Bueller’s E-mu.

Some sampled instruments work better than others. A MIDI interface can only capture certain aspects of your performance: which note you played, how loud you played it, how long you held it. You can add some other performance data with the sustain pedal, with the pitch or mod wheels, and maybe with a few other parameters. That’s not nearly enough data dimensionality to convey all the infinitesimal nuances of the way a violin bow or guitar pick grips and releases a string. Stringed instruments sound extremely fake when played on a sampling keyboard. The fakeness has its own charms, but that’s a whole different instrument unto itself. Piano works well as a MIDI instrument since it practically was one to begin with. Any keyboard instrument translates well to MIDI. Massed orchestral instruments work better than solo ones. Horn samples can work okay if you don’t mind monotonous phrasing. Again, sometimes the robotic sound has its own quality. I mostly prefer more purely electronic sounds like abstract synths and samples of other songs.

One of my most entertaining experiments with sampling was called the Sikoratron. It’s a Reason patch I made using samples of Catherine Sikora, who I played with in a jazz group. To build my sample library, I recorded every member of the horn section doing solo improvisations. Catherine recorded these long, angular Coltrane-esque sax lines. By mapping different phrases to different regions of the keyboard, I could play my own far-out Catherine solos. The results were unpredictable, since the tonality of the phrases didn’t necessarily match the key that triggered them. The Sikoratron gave the best results when my non-keyboard playing friends explored it intuitively with their index fingers.

The full surrealism of MIDI is only just revealing itself. You can map sampled sounds to just about any physical action. Jerry Garcia used a MIDI guitar to play synthesized flute and such with the Grateful Dead. MIDI guitar such a cool idea in theory, since the guitar is already an amazing analog synth controller. Unfortunately, you can’t just slap a MIDI pickup unto an electric guitar, because it won’t track as accurately as you would want. You need to get an expensive special guitar made of a futuristic carbon composite. Fine if you’re Jerry Garcia, lame if you’re a normal person.

When I play electronic music live, I do my sample triggering with a video game controller. It’s more limited than a full MIDI keyboard, but for my stuff that’s a virtue. I see the future of MIDI belonging to game controllers. Check out this Synthtopia post on the world’s strangest MIDI controllers. Behold the Drumpants:

Other videos show people controlling synths and samples using pennies, a laser, a robotic exoskeleton, a sheet of paper, a driver’s license, hamsters and other odd things. Music looks like it’s going to continue to be fun in the future.

There was no caption or any other context. So I posted it on my Flickr with a note asking if anyone could identify the computer Herbie is sitting in front of. A couple of days later my friend Mike responded with this video of Herbie and Quincy Jones demonstrating Herbie’s Fairlight CMI in 1983.

There’s so much to love about this clip, from the light pen interface onwards. Youtube doesn’t provide much context, so I don’t know who was shooting this or why. But I’m glad they did. Quincy poetically describes playing a synthesizer as “sculpting a pure electronic waveform.” The interviewer observes that the African blood is streaming through the electronics. Quincy laughs and says: “The funk will prevail.” Herbie laughs too, and then says probably the wisest thing I’ve heard anyone say about technology in music:

It’s interesting, cause you know, these instruments were designed for people to use, for people to use. It’s just a tool, another tool, the way an axe is a tool, an axe can be a tool to cut wood to build a house, or can be a tool to slaughter your neighbor… A synthesizer can be a tool to really hurt people’s ears or interfere with their lives, or can be a tool to make a really nice-sounding instrument that can affect people in a positive way. It all depends on the person who’s using it… The machine doesn’t do anything but sit there until we plug it in… It doesn’t program itself. Yet.

Herbie was acknowledging the angst that a lot of his fellow jazz musicians were feeling about synthesizers and other electronic music gadgetry (angst that hasn’t diminished in the years since.) Herbie titled his album of that year Future Shock for good reason. But ultimately, he’s right, the tools aren’t as important as the people behind them. You couldn’t ask for a better electronic music manifesto than that.

Mike also posted this video of Herbie on Sesame Street demonstrating the Fairlight for a group of kids that included Mohammed Ali’s daughter Tatiana.

