Questions of authorship, ownership and originality surround all forms of music (and, indeed, all creative undertakings.) Nowhere are these questions more acute or more challenging than in digital music, where it is effortless and commonplace to exactly reproduce sonic elements generated by others. Sometimes this copying is relatively uncontroversial, as when a producer uses royalty-free factory sounds from Reason or Ableton Live. Sometimes the copying is legally permissible but artistically dubious, as when one downloads a public-domain Bach or Scott Joplin MIDI file and copies and pastes sections from them into a new composition. Sometimes one may have creative approval but no legal sanction; within the hip-hop community, creative repurposing of copyrighted commercial recordings is a cornerstone of the art form, and the best crate-diggers are revered figures.

Even in purely noncommercial settings untouched by copyright law, issues of authorship and originality continue to vex us. Some electronic musicians feel the need to generate all of their sounds from scratch, out of a sense that using samples is cheating or lazy. Others freely use samples, presets and factory sounds for reasons of expediency, but feel guilt and a weakened sense of authorship. Some electronic musicians view it as a necessity to create their tools from scratch, be they hardware or software. Others feel comfortable using off-the-shelf products but try to avoid common riffs, rhythmic patterns, chord progressions and timbres. Still others gleefully and willfully appropriate and put their “theft” of familiar recordings front and center.

Is a mashup of two pre-existing recordings original? Is a new song based on a sample of an old one original? What about a new song using factory sounds from Reason or Ableton Live? Is a DJ set consisting entirely of other people’s recordings original? Can a bright-line standard for originality or authenticity even exist in the digital realm?

I intend to parse out our varied and conflicting notions of originality, ownership and authorship as they pertain to electronic music. I will examine perspectives from musicians and fans, jurists and journalists, copyright holders and copyright violators. In so doing, I will advance the thesis that complete originality is neither possible nor desirable, in digital music or elsewhere, and that the spread of digital copying and manipulation has done us a service by bringing the issue into stark relief.

What Is Originality?

Before we can discuss the impact that digital music has had on the concept of originality, it would be helpful to have a definition of the term. Donald Coffman has a useful approach based on information theory. In his formulation, originality is coextensive with novelty, which in turn is coextensive with informational entropy. A more novel musical idea will have higher entropy because it will contain information that is new to the listener. A well-worn cliché will have lower entropy because it introduces little or no new information. Coffman’s example of a low-entropy musical idea is the leading tone followed by the tonic. This note sequence conveys little information to the Western listener; we have heard it countless times, and we have come to expect it. Following the leading tone with the flat second would be a higher-entropy move, unexpected to most Western listeners.

Analogies with physical systems are helpful here. Atoms in a regular crystal lattice like a diamond comprise a very low-entropy physical system. The musical equivalent would be a MIDI sequencer playing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on an endless loop. Gas molecules bouncing randomly around a room are a high-entropy system. Here, the musical equivalent would be a sequence of pitches, rhythms, durations and so on all chosen at random, or unpredictable bursts of white noise.

We generally find the extremes of both high and low musical entropy to be equally boring. Our senses are most gratified by systems in the middle, blending order with disorder: fractals, chaos, recursion, metastability. In the physical world, our senses are most gratified by biological forms, mountains, clouds, and ripples in water. In music, we prefer a delicate balance between predictability and novelty. While Western culture gives lip service to the supreme value of originality, in actual practice, we prefer a balance of the predictable and unpredictable.

What is Authenticity?

The idea of originality is inextricably tied up with notions of ownership, authorship and authenticity. For my purposes, these three concepts are interchangeable. When we hear a piece of music, we want to know that there is a human mind behind it, a set of emotions we can connect with and relate to. The era of recorded music has posed a challenge to our notions of authenticity. Walter Benjamin puts it best:

Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be….The presence of the original is the prerequisite of the concept of authenticity. (Benjamin 1969)

If we hold Benjamin’s criteria for authenticity to be true, then modern studio recordings are inauthentic indeed.

The Beatles are an excellent test case. At the beginning of their recording career, they simply performed live in the studio, producing a slightly more polished result of what you would hear if you attended one of their concerts. Their last few albums, on the other hand, were elaborately overdubbed collage works that would be difficult or impossible to recreate live. There is no single “original” performance of “A Day In The Life” or “Strawberry Fields Forever” in Benjamin’s sense.

Recent decades have seen an ever-widening gap between people playing instruments in real time and the final product of a recording, especially since the advent of synthesizers, sequencers and digital editing techniques. As Evan Eisenberg says:

The word ‘record’ is misleading. Only live recordings record an event; studio recordings, which are the great majority, record nothing. Pieced together from bits of actual events, they construct an ideal event. They are like the composite photograph of a minotaur. (Eisenberg 2005)

Jesse Walker concurs:

Critics have long debated who ‘creates’ a pop record: the artist listed on the sleeve, the producer behind the scenes, the composer in the wings, or the sometimes anonymous studio employees who actually play the music. (Walker 2003)

It is no wonder that our ideas about authenticity, authorship and ownership of music have grown so muddled. Some musicians remain convinced that synthesizers can never be “authentic” because they are “fake.” But creating a synthesizer patch “from scratch,” building up timbres from raw waveforms using modular electronics or code, could logically be viewed as being more “real” than playing a piano or guitar built by someone else. Traditional instrumentalists decry the use of samples as “unoriginal” or “stealing,” but have no difficulty at all drawing on standard chord progressions, rhythmic and melodic figures, instrumental combinations, song forms, stylistic idioms and the like. The term “sampling” includes practices as diverse as appropriating long and recognizable sections of existing recordings; using short and unrecognizable fragments of existing recordings; using single-note recordings of “real” instruments designed to be mapped to a MIDI controller in order to mimic the sound of the original; and exotic granular synthesis techniques that process short samples beyond recognition. Musicians will vary wildly in their convictions about which of these practices are acceptable and which are not.

At the most controversial end extreme end of the scale lies the mashup, a new work consisting solely of pieces of pre-existing works, individually familiar to the listener, designed to produce surprising juxtapositions. The mashup has been hailed as the most emblematic and significant art form of the time, while simultaneously being dismissed as a shallow novelty or reprehensible thievery.

Controversy over digital music extends far beyond sampling. Some musicians feel that playing digital synthesizers by hand counts as “real music,” but that MIDI sequencing is “cheating.” Some feel that laborious tape editing is acceptable, but effortless digital audio editing is not. Still others can accept digital recording and editing in general, but morally object to techniques like pitch correction and rhythmic quantization. And the situation only gets more complex when we consider the gulf between what musicians say publicly and what they practice in the privacy of the studio.

So what is authenticity in the digital world? I believe that the technological tools and techniques at work do not determine the “realness” of a piece of music. The important factor is emotional truth-telling. Does the music convey or evoke real feelings? Does it tell stories, literally or metaphorically, that truthfully convey the world in which we live? Can a human connection be formed between musician(s) and listener? If the answer to these questions is yes, then I consider the music to be authentic. That said, it may still be difficult or impossible to identify a specific author for a piece of modern electronic music, or even a clearly-defined group of authors. Can music be authentic without having an author? I believe that it can.

Recoding and oral tradition

Art and architecture critic Hal Foster coined the term “recoding” to refer to sampling, remixing, mashups, quotation and all other forms of artistic appropriation. (Foster 1985) Recoding is a useful word — while the various practices it subsumes differ technically, they spring from the same creative impulse and are treated similarly under the law. Recoding shows the way toward a future for recorded music that is more in continuity with music’s past. If I buy a recording, I can listen to it or dance to it, which are both fine activities, but what if I want to go further? What if I want to engage with it, converse with it, customize it or adapt it to my own needs?

Copyright law tightly circumscribes our ability to recode recordings. This flies in the face of the uncountable centuries of musical culture. Before recording technology existed, if you wanted to hear music, someone needed to play or sing it. The normal method for passing music along for nearly all of human history was by oral tradition. A great deal of responsive interaction, adaptation and reinterpretation was an inevitable part of this transmission process. While most of the music we encounter in the modern world is in recorded form, we still carry strong traditions of sharing, adapting and customizing our music. Our instinct to share music we like and to remake it as we see fit is in direct conflict with our notion of recordings as physical and intellectual property that we do not control.

Sampling and originality

More than any other digital music-making practice, sampling provokes the greatest controversy, the hottest emotions, and the most contentious legal battles. For the purposes of this section, I will define sampling to be the appropriation of pieces of recordings created by others in order to recontextualize them in new works. The sample might consist of a single snare drum hit or a long passage, or anything in between.

While digital sampling is a new development, the practice of interpolating familiar material into a new work is of long standing. Classical composers have frequently “sampled” one another’s themes, along with folk and traditional music. Puccini uses “The Star-Spangled Banner” as a leitmotif for an American character in Madame Butterfly. Tchaikovsky interpolates the French and Russian national anthems in the 1812 Overture, along with a Russian Orthodox plainchant and other folk songs. The Nutcracker Suite quotes the traditional “Grossvater Tanz.” At the end of his Violin Concerto, Alban Berg quotes Bach’s chorale “Es ist Genug.” The Habanera from Carmen is based on the song “El Arreglito” by Sebastián Iradier. (Slonimsky and Kassel 1998) The list of such appropriations is endless.

While we have largely made our collective peace with the idea of composers borrowing ideas from one another, sampling recordings feel like another matter entirely. A recording is a physical, tangible artifact in a way that a chord progression is not. Copying the information from a recording feels like a physical act of taking. Even though digital copying does not remove or destroy the original, our mores are still shaped by the idea that unauthorized sampling deprives the original owner of something. Sample-based forms like hip-hop, house and techno have swept the world and transformed global culture, but controversy continues to rage over their basic moral validity.

Thomas Joo represents the prevailing view of the anti-sampling camp: “[S]amples are valuable to music producers because they offer a way to obtain the sound of a musician without employing any musicians.” (Joo 2012) I take strong issue with this assertion. Sampling musicians are still musicians. Indeed, in my own experience, the selection and deployment of the right sample can require significantly more creative effort and time than producing boilerplate genre material on the guitar or on sheet music. People who like hip-hop but are uncomfortable with the practice of sampling tend to invoke the Roots, who play live instruments with considerable skill. However, the Roots are firmly part of the sampling community. Their live performances strive to emulate the sound of sample-based production, turntablism and sequencing. And even though the Roots’ drummer, Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson, is one of the finest musicians of his generation, he nevertheless regularly uses sampled breakbeats in his production work.

Is sampling stealing?

Sampling provokes considerable ire from not just from copyright holders, but from musicians and listeners generally. Some musicians equate sampling with simple plagiarism, and some judges ruling in high-profile sampling cases concur. My own stance is that transformative use should absolve the sampler of all accusations of theft. Sampling, say, a two-bar segment of a song takes nothing away from its author or performer. No one would ever mistake a transformative use of this two-bar sample with the original. Indeed, the sample might draw valuable attention to the original, so long as there is proper attribution.

