“Pat Metheny: stories beyond words” – reflection 10 – A Feast of Baritone Guitars on Tour

•April 16, 2024 • Leave a Comment

Pat Metheny’s Fall 2023 – Spring 2024 solo tour in North America and Japan has now concluded. The final week or two overlapped with an earthquake and a solar eclipse, providing some background drama. The tour picks up again in Europe in Fall 2024. Some of you have seen the shows and maybe even followed their evolution by seeing more than one (I was fortunate to have that experience, having attended a Fall and Spring show). Others may not have seen the solo show and may yet do so; thus, I’m not going to give away any of its surprising, dramatic moments beyond saying that I particularly like what they look like, this Spring, and I’m imagining even further development.

The April show showcased the baritone guitar even in greater depth than it had the previous September. I believe that three of these guitars were included in April. There was a substantive amount of music played that was originally recorded on Pat Metheny’s two baritone guitar albums One Quiet Night (2003) and What’s It All About (2011), and from the Charlie Haden-Pat Metheny duo album Beyond the Missouri Sky (1997).

These mini sets were preceded by what has been a show opener for most or all of Pat Metheny’s tours in recent years, including the Side Eye trio project. This segment presents a musical smorgasbord spanning decades of Metheny’s compositions, from “Phase Dance” (from the inaugural 1978 Pat Metheny Group album) and “Minuano (Six Eight),” (from Still Life (Talking, 1987) to music from his most recent “quiet electric guitar” release, Dream Box (2023). What is most fun about this opening panoply of music is the way Metheny weaves one tune or fragment of a tune in and out of another, sometimes returning to a snippet of something played earlier. A good example was his treatment of “Phase Dance,” around which other material was interspersed and referenced. The Styne/Cahn standard, “I Fall In Love Too Easily.” This ballad was lifetime favorite of Miles Davis, and it was exquisitely played by Metheny, who turns it upside down and sideways while maintaining the form.

What is striking about the baritone acoustic guitars is several-fold. First, the simple fact of making a focal point of these guitars, which have historically been generally used as background instruments. Next, the lowest string on a baritone is a perfect fifth below the lowest string on a conventional (and conventionally tuned) acoustic guitar. This affords the guitarist access to notes that might ordinarily be played on a bass. This low register, along with the booming sound of that bottom string, is something Pat Metheny uses to great effect. Third, Metheny (often) tunes these instruments in a way that dramatically impacts the sonic qualities of the guitar. Let me explain.

There is a tradition, often associated with country music, of tuning guitars in “Nashville tuning.” This means that the bottom four of the six strings are tuned an octave higher than their normal pitches, with the top two strings remaining within their own register. The result can suggest a semblance of a twelve-string guitar sound. But Metheny makes use of what he calls “half Nashville” tuning. Only the middle two strings are tuned an octave up. Thus, the bottom two notes are quite low in pitch, the next two are unusually high, and the top two are in their usual register. This overall effect is accentuated by tuning each of the strings down by a whole step, such that the top and bottom strings are “A” rather than “B.” The resonance of the lowest string is even further heightened, and bass lines are better facilitated. Metheny recalls learning about this idea from a guitarist neighbor in his home town, when Metheny was a teenager.

As a result, the baritone has become a hybrid instrument, one that might be described as three distinct pairs of strings attached to the same wooden body. There are various acoustic effects that occur because pitch relations are changing due to the tunings, but most important to me, the reconfiguration allows Metheny to treat each string pair as a distinct voice. During the April show, Metheny offered the audience the useful suggestion that we think of the baritones as three pairs of violins, violas, and basses. This, in my experience, rung true. The “half Nashville” tuned instrument had become timbrally orchestral in its sonic qualities, with each string pair offering something distinct in of itself. Metheny draws upon this illusion of multiple guitars-in-one by differentiating the dynamic levels by which he articulates each string pair. 

The experience of watching and listening to the results of this unusual approach to tuning can be decentering. It was for me. I am used to associating the “look” of the guitar string configuration rings as ascending from bottom up, but this is not the case with the “half Nashville” tuning. Now, a melody or solo line may appear in the center rather than top strings, or it can be heard on the top strings while the higher, middle strings play a harmonic role.

This effect has been heightened even further by Metheny’s (assisted by guitar tech Andre Cholmondeley) choice of a gauge (thicknesses) that most effectively allows these 3rd and 4th (middle) strings to “sing.” This sweet spot nets a rich sound that projects throughout the hall, heightening the distinctions between the three string pairs. I experienced this guitar as if it were several separate instruments played at once. It goes to show that it takes great sensitivity (and experimentation) to maximize the potential of a fine acoustic instrument. Metheny’s forthcoming album MoonDial will feature this baritone guitar.

