Songwriters in Seattle

Category: Newsletter

  • All About Five (Or V For Victory)

    SUMMARY: This debut article takes a reasonably deep look at a basic topic. It describes the dominant chords, which are often referred to as V and V7. I’ll also illustrate how the chords function, how they’re used, and I’ll end with some examples. You’ll learn that a dominant chord can be used alone, or you can assemble a hierarchical sequence of them for a powerful and compelling journey back to the tonic. There’ll also be a brief glance at the overtone series and at the circle of fifths.

    The V-I move

    Let’s say that your song’s chorus, in the key of C, comes to a triumphant end with a G chord followed by a C chord. That’s an example of the key’s dominant chord followed by its tonic chord. The dominant chord’s root is the fifth degree of the scale (the G note in the key of C), and so it is notated analytically as V (because we use Roman numerals for chords). The tonic chord’s root is of course the first degree of the scale, so we use the Roman numeral I. Analytically, then, your G-C dominant-to-tonic move is written V-I, and pronounced “five-one”. G7-C is an example of a V7-I move. A V7-I is a V7-I no matter what key you play it in. So, with this notation, you can reason about how music works in a way that carries across the specifics of particular keys and chords.

    V-I and V7-I are arguably the most popular and most effective of all chord changes. But why is that? And what’s the magic contained in these moves that makes them so effective? Let’s begin to answer that with a look at what’s known as the dominant function.

    The dominant function

    In analysis, Arabic numerals (the numbers we all use) represent scale degrees. Let’s try something. Go ahead and play 1-2-3-4-5 of a major scale (in the key of C, that’d be C-D-E-F-G). Hold that 5 for a moment, then play 1 (the C note) again. You probably felt that the pause on 5 left you hanging somewhat, and then playing 1 felt like a return home to rest. You can get a comparable effect from 1-5-1, or even simply 5-1. Scale degree 5 is known technically as the dominant, and the triad formed with 5 as the root (5+7+2) is known as the dominant triad, or V. The dominant function is simply this: the 5 scale degree tends to sound unstable, and it creates a demand for the 1 scale degree. If you dress up 5 and 1 in triads, you can then similarly say that V is unstable and it creates a demand for I. You, as the songwriter, can choose to yield to that demand and to immediately resolve the tension you’ve generated. That’s the V-I move. Alternatively, you can choose to resist the demand, and to resist resolving the tension, by either remaining on V or by moving to some chord other than I.

    So, the dominant function is not the same thing as the V-I move; but it’s part of the engine that drives the move. Before we look at the other parts of that engine, and also at the V7-I move, let’s spend a moment on the topic of tonality, since it’s a concept closely linked to the dominant function.

    Tonality and overtones

    Tonality is the sense of a hierarchy of stabilities existing between the scale degrees, with the tonic being the most stable. A belief that the origins of tonality can be found in a phenomenon known as the overtone series is associated with such names as Helmholtz, Riemann, Hindemith, Leonard Bernstein, and George Martin. Certainly it’s demonstrable that the degrees of diatonic scales are generated by the overtone series. So what is it? Imagine a string, or a column of air, vibrating with a single fundamental pitch, which is the pitch you’re consciously aware of hearing. Subconsciously you’re also hearing a series of overtone pitches that Nature creates by the vibration of regular subdivisions of that same string or column of air. If the fundamental is the tonic scale degree, then the first overtone is a perfect octave above that, so it does not generate a new scale degree. But the second overtone is a compound perfect fifth above the fundamental, and that overtone creates the dominant scale degree (or 5). Additional overtones, even higher-pitched but much fainter, form additional scale degrees. So, you could say that the dominant scale degree is a pitch that is generated by an object vibrating at the tonic pitch. With the fundamental as the tonic, and the other scale degrees as pitches generated from this tonic by Nature itself, we get a glimpse into the origin of the hierarchy of scale degrees, and consequently their relative stabilities as we perceive them.

    A consequence of tonality’s hierarchy of stability (that hierarchy being generated by the overtone series) is that playing a less stable scale degree tends to lead the ear to a more stable one. In the case of the dominant function, 5 leads us to 1. But there are other tone-changes at play in V-I that lead the ear in comparable ways. You’ll remember that the V chord is formed from the scale degrees 5+7+2; and I is 1+3+5. 7 and 2 are the other parts of the engine that drives the V-I move. Both 7 and 2 have an instability that creates a demand for 1.