There is a reasonable objection to sampling that has nothing to do with theft. Rather, it concerns the hijacking of emotional associations. When we hear a song based on a sample before we hear the original, then the original will inevitably evoke the sampling track. I heard “Crazy In Love” by Beyoncé dozens of times before I ever heard the source of its distinctive brass and cymbal samples, “Are You My Woman (Tell Me So)” by the Chi-Lites. As a result, the Chi-Lites’ song will always evoke Beyoncé for me. It is natural to feel protective of one’s memories and emotional attachments around favorite songs. My hope is that while samplers should be free to recode, they would be attentive to the feelings surrounding a well-known piece of music, and that they would handle those feelings consciously and respectfully.

The creative value of sampling

Sampling is an essential part of the contemporary creative toolkit. It enables us to actively engage our music collections, to remake recordings as we see fit. In this respect, sampling has some of the same satisfaction of learning how to sing songs we like, or how to play them on an instrument. As with learning and adapting songs in the traditional manner, sampling lets us remake recordings to our own tastes.

Samples can also be sonically manipulated in real time in ways that live instruments can not. One can instantly alter the pitch or tempo of a sample, or rearrange its components in a different order. Thomas Joo, like many critics of sampling, undervalues this power to reshape the meaning of a sample’s source material: “Even the most active engagements with texts, such as the production of innovative derivative works, involve at least some ceding of the meaning-making function to the author of the source work.” (Joo 2012) This may be true for some works, but it is quite possible for sample-based music to be significantly greater than the sum of its parts. For example, the song “They Reminisce Over You” by Pete Rock and CL Smooth turns samples of a lite-jazz recording of a Jefferson airplane song into the basis of an elegaic tribute to a friend who died young. Pete Rock and CL Smooth transform trite and banal source material into a powerfully moving and substantive new work.

Sampling is also quite effective as a music teaching and studying tool. Sample hunting requires listening actively, with an acquisitive ear. Once a sample has been isolated, hearing it looped endlessly allows the sampling musician to gain a more intimate and nuanced familiarity than the usual listening experience affords. Furthermore, the expediency of sampling encourages spontaneity and experimentation. If I want to try out ideas over a certain beat, it would be logistically inconvenient to involve a live drummer. My apartment is not the right environment for a full drum kit, and I lack the equipment to record one properly. Meanwhile, I have a hard drive full of the best drummers in recorded history playing in every conceivable style, with an essentially limitless selection of others a few mouse clicks away on the internet. How could I possibly pass up the opportunity to practice and write along with Clyde Stubblefield or Questlove or Max Roach? It isn’t just beats that can inspire new tracks or compositions. A short instrumental passage, a vocal phrase, a fragment of speech, a sound effect or atmospheric sound can inspire new work. The effortlessness and immediacy of sampling creates such a wealth of possibility that the challenge becomes choosing from among them.

Samples are not only valuable for their expediency. They possess their own sonic and musical qualities. There is a substantial difference between a person playing a particular phrase repeatedly and the playback of a recorded loop. People cannot help but introduce slight variations of attack, subtle tempo changes, and all of the other nuances of live performance. In some styles of music, constant nuance and variation is a good thing. In electronic music, however, one usually wants the hypnotic, trance-like effect produced by identical looping. A sample’s effect comes not just from its musical content, but all the subtleties of its timbre imparted by the particular interaction of the microphone and preamp and mixing desk and tape or digital medium. The magic of a sample like the Funky Drummer or Amen break is not just in its beat — there is also the tape hiss, the equalization, the compression and reverb. A drummer might be able to recreate the musical performance closely, but not the particular sonic ambiance.

The evocative power of a sample can be used to create webs of reference and self-reference. A striking example is “The Score” by the Fugees, from the album of the same name. In addition to an array of samples of other artists, “The Score” samples every other song on the Fugees’ own album, making for a dizzyingly recursive work of art.

Nas Is Like

An excellent example of the sampling art form is the hip-hop song “Nas Is Like” by Nas, produced by DJ Premier. The instrumental track combines a programmed drum machine beat with twittering birds sampled from “Why” by Don Robertson. The vocals are accompanied by a sample of low-fidelity plaintive strings, sampled from a rather unlikely source, a Lutheran inspirational recording called “What Child Is This.” Imaginative though these sample choices are, DJ Premier’s real artistry comes in his construction of the song’s chorus, built entirely from snippets of other Nas songs. Most of the lines in the chorus come from Nas’ breakout hit “It Ain’t Hard to Tell,” including the phrase “Nas is like” that gives the song its title. Other phrases come from Nas’ “Street Dreams,” itself based on “Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics.

The most inventive sample in “Nas Is Like” is a single syllable taken from Biz Markie’s song “Nobody Beats the Biz.” Biz Markie describes himself in the song as “highly recognized as the king of disco-in.’” He hits the last syllable in ‘recognized’ in a particularly loud and nasal tone, and out of context, it sounds like he is saying “Nas.” It is no wonder that DJ Premier is an admirer of Biz Markie — both are given to creative samples and allusions. The chorus and title of “Nobody Beats The Biz” are a play on a commercial jingle that will be familiar to anyone who watched television in the New York City region during the 1980s. Just as Biz Markie’s tune evokes the familiar in a surprising context, so too does DJ Premier gratify fans of Nas’ earlier recordings by sampling them in “Nas Is Like.”

Remixes and originality

The conventional wisdom in the music world holds that remixes are antithetical to originality. After all, a remix is, by definition, a modification of an existing work, with substantial amounts of the original still present. William Gibson disagrees with this conventional view:

The record, not the remix, is the anomaly today. The remix is the very nature of the digital. Today, an endless, recombinant, and fundamentally social process generates countless hours of creative product (another antique term?)….The recombinant (the bootleg, the remix, the mash-up) has become the characteristic pivot at the turn of our two centuries. (Gibson 2005)

I agree with Gibson’s sentiment, with one caveat: remixing is not so new as we generally believe. While the recorded form of the remix is a technological novelty, the practice of placing an existing musical work in a new setting is quite ancient.

As with sampling, remixing has strong precedent in classical music. Any piece entitled “Variations on a Theme by [Composer]” is effectively a remix; for example, “Variations on a Theme by Haydn” by Johannes Brahms. It is quite common for classical works to be elaborated versions of folk, dance or religious songs. Bach is known to have drawn heavily on Lutheran hymns for source material, using their melodies and chord progressions as the bases for his Baroque elaborations. The album Morimur substantiates this hypothesis by superimposing a performance of the D minor violin partita with a choir singing the hymns believed to form its basis. The musical fit is remarkably seamless.

One could also make a case that jazz musicians’ reinterpretations of popular songs constitute analog remixing. Even the most prolific jazz composers like Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane devoted album after album to highly personalized and idiosyncratic arrangements of popular standards. The emblematic Coltrane remix is his rendition of “My Favorite Things,” from his album by the same name. The E major and E minor parts in Coltrane’s arrangement of “My Favorite Things” are open-ended loops. Soloists play each one as long for as long as they see fit, and then signal the band to continue to the next section by playing the “raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens” melody. The result bears the title of a standard tune, but is unmistakably Coltrane’s creative statement. Even Coltrane’s completely “original” music draws heavily on other sources. His classic tune “Impressions” is a mashup of “So What” by Miles Davis and “Pavane” by Morton Gould.

Aficionados of dance music know that the official release of a song is just the beginning of its musical evolution, and that its truest expression may well come in the form of an extended dance remix. Björk, for example, has embraced the idea of her work consisting of an endless stream of remixes, rather than final, fixed recordings. She encourages her collaborators to find surprising settings for her material, sometimes changing their key and mood entirely, making these songs remixes from the outset. Each single she releases is accompanied by a string of official remixes commissioned by a variety of other artists. Björk released an album, Telegram, consisting almost entirely of remixes of her previous album Post, some of which are quite radical — the electronic dance beats of “Hyperballad” were replaced on the remix by a classical string quartet. Furthermore, Björk has been positively encouraging of fan remixes, to the point of releasing an entire album of remixes and covers of her song “Army Of Me” to benefit tsunami victims in 2005.

It is possible for an artist to make a rich and varied career solely from remixing the work of others. Examples of pop remixers range from the starkly avant-garde “Plunderphonics” recordings of John Oswald, mangling songs beyond recognition, to the good-natured Tangoterje, who extends the funkiest and most danceable parts of songs and layers them with psychedelic echoes. The genre of Jamaican dub consists substantially of remixed “riddims,” recordings of rhythm-section grooves overlaid with snippets of vocals and sound effects, and processed heavily through echo and delay. William Gibson’s statement that the remix is less the anomaly than the static recording, fixed for all time, becomes less controversial with each passing decade.

Mashups and originality

Even more than sampling and remixing, mashups challenge our conventional notions of authorship, ownership and authenticity. Are mashups the most innovative and vital musical form of our time, representing the independent musician’s reclamation of consumerist pop culture? Or are mashups lazy and dishonest, the most venal kind of intellectual property theft?

Club DJs have been mashing up songs on the fly for decades, intermixing popular dance dance tracks with hooks and breaks from other well-known dance tracks. Most of these mixes are ephemeral, created on the spur of the moment for a particular club crowd, but some get recorded and find their way into non-club contexts. High-profile examples include “The Adventures Of Grandmaster Flash On The Wheels Of Steel” and Double Dee and Steinski’s “Lesson” mixes. You could think of these early mashups as very fast-paced medleys, stringing together short segments of well-known songs into a cohesive whole.

While it is possible for a vinyl DJ to combine two different songs simultaneously, lining up the keys and tempos requires considerable skill. The mashup did not find widespread expression until digital editing software made the beat-matching and transposing tasks easier. Using a modern program like Ableton Live, it is possible to superimpose any combination of recordings at the same tempo in the same key with a few minutes of work. Dance and pop songs have long been released in DJ formats with unaccompanied vocals on one side and instrumental versions on the other, facilitating remixing on the fly; such releases are invaluable raw material for mashup artists.

The most typical mashup strategy is to layer the acapella vocals of one song onto the instrumental from another. The challenge is to find two songs that are stylistically wildly different and get them to sound like a unified whole. For example, an anonymous internet artist created a track called “Gettin’ Freaky In Black,” combining vocals from Missy Elliot’s hip-hop/dance song “Get Ur Freak On” with the instrumental version of the hard-rock “Back In Black” by AC/DC. This improbable-seeming combination has a joyous quality distinct from either of its sources.

More adventurous mashup artists take the medley concept of Grandmaster Flash a step further by layering several different songs together simultaneously. DJ Earworm has produced an annual mashup series called The United State Of Pop. Each year, he combines the top twenty-five Billboard hits of that year into a single track. He invests considerable effort into making all of these fragmented songs cohere musically, and the result is a remarkably deep dive into the collective American psyche.

As a practitioner of the mashup, I am strongly in favor of the form as a valuable form of artistic commentary and musical expression. But it is worth examining opposing viewpoints. David Gunkel summarizes them well:

[T]he mash-up is regarded as ‘bastard pop.’ It is the monstrous outcome of illegitimate fusions and promiscuous reconfigurations of recorded music that deliberately exceed the comprehension, control, and proper authority of the ‘original artist.’ In doing so, however, the mash-up does not just challenge the authority of the author but demonstrates that the concept of authorship in popular music has itself always been equivocal and something of an artifice.(Gunkel 2008)

Gunkel’s invocation of the word ‘bastard’ is richly significant. It suggests that there is a proper, ‘pure’ way of breeding songs, and that mashups violate our most basic mores around legitimacy. If artists’ works are their exclusive progeny, then appropriative forms like the mashup are an assaultive affront to artists’ rights to control and protect their ‘children.’

