Recently, I was talking to a friend who was nervous about starting a music theory class in the upcoming semester. His first question hit me like a ton of bricks; what should I know before taking a college theory course?
My initial answer was to remind him that there are only twelve notes (in our system) and no matter how complicated or numerous the rules seem there is a good chance that one of those notes is the correct answer. Sort of sarcastic, I know, but the problem with such a question is that it is based on the assumption that there is one kind of theory for all of music. Unfortunately, the theory that most of us are taught most of the time is derived from “traditional music”.
There are two problems here. The immediate question there is “whose tradition?” There are plenty of cultures where “traditional music” sounds completely alien to our ears. Well, most music we hear today can be traced through one family tree of evolving styles, sounds and theory so using the term “traditional” makes sense in this context. However, this brand of theory is also referred to as Common Practice, which is sort of an ambiguous way be politically correct but the term realizes the second problem.
fig. 1
Using the phrase “Common Practice” acknowledges the idea that theory follows performance and that something becomes a “rule” because it is commonly practiced among musicians of the time. However, the era known as Common Practice is roughly between 1600-1900 and encompasses Baroque (1600-1760), Classical (1730-1820), and most Romantic (1815-1910) music. Not only does this “traditional music” course consist of three very different traditions, it requires that we learn how to compose as if we'd never heard of Appalachian, blues, swing, jazz, rock, hip-hop, rap, serialism, minimalism or any other style that showed up in the last 106 years. It is uncommon to find a credible jazz education program in public schools or a teacher that disclaims their course by saying “I’m grading you on how much you understand music back then, not necessarily music right now”, although I believe that both are becoming more frequent.
So with these broad discrepancies about the nature of teaching music theory, what are some fundamentals that could be learned to prepare my friend for any kind of analysis? Intervals and Solfege are the key. The most complicated chords are nothing but a series of intervals and Solfege allows us to identify which notes are creating those intervals. I planned on going into this last month but I was so excited by the “gamut” anecdote that I wanted to share it with you.
fig. 2
For example, a fully diminished 7th chord (fig.1) is arguably one of the most unstable chords in music and tough one to sing as well. But take a closer look and see that it is nothing but stacked minor 3rds (fig.2), the very first interval we learn on the playground (think “Ring Around The Rosie”, or when your Mom called to you in a sing-song voice), and it doesn’t look so scary. Now add the ability to correctly identify and sing the notes in that chord relative to the key (fig.3), in this case of the key of C major ti, re, fa and le, and that chord becomes a useful tool for barbershop, ballads and blues rather than a monster on your ear training exam.
What we’re talking about here is learning the alphabet of music. Know the names of notes and you know your ABCs. Know how to construct intervals and you know how to construct words. The rest is learning how to make complete thoughts through different types of sentences and paragraphs. No matter what kind of theory is thrown at you from any era, if you know how to “talk” music you’ll be ok. The best part about mastering this musical lexicon is that it will improve your rehearsals as well as your arrangements and compositions.
fig. 3
How many music directors have smashed their heads against a wall by trying to tune a singer by saying “higher, higher, higher, a little lower…THERE! You’re in tune!” They don’t stay in tune because “there” doesn’t mean anything. “I want you to jump up a major sixth to sing la” gives a frame of reference, a goal, and a way of self-checking to see they’ve succeeded. I’ve expanded the original question to “what should I know before communicating with other musicians about music?” which is really the only purpose of theory in the first place. Next month I’ll have some exercises to try with your group or individually to help refine these “grammar” skills.
