Boogie Woogie Blog

An amateur piano player's quest.

Understanding Chord Progressions

One of the main challenges of learning to play by ear is anticipating the chord changes. That's why the blues and rock and roll are so great - it's easy to learn the changes and apply them to new songs. 


Jazz standards are a different matter. I've heard forever about the ii-V-I progression, and how so many songs are built on that, but in practice, it seems that there are more exceptions to this rule than adherents. It's always seemed to me to be an annoying myth. 


This year, however, I'm determined to learn more about the architecture of jazz standards. Lately I've been studying Jim Van Heusen's moody ballad, "Here's That Rainy Day."  Like so many other standards, the ii-V-I progressions are not always so obvious. On closer examination, however, I found them all over the place. Once you get past the initial walkdown that is such a great lead-in, going from F- down to Bb-7, there is the first of the progressions. G-, C7, F. that's followed by a C-7 F7 that leads directly to Bb- Eb7 Ab. And so on throughout the song. 


There are only a few surprises. For instance, in the second chorus, we go from Bb to G-7 C7 then, instead of F, it moves to A-, which is practically an F chord, and then the walkdown to Ab diminished to the final ii-V-I, the G-7 C7 F. 


Anyway, I'm encouraged to be able to see this same progression littered throughout the song. Floyd says that every time I spot a minor chord, it's a clue that it is probably followed by the dominant chord a fourth above it. 


One day, I hope I'll just be able to hear a song and know immediately how the progression moves through it. Until then, I'll be studying the ways that songs are made. 


Here is Floyd explaining things better than I:



Floyd Domino Plays "Stormy Weather"

I've been avoiding ballads lately, concentrating on my boogie licks, but I started taking voice lessons recently, and my vocal coach put me onto this old classic. It's a telling experience to attempt to sing or to play, but putting both together is a real challenge! Fortunately, Floyd is helping me out with this rendition, inspired by Ray Charles, which gives it lots of room to breathe.

"Roll 'Em Floyd"

At the last Pianorama I asked Johnny Nicholas what that terrific song was that he played, with the Big Joe Turner lyric:

"You're so beautiful, but you gotta die someday
You're so beautiful, but you gotta die someday.
All I wants a little lovin', before you pass away."

Johnny gestured to Floyd and said, "You're his student, you should know that song!" So, in embarrassment, I came to learn that it was for a long time a trademark of Floyd's when he played regularly with the Wheel. I'm working hard on that Longhair lick!

Chico Marx

Bill Payne's musical memories really brought back so many similar memories of my own, but I'd forgotten all about Chico Marx as a pianist! So I went through some great YouTube footage. This one shows off Chico's technique, especially his characteristic trigger finger, but the apple takes it to new heights!


Influences

Greetings from the road. Tonight I'm in Charlottesville, VA. I was looking through some of the articles I wrote for Player Magazine (a japanese publication) and thought this one might be a good one to share with those interested. As noted below, this is part Three in my series for the magazine. I thought this was a good place to start on this blog. 

   We are all influenced by someone or something. These influences form the core of who we are as musicians. Playing any instrument is challenging. Finding your voice, even more so. Influences can scare the hell out of you or inspire you to greater goals (often at the same time). Read on... 

Bill Payne

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INFLUENCES (Part Three)

 

   Brahms used to speak of the “Tramp of Giants”. He was acutely aware of those that preceded him. Brahms heard the reverberations of Bach, Mozart, Hayden, Beethoven.

They were his heroes, giving inspiration to his aspirations as a budding artist and composer, and conversely they caused him untold agony in his perception of his own work. After all, how does one measure up to Beethoven or Bach?

 

  Oscar Peterson, in an interview I heard? read?, spoke of being so intimidated by Art Tatum that he nearly gave up playing piano. Oscar, thankfully, carried on with his own wonderful “voice” only to scare the hell out of other unsuspecting pianists in search of themselves. I am certain that Oscar had other influences that were more benign that truly gave him inspiration rather than self doubt.

 

   I have finally come to the moment of truth as to stating my musical influences. Previously, I had mentioned dutifully intoning: The Rolling Stones, Ray Charles, Little Richard, The Band....the Tramp of Giants. Simply giving their names doesn’t begin to illustrate their hold on me. All have significantly provided me with a path for my own artistic exploration, but there are deeper undercurrents at work.