But do artists really own their work, once it is completed? Whatever copyright law may have to say on the subject, our society has not made up its collective mind on this question. Many of us feel that if we purchase a recording, or a book, or a computer program, it is now ours to do with as we please. Sasha Frere-Jones defends the rights of audiences to use creative work to suit their own needs:

See mashups as piracy if you insist, but it is more useful, viewing them through the lens of the market, to see them as an expression of consumer dissatisfaction. Armed with free time and the right software, people are rifling through the lesser songs of pop music and, in frustration, choosing to make some of them as good as the great ones. (Frere-Jones 2005)

Frere-Jones articulates my motivation as a mashup artist precisely.

Kembrew McLeod, a passionate advocate for remixers and other makers of appropriation art, is nonetheless conflicted about the mashup:

Despite my appreciation for them, I do not mean to idealize mash-ups because, as a form of creativity, they are quite limited and limiting. First, because they depend on the recognizability of the original, mash-ups are circumscribed to a relatively narrow repertoire of Top 40 pop songs. Also, mash-ups pretty much demonstrate that Theodor Adorno, the notoriously cranky Frankfurt School critic of pop culture, was right about one key point. In arguing for the superiority of European art music, Adorno claimed that pop songs were simplistic and merely made from easily interchangeable, modular components. Yes, Adorno was a snob; but after hearing a half-dozen mash-ups, it is hard to deny that he is right about that particular point. (McLeod 2005)

This is a thoughtful criticism, but in this instance, I do not believe McLeod and Adorno to be correct. Adorno’s vaunted European art music is, in its way, as modular as contemporary American pop. The components are different, but they nevertheless comprise a finite set, overlaid with fairly rigid restrictions on what is and is not permitted. The rules of harmony and counterpoint are algorithms for producing common-practice era classical music. Software has produced ersatz Bach pieces good enough to fool experts.

Meanwhile, where is it written that mashups must be limited to top 40 pop? Any recording is fair game. Jazz fans can enjoy jazz mashups; country fans can enjoy country mashups; opera fans can enjoy opera mashups. The aforementioned DJ Earworm produced the delightful “Brazilian Diamonds,” combining Django Reinhardt’s “Brazil” with Paul Simon’s “Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes.” The result is a heady blend of jazz, samba, soft rock, isicathamiya and mbaqanga. Who would have guessed that the bouncy rhythms of samba as filtered through the mind of a Belgian gypsy jazz guitarist would mesh so well with the bouncy rhythms of South African pop as filtered through the mind of a Jewish folksinger from Queens? This sort of discovery is only possible via extensive trial and error, and should be rewarded as we would reward any other form of creativity.

It has been my experience that writing an “original” song “from scratch” is more like creating a mashup than unlike it. Songwriting consists of splicing and hybridizing together a series of scale fragments, chord progressions, rhythmic figures, melodic shapes and timbral combinations. The given set of musical modules is bounded by stylistic considerations — I will draw on a different set of modules to write a bebop head than a country ballad. The combinations may be novel each time, but the basic ingredients are not.

The Grey Album

Perhaps the most famous (or notorious) mashup is the 2003 album-length work by Brian “Danger Mouse” Burton called the Grey Album. It accompanies every acapella track from Jay-Z’s Black Album with new instrumentals comprised solely of samples taken from the Beatles’ White Album. Danger Mouse never intended the Grey Album to be a commercial product; he conceived it as a creative challenge to himself. Nevertheless, copies found their way into record stores, and Danger Mouse found himself on the receiving end of legal threats from EMI, administrator of the Beatles’ copyrights. Danger Mouse cooperated with EMI’s efforts to remove The Grey Album from stores, but in the meantime, copyright reformers on the internet turned him into a cause celébre.

On February 24, 2004, the activist group Downhill Battle led an act of civil disobedience known as Grey Tuesday. Hundreds of web sites changed their color schemes to grey, and approximately 170 sites made the Grey Album freely available. Over one hundred thousand copies were downloaded, and the ensuing controversy vaulted Danger Mouse into celebrity. Both Jay-Z and Paul McCartney were vocally supportive of the Grey Album. In Jay-Z’s case, this is unsurprising; he released the entire Black Album in DJ format with the explicit hope that remixers and mashup artists would do exactly what Danger Mouse did. McCartney’s reaction is somewhat more surprising, since the Beatles have generally been strongly protective of their recordings. Nevertheless, in a February 11, 2011 interview with the BBC, McCartney indicated that he regarded the Grey Album as a flattering homage.

Thomas Joo maintains that Danger Mouse “never stood a serious chance of contesting the cultural meaning of the Beatles‘ White Album or Jay-Z‘s Black Album.” (Joo 2012) I myself am proof that this is untrue. I was indifferent to Jay-Z until I heard his music combined with Beatles songs that I had long known and loved. The Grey Album acted as a cultural ambassador, opening me up not only to Jay-Z but to many other hip-hop artists as well. The Grey Album has inspired a flood of imitators, album-length mashups combining Jay-Z’s vocals with Radiohead, Weezer, Brian Eno and others. A notable example is “Dirt Off Your Android,” combining Jay-Z’s “Dirt Off Your Shoulder” with Radiohead’s “Paranoid Android.” As mashups like these become commonplace listening, their impact on the rest of popular music is already being felt, as wild eclecticism and jarring stylistic combinations have moved from the fringe toward the mainstream.

DJs and originality

The least likely exemplars of musical originality are disk jockeys. The typical DJ simply plays one preexisting recording after another. While the job requires attention to song selection and sequencing, few “real musicians” would consider DJing to be a form of creativity, much less an outlet for original expression. Nevertheless, the most skilled DJs have shown considerable ingenuity in their ability to deconstruct and recombine recordings. The cut-and-paste style of urban disco DJs in the 1970s was a crucial influence on the first generation of hip-hop and electronica producers. As technology progresses, the practices of turntable virtuosos have become accessible to average working DJs as well. Ed Montano quotes DJ Goodwill:

You used to be able to just get up and play a record, and it would go for seven minutes, and there’s not much you could do with it. But now… I can loop sections of it, and add bits to it before I go out, and I can get rid of the breakdown if I don’t like it. As technology becomes more palatable and it all goes towards laptops that you’ve already put the music into, you’re going to be able to have so much influence on the music you’re playing. (Montano 2010)

Only the most ambitious DJs presently take advantage of the freedom to create remixes and mashups on the fly in front of a dance club audience. Nevertheless, the practice is spreading. The most meticulously curated and creatively blended mixes show as much of the creative stamp of the DJ as a jazz solo speaks with the voice of the improviser. I foresee that the best DJ mixes will come to be regarded as compositions in their own right, with DJs considered creative authors in their own right. Dance music aficionados already widely hold this view.

The evolutionary model of musical creativity

In his book The Selfish Gene, Richard Dawkins coined the term “meme” to describe a self-replicating information virus, using our minds as hosts. The analogy is to genes, self-replicating molecules using the bodies of organisms as machines to perform the replication. (Dawkins 1976) Memes are transmitted from one mind to another by imitation. This transmission process has been helped greatly in recent history by meme-friendly media like books, recordings and especially the internet.

Dawkins inspired subsequent theorists like Susan Blackmore and Daniel Dennett to argue that all of human culture, language and technology are vast complexes of memes; indeed, memes may even comprise our consciousness and social identities. A key corollary to this theory is that memes evolve semi-independently of their human hosts. Rather than thinking of ideas as belonging to us, we should think of them as symbiotes or parasites, like the mites on our skin or the bacteria in our guts. Sometimes musical memes reward their human hosts (musicians) with wealth, fame and personal happiness. Sometimes the human host ends up broke, despised and alone. The memes don’t “care” one way or the other; they are as mindless as viruses. Whenever we have a song that we dislike stuck in our head, we experience just how independent our resident memes can be.

Susan Blackmore encourages us to take the “meme’s eye view.” From the memes’ viewpoint, humans don’t write music at all. Musical memes self-replicate, mutate and hybridize in our heads. They spread via performances, scores, recordings, teachers, television, movies, web sites and countless other cultural vectors. (Blackmore 2000) The meme theory gives us a useful paradigm for understanding how musical ideas spread. Just as biologists create tree diagrams showing the descent and spread of a particular gene, bifurcating at each mutation point, so too can we make evolutionary trees for memes. Digital sampling in particular makes the heredity networks neatly unambiguous and easy to parse out. It is more difficult to trace the spread of a certain melodic motif or chord progression or rhythmic pattern, but such hereditary histories most assuredly exist.

DNA gets copied when cells divide and replicate. Music gets copied from mind to mind when people hear it and want to reproduce it. All musical learning begins with imitation of other musicians. As music gets copied from one person’s mind to another, it sometimes mutates. Think of learning an existing piece of music as being like asexual reproduction. Usually the two child cells are exact clones of the parent cell. Mutations are errors that result in inexact copies. Mutations generally harm the child cells’ ability to survive and reproduce, but every once in a while the mutation is advantageous.

Consider “Amazing Grace,” which was sung to as many as twenty different melodies before it settled into the one familiar to us. Imagine that you know how to sing one of the “Amazing Grace” variants, and that I want to learn it. Say that we can’t read music and have no way to make recordings. You will likely repeat the song to me until I can successfully copy it by imitation. Perhaps I will not quite learn the melody accurately, and will remember it with one or two notes changed. This mutation will probably make my version of “Amazing Grace” less compelling and memorable, and other people will be less interested in learning it from me. But perhaps I will have stumbled upon an improvement. My version might even spread and eventually crowd out your version. Such a process surely produced the “Amazing Grace” that the world knows now, just as mutation and natural selection produced a variety of hominid species at were then crowded out of existence by humans.

Musical imitation need not take place at the scale of entire songs. It can happen at smaller scales, at the level of riffs and chord progressions and rhythmic motifs. Particularly successful memes in the American folk tradition include the I-IV-V chord progressions, the major and minor pentatonic scales, and the blues scale. When someone combines a variety of memes into a novel configuration, we call the process “composing” or “songwriting.” Writing music is closer to hybridizing and selective breeding than creating a new life form from scratch.

The pioneering producer Brian Eno likes to use the word “scenius” rather than genius to describe exceptional creativity. He believes that the image of the lone visionary is a myth, and that valuable innovations are produced by networks of people communicating ideas back and forth. This view dovetails neatly with the meme theory. A rich and thriving ecosystem of memes under strong selective pressure will produce the most robust and adaptive replicators. By this view, environments like 18th century Vienna or Detroit in the 1960s and 1970s are to be credited for the music they produced more than any particular individual person in those environments.

