It’s common among non-jazz musicians to think of “swing” rhythms as having a triplet-like feel, and it’s equally common among jazz players to regard that as hopelessly incorrect. That conflict over swing style has been widely discussed elsewhere, so I won’t rehash it here.
But there’s another layer to the swing/triplets issue: It’s important to understand that real swing rhythms are essentially duple. The primary subdivision of the beat is into two parts, even though those parts aren’t equal in length.
So, writing or playing lots of triplets is a common mistake that non-jazz musicians make when they are trying to imitate a swing sound. That’s not to say that triplets can’t or don’t exist in swing rhythms, but they aren’t the underlying subdivision, and in most cases are best used sparingly.
For example, this can be played to sound like an authentic swing/jazz line:
And even this notation, while problematic, can be translated into something authentic-sounding:
But, to someone who knows jazz style well, this one never quite sounds like swing:
It might pass for a shuffle or something else, but it’s hard to make it swing.
When a well-written swing line does include a triplet, a fluent jazz player might play it to sound distinctly un-triplety:
That approach (one of several possibilities) might make sense to a jazz player because they are stretching the downbeat note, and letting the subsequent notes fall later in the beat—a very similar approach to playing a pair of swung eighth notes.
Written or improvised melodies, background figures, drum fills, and other things that are supposed to swing in an authentic way should avoid excessive triplets. Extensive listening and study of great jazz writing, interpretation, and improvisation are crucial to understanding real jazz swing style.
One of my goals for the semester is to improve my skills as a chamber music coach. This week I set out to explore some resources on the techniques of playing chamber music, and found surprisingly little in my initial search besides historical surveys and repertoire listings. (A fuller search remains to be done, but in the meantime I welcome your tips and suggested resources in the comments below.)
So, in hopes of making someone else’s search just a little easier, I’m putting in writing a few of my favorite basic tips I use frequently with my college chamber music students:
Arrange your chairs and music stands so you can see everybody (at least in a group that is small enough to do so). If you are the one cuing the start of the movement, make eye contact with everyone first.
Start each movement by breathing together, even if not everyone plays the first note. Also breathe together at appropriate places within each movement. I think this is better than someone giving a visual downbeat for a variety of reasons: it’s aural, it’s unifying, it’s non-distracting to the audience, it’s easy and natural. (It particularly makes sense for wind or vocal chamber groups, but I think it’s a good idea for others as well.)
Move a little. If everyone participates in some subtle “conducting,” it can really help to reinforce and unify the tempo and phrasing, and even indicate a rehearsal mark for someone who is lost. (Too much movement is awkward and distracting, but mostly my students err on the side of being statues.)
Get detailed about matching your sounds. Not just note attacks, but also note shapes and endings. Coordinate breaths if appropriate. If there is a crescendo, don’t just get louder at the same time, but get louder at the same rate. Match and blend tone colors—for example, maybe the flutist tries to sound like a clarinet, and the clarinetist tries to sound like a flute, and they meet somewhere in the middle.
Especially for less-experienced groups, it may be wise to talk through (and maybe even rehearse) some things like stage entrances, exits, and bows, so you aren’t awkwardly trying to figure it out with an audience watching. Make sure you’re one the same page dress-code-wise as well. I personally find matching or overly-coordinated outfits a little silly, but do at least be sure you’re agreed as to an appropriate level of formality so no one feels uncomfortable.
Please do jump in and share your best tips, or your resources on how to be a better chamber musician.
It’s scholarship audition season again, which means I get to meet and listen to some very nervous high school seniors (and community college sophomores).
My university is a small regional one, so our audition process probably isn’t as intense as some of the big name-brand music schools. If you’re preparing for an audition, you should definitely check in with that school to see what they expect, but here’s what I usually hear auditionees play, and what I’m thinking while I listen. Read More “What I listen for in scholarship auditions”
I have a recurring teaching challenge with my saxophone students who are tackling the altissimo register for the first time. They play a passage, and when they get to the altissimo note, if it doesn’t respond perfectly, they immediately stop playing. When I ask why, they look puzzled. “The note didn’t come out.”
“Well, what did come out?” I might ask.
More puzzlement. Sometimes I have to prompt them to play it again, and remind them to play it long enough to really hear it.
“A weird honk,” they might finally conclude. Or “a terrible squeak.”
“That’s a note,” I point out. It might be too low (honk) or too high (squeak). But it has a pitch, right? It isn’t the note we wanted, but it was something. And understanding what something it is helps us know what to try next. If it was a honk, the instrument responded at a too-low partial, and if it was a squeak, it responded at a too-high partial. There’s work to do to fix it, but we’re much farther along than we were the diagnosis was only as specific as “failure.”