 

  My father took me to the Ventura County Fair when I was three or four years old. It was there I heard a calliope for the first time. I remember little else, other than the smell of diesel fuel, but both sensations have accompanied me a lifetime. It was not until many years later I made the connection between calliope music and the early zydeco music from Louisiana. Both have an other worldly quality, combining elements of mystery, celebration, and earthiness. (A few days after writing this I was in New Orleans and happened to hear a distant calliope playing in the French Quarter confirming my thoughts on the matter). I have always loved carnival music. There is something that speaks to the forbidden impulses in all of us; letting go, the essence of having fun, forbidden or otherwise-Bon Ton Roulet (Let the good times roll). Clifton Chenier, the King of Zydeco, and his accordion gyrations has been a major influence on my playing. I also fell in love with the mexican polkas I heard performed on the radio in southern California by unnamed accordionists, which I tried to emulate on piano, and later on synth.

 

  I have a pile of albums (yes, albums, not c.d.’s in front of me). The first one I’ve pulled out is a Southern Folk Heritage Series: Sounds Of The South. Lowell George had this album in his house when I first met him in 1969. On Little Feat’s live album, Waiting For Columbus, there is an opening song the band sings as we wind our way to the stage and building applause. We are singing acapella, Join The Band (by John Davis & group) from Sounds Of The South. The blues plays a large part in my musical life. Howlin’ Wolf’s album, Back Door Man, is one of the defining works for me. There are the great songs of Willie Dixon throughout: Little Red Rooster, Smokestack Lightning, Wang Dang Doodle, that bring interesting changes that far outstretch the predominant  1, 4, 5 changes. The combination of Dixon’s unique songs, Howlin’ Wolf (Chester Burnette’s) powerful vocals and gut wrenching guitar licks, and his loose (in the best sense of the word) rhythm section, create what I love about the blues-earthly lyrics, syncopated phrases, driving can’t sit still grooves, and a collision of the minds as to where a verse or chorus starts or ends. Somehow, it all works. One of the highlights of my life was meeting Willie Dixon. Paul Barrere, Richie Hayward and I had the honor of working with Mr. Dixon on a tribute to John Lee Hooker (who, a few years later, I had the joy of working with, too) at Madison Square Garden in New York City. At rehearsal, Dixon, a towering man in a off white suit, vest, tie and hat, cautioned us to play very softly. Intense but soft. I have never heard Richie Hayward play drums that quietly in my life! The rehearsal experience was something that had a profound effect on all of us. We were playing music with one of the men that defined the blues-in song, in lifestyle. George Porter, from the Meters, playing bass on the date, filled out the rest of the band and kept us all on track.

(I saw George last week, July, 2011, in Wyoming at the Targhee Festival. Little Feat, The Meters, and Bonearama were playing. I reminded him of the experience of rehearsing and playing with Willie Dixon. It was an amazingly fun concert to play. It was truly wonderful to get to play some music with George Porter Jr. again, as well as striking up a new relationship with the band Bonearama, who later joined Little Feat onstage. More of this in another blog!)

 

    Two of the early artists to catch my attention were Elvis Presley and Little Richard (they obviously caught everyone else's attention, too!) My sister was into Elvis, having graduated high school in the late fifties (pink poodle skirts, two tone shoes, soda shops and sock hops). My main attention, music aside, was on the RCA dog on the single, which happened to be, "You Ain’t Nothing But A Hound Dog." I loved the dog listening to the gramophone. There was something magical (that word again) about the tactile experience of holding a record in your hands. The song itself set me spinning, quite literally, around the room. There was, and still is, energy in rock and roll. No one exemplified that concept more than Little Richard. As an experiment, when my son was about four years old, I put on the song Slippin and Slidin from Little Richard’s greatest hits. Evan spun around the room very much like I did (although I was a few years older when I first heard Richard’s music). The sax solo in that song is something that left an indelible impression on me. I’ve coped that lick more than a couple of times on records. You can hear it on Little Feat’s Let It Roll album (c.d.) at the top of my piano solo in Hate To Lose. People have said rock and roll is dead. They aren’t listening to Little Richard.