The meme theory neatly resolves the vexing issues of authorship underlying music-making in the digital domain. Rather than searching in vain for an individual author, we can look at a piece of music and inquire into the natural history of its component memes. We can trace them through software companies, magazines, schools, producers, engineers, compilers of sample libraries, session musicians, songwriters, critics and all the other vectors through which they have traveled to coalesce and hybridize in this particular songwriter’s mind, this sheet of staff paper, this reel of tape, this Pro Tools session, this MP3. Perhaps this complex of memes will be unsatisfying or unfashionable, and will vanish in obscurity. Perhaps it will cause enough gratification to motivate us to copy it, to share it with friends, to imitate and sample and remix it. So it is that the memes evolve and spread.

An example meme: The Amen Break

The most-sampled recording in history is likely a song called “Amen Brother” by the 1960s soul band The Winstons, specifically a five and a half second rhythm break by drummer Gregory Cylvester Coleman. “Amen, Brother” was an obscure B-side that would likely have been forgotten had crate-digging hip-hop producers not discovered Coleman’s drum break and begun sampling it extensively in the 1980s. The Amen break gained a higher profile among hip-hop musicians when Breakbeat Lenny included it in the first volume of his compilation series Ultimate Breaks and Beats.

Over the years since, the Amen break has become ubiquitous not just in hip-hop, but in every style of dance music. It almost single-handedly spawned entire genres of electronica, particularly especially drum ‘n’ bass and its various offshoots. The Amen appears in songs by rock and pop artists ranging from Oasis to Nine Inch Nails. It has also been used in television theme songs and commercials. Casual popular music listeners have likely heard the break it in dozens, if not hundreds, of recordings. Noteworthy examples of the Amen break include “King Of The Beats” by Mantronix, “I Desire” by Salt N Pepa, “Straight Outta Compton” by NWA, “The Angels Fell” by Dillinja, “Girl/Boy” by Aphex Twin, “Nightlife” by Amon Tobin and “Streets On Fire” by Lupe Fiasco. Luke Vibert made an album under the pseudonym Amen Andrews in which nearly every song uses a resequenced variant on the Amen break. Noteworthy television usages include the themes to Futurama and the Powerpuff Girls. The Amen is the exemplar of a successful meme. Its success has not benefitted Gregory Cylvester Coleman, however; he died in obscurity, sharing none of the fame of his drum break.

An example meme: The Champ

“The Champ” by The Mohawks has had a particularly colorful evolutionary history as a meme. The organ riff that begins the song will be instantly recognizable to hip-hop fans due its repeated sampling. The Mohawks were an ad-hoc band of session musicians led by a British organist named Alan Hawkshaw, best known for his commercial jingles, library music and television theme songs. He also played on records by Barbra Streisand and Olivia Newton John, making him a rather unlikely source of inspiration for hip-hop artists. Nevertheless, the Champ riff is one of the signature sounds of 1980s hip-hop. It is sampled in “Eric B is President” by Eric B and Rakim, “Smooth Operator” by Big Daddy Kane, “The Big Payback” by EPMD, and “Miami Bass” by Stetsasonic. Its use tapered off somewhat in the 1990s, but it has never gone out of style entirely; for example, Mary J Blige loops it under almost the entirety of her 2005 song “Gonna Breakthrough.”

The most interesting uses of the Champ riff are the ones that reshape or recontextualize the sample. Guy reharmonizes the sample in “Groove Me,” using the accompaniment to change the riff’s key from B major to C# minor. Fu-shnickens shifts and reorders segments of the sample in “La Schmoove” to produce a variant riff. KRS-One alters the sample even further, reordering its constituent notes until it becomes an almost entirely new melody on “Step Into A World (Rapture’s Delight.)” The most popular song to draw on “The Champ” is “Slam” by Onyx. It does not use the sample itself; rather, Onyx shouts/sings its melody for their chorus.

An example meme: ORCH5

While most famous hip-hop and dance samples come from soul, R&B or rock records, a particularly famous sample comes from a highly improbable source: The Firebird by Stravinsky. A single loud orchestral attack from The Firebird was included in the sample library that came with the Fairlight CMI, where it was labeled “ORCH5.” This orchestral stab came to fame in electronic music culture when Afrika Bambaataa used it in his breakthrough 1982 electro-funk/hip-hop song, “Planet Rock.” Robert Fink evocatively describes ORCH5 as “the classical ghost in the hip-hop machine.” (Fink 2005)

ORCH5 is the loud chord at the beginning of “the Infernal Dance of All the Subjects of Kastchei,” pitched down a minor sixth and slowed somewhat. Fink observes that the eight-bit resolution of the analog-to-digital conversion “produced a brittle, grainy sample whose frequency spectrum is shifted noticeably towards the upper registers of the orchestra. This has the paradoxical effect of making the sample sound both ‘old’ (because its low fidelity cannot capture the full range of the orchestra, as in the pre-LP era), and ‘new’ (because the sound itself is noticeably devoid of romantic lushness).” John Robie, the keyboard player on “Planet Rock,” found that he could play eight instances of ORCH5 simultaneously on both hands, producing a distinctive and enormous-sounding minor-key synthetic orchestral hit. This sound has become a standby in hip-hop and electronica production since then.

Other artists of the early 1980s were inspired by Bambaataa or by happenstance to use ORCH5 as well, including Kate Bush, Art of Noise and Mantronix. The multi-octave minor-key orchestral stab has become something of a trope in hip-hop production, though usually not produced with the expensive and user-unfriendly Fairlight CMI. Instead, producers have imitated the general sound of ORCH5, using whatever combination of synthesizers and samplers is at hand. Meanwhile, “Planet Rock” itself has been sampled and referenced a great many times in later hip-hop and dance tracks, including the aforementioned Fugees song “The Score.”

The Anxiety and Ecstasy of Influence

The literary critic Harold Bloom published a book in 1973 entitled The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry. In this book, Bloom argues that a poet drawing on the work of another poet will produce weak, derivative work. While he recognizes that some outside influence is inevitable, he urge poets to resist these influences. Bloom gives voice to the broad consensus surrounding up all fields of creativity in western culture: that an original idea is the most valuable idea, and that artists must strive to avoid imitating their predecessors. The anxiety of influence can be felt whenever musicians resist sampling for moral grounds, rather than aesthetic or legal ones. Jonathan Lethem wrote an eloquent rejoinder to Bloom, an essay entitled “The Ecstasy of Influence.” Not only is this essay a rousing manifesto in favor of the remix and the mashup aesthetic across all art forms, but it is itself an example of the mashup form — the essay is comprised entirely of quotes and paraphrases appropriated from other sources. Lethem asks whether it is necessary that we continue to resist the collective nature of creativity. Emphasis is in the original:

[D]oes our appetite for creative vitality require the violence and exasperation of another avant-garde, with its wearisome killing-the-father imperatives, or might we be better off ratifying the ecstasy of influence—and deepening our willingness to understand the commonality and timelessness of the methods and motifs available to artists? (Lethem 2007)

One might well consider appropriation of sounds created by others to be a form of theft, but one could just as easily consider it to be a tribute, an homage, a way of humbling oneself before one’s source of inspiration. In an ideal world, all samples would be clearly sourced and accredited. Sadly, the high cost of sample licenses drives many sampling musicians underground and encourages secrecy about sources.

Copyright

Plato predicted the modern attitude toward copyrighted recordings when he spoke about the written word in Phaedrus: “[E]very word, when once it is written, is bandied about alike among those who understand and those who have no interest in it, and it knows not to whom to speak or not to speak; when ill-treated or unjustly reviled it always needs its father to help it; for it has no power to protect itself.” (Gunkel 2008) Copyright protects recorded artifacts from “ill-treatment.” It does not protect creative acts themselves.

The image of paternity continues to underlie our moral instincts around copyright. Gunkel makes the connection to parenting explicit:

[R]ecordings are, to put it in rather blunt terms, promiscuous bastards… And, in being separated from and abandoned by its progenitor, writing is unavoidably exposed to considerable abuse and misuse… Copyright… includes stipulations that articulate proper use of recorded material and delineate what constitutes inappropriate application of the same. This is done, it is argued, in order to assert the property rights and moral authority of the legal author over his/her creative product. It is, to redeploy the Platonic metaphor, a matter of paternity.” (Gunkel 2008)

The legal status of derivative musical works like remixes and mashups is murky at best. Judicial opinion has been contradictory, with some rulings allowing small portions of copyrighted recordings to be used without permission, while others forbid taking even the shortest and unrecognizable unauthorized sample. The Fair Use exception has protected satirical works, but has thus far not afforded sampling artists much protection generally.

The free-culture adherents believe that copyright law exceeded its original purpose to “foster the Useful Arts and Sciences,” and that now it mostly stifles less-powerful creators while benefiting more-powerful entities. Lawrence Lessig and his allies believe that sampling and remixing of popular culture can empower us, enabling us to take ownership over the products of the dominant culture industry and enhancing “semiotic democracy.” In their view, copyright law is grossly overbalanced in favor of large corporate entities and other powerful actors. (McLeod and DiCola 2011) Thanks in part to high-profile controversies like the Grey Album, there are signs that our copyright culture might be relaxing, de facto if not de jure.

Greg “Girl Talk” Gillis is a mashup artist whose work consists entirely of highly recognizable pop samples. Girl Talk samples with no permission whatsoever, and sells his music commercially. He invokes Fair Use to justify his practices. So far, no one has taken action against him. This is probably due less to the robustness of Fair Use as a legal argument, and more to public relations considerations. Copyright attorney Martin Schwimmer once assured me that no one will ever sue Girl Talk, regardless of the legal merits, because it would be a losing proposition. Girl Talk would be a highly sympathetic defendant, with a fervent online following. (Martin Schwimmer himself is a fan.) If Girl Talk is successfully sued, the internet will rise up in protest, resulting in a public relations disaster that would cost the copyright holder far more than they could win in a settlement. If the hypothetical copyright holder brought a case and lost, it would open the floodgates to unlicensed sampling. Rights holders prefer the status quo, where the law is murky and people mostly license their samples to be on the safe side. This tenuous arrangement is unlikely to be stable in the long term.

Is Compulsory Licensing the Answer?

A compulsory license for compositions has been in place since the Copyright Act of 1909. The license allows anyone to perform or record a cover or arrangement of an existing copyrighted composition, so long as they pay a license fee. This fee is determined by statute, not by the copyright holder. Furthermore, the copyright holder can not refuse to grant a license. In fact, there is no need for the would-be cover artist to have any contact with the copyright holder whatsoever; licenses are handled by the quasi-governmental Harry Fox Agency. The compulsory license does not allow musicians to alter the composition beyond light stylistic adaptation, nor does it allow derivative works to be created. While this scheme has been the occasion for some debate, it has worked well enough for over one hundred years.