    V7 is 5+7+2+4, and the instability of 4 creates a demand for 3. But V7 also contains the very unstable interval of the tritone (or diminished fifth), which appears in the V7 in the interval from scale degree 7 up to 4. The tritone interval is so discordant that it was referred to centuries ago as “the Devil in music”! During the V7-I move, this discordant tritone between 7 and 4 collapses inward a semitone at both ends, and the result is the stable and restful concord of a major third from 1 up to 3. All of these effects account for the voice-leading that can be seen as the notes of V or V7 are replaced by the notes of I during a V7-I or V-I resolution.

    Once you understand that V and V7 serve to generate instability and tension and a demand for I, you can use those effects to whatever artistic ends you see fit. Painters paint with light. Musicians and storytellers paint with drama and suspense. So, let’s look at some examples in well-known songs of how this painting can be done.

    Spotting V-I in the wild

    Here are two Beatles examples. First, their cover of “Twist and Shout” (Berns/Medley), in the key of D, contains a thrilling example of a V7-I move. Beginning at 1:24, note-by-note the vocal harmonies construct an A7 chord, which ends up being sustained for a period of six full bars before finally resolving ecstatically to D.

    “When I Get Home” (Lennon/McCartney), in the key of G, ends with a satisfying D7-G move in the last two bars. But the bar before the D7 contains an A7. If D is “the V”, then A is “the V of V”, or “V/V” for short. V/V is an example of a secondary dominant. Analytically, it makes more sense to regard that A7 as a V7/V instead of as a II7. We can see that the A7 does exactly what we’ve seen V7s doing all along: it contains the dominant function, it sounds unstable, and it creates a demand for the tone or chord a fifth below it, which is D7 in this case. Incidentally, you can say “the tone or chord a fifth above” and “the tone or chord a fifth below”, or you can do what the 19th century music educator John Curwen did and opt for the shorthand terms “over-fifth” and “under-fifth”, respectively. For what it’s worth, I favor the shorthand, but I omit the hyphen.

    The circle of fifths

    Look at the circle of fifths, and you’ll see the A-D-G from “When I Get Home” forming three consecutive counter-clockwise stops. Analytically, that’s II-V-I (although as we’ve said, V/V-V-I sheds more light on the dominant functions that are at work). The Beatles could have extended this itinerary indefinitely by adding more and more stations to their journey. They might have prefixed that A-D-G with E (which in the key of G is VI, or V/V/V). They might then have further prefixed that with B (which is III, or V/V/V/V). And so on. Each additional leg contributes a new level of dominant-function hierarchy and cranks up the tension, and the eventual resolution, another notch.

    At its heart, the dominant function is a root movement (the root moves down a fifth). That makes the circle of fifths a useful reference tool, but it also means that minor-quality chords perform the function as well as major-quality ones. ii-V-I (or v/V-V-I), for example, is just as much a string of dominant-tonic resolutions as is II-V-I. The songs “Moon River” (Mancini) and “I Will Survive” (Fekaris/Perren) contain extremely lengthy excursions around the circle of fifths to great effect, and the chords involved are not necessarily all major.

    Give delayed gratification a try!

    How do you use the dominant function in your songs? Are there ways in which you can use it differently? Do you use secondary dominants, perhaps whole hierarchies of them to create a conclusive and dramatic, if delayed, sense of returning home? If you always give in to the urge to resolve immediately to the tonic, try holding on to that dominant for a while, or going somewhere other than the tonic. You might find that it adds some extra drama and spice that you like! Why not share your discoveries, if you feel so inclined, in a discussion on Meetup!

     

  • SiS Featured Artist of the Month:  Jaspar Lepak

    SiS Featured Artist of the Month: Jaspar Lepak

    Jaspar Lepak has become, according to Richard Haslop, Audio Video Magazine (South Africa) “… a compelling and sometimes even riveting singer, pure and pretty without being precious, emotionally raw without being raunchy, with a clean, clear voice that drifts between folk, country and that middle ground that has been identified, by those who decide these things, as Americana…” But her journey towards becoming a critically acclaimed Pacific Northwest singer-songwriter began not with a guitar but with ballet slippers.