This approach is helpful with a variety of woodwind-playing problems. Don’t bail and declare failure at the first appearance of a problem. Try leaning into it. What does the problem really sound like? Can you make the problem happen again, on purpose? If you change something about your approach, does the sound change (even if it just changes to a different problem)? All of this information is potentially useful in finding a reliable, repeatable solution.
Additionally, this approach encourages an attitude of curiosity and exploration, rather than self-judgment. That’s a much more fun and productive way to practice. It lets you finish your practice session eager to try again tomorrow, rather than dreading more failure.
Run toward your problem spots, not away from them, and see what they can teach you.
There are few more coveted clarinet techniques than the smooth glissando, as heard in the famous opening to Rhapsody in Blue. But the technique isn’t intuitive, and lots of questions persist about how to do it.
(Incidentally: the Rhapsody in Blue score doesn’t call for a smooth portamento-type effect, but a scale with discrete notes. But the portamento became tradition early in the piece’s life and is now more or less required.)
How the clarinet glissando is done, technique-wise
One key thing to understand is that finger movement is the smallest part of the clarinet glissando. It’s not possible (or at least I’ve never seen it done) to achieve the full effect by simply uncovering toneholes gradually. The real work here is done with voicing.
Let’s break the technique down. We’ll use Rhapsody in Blue as an example, but the principles can be applied to other repertoire (or improvisations).
First, let’s look at what’s called for in the score:
Glissandos that cross register breaks are a particular challenge, so most clarinetists avoid that, opting to play a scale in the lower register, and beginning the glissando at the lower-clarion B or C.
High C is the destination note. Start by playing that note and using your voicing (think of blowing warmer air) to bend the pitch downward. Resist the urge to “lip” it down with your embouchure muscles or to let your breath support sag.
Bend it down absolutely as far as you can, until the note quits. It can take some practice to get a wide pitch bend range. Don’t strain; play around with it for a few minutes, then try again tomorrow.
Once you’re able to bend it fairly far, try kicking in some extra breath support. The air column is reluctant to vibrate when it’s bent too far (I’m fudging a little here on the acoustics). Use powerful air, even more powerful than usual, to make it keep vibrating, and see if you can bend even farther.
Now go to the lower part of the glissando, B or C in the staff. Try to bend it. You probably can’t bend this long-tube note, with lots of closed toneholes, nearly as much as you could bend the short-tube high C.
Now play the note, and gradually let your fingers lift, just a little bit, off the toneholes.
Notice that with the toneholes just slightly vented, the note becomes much less stable—or more bendable. Play around with the pitch to get the feel of it.
Now play the lowest note of the glissando (I’m using C here for simplicity). Move the fingers a little off their toneholes (all of them, except the left thumb, which stays in position for high C) while simultaneously bending the pitch down hard with voicing. (Remember to keep breath support strong.) While gradually moving the fingers farther off the toneholes, bend gradually upward with voicing. As the fingers finally completely clear the toneholes, the voicing arrives at its standard high position, and the pitch settles in on high C.
It takes practice to get the fingers and voicing coordinated, and to gain enough control to shape the bend just how you want it.
To execute the Rhapsody in Blue opening, play a scale in the lower register, then switch as seamlessly as possible to a glissando just above the register break. Some players play the scale portion as written, but some attempt to make it sound more glissando-like by turning it into a chromatic scale. Sometimes they also start the scale on chalumeau F-sharp rather than the written G.
How the clarinet glissando is done, taste-wise
Mastering the technique of the glissando, like mastering any technique, is only the first step. The next and perhaps more important step is to learn to do it with good musical taste.
When performing a glissando, carefully consider the shape of the pitch bend. How long is the bend overall? Should the pitch move in a straight line from one pitch to another? (Unlikely.) Should it have more of a curve, staying low at first and then rising at an increasing rate? Should there be a moment at the beginning or end at which the pitch remains stable, or is it constantly in motion?
These are fine distinctions, but important to the character of the glissando. Careful, detailed listening is crucial to the process—be sure to check out as many good recordings as you can, and note the differences in approach. If your intention is for the glissando to sound jazz-like, make sure you are listening to jazz players who use that effect, not just classical players who may or may not have done their homework.