Legal scholars of the free-culture movement argue that there should be a similar compulsory licensing scheme for sampling and remixing of recordings. (McLeod and DiCola 2011) Currently, anyone who wishes to sample a recording needs the permission not only of the copyright holder of the composition on the recording, but also the copyright holder of the master recording itself. Typically, a songwriter will hold the composition copyright, and a record label will hold the master recording rights. Either of these rights holders can agree to a sample license or refuse it, and can set whatever license fee they see fit. A compulsory license would make it as easy and inexpensive to license a sample as a cover version. Thomas Joo, an opponent of such a scheme, believes that by holding down the market rate for sample clearance, a compulsory license would be a de facto subsidy for samplers and remixers. He objects to such a subsidy, because he does not feel that the interests of appropriation artists should be favored over those of rights holders. (Joo 2012)

Should we place a higher value on the right of a copyright holder to control the use of their work, or on the right of everyone else to recode that work? As a producer and ardent fan of sample-based music, I come down firmly in favor of a compulsory license, along with a clear and generous fair use policy. In the media-saturated world we inhabit, the ability to claim ownership over that media, to repurpose it for our own creative ends, and to be able to freely disseminate our derivative works, is essential to a healthy and functional intellectual climate. Our culture needs remixes and mashups far more urgently than it needs new string quartets or bebop heads. It is exactly the controversial nature of recoded works that makes them culturally valuable.

Conclusion

Trying to identify the author or authors of a given work of electronic music is challenging at best and impossible at worst. Consider “Nas Is Like.” We can identify Nas as the writer of the rap portion, any quotes and allusions aside. But the authorship of the backing track. The components were arranged by DJ Premier, who also programmed the drum machine. But those components were created by Nas and his various collaborators, by the producers and performers on the records that Premier sampled, by Biz Markie, by the makers of the turntables and samplers Premier used in his production, and so. Once we include the web of influences on all of these people, the notion of authorship comes to appear irrelevant.

We will still need some way to identify composers and copyright owners, if only for the sake of the commercial and legal status quo. Regardless of our laws, however, the memes will continue to replicate and spread, as Danger Mouse proved. We should bring the law in line with the inflexible realities of our culture, with an awareness of the true complexity of the concept of authorship in any work that we produce. Ideally, we can embrace the meme’s eye view, and see ourselves and our computers as host environments where music can make itself. The less we resist the memes’ natural evolution, the greater the diversity of new ideas they will produce for us.

Bibliography

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Blackmore, Susan. The Meme Machine. Oxford University Press, 2000.

Boon, Marcus. In Praise Of Copying. Harvard University Press, 2010.

Butler, Mark J. Electronica, Dance and Club Music. Ashgate, 2012.

Coffman, Donald D. “Measuring Musical Originality Using Information Theory.” Psychology of Music 1992, issue 20, pp. 154-161.

Dawkins, Richard. The Selfish Gene. Oxford University Press, 1976.

Dennett, Daniel. Darwin’s Dangerous Idea: Evolution and the Meanings of Life. Simon & Schuster, 1996.

Dibben, Nicola. Björk. Indiana University Press, 2009.

Eisenberg, Evan. The Recording Angel: Music, Records and Culture from Aristotle to Zappa. Yale University Press, 2005.

Fink, Robert. “The Story of ORCH5, or, the Classical Ghost in the Hip-Hop Machine.” Popular Music, Volume 24, Issue 3, 2005.

Frere-Jones, Sasha. “1 + 1 + 1 = 1 — The New Math of Mashups.” The New Yorker,2005, Volume 80, Issue 42, pp. 85 – 88.

Gelineck, S. and Serafin, S. “From Idea to Realization — Understanding the Compositional Processes of Electronic Musicians.” In Audio Mostly, 2009.

Gibson, William. ‘‘God’s Little Toys: Confessions of a Cut and Paste Artist.’’ Wired 13.7, 2005, pp. 118–19.

Gunkel, David J. “Rethinking the Digital Remix: Mashups and the Metaphysics of Sound Recording.” Popular Music and Society, Vol. 31, No. 4, October 2008, pp. 489–510.

Holm-Hudson, Kevin. ‘‘Quotation and Context: Sampling and John Oswald’s Plunderphonics.’’ Leonardo Music Journal 7, 1997, pp. 17–25.

Joo, Thomas. “A Contrarian View of Copyright: Hip-hop, Sampling, and Semiotic Democracy. 44 CONN. L. REV., 2012.

Lethem, Jonathan. “The Ecstasy of Influence: a Plagiarism.” Harper’s Magazine, February 2007.

McLeod, Kembrew. ‘‘Confessions of an Intellectual (Property): Danger Mouse, Mickey Mouse, Sonny Bono, and my Long and Winding Path as a Copyright Activist-Academic.’’ Popular Music and Society, 28.1, 2005, pp. 79–93.

McLeod, Kembrew and DiCola, Peter. Creative License: The Law and Culture of Digital Sampling. Duke University Press, 2011.

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Perchard, Tom. “Hip Hop Samples Jazz: Dynamics of Cultural Memory and Musical Tradition in the African-American 1990s.” American Music, Vol. 29, No. 3, pp. 277-307.

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Walker, Jesse. ‘‘Monster Mash-ups.’’ Reason 35.1, 2003, pp. 57–63.

Discography

Afrika Bambaataa & the Soulsonic Force — “Planet Rock”

Anonymous — “Gettin’ Freaky In Black”

Biz Markie — “Nobody Beats The Biz”

Danger Mouse — The Grey Album

DJ Earworm — “The United State of Pop” series, “Brazilian Diamonds”

Double Dee and Steinski — “Lesson 1 – The Payoff Mix,” “Lesson 2 – The James Brown Mix,” “Lesson 3 – The History of Hip-Hop Mix”

Fugees — “The Score”

Grandmaster Flash — “The Adventures Of Grandmaster Flash On The Wheels Of Steel”

John Coltrane — “My Favorite Things”

Max Tannone — “Dirt Off Your Android”

The Mohawks — “The Champ”

Nas — “Nas Is Like”

Pete Rock and CL Smooth — “They Reminisce Over You”

The Winstons — “Amen Brother”

The fundamental unit of electronic popular music is the loop. This puts it at odds with the Western art music tradition, which typically favors linear structures with a narrative arc. Repetition has mostly appeared in classical music at the macro level of phrases and sections. While shorter repetitive cells do appear in classical music, they are not always welcome. The term ostinato, from the Italian “obstinate,” does not connote approval. Popular music (and some minimalist classical) of the twentieth century has been significantly more repetitive, deriving its harmony from western Europe but its rhythms and circular loop-based structures from Africa and the Caribbean. The advent of synthesizers, drum machines and computers has strongly encouraged the trend toward cyclic repetition, since the default output of such devices is the endless loop.

Björk produced relatively conventional dance music early in her solo career, but her use of loops has become more sophisticated and complex over the course of her career. Her 2004 album Medúlla is comprised entirely from vocals, aside from the occasional synthesizer. Some of the songs are traditional songs and choral works, but most are built from vocals that have been heavily edited, sampled and looped in Pro Tools.

Malawey’s article analyzes three songs from Medúlla in depth: “Öll Birtan,” “Who Is It” and “Triumph of a Heart.” Malawey is primarily interested in the circularity of these songs’ chord progressions. She explains their two-chord or one-chord structures as creating a sense of oscillation or stasis, rather than the source-path-destination schema of western classical tradition. While Björk’s harmonies are colorful, they are hardly groundbreaking. What makes Malawey’s analysis valuable for my purposes is that her vocabulary for harmonic analysis is also applicable to the sonic and emotional quality of looped samples.

“Öll Birtan” is built from layers of Björk’s voice singing highly repetitive figures on a single mixolydian scale. There is no beat per se, but there is an implicit pulse. The piece is less a pop song, and more an art piece reminiscent of Steve Reich. “Who Is It” and “Triumph of a Heart” are closer to dance music convention in form, but they use sampled beatboxing and mouth sounds in place of drum machines and breakbeats. Similarly, sampled vocal tones fill the role of basslines and keyboards. These videos use different mixes than the ones on the album, but they’re so delightful you should watch them anyway.

Malaway’s central thesis is that harmonic stasis creates a feeling of timelessness. She quotes Kofi Agawu:

Repetition enables and stabilizes; it facilitates adventure while guaranteeing, not the outcomes as such, but the meaningfulness of adventure. If repetition of a harmonic progression seventy-five times can keep listeners and dancers interested, then there is a power to repetition that suggests not mindlessness or a false sense of security (as some critics have proposed) but a fascination with grounded musical adventures. Repetition, in short, is the lifeblood of music.

Despite the fact that Agawu is dealing primarily with repetition in African music, much of what he says in this passage applies directly to all kinds of music that are based in repetitive processes. Furthermore, his quote explains the appeal of the more literal sonic repetition of looped samples.

When you listen to repetitive music, time is progressing in its usual linear way, but the cyclic sounds evoke timelessness and eternity. Malawey describes harmonic ostinatos as having a feeling of alternating repose and tension. I’ve found this to be true of looped samples as well; the first and third repetitions will have a “call” feeling that is “answered” by repetitions two and four. The continuing reversal of call and response, of front and back halves of a phrase, can evoke other image schemas as well. Malawey lists swinging, fluttering, quivering, jiggling, hovering and flickering as appropriate image schemas for repetitive music.

In other songs not discussed by Malawey, the feeling of stasis brought on by sampled vocals is even more prominent. The atmospheric haze that dominates “Desired Constellation” was created from a sample of Björk singing the phrase “I’m not sure what to do with it” from “Hidden Place” on her previous album, Vespertine. The vocal loop that opens “Mouth’s Cradle” is so severely processed as to be unrecognizable as a voice; it sounds more like a synthesizer sequenced using MIDI, and the bass notes are pitch-shifted to an unearthly depth. Together with the animalistic backing vocals forming the “percussion,” the collective effect is otherworldly.

Malawey does point out the connection between Björk’s radically simple chord progressions and her unearthly timbres. “[N]on-teleological harmonic processes make room for the vocal textures to carry the music forward.” By building a predictable musical foundation under her sonic experiments, Björk leaves the listener with enough attentional bandwidth to absorb the complexities of her vocal manipulation and looping. The familiarity of the voice combined with the “future shock” of radical digital editing challenges the listener, but the repetition makes the challenge a surmountable one, eventually leading to deep musical gratification.

Update: this post is featured on Synthtopia’s Facebook wall, and there’s a lively discussion happening over there. Check it out!

When a student brings a recorded song to me that they want to learn, the first thing I do is load it into Ableton and mark off the different sections with a simple color-coding scheme: blue for verses, green for choruses, orange for instrumental breaks and so on. This enables even non-readers to grasp the overall structure of the song. I then loop a short segment, usually significantly slowed, and have the student repeat it until they’ve attained some proficiency with it. As the student progresses, the loops get longer until they encompass entire sections. If a particular phrase is especially troublesome, I can send the student home with an mp3 of that phrase looped endlessly to practice over.

I can’t overstate the value of using loops of actual songs played by actual musicians, as opposed to metronomes or fake-sounding MIDI tracks. The metronome demoralizes students quickly, and convenient though MIDI is, it doesn’t convey feeling and nuance. Study of the genuine article, with its groove and feeling intact, is a vastly richer and more engaging experience. Also, listening to music loops creates a trance-like, meditative feeling, as fans of repetitive electronic dance music will attest. This meditative state is most conducive to flow, and turns repeated drilling into a pleasurable act.