 

   I love movies and the music in them. West Side Story is probably one of the first musicals I saw in the movie theater that made me want to learn every song from the production. Leonard Bernstein's score was magnificent. I was not aware at the time the amount of influence Aaron Copland infused into Bernstein’s compositions. Copland’s music is quintessential “American” music. Copland and Bernstein’s voicings are an integral part of my piano musings at home. Both composers made extensive use of latin american rhythms that, eventually, found there way into my musical vocabulary.  Those rhythmic explorations, not unlike Gershwin’s, were a bastardization of the real thing. Gershwin’s "Rhapsody In Blue" (borrowing heavily from his visits to night clubs in Harlem in New York), is something I first heard Roger Williams perform on a Kapp High Fidelity album. Oscar Levant performed the same piece in Hollywood’s version of Gershwin’s life, which I saw on television, aptly titled Rhapsody In Blue, and was yet another door to a number of Gershwin influences, not the least of which were the musicals:

 Shall We Dance (1937) starring Fred Estaire and Ginger Rodgers, with the great songs, They All Laughed, Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off, They Can’t Take That Away From Me; Porgy And Bess (1935) (although I saw the 1959 Samuel Goldwyn film version with Sydney Potier, Dorothy Dandrige, and Sammy Davis, Jr.) with songs, Summertime, I Got Plenty Of Nuttin’, Bess, You Is My Woman Now, I Loves You Porgy...such a wealth of truly wonderful songs from George Gershwin far to numerous to state here. The impact of hearing that style of music also carried itself into a couple of my favorite movies by the Marx Brothers: A Night At The Opera, and A Day At The Races (which I borrowed the title idea for a Little Feat instrumental, A Day At The Dog Races, from the album, Time Loves A Hero). The Marx Brothers are a huge part of my thinking when it comes to composition and soloing. The ending to Paul Barrere’s, Old Folks Boogie, has a Marx Brothers ending that I lifted from one of their films. My piano solo’s occasionally have the flair of Chico Marx in them. Chico combined a classical flair with bordello style piano-a mode I still go into when soloing on Dixie Chicken.

 

     I was very fortunate to have visited IsaoTomita in early 1980, on one of my trips to Japan. Akiko Yano was kind enough to make the introduction. His landmark album, Snowflakes Are Dancing, was a beautifully rendered work and greatly impressed me. At his apartment, he very graciously provided me with some insight which would grow with the years. He told me, “I feel as if I have so little time.” What he conveyed to me was his realization that life was short, and one had to focus on what was important. Life drifts by. At age fifty one (fifty two, by the time you read this), I, now, more than ever, feel the same way. I am grateful for his words, for they have inspired me to make as much of every moment count as I possibly can. I am grateful for his music, for it speaks of commitment from an artist that takes his work, and the works of others, in thoughtful and meaningful consideration, the ultimate tribute.


(As you can see, this article, with the exception of the aside I put in about George Porter Jr., was written 2001. My influences continue to mount up in 2011.  I hope to revisit this conversation. The importance of  the subject is worth elaborating on. Please weigh in as to who and what your influences are.)

 

 

 

 

                                               Bill Payne

                                               Los Angeles, CA

                                               February, 2001

 

 

 

                              

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

   

Pianorama

Years ago, Marcia Ball started an Austin tradition called Pianorama. It might have been inspired by the documentary, "Piano Players Rarely Play Together," that featured Professor Longhair, Allan Touissant, and Toots Washington – three New Orleans piano wizards. There's no settled place or time for Pianorama, it comes together on those rare occasions when some of the best players are in town with no other gigs to play. 


Lots of younger players come to sit in, but this particular session includes most of the founding members. From left to right, Floyd Domino, Johnny Nicholas (playing Pinetop Perkins's piano), Marcia, Chip Dolan, and Nick Connolly.


This is boogie woogie!


from Bill Payne

This is taken from an article I wrote for Player Magazine in Japan in 2000. I hope to contribute to this site from time to time. I had the pleasure of meeting Larry at a show in Austin recently. I want to thank Larry for asking me to contribute. It's an honor. If there are topics you'd like me to weigh in on, please let me know.


Bill

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    To this day I tap on a table top. At  restaurants, on flights, at home on the dining table, on my knees, anywhere with or without  a surface.  I imagine the notes I’m playing. I hear them in my head, D-E-F#-G-E-A-F#-D. Single notes, block chords, both hands-in unison or independent of one another, any key signature, songs, scales, Bach, Little Feat, whatever comes to mind. Occasionally, I’ll play the notes in mid air. There is a magic to it. I love the tactile sensation, the way the fingerings change depending on the key I’m in. The act of playing keyboards is ingrained in my soul.

 

   My teacher, Ruth Neuman, taught me this trick a few years after I took my first lesson from her at the age of five. She said, “You might not always have a piano to practice on, but you will more than likely always have a desk or hard surface at  your disposal; take advantage of keeping your fingers limber and see what it does for your imagination”, leaving me with the final instructions of not feeling self-conscious of what others might think. As a boy in school I would often make use of the exercise on my desk, with the occasional questions from teachers or the quizzical looks from my other students. 