Why it’s a clarinet-specific effect
The clarinet, unlike any of the other major modern wind instruments, uses a very high voicing for general playing. This leaves room to lower the voicing considerably for this special glissando effect. Flutes and double reeds (and brass instruments) use a very low voicing, which theoretically can be raised, but a raised voicing on a low-voicing instrument doesn’t cover as much territory pitch-wise; in other words, it’s harder to raise the pitch with voicing than it is to lower it. The saxophones, with an in-between voicing, have some flexibility here, but also have to contend with large keys on large toneholes, which are not as precise for hole-uncovering as fingertips on small clarinet toneholes. (The keys situation also explains why the larger clarinets aren’t nearly as agile with glissandos, even though those instruments are properly played with a high voicing.) In short, the technique lends itself particularly to the high clarinets, and may be much more difficult on other woodwinds.
I try to be both a classical musician and a jazz musician. This dual pursuit is sometimes detrimental to both sides, but often beneficial, and I enjoy it. I’ve put in serious study, listening, and practice hours with both kinds of music.
Jazz has influenced classical composers enough that classical musicians can’t ignore it—if you’re an orchestral clarinetist, it’s only a matter of time before you have to face Rhapsody in Blue. So it’s not unusual to hear classical musicians, especially in academic situations, address aspects of jazz playing.
It’s disappointing to me to hear classical musicians use pejorative language when describing jazz style, but frequently terms like “sloppy,” “lazy,” “harsh,” or “piercing” are used to characterize its techniques and sounds. In the last few months, some egregious and ill-informed examples of this have appeared in the blogosphere, and I can think of several examples during that same period when I have heard that kind of talk in masterclasses and workshops.
I don’t think that the examples I’ve seen lately were intentionally belittling or snobbish. And, in fact, in some cases the intent seemed to be to express appreciation for jazz music and jazz musicians, but the choice of words betrays some underlying attitudes about the relationship between classical and jazz.
In my professional capacity as a musician and music educator, I frequently have to lay down the law with my students or with myself about not practicing enough. The sense that I’m never quite good enough, and that it’s my own fault for not working harder, is a real professional hazard.
But when I meet people who aren’t professional musicians or serious music students, they often seem to feel the same way. They confess regrets about an instrument collecting dust in a closet, about not “sticking with it,” or about never learning to play at all. Sometimes they tell me how much they used to enjoy playing, but how some additional factor like music theory or stage fright or scales took the joy out of it.
I have to remember in those moments to keep some perspective. While my own musical goals demand serious daily work, lots of people find joy in dusting off an instrument once a month or once a year to play the same three songs again. Some people find certain aspects of a traditional music education boring. Some might play well, but aren’t interested in doing it front of an audience or a teacher.
And that’s okay! There’s lots of room for musicians of all levels and aspirations (or non-aspirations). And, of course, we professionals need a public that is enthusiastic about music, not guilt-ridden and regretful.
If you want to learn, it’s not too late. If you want to play or sing casually, you may. If you don’t want anyone to hear you, you don’t have to let them. Music should be fun for you.
Sorry, but to me this article is just as biassed against accurate, purposefully measured swing, as it claims the triplet notation to be AGAINST swing-FEEL.
I beg to differ on this, both, in terms of the ability of even triplets to ‘swing’, and in terms of the historical predominance of triplet swing conception. Swing ratios, microtiming descrepancies, and tempo dynamics aside, triplet conception AND feel are central to jazz theory and practice. Ever read a jazz drumming manual? Triplet and/or dotted quaver – semiquaver divisions are standardly notated for PRACTICE of RHYTHM in JAZZ by good swinging drummers worldwide. In any case, several studies on the execution and perception of groove in swing, funk, and rock styles have consistently shown that, while moderate microtiming deviations in performances are acceptable, even preferred over other options, performances with strictly quantized tuplets (TRIPLETS in the case of swing examples) rate highly for sense of ‘groove’ and entrainment, and are preferred to extreme deviations of beat placement and swing ratio – yes, even for jazz. You tell us jazz is a ‘duple’-only phenomenon, while declaring the duplets to be unmeasurable, only ‘feelable’. But the great Max Roach told us that jazz rhythm is “all twos and threes” [he also said, “it’s all two over three”]. One of the main distinctions between ragtime feel and early ‘swing’ was the transition from straight/duple subdivision to a triple conception OVER the duple meter (as demonstrated by stride and boogie-woogie pianists).