Saville’s article discusses the value of repetition in music learning, and the challenges of putting it into practice. Repetition is fundamental to all forms of human learning, as the rehearsal of the material causes repeated firings of certain networks of neurons, strengthening their connections until a persistent pattern is firmly wired in place. Young children enjoy the endless repetition of any new word or idea, but for older children and adults, such literal repetition becomes tiresome quickly. Still, rehearsal remains a critical memorization method, especially in the intersection of music and memory. The trick for a successful music instructor is to lead the students through enough repetition to make the ideas stick, without descending into tedious drilling.

The key to effective music learning is “chunking,” breaking a long piece into short, tractable segments. Depending on the level of the students, those chunks might be quite short, a single measure or phrase. Once a series of chunks is mastered, they can be combined into a larger chunk, that can then be combined with still larger chunks until the full piece is mastered. Chunking helps get students to musical-sounding results quickly. Rather than struggling painfully through a long passage, the student can attain mastery over a shorter one, which builds confidence. Furthermore, Saville points out that chunking can help make feedback more immediate and thus more effective:

Experienced music teachers become adept at chunking and sequencing the reassembly of difficult musical passages as a means of solving complex performance problems. By chunking, we eliminate the delayed feedback inherent in a long list of items to be fixed after the performance of a long passage and instead focus on more useful and immediate feedback. Repeating the two most critical measures of a sixteen-measure phrase will solve more problems than the repetition of the entire phrase. Likewise, chunking the three troublesome interval leaps in a four-measure phrase will increase rehearsal efficiency and productivity.

Saville cites the music educator’s truism that “accurate feedback may be the single greatest variable for improving learning.” The longer the delay between the performance and the feedback, the less effective it is. It is best to give feedback in the moment, immediately after looping a passage, or even better, while the loop is in progress.

Repetitive drilling demoralizes students quickly. The challenge is to find a way to get students to repeat new ideas enough times to master them without boring them to the point of discouraging them. The strategies Saville lists are intended for classical ensemble teaching, but they are equally valid for jazz, rock, country and pop. Some of his recommended methods include:

• Call-and-Response Repetition — the teacher leads by example, without explaining the how or why, and students must use their own ingenuity to imitate.
• Performer-Switching Repetition — repeating a phrase with different students playing on each pass.
• Guided Discovery with Repetition — asking students to describe what they’re doing.
• Repetition with Addition or Subtraction of Degrees of Freedom — for example, having students perform the rhythm of a passage on a single pitch. I call this exercise the one-note groove and find it very valuable.

In my own music study and teaching practice, two programs have been invaluable in loop-based teaching: Transcribe by Seventh String, and more recently, Ableton Live. Both of these programs easily enable you to isolate sections of recordings, loop them, and alter their tempo. Transcribe is a fairly primitive piece of software, but it’s perfectly adequate for its stated purpose: helping the user transcribe jazz solos. It works equally well with any other style of music. In addition to its looping functionality, Transcribe can also identify the pitches present in short segments of audio.

Ableton is a full-featured audio production and editing tool. For education purposes, though, its robust looping features are the crucial ones. Ableton has the additional advantage of being able to arbitrarily alter pitch and tempo with minimal digital artifacting.

Coming next week: using drum loops to help students nail down their groove.

Recursion is crucial to writing computer programs in a compact, elegant way, but it also opens the door to infinite loops and irreconcilable logical contradictions.

Self-reference makes loops possible, which is great for programming. But sometimes the computer gets stuck in those loops. XKCD gives a playful illustration of how this can happen, using ducks.

We experience these infinite loops as computer crashes. The computer isn’t “stuck” when it crashes; it’s just running the same few instructions over and over.

The computer can’t break its own loops by “stepping outside of itself;” it needs an external agent to intervene, like you hitting the reset button.

The operations of our minds are also heavily recursive and self-referential. But unlike computers, we aren’t prone to getting stuck in loops, and we seem to be unfazed by logical paradoxes. Some of us even find them beautiful. Nature is full of self-similar, “paradoxical” structures like fractals.

Biological systems are especially self-similar and fractal-like.
Our brains are full of recursive loops. The brain’s representation of itself to itself is probably the basis of our consciousness.

The profoundest truths take on the quality of strange loops, GEB’s useful shorthand for recursive paradoxes. Here’s a diagram I made of the “heterarchy” of human knowledge.

Bach isn’t the only musician to use recursion and self-reference. Hip-hop and other sample-based music use it too, in the form of artists sampling their own songs within their own songs. Here are some blog posts digging into this idea.

• Biggie Biggie Smalls Is The Illest
• Eric B and Rakim
• Nas Is Like
• In A Silent Way is a remix of itself
• Self-reference in computer programming and hip-hop
• Take it to the bridge

Hofstadter also tackles the concept of emergence, the way that an intelligent mind can arise from the interaction of unintelligent component. He compares the mind to an anthill — the collective ant colony has intelligence, even though the individual ants are dumb.

Finally, the book is the best introduction to Zen Buddhist thinking that I’ve come across. Hofstadter observes that westerners are used to thinking in terms of neat Manichean categories — profound truths are unambiguously true or false. Zen prepares the mind to deal with Gödelian paradoxes, strange loops, fractals and the like.

I don’t think I’ve ever succeeded in reading GEB from cover to cover. It’s not really that kind of book. I prefer to just open to a random page and struggle with whatever concept I find there. I recommend a similar approach.

Original post on Quora

Here are my favorite basslines of the last fifty years, across genres.

John Coltrane – “My Favorite Things”

Simple, hypnotic, effective. Read more.

John Coltrane – “Equinox”

Another devastatingly simple groove.

Duke Ellington – “Half The Fun”

Paired with an incredible Sam Woodyard drum part. I love sampling it:

Nature Boy megamix by ethanhein

Duke Ellington – “Fleurette Africaine”

Charles Mingus’ strumming on the intro might be the most beautiful few bars he ever played. Hear a mashup I did of this tune and some other jazz classics:

Autumn Leaves by ethanhein

The Beatles – “Dear Prudence”

I could have chosen any of a dozen Beatles tunes here, I love those McCartney lines. But this one has the most emotional power for me. Here’s a blog post about it, and here’s a mashup I did of “Dear Prudence” with “Never Can Say Goodbye” by the Jackson 5:

Prudence Never Can Say Goodbye by ethanhein

Miles Davis – “It’s About That Time”

From my favorite of Miles’ funk albums. Read a blog post about it.

James Brown – “There Was A Time (I Got To Move)”

Pretty sure that’s Bootsy Collins playing bass, and he kills it.

Herbie Hancock – “Chameleon”

Here’s a visualization I made of this loop.

Talking Heads – “Once In A Lifetime”

Read more about this track, and check out the megamix:

Once In A Lifetime megamix by ethanhein

Michael Jackson – “Billie Jean”

Of course.

Janet Jackson – “What Have You Done For Me Lately”

The song that made the Latelybass sound famous.

Paul Simon and Ladysmith Black Mambazo – “Diamonds On The Souls Of Her Shoes”

Bakithi Kumalo on the fretless makes this tune for me.

Michael Jackson – “Remember The Time”

Love those Teddy Riley sequenced lines.

Digable Planets – “Rebirth Of Slick”

The bassline is sampled from “Searchin’” by Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers, but the Digables flipped it into something new.

Black Sheep – “The Choice Is Yours”

Another creative flip of a jazz sample, from McCoy Tyner’s recording of “Impressions.”

Morphine – “Buena”

No embedding; click the image to hear the song:

Two-string slide bass and baritone sax!

Daft Punk – “Around The World”

Never get tired of this one.

Kanye West – “Love Lockdown”

Kanye has been using tuned 808 kick drums to play his basslines lately, which is a dazzlingly hip idea. The kick and the bass are supposed to be in tight sync anyway; why not just fuse them into a single part? I know he’s a ridiculous human being in a lot of ways but the man knows how to put a track together.

Let me know if I missed anything critical, I’m sure I did.

Original post on Quora

Music notation

Western music notation is a venerable method of visualizing music. It’s a very neat and compact system, unambiguous and digital, and not too difficult to learn. Programs like Sibelius can effortlessly translate notation to and from MIDI data, too.

But western notation has some limitations, especially for contemporary music. It doesn’t handle microtones well. It has limited ability to convey performative nuance — after a hundred years of jazz, there’s no good way to notate swing other than to just write the word “swing” at the top of the score. The key signature system works fine for major keys, but is less helpful for minor keys and modal music and is pretty much worthless for the blues.

Here’s a suggestion for how notation could improve in the future. It’s a visualization by Jon Snydal of John Coltrane’s solo in Miles Davis’ “All Blues”  (I edited it a little to be easier on the eyes.)

Snydal’s visualization is more analog than digital — it shows the exact nuances of Coltrane’s performance, with subtle shadings of pitch, timing and dynamics.

MIDI sequencers suggest further improvements over standard notation. Here’s a simplified electronic music sequencer called iNudge. Play, it’s fun:

Here’s Thelonious Monk’s tune “Four In One” as shown in standard MIDI “piano roll” view. The rectangles show not only which notes are being played and when, but exactly how long they’re held. Darker red means louder, paler pink means quieter. You can also read volume off the bars along the bottom.

MIDI is a versatile and user-friendly system. It can capture your keyboard performances, you can import scores, and you can even just draw notes onto the screen directly (my preferred method.)

The Music Animation Machine has a wonderful series of videos matching MIDI piano rolls of various classical pieces with recordings of them. Here’s Bach’s infamous Toccata and Fugue in D minor.

As software gets more sophisticated in its ability to extract pitch data from actual audio recordings, you can start manipulating them with the same ease as MIDI. Here’s a screencap of the pitch-correction program Melodyne, a close cousin of Auto-tune.

The lines show the actual sung pitches, and the orange blobs show the notes the program thinks the singer meant to hit. The blobs’ thickness shows volume. You can drag and drop the blobs and redraw the lines at will to alter the melody to your heart’s content. Melodyne even transcribes the performance to standard notation and MIDI for you.

High and low

We’ve made up our collective mind that faster frequencies should be spatially represented as being “higher,” and that slower ones should be spatially “lower.” It seems so reasonable, but really it’s totally arbitrary, and doesn’t even line up with physical experience. On the piano, the high notes are on the right and the low ones on the left. On the guitar, the “low” E string is physically located above the “high” one. The fingerings for higher and lower notes on wind instruments don’t correspond to a simple higher-lower axis either.

Absolute pitch is a straight line ladder, but pitch class is circular. The truest representation of pitch space is a helix.

Other ways to conceptualize pitch space

High and low aren’t the only metaphors we use for faster and slower vibrations. Like I said, pitch class is circular.

But the circle is really just replacing up/down with clockwise/counterclockwise. There are other ways to conceptualize pitch. We intuitively experience changing pitches as moving closer and further, or inwards and outwards. We also think of higher pitches as brighter and lower pitches as darker. Players of stringed instruments sometimes tune their upper strings a little bit too high on purpose, producing an effect known as brilliance.

