Submitted by DekeSharon on Thu, 06/30/2005 - 19:12
Posted by DekeSharon on 06/30/2005
That said, so long as you're not using my advice to navigate space-time, no one should get hurt.
One last thought on this issue: a quote from one of our culture's funniest wise men (or wisest funny men?), Steve Martin: "Talking about music is like dancing about architecture."
Thanks for the encouragement, Steve.
What makes a good arrangement?
Before someone fires off an email with the ultimate question, I'm gonna dive right in the deep end: what makes a good arrangement?
As you might expect, this is not an easy question. In fact, it requires a healthy dose of hubris even to attempt an answer. Luckily, I have some on hand.
Arranging is in some ways a craft and in other ways an art. Like a craft, it must be "useable." We arrange music, usually someone else's song, to bring it into a form that will work with a particular group of singers. This is not an an art in and of itself, but rather a utilitarian task. It must fit within the vocalists' ranges, not to mention breath-lengths. It should play into their strengths and not expose their shortcomings as singers or performers. Also, it should bring out the elements of the song most conducive to vocal performance, and never leave the listener feeling a lack of instrumentation.
None of this is easy, although a good arranger might make it seem so. Beginning-level four-part arrangements frequently confront me with daunting challenges, whereas a 12-part arrangement is usually a walk in the park. When you're arranging for The Real Group, you're safe: they can make anything sound great. Your average high school quintet, on the other hand, will require you to consider the tenor's vocal break and soprano's head voice in every measure.
To this end, a good arrangement is a successful arrangement: one that "works." This, often, is enough. If you have arranged a song that sounds good with your group, congratulations; you won.
But what about the art? Creating the ultimate a cappella arrangement? Something that transcends the recording and has your audience proclaiming, "Your version is better than the original!"
In many ways, arranging is indeed an artform. To call great arrangers like Nelson Riddle or Mervyn Warren merely craftsmen is to overlook the artistry present in their decisions. In many cases, they took a preexisting song and made it better. Different. More effective in some way, be it more bittersweet, more joyous, more conflicted.
Art is very, very difficult to achieve to when you're just starting out. It involves a steady hand, and carefully executed risks. You can't reasonably expect to create an Ansel Adams as a student of photography. Dedicate some real time to it, and in a few years we'll talk.
Art is also far more difficult to judge, as it often involves personal taste. There's no accounting for taste. To this end, one man's musical genius is another man's noise. John Cage, Ornette Coleman and Gyorgy Ligeti have their devoted fans while hoards of others run in the other direction. That may work in your favor as you're waiting for the Macarthur Foundation phone call, but the rest of your singers are not going to appreciate just having emptied Faneuil Hall.
I'll leave you with one more quote by Steve Martin. Take it to heart: "I believe entertainment can aspire to be art, and can become art, but if you set out to make art, you're an idiot."
Deke Sharon has been arranging a cappella since high school, and might just be the world's most prolific contemporary a cappella arranger.
Click on the wrench in the upper left-hand corner to see what else you can do.