Since these videos were made, the price of digital synths and sequencers has undergone the same extraordinarily rapid plunge as all other computer equipment. The first Fairlight model cost £20,000 in 1979. I have no idea what that is in dollars adjusted for inflation, but it’s definitely not cheap. You can have an identical setup on any laptop computer for a few hundred dollars today. What was the cutting edge of futuristic exotica in the early eighties has become ordinary.

The history of technology has this way of making the strange familiar. The tools advance much faster than our understanding of them, or our ability to make the best use of them. Will the funk prevail? It’s up to the musicians.

]]> http://www.ethanhein.com/wp/2009/synth-and-axe/feed/ 0 http://www.ethanhein.com/wp/2009/doctor-who-theme/ http://www.ethanhein.com/wp/2009/doctor-who-theme/#comments Mon, 29 Jun 2009 01:05:57 +0000 Ethan http://www.ethanhein.com/wp/?p=981 When I was in third grade, my mom and stepfather went on academic sabbatical to London for six months, taking my sister and me with them. I guess I’m grateful for the chance to experience another culture and everything, but it was a rough six months. I missed my dad, school, New York, the Muppet Show. British third graders are manic xenophobes of Eric Cartman proportions. It was the first time I had ever experienced genuine alien-ness, and I didn’t like it. The best thing about being there was Doctor Who.

If you haven’t had the pleasure, Doctor Who is an extremely long-running, low-budget British science fiction show about a time-traveling alien being who looks like a flamboyant Oxford don. Or actually a series of flamboyant Oxford dons. The original actor playing Doctor Who was elderly and became ill while the show was just getting to be popular. When he couldn’t continue, the BBC ingeniously decided to have the Doctor’s species periodically reincarnate as a routine part of their life cycle. They were thus able to keep the show going through many changes of lead actor. Doctor Who has been on the air for most of the past forty-five years with no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Here’s the original 1963 title sequence, with music composed by Ron Grainer and arranged, produced and recorded by Delia Derbyshire:

Let’s talk for a second about Delia Derbyshire.

She produced the Doctor Who theme music using analog oscillators and tape loops, laboriously, over a period of many weeks. Here she talks about her process.

Her name suggests that she might have been a professor at Hogwarts, but Delia Derbyshire was a genuine hipster ambient techno producer, decades before such a thing existed. She was buddies with Paul McCartney, Yoko Ono, Brian Jones and the guys in Pink Floyd. In addition to the Doctor Who theme, she produced a bunch of other tripped-out electronica. Hear a sample:

Delia Derbyshire – “Planetarium”

The Doctor Who theme I was hearing in the eighties as a third grader was a newer arrangement by Peter Howell:

The Delia Derbyshire version broke a lot of new ground, but the eighties version is the one that really works for me musically. The groove is tighter because the bass was recorded to a click track. The main melody is played on an Arp Odyssey, a more sophisticated version of the synth they used for R2D2′s voice. Peter Howell sings the B section melody wordlessly through a vocoder. Here’s a behind-the-scenes video if you want to really geek all the way out. Dude isn’t the world’s most dynamic camera presence, but he demonstrates all the different retrofuture gear one piece at a time.

In 1988, The KLF had a number one pop hit in the UK with “Doctorin’ The Tardis” which includes a sample of the Peter Howell theme.

What I like about electronic music is how it makes the strange familiar, and the familiar strange. The best science fiction does that too. Nothing could have sounded more futuristic or otherworldly to me as a kid than those synths and that vocoder. Now they’re museum pieces.

Here’s a documentary about the wah:

Cry Baby: The Pedal That Rocks The World from Joey Tosi on Vimeo.

Combined with a guitar, the wah can do more than vowel glides. When you mute the strings and strum through a wah, you get a percussive sound ranging from “chicka chicka” to “chucka chucka.” By filtering the overtones differently, you can make other vocal sounds too. I have a digital effects unit that can make the guitar say the word “yeah” pretty convincingly. These kinds of effects give a guitarist the emotional immediacy of the voice combined with the guitar’s wide range of pitches and richness of harmonic possibility.

