The Importance of Songs

An aspect of improvisational performance that is often overlooked is the importance of recognizable compositions within the show. Why does improvisational music need songs?

This installment will not focus on lyrics and vocal performance, nor is its point to show that set compositions provide a convenient fallback, should the improvisation not go as planned. The importance of both of these points appears obvious. It would be tedious to discuss them at length. Its purpose is to show the deeper implications of the performance of songs in a Rizomatic setting.

Some of the lead sheets written by free jazz musicians may contain no more than instructions like "Solo in Bb, disregard the form". The result, a free-form improvisation without much discernible shape, may turn out to be a rousing piece, or, as is more likely, will drown the audience in a chaotic sound wave. The ability to 'disregard the form' in itself is an impressive feat. The human mind is inclined to see shapes where there are none, to make order of the chaos, if just in its own imagination; to truly disregard all form is therefore not quite as easy as it seems.

Improvisation must be free from too much constraint through preconceived notions and rules to avoid falling into cliches and stereotypes. To prove this, just head down to the local Blues jam and listen to the inexperienced, and perhaps less talented, players take their solo. The Blues is a strong mold, a form of music so tightly governed by traditions and few and simple rules that it almost becomes a musical archetype. This enables great exploration, but also sets the stage for predictability and cliche.

It is tempting to eschew all tradition and rule, to attempt to push the doors open wide and step beyond the threshold into uncharted territory.

It is not amiss, however, to point out that our natural source of inspiration, the Rhizomes of plants, are not random. Like them, a rousing performance often follows pre-conceived patterns, in the form of signature riffs and songs.

The key word here is 'rousing'. It implies an audience, and an engaged one, at that. Improvisation for improvisation's sake, deconstruction of structure for deconstruction's sake, dissonance employed to avoid the familiarity of consonance are all valid and interesting approaches to the evolution of music, and they are certainly necessary to avoid stagnation and decay. What captures an audience more than any philosophical concept or cosmic improvisation, however, is the return of the familiar. The epic bridge/chorus after a searing guitar-lead, the first few notes of a crowd-pleaser, the signature lick after 20 minutes of free-form improvisation. It is here that you'll hear the voice of the crowd swell most, and it is here that the strongest connection is made.

This is not to say that improvisation needs to take a back seat to set songs repeated night after night and show after show, but it's important to note that audiences in general appreciate songs they can recognize. Music is made not for the philosophical value inherent to the approach taken, but to entertain and comfort, and hopefully to impart knowledge and to instill faith in a world greater than the one we can see and hear and touch. Improvisation beyond strict rules and recipes is a key element to this, but without a nexus, no connection can be made. This nexus is found in the form of songs.

Let's look at the compositional process for a while. Classical music followed strong and strict rules of composition. This enabled composers to write music with ease and in great volume, but inevitably, the rules became dated, the music stale and predictable, and so the old rules were thrown out, to be replaced by new ones. This pattern continues to this day in many, or perhaps all but the truly free-form, genres of music. There is, however, another approach to composition that is based on the idea that a seed of inspiration can be nurtured and grown into a full song. Once the form of the composition has become clear, rules and methods of editing and alteration can be employed to polish the work, but the original inspiration is as improvisational in nature as any unplanned performance. The song becomes a vehicle for the thoughts and feelings that led to the original inspiration, hopefully conveying all that went through the composer's heart and mind, but it has been grown from a speck of divine inspiration just as any group-improvisation is.

In a live performance setting, these songs set a mood and stipulate many of the conditions of the improvisation, but more importantly, they provide a reliable way of connecting with the audience to the performance. An unengaged audience is not only frustrating to perform for, but it is also not receptive to the finer and more esoteric concepts of the music.

To leave no doubt about it: Rizomatic music aims at a spiritual communion of musicians and audience. The goal is not to provide shallow entertainment, to be consumed and forgotten within hours, but to provide all present with an opportunity to connect with a higher self, a deeper meaning to life, the cosmic web of energy that surrounds and makes up everything around us, and even ourselves.

To do so, a certain amount of ritual is needed.

Ritual implies familiarity, since a set order of events is what makes up a ritual. This set order of events is found in the compositions that the band brings to the table, as well as the familiar reaction of the audience.

In short, songs provide a way to connect, to grasp the handle and push it down, so the doors may swing open freely, to create a portal that audience and musicians can use to venture forth into new territory.