   

  I was blessed to have a very wise teacher. Ruth’s guidance was essential to my growth as a musician. Every musician’s ability is tested by the plateaus encountered. I have very small hands. Anyone who has seen me play has remarked at the quickness in which my hands and fingers move over the keyboard. As far as the written note, my piano vocabulary was principally the Romantic era of music, with a healthy dose of Bach and Mozart thrown in from time to time. I had a tough time reading the syncopated rhythms of Latin music and modern or popular pieces. Ruth encouraged my exploration of playing by ear as well, recognizing that I was interested in many kinds of music, while ensuring I could read music, classical or otherwise-not something that was tolerated by too many teachers in the fifties. Perhaps the greatest gift I was given by Ruth Newman was a sense of myself as a musician. Concurrent to my studies was a major movement in music: Rock and Roll, that was to ultimately guide my decision as a professional musician years later.

 

   My career as a professional musician is as much a result of my limitations as well as my strengths. I have used my limitations: small hands, not a brilliant sight reader, a weak left hand, impatience, and a host of other attitudes that would impede progress.   I have also made choices that would maximize my strengths: a vivid imagination, a good ear, a love of learning, commitment and determination, and a belief that the hard work will pay off if intelligently applied. I don’t want to downplay the aspect of having fun, either. I knew I wasn’t going to be a classical pianist. My inability to perform as a concert pianist led me to playing in a rock and roll band, where improvisation played a higher part. I used my classical technique (fingering, in particular, and a knowledge of scales) to advantage in my improvisations, and later in my writing. Above all I have had a vision (circuitous as it might be) of what I wanted to do, where I might be in the long run, and how I might maintain my enthusiasm for what I love to do, which is play music. The heart of the matter is the heart of the artist.

 

    Being aware of how you intellectualize your performance, mindful of:  technique, tone, the acoustics of any given situation, the intent of the music (written or improvised), playing with a group and all of the antennae required, or simply playing solo, whether at  home, in front of a small crowd, a sea of people, being under the microscope at a recording studio, home recording, recording onto a computer sequencer, performing familiar music, unfamiliar music, being able to hear or not, the ability to adapt to any situation. All the intellectualism is put to the side when you tap into the realm of feel and intuition. It is where your spirit takes over and you enter into a state of being that encompasses the moment, now. You are now playing from the heart.

 

  I look for balance between what is in my mind and what I want to unlock from my heart. The ear can give false clues as to what you are hearing. Many times I have gone on stage and felt I couldn’t hear properly, and, quite naturally, it effects my performance. My remedy is to try relaxing, rather than tensing up or banging harder on the keys. I also imagine that people out in the audience can hear every note I am playing. Of course, I will continue to search for a decent monitor balance, turning instruments down, more often than not, rather than up, depending on how much trouble I am in (the mistake is usually compounded by turning everything up). It is amazing how many times I’ve been able to walk off stage feeling good about what I played, especially when I thought the concert was going to be a disaster.The amount of performances that have completely baffled me are very few and far between in the last few years. What I am really relying on is my ability to make the best of a bad situation. I simply want to put myself into the music, using any advantage I have available to me at the time.

 

    My job in the studio or on stage is to bring life to the music. By pouring as much emotion into my playing as possible, I try to find that place where I can trust my intuition.The art of listening is paramount. What I love about jazz, blues, and rock and roll, is the way musicians play off of one another. Unquestionably, the better players can hear, the better they play off of each other. The flow or tradeoff that occurs between musicians , in sometimes blinding speed, does not leave much room for analyzing what is being played, so much as how one reacts  to what is being heard. Sometimes, by divine accident, musical elements converge, as in jams. Recently, working with Phil Lesh, from the Grateful Dead, I had the pleasure of reacquainting myself with the joys and challenges of jamming. Basically, taking a form of music and stretching it to the limit. There are those times when everyone is completely playing free, yet able to maneuver in any direction-not unlike birds that fly together and change direction in mid-flight. It is an exhilarating feeling. Ultimately, it is the art of letting go.

 


                                                      Bill Payne

                                                      Los Angeles, March 2000 

Floyd and I have been going through the keys confronting the problems and opportunities each key provides. Lately I've been working on "The T-Bone Shuffle" for my band, which is in Eb, so we decided to take a look at that key. He's got some very cool licks that work really well. Black keys can be your friends, it turns out.