The guitar isn’t the only instrument you can use with a wah, and it wasn’t the first. The pedal was invented somewhat by accident when the Thomas Organ Company was developing a tone modifier for amplifiers. The first instrument they tried with it was an amplified saxophone, and the company thought they might market it for wind instruments in big bands, as an electronic version of the Harmon mute. A guitarist who worked for the company named Del Casher heard the possibilities of the new tone modifier, and he was the first person to make a recording of it in 1966.

Frank Zappa was an early adopter, and he introduced it to Jimi Hendrix, who would be the first to break it into mass consciousness with “Voodoo Child (Slight Return).” Jimi also introduced the percussive “chicka chicka” on “Little Miss Lover.” Jimi’s solos on “All Along The Watchtower” is another distinctive early adventure with wah. Plenty of other hippie rockers followed suit. George Harrison has a song called “Wah-Wah” on All Things Must Pass, named both for the pedal and for the Beatles’ whining during their final sessions together. Eric Clapton uses wah with Cream on “Tales of Brave Ulysses” and “White Room”.

Pop culturally, wah is most associated with seventies funk and soul, like on “Theme From Shaft” by Isaac Hayes, with Charles Pitts on guitar. Curtis Mayfield also had a distinctive and much-imitated wah style. From blaxploitation soundtracks it was a short jump to the porn movies that imitated them, which is why funky wah guitar is an effective comedy shorthand for getting busy. But wah doesn’t have to be seductive. Eddie Hazel of Funkadelic used it for a dark, spacey cry on “Maggot Brain.” Click here to listen to some standard wah techniques on electric guitar. The wah pedal sounds especially good on E9, the mother of all funk chords.

Hard rock and metal guitarists have found a vocabulary for wah drawing more on Hendrix and Zappa than on funk. Zappa used it less like a speech effect and more like a simple adjustable filter. He would leave it partially open to filter the high frequencies over the course of an entire song. Distortion exaggerates out the guitar’s upper harmonics and other partials, and the wah makes a great envelope controller. Jimmy Page used it on Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused,” “Whole Lotta Love,” “No Quarter” and “Custard Pie”. Slash used it with Guns N’ Roses, and Kirk Hammett leans heavily on it with Metallica.

Bassists sometimes use the wah too, especially in the funk and soul world. Michael Henderson played with one on Miles Davis’s album On the Corner. Other wah-loving bassists include Metallica’s Cliff Burton and Black Sabbath’s Geezer Butler.

Electric pianos and harpsichords operate in very much the same way as electric guitars, so it was only a matter of time before keyboard players started investigating guitar effects. Clavinet with wah sounds so much like guitar that it’s hard to tell them apart. Garth Hudson plays some pretty groovy clav with The Band on “Up On Cripple Creek”, but nothing is as funky as Stevie Wonder on “Superstition,” “Higher Ground” and his other seventies classics. Electric piano also sounds great through wah, again because of its guitar-like tone when played through an amp with distortion. Richard Wright uses it on Pink Floyd’s “Money”, and it’s on tons of Miles Davis electric recordings, especially the ones with Keith Jarrett and Chick Corea.

Any instrument that’s amplified can be played through a wah. Miles Davis got a devastating trumpet tone with wah on Live-Evil and his other darker funk records. A few saxophone players have experimented with it too, as the pedal’s original inventors intended. David Sanborn played with one on the David Bowie album Young Americans, and Dana Colley used it with Morphine.

Violin sounds great with wah. The leading practitioners are Jean-Luc Ponty in the Mahavishnu Orchestra and Boyd Tinsley in the Dave Matthews Band. Pink Floyd even tried some wah on an acoustic piano in their song “Echoes”, which also includes wah guitar made to sound like crying birds. I myself have found that wah sounds terrific on mandolin. I’ve also tried it on harmonica, but there it’s redundant since you can do the wah effect so easily with your mouth.

Wah is just one flavor of the envelope filtering you can do with a synthesizer. A lot of the craft of electronic music comes down to creative rhythmic use of the filter. A standard technique is to get a repetitive loop happening and then sloooowwwly open and close the filter over the course of a phrase or section. Since a sequencer or computer can play the actual synthesizer notes, it frees up the musician’s hands for complex multi-parameter filter control using knobs or touchscreens. We’re only at the beginning of our collective exploration of the artificial vowel glide in music.