The Fine Art of Listening

In one episode of the Britcom “Red Dwarf“, a robot suggests that the traditional 7-pitch musical scales should be changed into a 10-pitch scale, making it work with the metric system. In this show, this is suggested as a joke, and is accompanied by that truly horrific laugh-track that accompanies any Britcom. But it’s really an interesting idea, if you think about it.

It’s nothing new, though. People have been messing around with scales for ages. For example, most people are familiar with the sound of a pentatonic scale, which is used in every culture in the world (but western children will usually say that it sounds “Asian”.) And then there’s the octatonic scale, a favorite among jazz musicians and late romantic composers. Claude Debussy continued this tradition of scale-play by stretching standard tonality to its limits. In his piano composition, Voiles (meaning “veils), he uses a 6-pitch scale called “whole tone.”

The effect is marvelous – it feels like we are floating! On one hand, we have a sense of a tonal center (a “home key”) thanks to the pulsing bass, and simple melodic figures. But on the other hand, a couple more pitches in the scale, and we begin to question where we really are.

It’s hot … as in Sahara desert hot, except with humidity that makes it feel like Satan’s armpit. But if it’s going to be Sahara hot, we may as well spend A Night in Tunisia …

This jazz standard was written by Dizzy Gillespie in 1941, and quickly became a well known standard. The exotic, sweltering sound is woven by a funky bassline and a repeating chord progression which uses a jazz “trick” of substituting an expected chord with the tonality a tritone away (in this case, we want to hear A, we get Eb instead – this interval A-Eb is known as a tritone, or the “devil’s interval”). Also, an Eb chord in a D minor piece implies a Phrygian mode, which is a scale we commonly associate with the “exotic” lands of the African Mediterranean or middle east. So, the Eb chord is doing double duty: exoticism AND devilish trick. And we like it.

Gustav Mahler was a composer of superlatives. Why have one hundred musicians on stage when you could have one thousand? His Fifth Symphony‘s famous slow movement, Adagietto (meaning “just a little slow”) has a tempo marking of Sehr Langsam (meaning “very slow”).

Teasing aside, the music is marvelous and it’s easy to hear why it is his most played piece. There’s a touching story that this was a love-song he composed for his new wife. Mahler wrote this poem for her, and attached it to this movement:

“How much I love you, my sun, I cannot say to you in words.
Only through my lamenting can I show my longing and love.”

Musically, it’s a very slow lyrical song, played by the warm sound of the strings playing very slowly; the harp provides a sense of rhythm and motion through its arpeggios. The sense of longing comes through as practically every phrase is ripe with instances where you expect a certain note at a certain time, but are denied that expectation for an extra beat or two.*** And at a slow tempo, the wait for the musical fulfillment can be painful – that kind of wonderful pain of wishing yourself in your lover’s arms.

*** need a specific example? Right at the beginning – you’ll hear the violin melody come in at 0:10. It plays sol – la – ti – do … a simple musical idea that most anybody will recognize and know (think the theme song of the Adams Family, just very very slow.) You expect to hear the final note “do” at 0:15 … but you are denied that pleasure until 0:18. It’s only 3 seconds, but practically every phrase in the piece uses this compositional trick. And there’s even a marvelous 7-8 suspension at 0:58.