Rock Music – Ash Clifton, Writer

Friday Night Rock-Out: “How to Save a Life”

I’ve been reading a fine biography of the great country singer Johnny Cash, and in its pages I learned that Elvis Presley (who befriended Cash when they were both starting out, both men having been discovered by the legendary Sam Phillips) could play the piano. Not as well, obviously, as Phillips’s other phenom, Jerry Lee Lewis, but well enough for Cash, Lewis, and Carl Perkins to sing a few songs together while Presley was tickling the ivories. (That impromptu harmony session was recorded by a quick-witted studio technician and has since become known as The Million Dollar Quartet.)

As I learned about this, I was struck by the notion that most people don’t realize the outsized role that the piano, as an instrument, has played in the history of Rock and Roll. When people think of rock music, the probably think of guitars first, and then (maybe) drums. Somewhere along the line, keyboards some into, but probably the electronic kind. (Think of great synth work by The Cars or Steve Winwood or Gary Numan.) But the piano? The piano?

Yes, the piano. I would argue that it has been almost as influential as the electric guitar in the development of rock. Starting with Jerry Lee Lewis, the story goes to Elton John and Billy Joel, to Christine McVie and even Freddy Mercury.

The 21st Century has, of course, seen a resurgence of the great piano-players in rock. Foremost among this has been Chris Martin of Coldplay. But for my money, The Fray is, in its best moments, just as good a band as Coldplay. Take this little, mournful, piano-driven gem, which is one of my favorite songs of the last twenty years.

Rock on…

Today I Learned a Word: “Melisma”

I’ve always been a huge fan of Steve Winwood. Even as a kid, I loved how clean and bright his songs were, without ever being sappy or trite. Rather, they kept an edge somehow. Eric Clapton once said that Winwood was like a young, White, British Ray Charles. I kind of think he was right.

Not long ago, I stumbled upon one of Winwood’s music videos. It was for “Valerie,” one of his greatest solo hits and one of my favorite songs of all time. The video was on YouTube, of course, and whoever posted it included lyric-captions. Normally I don’t like to follow the captions on a music video, but for some reason I did this time. And as I followed Winwood’s phrasing, I noticed something I had never seen before. Namely, the way he often splits single syllables into multiple notes. Take the line: “Music, hi and sweet.” It’s five syllables, but he sings it as six notes.

If you are a music major, or anyone who knows a bit about voice training, you are probably rolling your eyes right about now. The technique that Winwood is using is so basic that it’s been around for thousands of years at least. But, being a musical ignoramus, I never thought of it before. It is, I just learned, called melisma and is usually contrasted with syllabic singing, in which notes and syllables match each other one for one.

Ironically, as I did a bit more searching on the internet, I found a Facebook post by Winwood himself, mentioning melisma. It was in reference to the passing of the great singer Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac. Winwood commented on how McVie stood out from many of her contemporary singers by virtue of her syllabic singing. And he’s right. McVie’s phrasing was so sharp it was almost like that of a jazz singer.

And yet, off the top of my head, I can think of several instances of when McVie used melisma to great effect. My favorite example is in “You Make Loving Fun,” when she splits the word “believe” into so many notes I can’t even count them. And each one goes right through me each time I hear it.

It’s taking me this many years to learn the definition of melisma. Go figure. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you can teach them some new words.

Friday Night Rock-Out: “Masterplan”

Back in the early 1980s when I was in high school, Wendy O. Williams and The Plasmatics played the annual Halloween Festival Concert at the U.F. Bandshell. I didn’t go, but some of my friends did, and word quickly spread that Williams and the band had played a great set. Also, apparently, Williams bared her breasts, as she was wont to do in concert. In fact, I heard that she had come on-stage wearing nothing on her upper half except a heavy coating of whipped cream (which quickly slid off).

Ahhh, punk rock.

Sadly, Williams’s life ended tragically when she committed suicide in 1998. She battled depression throughout her life, and it finally caught her. Which really sucks, because she sounded like an amazing person. Also, I think she would have had a comeback, at some point. She and the Plasmatics made some incredible music. My favorite of their songs is this one, “Masterplan.”

Rock on…