Time

It’s a universal convention that notation shows time moving from left to right. But that’s not the only possible axis to use. How about forwards and backwards instead? That’s the paradigm in rhythm games like Dance Dance Revolution and Guitar Hero. The purest realization of this concept is in a game called FreQuency.

The game even allows you to construct your own remixes.

I like this tunnel metaphor and would like to see it extended into a full-blown production environment.

Waves

Pitches are sine-wave vibrations, and you can visualize them as such.

Sine waves wouldn’t make for very a helpful music notation, but they do help you understand what’s going on scientifically when you physically hear something. They’re even better animated:

See all of Wikipedia’s animated drum heads.

Waveforms

Audio editors show music as amplitude waveforms, blobs that get wider where the sound is louder. Here’s the Funky Drummer break in Recycle. The blue blobs show drum hits. These amplitude blobs don’t tell you much about the musical content except for timing and volume. But Recycle was meant for drum loops, where timing and volume are the only information you really need.

Here’s a graphic I made showing how you hear the Funky Drummer as it’s looping:

In a post on Design Observer, Rob Walker discusses the waveform as the new icon for music, replacing the stylized eighth notes or records that have done the job in the past. The SoundCloud player uses an attractive waveform graphic that helps the listener track where they are in the song by following the volume peaks. There’s even a SoundCloud group called Pretty Waveforms.

Tomorrow Never Knows by ethanhein

The waveform has the potential to move from purely functional settings to more decorative ones. Here’s a waveform-based labeling concept by Joshua Distler, showing the tracks on Post by Björk.

Music theory and networks

I’ve always thought it would be cool to use networks to conceptualize music theory, and have made a few attempts at doing so. Here’s a comparison between the circle of half-steps and the circle of fifths, which are involutes of each other:

Here’s a map of the chord progressions in “Giant Steps” by John Coltrane.

And here’s a flowchart showing how you can figure out what scale or mode you’re hearing.

It would be way cooler to have more abstract three-dimensional interactive visualizations showing how chords, scales and melodies function. Leonhard Euler showed how you can represent tonal harmony as a lattice with the topology of a torus, as shown in this animation. Red lines show major thirds, green lines show minor thirds, and blue lines show fifths:

I have ambitions of my own in this area, but so far, I lack the programming skills to realize them. Others are taking some exciting strides, though. Dmitri Tymoczko made waves for getting the first music-related article published in Science about his topological visualization methods for tonal harmony. I can’t quite wrap my head around his ideas, but they’re intriguing.

Here’s an illustration by Aniruddh Patel from his paper, “Language, Music, Syntax And The Brain.” Again, I’m not totally clear what it all means, but I plan to investigate further.

Other theorists have attempted to use color to show harmonic function. Scriabin invented a “keyboard of lights” for that purpose, though it didn’t really catch on.

Visualizing musical form and structure

I like to use simple color-coding to keep track of which section is which while working on a song. Yellow is for intros and outtros, blue is for verses, green is for choruses and orange is for instrumentals and breakdowns.

Edward Tufte shows some more sophisticated song structure visualizations on his forum:

The Shape of Song project by Martin Wattenburg shows repetition within a piece of music. Here’s his visualization of “Like A Prayer” by Madonna.

Here’s Wattenburg’s visualization of Beethoven’s “Für Elise.”

Speculation

Here’s an entertaining video showing how you can create a happening drum machine sequence using counting in binary by Niklas Roy.

Wouldn’t this graph coloring system make a cool music notation or interface?

Visual Complexity has many more ideas like this one.

I feel like we’ve barely scratched the surface of useful and attractive schemes. Are there other cool visualization methods I should know about? Hit the comments.

Updates

John Clover hipped me to this post, which overlaps heavily: Amazing Music Visualizations and Teaching

I just had the chance to play with some of Björk‘s Biophilia song/apps. Some of them are groundbreaking interactive visualizations; some are just entertaining and groovy; some are baffling but deserve points for creativity. All the way around, it’s a remarkable experiment, one that I think is going to be influential.

See this post on Quora

My friend Andrew, who was at the show, said this afterwards: “I can’t decide whether hearing the president say ‘This is not class warfare, it’s math’ or the fact that this band could become popular makes me feel more optimistic about the possibilities of life in America.”

Merrill Garbus started receiving rapturous praise from the indie-rock press a couple of years ago. I read her adulatory New Yorker profile and was immediately skeptical — in the abstract, the idea of a white indie rocker playing African music on a ukelele is not an enticing proposition for me. But curiosity got the better of me, and when I listened to some tracks, I was immediately hooked.

Stylistically, Tune-Yards is an unlikely combination of Fela Kuti, Medúlla-era Björk, Reggie Watts and Primus. Merrill Garbus uses pedals to sample and loop her voice and drumming, and plays baritone ukelele. Sometimes she strums it like a guitar, but she also plays fingerstyle in a way that evokes thumb piano. She’s accompanied by a bassist and two tenor sax players, all of whom also play assorted percussion instruments. See the band in action:

Here’s an actual music video:

Why does this music excite me so much?

The most obvious pleasure is Merrill G’s tremendous talent as a singer. Underneath all the growling and shrieking, she has a legit voice, with a big range and precise pitch control when she wants it. She’s an electrifying stage presence, too, with a relaxed intensity and unfakeable confidence.

Merrill G’s writing is interesting too, though not as consistent as her performance. Her tunes are quirky, thorny and dense. They have a lot of abrupt starts and stops, and show clear signs of being assembled solo in a bedroom on Garageband. Merrill G is masterful with the rhythmic and sonic aspects of English, with a dense syllabic flow that leans toward hip-hop. (She also sings a bit in Swahili.) Her melodies are chants or simple pentatonics, but still manage to show a lot of personal idiosyncrasy, like her penchant for starting and ending on scale degree two.

It’s always politically tricky when white musicians imitate black music. There’s nothing more embarrassing than a bad white rapper, for example. White musicians have a very mixed track record with African sounds. I’m totally in favor of David Byrne and Paul Simon, but Vampire Weekend is painful. Merrill G has so far been a lot closer to David Byrne. Rather than imitating the surface sounds of African music, she’s internalized it and used it to express the truth of her inner self. Some of the technique might be borrowed from Africa, but the content is all about modern America, and it feels truthful and authentic coming from her.

Live looping

The most significant aspect of Tune-Yards’ music is Merrill G’s use of live looping. Anyone who wants to make groove-oriented music in the present moment faces a dilemma. Live drummers tend to fall back into tiresome rock cliches, which get lamer with every passing year. On the other hand, sampled and programmed beats aren’t conducive to dynamic live performances. It’s hard to get that feeling of excitement from watching someone press the space bar on a laptop and then just… stand there.

Live looping gives Tune-Yards the best of both worlds. Merrill G records her drum patterns into the loop pedal right in front of you, one instrument at a time: floor tom, rim shots, snare, cymbals. She couldn’t use rock cliches if she wanted to, since she plays standing up and doesn’t use a kick drum. Because she doesn’t always nail her patterns exactly, her loops have an appealing human quality. And she mixes it up, so some tunes use only looped drums, some use both looped and live drums, and some are played entirely live.

Merrill G’s looped vocals are even fresher-sounding than the drums. Sometimes she uses them to do conventional backing vocals with herself. Sometimes the vocals act as a rhythmic element. Sometimes they build into hair-raising noise collage. Most songs use some combination of the above. By stopping and starting the loops in unexpected places, the tunes are spiced with attention-grabbing silences, a much better way to snap the room into focus than boring fills and crescendos.

If you couldn’t tell from reading this blog, I’m not too wild about rock and roll these days. I enjoy the classics, but I don’t think there’s much juice left in the orange anymore. I like Tune-Yards because they rock, incredibly hard, without falling back on tired rock tropes. I’d like to hear more music like that.

Some wishes

One of the high points of the show was when Merrill G had us all sing a long sustained note, the fifth of the key, through a section of one song. There’s room for way more audience participation than that in the Tune-Yards experience. I’d love to see Merrill sample the crowd clapping a simple pattern, or chanting, and then build on top. Audience participation is one of the main things missing from most concerts, and when you do it right, it’s magical. It’s one of the great sicknesses of our society that we leave music-making to specialists, while most people just passively observe. Tune-Yards could create some truly ecstatic group music-making, without having to get all kumbaya about it.

I also wouldn’t mind hearing Tune-Yards slip a cover or two into the mix. Original material is all well and good, but it would have been really satisfying to hear the set close with a radical take on a classic eighties pop tune. Anna suggested “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper, which I think would be perfect — imagine Merrill G shrieking the lyrics over a raucous drum loop. Or how about some Michael Jackson? “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” would fit their style like a glove. Pop covers would be another way to bring in some more audience participation, since Merrill G’s knotty original stuff doesn’t facilitate much singing along.

My own preferred form of audience participation is the remix, so here’s a mashup of Tune-Yards’ “Bizness” with “Nobody Beats The Biz” by Biz Markie, “Diamonds from Sierra Leone” by Kanye West and Jay-Z, “T’ain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do” by Billie Holiday, “Taking Care Of Business” by Bachman-Turner Overdrive and “Strictly Business” by EPMD. Enjoy.

Bizness megamix by ethanhein

Update: really good article discusses Merrill Garbus’ complex gender politics. Recommended.

Here’s “Amen, Brother.” The famous drum break comes at 1:27.

“Amen, Brother” is an uptempo adaptation of “Amen” by Jester Hairston, written for the movie Lilies of the Field, and made famous by The Impressions (with Curtis Mayfield, before he went solo.)

“Amen, Brother” didn’t get much attention until crate-digging hip-hop producers started sampling the drum break in the 1980s. Breakbeat Lenny included it in the first volume of Ultimate Breaks and Beats. Since then, the break has become ubiquitous not just in hip-hop, but in every style of dance music. It almost single-handedly spawned entire genres of electronica, particularly especially drum ‘n’ bass and its various offshoots. The Amen shows up in rock and pop songs ranging from Oasis to Nine Inch Nails. It’s in TV theme songs and commercials. Casual music listeners have probably heard it in dozens if not hundreds of recordings. Here’s a family tree showing the most noteworthy usages.

As is so often the case in sample history, GC Coleman never got a dime from any of these uses beyond his union scale for the original recording session. He died in 2006, so there’s not much we can do for him now, but I think he at least deserves some recognition.

Inside the break

Here’s the Amen break, looped four times:

Amen break by ethanhein

Wikipedia has handy drum notation and drum machine tablature for the break.

Here’s how the break looks in the sampling program Recycle:

Each blue spiky blob is a drum hit. The vertical lines are slices I added using Recycle. Once you’ve sliced up the loop, you can play the slices back in any order and any combination using a MIDI keyboard or drum pads. You can generate an infinite variety of new loops this way.

Two documentaries on the Amen break

The usual reference for the Amen break is this twenty-minute video by Nate Harrison.

Here’s an hour-long podcast on the break by Crissy Criss:

Noteworthy Amen break samples

I’m not attempting anything resembling completeness here; these are just tracks I like or find interesting. Starting in the eighties with the old skool, here’s “King Of The Beats” by Mantronix.

In “I Desire,” Salt N Pepa mixes the Amen with drums from Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” and the synth line from “Daisy Lady” by 7th Wonder.

