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With Ken Burns’s epic documentary Jazz
having recently aired on PBS, millions of people who never really gave
much thought to this musical form before suddenly learned a lot about
its fascinating history—and more than once, they’ve heard that for music
to be jazz, it’s got to swing.
Or, as Duke Ellington put it, "It don’t mean a thing
if it ain’t got that swing."
Up until now, though, swing has been one of those
things that you either "got," or you didn’t. There was no way to say this
swings and that doesn’t, except for a personal feeling.
No longer. As an article by Mick Hamer in the
December 23 issue of New Scientist explains, swing has now been
analyzed scientifically.
The basic rhythmic unit in jazz is the quarter note.
That’s usually what defines the "beat," what you tap your feet to.
Melodies are superimposed over the beat, and are often made up of eighth
notes, which, in classical music, are exactly one half as long as quarter
notes. However, the jazz musician would play those notes alternately long
and short, with the long note on the beat, and the short note off the
beat.
That’s the basis of swing, but it’s more complicated
than that. Making the long eighth note exactly twice as long as the short
eighth note, like a drum machine, will make your "jazz" sound mechanical
and dull—so Anders Friberg, a physicist at the Royal Institute of
Technology in Stockholm, decided to see if he could analyze swing
scientifically and see how real musicians play it.
He measured the ratio between the long and short
notes of four drummers on a series of recordings, including Tony Williams,
playing with Miles Davis, Jack DeJohnette, playing with the Keith Jarrett
trio, and Jeff Watts, playing with Wynton Marsalis.
Friburg used a frequency analysis program to pick
out the sound of the drummer’s ride cymbal from a series of 10-second
samples. Modern jazz drummers usually play a pattern of quarter notes and
eighth notes on this cymbal with their right hands.
Friburg found the ratio between the notes varied
with the tempo. In slow pieces the long eighth notes were extremely long,
and the short notes were clipped so short they were almost 16th notes. But
at faster tempos the notes were practically even. Only at a medium-fast
tempo of about 200 beats per minute did the drummers use the 2-to-1 ratio.
(Of course, there were variations caused by the drummers’ styles and the
group with whom they played, but the basic principle held true across the
board.)
To further test his discovery, Friburg created a
computer-generated version of a jazz trio playing the Yardbird Suite,
by Charlie Parker. He played it back to a panel of 34 people at different
tempos, and asked them to adjust the swing ratio. Sure enough, they
preferred larger swing ratios at slow tempos and almost no swing at all at
fast tempos.
The results explain why some musicians swing and
some don’t. It takes split-second timing to hit the swing ratio just
right. At a relatively slow tempo of 120 beats per minute, for instance,
listeners prefer a swing ratio between 2.3 and 2.6—a pretty narrow window.
Friburg feels this relationship between swing ratio
and tempo exists because there is a limit to how fast musicians can play a
note—and the tempo at which listeners can distinguish individual notes.
Too fast, and individual notes become "sheets of sound," as tenor sax
player John Coltrane’s first solo recordings in the 1950s were called by
critics.
Friburg also looked at soloists, to see if they used
the same swing ratios as drummers. He found that, while soloist’s swing
ratios also drop as the tempo increases, drummers almost always use bigger
swing rations—which is why the soloist can seem very laid back, even in a
fast piece. He’s actually playing a little behind the drummer, so that
notes that supposedly coincide with the beat may actually be as much as a
tenth of a second late.
Friburg found that, instead of synchronizing with
each other on the beat, as classical musicians do, jazz musicians
unconsciously synchronize on the off-beats, the short eighth notes of the
swing pattern.
There’s an old joke in which, coming into a club,
someone asks the waiter, "How late does the band play?" To which the
waiter replies, "About half a beat behind the drummer."
Turns out that’s pretty much right—and that’s one
reason the band swings.