Fifty years of playing, teaching, and living jazz tells me you’re trying too hard to be ‘intellectual’ about this, rather than practical. I can play you a 2-1, 3-1, 3-2, 4-1 swing, or even a 5-3, or 7-3 – by FEEL – NOT ‘counting’. However, I can do that because I HAVE counted them, have LISTENED to them, and have VISUALISED them. If I compose swing that I HEAR a particular way, then THAT’S how it gets written, and that’s how I want it PLAYED! When I play, I’m not known for ‘mechanical’ feel. So how does your statement that, “writing or playing lots of triplets is a common mistake that non-jazz musicians make when they are trying to imitate a swing sound” play out in my world? It doesn’t. Nor in Max Roach’s, nor Cannonball Adderley’s, nor Elvin Jones’, nor Jim Chapin’s, nor Art Tatum’s, nor many, many, MANY others’. Jazz is a free world man, and Western ‘classical’ notation is good enough to get us conceptually oriented to swing … So, YES – we CAN write swing in triplets if we want to (ESPECIALLY if we’re experts).
Pat Metheny believes that the triplet feel is the foundation of swing. It is the the most important subdivision and he talks of feeling triplets even when not playing them. I think this article is poorly thought out.
Jazz drummer here. I stumbled on this article looking for info on the time old argument that Max Roach couldn’t swing (I don’t subscribe to that idea). Anyway, I can see what you are saying but I have to agree with Jazz Warrior on the whole. May I suggest listening to Kenny Clarke’s ride cymbal work on the composition ‘Willow Weep for Me’ from the Dexter Gordon LP ‘Our Man in Paris’. A mixture of dotted notes and triplets. I would say they both ‘swing’ in different ways. All that being said, Jazz has become a little too dogmatic, where everything is quantified & measured and overly cerebral.
Sorry, but to me this article is just as biassed against accurate, purposefully measured swing, as it claims the triplet notation to be AGAINST swing-FEEL.
I beg to differ on this, both, in terms of the ability of even triplets to ‘swing’, and in terms of the historical predominance of triplet swing conception. Swing ratios, microtiming descrepancies, and tempo dynamics aside, triplet conception AND feel are central to jazz theory and practice. Ever read a jazz drumming manual? Triplet and/or dotted quaver – semiquaver divisions are standardly notated for PRACTICE of RHYTHM in JAZZ by good swinging drummers worldwide. In any case, several studies on the execution and perception of groove in swing, funk, and rock styles have consistently shown that, while moderate microtiming deviations in performances are acceptable, even preferred over other options, performances with strictly quantized tuplets (TRIPLETS in the case of swing examples) rate highly for sense of ‘groove’ and entrainment, and are preferred to extreme deviations of beat placement and swing ratio – yes, even for jazz. You tell us jazz is a ‘duple’-only phenomenon, while declaring the duplets to be unmeasurable, only ‘feelable’. But the great Max Roach told us that jazz rhythm is “all twos and threes” [he also said, “it’s all two over three”]. One of the main distinctions between ragtime feel and early ‘swing’ was the transition from straight/duple subdivision to a triple conception OVER the duple meter (as demonstrated by stride and boogie-woogie pianists).
Fifty years of playing, teaching, and living jazz tells me you’re trying too hard to be ‘intellectual’ about this, rather than practical. I can play you a 2-1, 3-1, 3-2, 4-1 swing, or even a 5-3, or 7-3 – by FEEL – NOT ‘counting’. However, I can do that because I HAVE counted them, have LISTENED to them, and have VISUALISED them. If I compose swing that I HEAR a particular way, then THAT’S how it gets written, and that’s how I want it PLAYED! When I play, I’m not known for ‘mechanical’ feel. So how does your statement that, “writing or playing lots of triplets is a common mistake that non-jazz musicians make when they are trying to imitate a swing sound” play out in my world? It doesn’t. Nor in Max Roach’s, nor Cannonball Adderley’s, nor Elvin Jones’, nor Jim Chapin’s, nor Art Tatum’s, nor many, many, MANY others’. Jazz is a free world man, and Western ‘classical’ notation is good enough to get us conceptually oriented to swing … So, YES – we CAN write swing in triplets if we want to (ESPECIALLY if we’re experts).
Pat Metheny believes that the triplet feel is the foundation of swing. It is the the most important subdivision and he talks of feeling triplets even when not playing them. I think this article is poorly thought out.
Jazz drummer here. I stumbled on this article looking for info on the time old argument that Max Roach couldn’t swing (I don’t subscribe to that idea). Anyway, I can see what you are saying but I have to agree with Jazz Warrior on the whole. May I suggest listening to Kenny Clarke’s ride cymbal work on the composition ‘Willow Weep for Me’ from the Dexter Gordon LP ‘Our Man in Paris’. A mixture of dotted notes and triplets. I would say they both ‘swing’ in different ways. All that being said, Jazz has become a little too dogmatic, where everything is quantified & measured and overly cerebral.