Maybe the best-known hip-hop usage of the Amen is NWA’s “Straight Outta Compton” (very, very NSFW.)

The break appears in pitched-down form at the very beginning of “Informer” by Snow. What the heck is he saying in the chorus, anyway?

As I said above, the Amen is most closely associated with drum ‘n’ bass, for example “The Angels Fell” by Dillinja.

Luke Vibert did an album under the pseudonym Amen Andrews where just about every song uses a variation on the Amen break.

An artsier take on the Amen: “Girl/Boy” by Aphex Twin.

Even artsier: Amon Tobin’s “Nightlife.”

David Bowie uses the Amen for his foray into the world of drum ‘n’ bass, “Little Wonder.” It’s not one of his strongest tunes but he gets huge points for trying.

The most current hip-hop song I could find that uses the Amen is Lupe Fiasco’s “Streets On Fire.”

Many, many more examples can be found on the Amen Break Database and Whosampled.com.

The Amen break on TV

As the Nate Harrison documentary points out, the Amen pops up in quite a few TV commercials. It’s made its way into some theme songs, too, most notably the one from Futurama:

The Amen also shows up in the Powerpuff Girls theme song.

Do you still think that sampling is stealing? I don’t mean monetarily, I mean artistically. Do you think that there’s something unoriginal in all these uses of the Amen break? Do you think that the way Aphex Twin or Lupe Fiasco recontextualizes the break is somehow a lesser creative act than getting out a drum kit and playing something? You can probably guess where I stand.

Why is the Amen break so magical?

Producers talk about how funky and passionate the Amen is, how compressed and dirty the drum sounds are, how much hip syncopation it uses in its second half. But what if there’s a mathematical explanation for the break’s popularity? Michael Schneider has a theory that the Amen Break sounds so good because it’s structured around the golden ratio.

Is there anything to this theory? You be the judge.

Try it yourself

Here’s my mashup of many of the above tracks, with heavy processing of the Amen break in Recycle and Reason.

Amen Brother megamix by ethanhein

If you want to play too, the internet is full of resequenced and reshuffled variations on the Amen break available for your downloading pleasure. Here are a hundred fifty Amen loops. Here’s another forty and yet another twenty. Stick them in your favorite audio editor and have fun!

I think Reggie is one of the most exciting artists of our time, but it’s difficult to verbalize exactly what he does. His performances combine improvisational music and absurdist standup comedy into a free-associative yet oddly coherent and impactful whole. The best way to get an idea of what I’m talking about is just to see the man in action.

Reggie on Conan:

“Wax and Wane,” a video by Jake Lodwick:

See a video deconstructing the process behind songs like this. The delay/looping unit is a Line 6 DL4 delay modeler.

A ballad, Big Ass Purse:

A longer performance at Google:

Reggie’s most produced video blends his usual disjointed lunacy with a loving parody of hip-hop. It’s called F*ck Sh*t Stack, and obviously, the language is very explicit. And hilarious.

Reggie works well in purely audio form too: Thus Far (Alternate) by reggiewatts

Reggie on Radiolab:

Hear many more tracks on this Spotify playlist. I’m particularly awestruck by the fifteen-minute “My History Thus Far.” It’s a wonderful autobiography unto itself, but if you want more background, check out this New York Magazine profile.

Improvised words and electronic music belong together

Barbara Singer and I had a somewhat similar idea to do completely improvised electronic music, and to combine it with improvisational comedy. Reggie’s method is better. First of all, instead of using canned beats like we did, he beatboxes everything himself. Secondly, he sticks to a pretty strict hip-hop/R&B song form: eight and sixteen bar sections, intros, verses, choruses, breakdown, outtro. The structure gives his improvisation a solid skeleton, keeping the music tightly enjoyable while the words go off in whatever random directions.

I went through my free jazz phase, but Reggie’s approach is way cooler than free jazz. Reggie is accessible and pleasurable in a way that free jazz only very rarely is. Relatedly, I like improv comedy as much as the next guy, but combining it with singing and rapping pushes it onto a completely different level. Reggie feels less like an entertainer and more like a transmitter for the collective unconscious of the culture. In a prehistoric culture he probably would have been a shaman or a prophet. It helps that he looks the part.

Studies of musicians who improvise while having their brains scanned show a connection between melodic improvisation and speech.

[Improvising] led to a surge in activity in a variety of brain areas, including parts of the premotor cortex and, most intriguingly, the inferior frontal gyrus. The premotor activity is simply an echo of execution — the novel musical patterns, after all, must still be translated by the fingers. The inferior frontal gyrus, however, has primarily been investigated for its role in language — it includes Broca’s area, which is essential for the production of speech. Why, then, is it so active when people create music on the piano? The scientists argue that expert musicians create new melodies by relying on the same mental muscles used to create a sentence; every note is another word.

Given these results, it’s not surprising to me that the richest improvisation combines music and language. The best jazz solos have a speech-like aspect. Freestyle hip-hop makes the speech-music connection literal, but suppresses melody. By combining hip-hop with melodic singing and discursive lectures, Reggie is hitting every brain region at once. When we laugh at his routines, it’s not because his stuff is “funny” in the traditional sense (though it can be.) I think we’re laughing at the delightful surprise of having so many new connections between our own brain regions being lit up at once.

So, the show we saw

Apparently it was taped for a Comedy Central special, that’s something to look forward to. As you can see in the videos, there’s a whole dance component to Reggie’s act, which includes waving his fro around hypnotically. It had been pouring buckets before the set started and it was still humid, so Reggie’s hair steamed visibly under the lights.

The beauty of the live looping is how unpredictable and context-sensitive it is. Sometimes crowd noise got recorded along with whatever Reggie was singing or beatboxing, adding to the texture. On one of the songs involving piano, he overdubbed two layers that were slightly out of sync with each other. Instead of erasing one and trying again, he just let it run, giving the piece a nice organic lopsidedness.

While most of the content came straight from Reggie’s subconscious, there was some pop culture too. He did a flawless parody of Radiohead. He shouted out nerd culture several times too, making references to rolling for initiative and Seven Of Nine. He aimed a surprisingly earnest lecture to computer hackers, entreating them to find something constructive to do.

Reggie’s best material went from the ridiculous to the sublime. He started one of his hip-hop tunes by shouting out all the boroughs – “Is Brooklyn in the house? Is Queens in the house?” That led to a rapped discourse on New York City, its neighborhoods, the way the streets down in the financial district and the Village are all oddly laid out because it was before the grid system, then the Dutch, the native Americans, the wooly mammoths, the formation of the earth, and all the way back to the big bang, which he described as “a black hole emitting radiation.” Which: wow.

In general, Reggie’s act feels like he’s explaining to aliens how humans work. I sometimes feel like that’s my job with this blog. It’s a thing with people who grow up between different cultures. In my case, it’s the conflict between my Jewish and Protestant ancestors. Reggie’s case is more complex, because he has a French mother and an African-American father. His Obama-like chameleon quality is the result of an Obama-like upbringing. He probably feels like an alien himself most of the time — too black for white people, too white for black people, too European for America, too American for Europe, too musical for straight pop, too pop for the academy. He and I share a fondness for Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature,” which is all about the alien perspective on humans. I bet he likes Björk’s “Human Behaviour” too.

The crowd was heavy on the hipsters, but more varied in race and class and age than you’d think. The people around me were uniformly enraptured, laughing at the random nonsequiturs, bopping to the songs. The only exception was a woman standing front and center at the foot of the stage, who abruptly stormed out two thirds of the way through the set, angrily exclaiming, “This is not funny!”

Because Alicia Keys was involved, I thought she might have written the chord progression. But no, it’s built from samples of the intro to “Love On A Two-Way Street” by The Moments.

“Empire State Of Mind” was originally written by Angela Hunte and Janet “Jnay” Sewell-Ulepic (though Jay-Z substantially rewrote the verses when he recorded it.) Their sequencing of the Moments samples seems like a different process from the way that someone like Alicia Keys would write a song at the piano. Using the sampler is a lot more limiting. But sometimes that’s good for creativity, as in this case. I like Alicia Keys’ own material okay, but she’s never written anything as powerful as “Empire.”

Let’s analyze. The Moments’ intro is in the key of F, but “Empire” speeds up the sample a little, moving it up to F#. I’m going to spare us all some annoyance and confusion by analyzing both songs as if they’re in C.

The Moments’ intro starts with a simple but beautifully voiced I-V-IV progression: C, G, F. The bass walks down from C to the B in the G chord. From there, your ear expects it to land on A minor. Instead it lands on F. There’s an A in the F chord, so it doesn’t completely fake you out. Still, your ear expects the A minor, and the F that takes it place has an implicit wistfulness.

Next there’s an F to G cadence that you expect to land on C. Instead, it lands on a dramatic and suspenseful E7, once again setting up a strong expectation of going to A minor. But the Moments fake you out yet again, by changing keys altogether when the verse starts.

There’s more than enough information in the Moments’ twenty-second intro to unpack into a full length song, and “Empire State Of Mind” does exactly that. The verses loop the C-G-F, F-G-C parts. The prechorus is the suspenseful E7 chord. The chorus is just the verse chords in a different order: F-C-G. And the bridge combines parts of the verse and the prechorus.

The song gets a lot of its power from the way the A minor chord is constantly implied but not actually stated. (It appears very briefly in the bridge, but otherwise is absent from the song.) Your mind is constantly engaged trying to fill in that missing minor. The song even feels minor, more tragic than triumphant, even though there are (basically) no minor chords in it anywhere. That’s real musicianship.

Writing a chord progression is like reaching into a box of legos and fitting the pieces together. There’s an infinite universe of possible chord combinations, but very few of those sound good, and even fewer have the kind of drama and power of “Empire State Of Mind.” Everyone writing in a particular style is drawing from the same box of legos. The artistry happens in your selection and ordering of the pieces. Once you have enough music training to be acquainted with all the legos in the box, the challenge lies in leaving stuff out.

The sampler can be a better songwriting tool than traditional instruments because its limitations encourage economy of musical means. Sitting at the piano, the temptation to resolve to A minor might be too hard to resist. But since the Moments don’t use A minor in their song, Hunt and Sewell-Ulepic can’t really use it in theirs, much to their enormous benefit. I can’t think of a better piano-based pop song than “Empire State Of Mind” in the last ten years, even though there was no piano used to write it.

It’s a common idea that sampling a song is a form of stealing, that “Empire State Of Mind” is somehow coextensive with “Love On A Two-Way Street.” But not all sample uses are created equal. The Moments’ intro was also sampled a few years ago by Asamov in their song “Supa Dynamite.”

This is a perfectly decent hip-hop track, but it’s nowhere near as powerful as “Empire State Of Mind.” Of course, these guys can’t flow like Jay-Z and they don’t have a colossal hook sung by Alicia Keys, but the track itself is weaker too. It just loops the C-G-F, F-G-C part. It doesn’t use the E7 and doesn’t shuffle the pieces around. Asamov drew from the same box of legos as Hunt and Sewell-Ulepic. They just didn’t build something as interesting.