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Head-Fi's Sybil
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2002
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Disclaimer: In the course of this post, I might refer to an album incorrectly; I might be unaware of current facts in rock or popular music. I leave it to others to correct me in that capacity. I choose to reserve my memory space for facts that bear the most relevance to my ultimate interests.
Quote:
Do understand that Krush's kind of experimentation is in downtempo mode -- his beats aren't intricate; they don't morph ceaselessly in the sense that many IDM artists' beats do. The intricacy is in the combining of rhythmic elements that wouldn't fit ordinarily. That's what Krush does.
Those who know me well realize that I never listen to rock music voluntarily and don't care for it aesthetically. Having said that, I would be dishonest if I failed to give certain rock bands their props in the area of rhythmic experimentation.
Outside of those who have played piano sonatas by Paul Hindemith, analyzed chamber music and ballets by Stravinsky, listened closely to Art Tatum's left hand, become familiar with medieval compositional devices or played talking drums in Senegal or Nigeria, Led Zeppelin fans might be the people who are most familiar with the sound of the hemiola. Here's an example: the LZ song "Kashmir" uses three sets of rhythms at once, all proceeding differently and overlapping -- harmonic rhythm (the rhythm at which the chords change), time signature (number of beats per measure) and an asymmetrical rhythmic pattern, all of which coincide only after several repetitions. The alignment of all three occurs at a point that is called an *elision* (a case in which the last measure is also the first in the pattern) and which adds to the sense of a constantly building climax. The Zeppelin motto seems to have been *if you keep playing against the barline long enough, the downbeat *will* come around*. I suspect their use of the hemiola came from the interplay between a solid studio drummer and a floaty blues guitarist. But that's just my theory.
When I was forced to transcribe and play whole albums by LZ and the Rolling Stones for Japanese Karoake laser CDs in the late 80s, I learned an odd thing about the difference between the use of rhythm in 70s funk and rock. In funk, the goal was to have the bass drums and horns lock, the keys and strings lock, all creating a unified rhythmic concept. But in rock, what I'd always taken for sloppiness turned out to be the source of its rhythmic interest: The different senses of time *clashing* are what create rhythmic tension, or rhythmic dissonance. In the case of the RS, it's the dissonance between time senses of all the players that makes the performance worth hearing (sometimes): the bass is rushing slightly, the drums are a touch behind, Richards is all over the place, the other guitar is somewhere else. The sound of all those time-senses clashing is what makes the sound interesting (to the extent that it is).
What DJ Krush does is similar to the hemiola in Kashmir, the performance style of the RS, but is more severe, more clinical, and was derived from hip-hop's introduction of rhythmic dissonance -- slightly out-of-sync elements -- to counteract the deadening sound of 16th-note-quantized music on computer or sequencer.
Krush's time sense swings, and the sounds themselves are jazzy and synthetic. But the beats Krush plays against are as simple as those in early 80s hip-hop and so bear a certain resemblance to beats created at a time in the early seventies when funk and rock became extremely similar. In that sense, Krush's approach to rhythmic experimentation is reminiscent of certain vintage live players'. Which might be something to consider among people who normally hate hip-hop.
Quote:
Originally posted by penvzila Damn it! I thought i was done downloading music for a while! |
Do understand that Krush's kind of experimentation is in downtempo mode -- his beats aren't intricate; they don't morph ceaselessly in the sense that many IDM artists' beats do. The intricacy is in the combining of rhythmic elements that wouldn't fit ordinarily. That's what Krush does.
Those who know me well realize that I never listen to rock music voluntarily and don't care for it aesthetically. Having said that, I would be dishonest if I failed to give certain rock bands their props in the area of rhythmic experimentation.
Outside of those who have played piano sonatas by Paul Hindemith, analyzed chamber music and ballets by Stravinsky, listened closely to Art Tatum's left hand, become familiar with medieval compositional devices or played talking drums in Senegal or Nigeria, Led Zeppelin fans might be the people who are most familiar with the sound of the hemiola. Here's an example: the LZ song "Kashmir" uses three sets of rhythms at once, all proceeding differently and overlapping -- harmonic rhythm (the rhythm at which the chords change), time signature (number of beats per measure) and an asymmetrical rhythmic pattern, all of which coincide only after several repetitions. The alignment of all three occurs at a point that is called an *elision* (a case in which the last measure is also the first in the pattern) and which adds to the sense of a constantly building climax. The Zeppelin motto seems to have been *if you keep playing against the barline long enough, the downbeat *will* come around*. I suspect their use of the hemiola came from the interplay between a solid studio drummer and a floaty blues guitarist. But that's just my theory.
When I was forced to transcribe and play whole albums by LZ and the Rolling Stones for Japanese Karoake laser CDs in the late 80s, I learned an odd thing about the difference between the use of rhythm in 70s funk and rock. In funk, the goal was to have the bass drums and horns lock, the keys and strings lock, all creating a unified rhythmic concept. But in rock, what I'd always taken for sloppiness turned out to be the source of its rhythmic interest: The different senses of time *clashing* are what create rhythmic tension, or rhythmic dissonance. In the case of the RS, it's the dissonance between time senses of all the players that makes the performance worth hearing (sometimes): the bass is rushing slightly, the drums are a touch behind, Richards is all over the place, the other guitar is somewhere else. The sound of all those time-senses clashing is what makes the sound interesting (to the extent that it is).
What DJ Krush does is similar to the hemiola in Kashmir, the performance style of the RS, but is more severe, more clinical, and was derived from hip-hop's introduction of rhythmic dissonance -- slightly out-of-sync elements -- to counteract the deadening sound of 16th-note-quantized music on computer or sequencer.
Krush's time sense swings, and the sounds themselves are jazzy and synthetic. But the beats Krush plays against are as simple as those in early 80s hip-hop and so bear a certain resemblance to beats created at a time in the early seventies when funk and rock became extremely similar. In that sense, Krush's approach to rhythmic experimentation is reminiscent of certain vintage live players'. Which might be something to consider among people who normally hate hip-hop.