In 4th grade, a salesman came to our door, Apt. 22
on Hazelhurst Avenue in North Hollywood, California. He carried a small case,
inside of which was an accordion. He sat me down on the couch and asked me to
play, showing me the oom-pah-pah of the left hand and maneuvering my right hand
to play "Down in the Valley." My mother, instantly buying in,
insisted that lessons were a great idea and that the accordion was the way to
go. "After all," she said, "When you grow up you'll be able to
take it to parties." Who knew that the accordion would one day take
on the cool vibe (think Beirut and Fleet Foxes). I did not evolve into a
musician, opting instead for music as a pass-time, a passion, a constant
companion, an obsession; over time, though, I've gained a working knowledge of
music theory and the few remaining brain cells I nurture tend to ponder the
oddities and eccentricities of modern music. Maybe I owe that to the accordion.
One such oddity is the one chord song. Despite my lack of
musicianship, I do know my scales and chords on the Gibson acoustic I acquired
from my stepfather, and can think back to being able to play "Horse With
No Name," the first week I picked it up. Just two chords there: Em and
D6/9. America's first hit was a masterpiece of laziness (this may have also
inspired the insistence by many that the song was about heroin use). Lou
Reed has said that, "One chord is fine. Two chords is pushing it. Three
chords and you're into jazz."
But lacking harmonic variety, successful one-chord songs
are forced to place their emphasis on the groove of the song, the notes and
rhythm of the melody, the lyric, and the performance. There are a lot of
songs that I'd arguably call almost one-chord songs: The Who’s
"Magic Bus," Talking Heads' "Once In A Lifetime," Creedence
Clearwater Revival's "Born On The Bayou" and The Beatles'
"Tomorrow Never Knows." I'd argue that these, in various different
ways, introduce enough of the tonality of a second chord to fall outside the
category. Even the Brazilian classic, Antonio Carlos Jobim's "One Note
Samba" has a chord change. In rock history, there aren't many songs
that truly stick to one chord, but the good ones are strong. There's
a long tradition of one-chord blues songs, from Willie Dixon's
"Spoonful" to "I'm A Man" by Muddy Waters. A lot of
even earlier country blues songs have only one chord, the one that comes to
mind is Porkchop Willie's "Too Many Cuts."
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| Cole Porter |
There are some pretty classic one-chord R&B songs as
well, such as Aretha Franklin’s "Chain Of Fools" and Wilson
Pickett's "Land Of A Thousand Dances," and the occasional Pop song,
like The Guess Who's "American Woman" or Sonny & Cher's
"The Beat Goes On" (by Sonny Bono – based on Donovan’s "The
Trip"). (I challenge you not to hum the bass line.)
One chord songs, of course, have something in common,
simplicity. Simplicity, often in the form of repetition, is a cornerstone of
songwriting, both musically and lyrically (no one ever leaves a Broadway show
humming the verse). You probably don't know all the words to "While My
Guitar Gently Weeps," but I'll bet you know them to "Why Don't We Do
it In the Road." As a teacher, not often willfully, I'm exposed to a
plethora of music, most modern pop just making me sad. Today, though, in the
hallway, some kids were playing Kendrick Lamar and I was struck once again with
the intricacies and complexity of the production, the nuances and the
inaccessibility. While ultimately sophisticated, it reeked of the same
over-the-top self-indulgence that brought down late era prog - taking itself
way to seriously; as if like HDTV, 1080 pixel per square inch isn't enough, so
we have to have Hi Def Hi Def, making the world super real or something. In
this vein, Lamar hoped to fit in every possible chord the human ear can bear.
Big Yes fan, btw,
and love the complexities of Bach's inventions, but really, I lean toward
Reed's sentiments: rock 'n' roll is about sex and simplicity, as is the
tradition of popular music. In Plato’s Republic, he stated that
"the introduction of a new kind of music can alter the character of a
nation." Indeed, the modern assault upon traditional American moral values
begins with the permissiveness of the Roaring 20s (just look at the
lyrics of the popular 1921 song "Sheik of Araby"). In 1934, the
bisexual Cole Porter (frivolous outing) introduced a popular musical
and song by the title Anything Goes, an intense shift away from
restrictive codes of conduct. And in 1936, Irving Berlin composed the music and
lyrics for the motion picture Follow the Fleet, starring Fred
Astaire and Ginger Rogers, in which Rogers sings, "Let Yourself
Go." In the same film, Harriet Hilliard (Ozzie and Harriet's
Harriet) sang a song with the following lyrics: "Get thee behind me, Satan,/
But the moon is low and I can't say 'no.'/ Someone I’m mad about is
waiting in the night for me,/ Someone that I mustn’t see./ Satan, he's at my
gate. Get thee behind me./ Stay where you are. It’s too late.” The message
is clear – resistance to temptation is futile. Now that's rock 'n' roll:
one chord and doin' it in the road. Thanks, Sonny & Cher; thanks, Irving
Berlin.