    “During my last semester as an English major,” she explained. “I took a ballet class to fulfill an elective credit and magically discovered how to breathe from my diaphragm. I was listening to a lot Cat Stevens at the time, and one day while singing along, I realized that my voice had moved to a much stronger place, and I liked the sound of it.”

    Her voice as a songwriter began to develop with a crisis of faith in the conservative religion in which she had grown up. Songwriting, she said, “gave me an outlet to express what I was feeling in a way that felt truer than talking or writing. Since I was a kid, I had always wanted to be a writer, but I didn’t get a lot of nurturing in the creative arts and had very little belief in my own voice. Songwriting, singing, and the friends I shared my first compositions with gave me that belief in my own voice, and it just kept growing as I kept writing.”

    That writing process for Lepak, “usually starts with a strong emotion. Songwriting helps me work it out. I journal, then I strum chords on my guitar, and I hum a melody. Then I try out some of the phrases I have written down. I like working on big pieces of blank sketchbook paper. That way I can see the whole song at the same time. Melody and lyrics are always happening in tandem for me…” She went on to say, “It’s best if I can sit for a day or two and work on the song until it’s close to finished. It also works if I take regular time each day, like an hour or two, and work on the same song for a couple of weeks.”

    As a performer, Lepak, like many artists, struggled with shyness. “The drive to perform was stronger than the fear, but it took years of playing open mics with shaky hands and shallow breath to get more comfortable on stage. It wasn’t until I started taking voice lessons and learned about breath control and practiced it, that my breath became something I could rely on onstage. And still, every once in awhile, I get really nervous and start to shake and lose my sense of breath while performing. It’s not always something I can control, but it is something I have more tools to control.”

    Balancing life as a full time musician is a juggling act for Lepak. “As a writer, these days, it’s hard to find time to write. I started doing music full time three years ago, and booking, promoting, traveling, and performing have really taken up all my extra time and mental and emotional space. I’m trying to work now in seasons: a season for performing, a season for booking, a season for writing. It’s impossible to do them all at once. Also, as a woman in my mid thirties, I have more complex subjects that I’m writing about. Songs take more time, and the subject matter takes more courage. I’m learning to trust myself more than I ever have before.”

    Life as a full-time musician brings other frustrations as well. “As an independent musician, the hardest struggle is people not seeing what I do as work. I hate the question: ‘and what do you do for a real job? a day job? For money?’ It’s infuriating. Or, ‘You’re really great. Keep at it, and we’ll be seeing your name in big lights someday.’ That’s so not the point. We need to see the work of artists as work. We need to stop seeing artists as children who need to grow up and get a real job. And success is not being famous. Success is doing good work and supporting yourself as you do it.”

    Lepak’s idea of good work is steeped in writing about what matters. “I feel inspired when I’m writing a song that I care about. That moment when I share it with people who receive it is the best feeling in the world.” While performing in South Africa, Lepak experienced that connection in a powerful way. She had written “I Know a Woman” to reflect on her crisis of faith. “The first time I sang it for a live audience,” she explained, “I was outdoors in a beautiful garden at an art museum in Durban, South Africa. I was almost embarrassed to sing it, thinking everyone already knows this message: they will just think I’m another feminist whining about my vulnerability and place in the world. But people were crying as I was singing. Women gave me these huge, tearful hugs afterwards. And it just keeps happening every time I sing that song. The female voice needs so much honoring because it is so powerful, and I feel so proud to have written that song.”

    For those who would like to test the waters of becoming a songwriter, Jaspar Lepak advises writers to, “…tell the truth. Be your most vulnerable self. Write about what matters to you. And take voice lessons! They will help you in ways you cannot begin to imagine. Please, take voice lessons. You will grow exponentially.”

    Additionally she stresses the need for community. “Going to shows. Meeting other artists. Going to shows. Talking with artists. Going to shows. Building an artist network of support. In order to be a performer, you have to be a listener. Whenever I feel overwhelmed as a performer, all I have to do is go to a show to remind me why I’m doing this and how to do this.”

    Jaspar Lepak found her breath in a ballet class and her voice in a crisis of faith. Now she has become, according to Helge Janssen, at Artslink, a songwriter and performer to be reckoned with. “Her core shines without compromise or submission, her words reveal insight, lyricism, humor and compassion. The real deal. It gets no better than this.”