Following the opening set, Metheny played most or all of his (first) Charlie Haden duet record. The version of Haden’s “My Spanish Love Song” on this April evening was particularly affecting, as was Metheny’s rendition of “Cinema Paradiso.” This evening’s steel string baritone selections from “One Quiet Night” provided a sharp sonic contrast with the other baritone guitars. After hearing the quieter instruments, the steels boomed with energy and zing. A subsequent set including much of the album What’s It All About focused on interpretations (rather than “covers”) of songs particularly familiar from the childhoods and early adulthood of baby boomers like me (Burt Bachrach, Carly Simon…).

There was one more abstract, percussive piece early in the show that Metheny has been developing over the months. For those unfamiliar with less tonal music, you might very loosely identify this piece as an acoustic relative of Zero Tolerance For Silence. It was fascinating to see how this recent addition to Metheny’s repertoire has grown in six months.

The abstract piece was also one of several during the evening that made extensive use of looping. Mid- and late-show, Metheny looped bass lines and comping, often on the baritone guitar, to build a multi-layered “solo” performance. As in every other aspect of the tech side of Pat Metheny’s solo shows the electronics are so well integrated as to become extensions of the instruments Metheny is playing. This is in contrast to their seeming like something external that has been imposed. The technologies incorporated within Metheny’s shows deserves their own discussion, but this integral quality is important to note. There really is no meaningful line to be drawn dividing acoustic from electronic in these performances.

Pat Metheny’s seamless integration electronics is a subset of a broader truth about the solo shows. My perception is that Metheny is really playing one instrument across the entire show. Yes, it is comprised of many, many parts, but these together make up one organic whole. The sheer number of guitars and other elements that may appear on stage is overridden by the perception that it is all part of one thing. This, it seemed to me, was what held the rapt attention of an audience throughout two and a half hours of a solo performances that required close listening. Yes, there were some bells and whistles, and they are fun to see and hear, but that isn’t what makes the show so successful.

If you live or are traveling in Europe during Fall 2024, consider attending one or more shows during the next leg of this tour. The music and performance will surely have continued to grow by then and across each of those nightly engagements.

Posted in Memories of shows, musical content, musical perception, Pat Metheny, Personal notes
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Meditations on Billy Childs, “Map to the Treasure: Reimagining Laura Nyro”

•April 11, 2024 • Leave a Comment

One of entries in this blog that continues to regularly find new readers is a piece I wrote in August 2013 about Laura Nyro and Miles Davis at the Fillmore East. I noticed this only recently, but it now leads me to add a second piece about Laura Nyro. This entry treats a recording released not long after the blog essay, a set of wondrous interpretations by Billy Childs of Nyro’s music. I dedicate this piece to my partner, Pamela Lerman, who has loved Laura Nyro’s music forever and ever and deeply appreciates Childs’ interpretations.

I have long admired Laura Nyro as a songwriter and a singer. I had the good fortune of hearing her perform twice, in 1975 or 76, around the release of Smile, and in 1995, at a small club in the mid-Hudson Valley nearing the end of her life. Nyro’s work fully gained my attention when I heard New York Tenderberry in college. I admired the depth and nuance of Nyro’s melodies, so often paired with sophisticated and thoughtful song structures and arrangements. Her lyrics were (and remain) evocative and poetic and strengthened in their poignance by her impassioned delivery. After moving several hours distance from New York City and its environs, where I grew up, I’d periodically find myself thinking about the album’s songs which seemed so clearly to evoke the City of my birth and to which I’ve periodically returned.

In the early 2000s, I returned to Laura Nyro’s music, which became a focus of a few of the concerts I gave at that time. The idea of doing something larger with these songs remained in the back of my mind until I put that idea to rest upon the release of Billy Childs’ Map to the Treasure, in 2014. I listened to the album many times when it first came out (and soon after, I had the fortune of attending a live performance in New York City of the music), and I find myself returning to it again and again. Laura Nyro’s work had, for me, always presented a musical paradox – how could one recast rather than reiterate Nyro’s own versions of her music – but Billy Childs had found a path that emphatically answered my question.

I was well prepared for Childs’ lush arrangements after hearing a work he composed for the Kronos string quartet and his own jazz quartet, performed in 2010. His timbrally keen ear netted an effective blend of the sumptuous sounds of a string quartet with the balance of a broad instrumental pallet – the incisive clarity of the piano, the sizzle of cymbals, and the penetrating warmth of a saxophone. The interplay between composed segments and improvisatory solos rendered this well-crafted work musically compelling.

I first become aware of Billy during his late 1970s-early 1980s tenure with Freddie Hubbard’s band. Also in the band was Child’s friend from childhood, bassist Larry Klein. Klein’s subsequent career as producer is well known, for good reason. His work on Billy Child’s Map to the Treasure reflects this skillfulness and imagination (also found on Herbie Hancock’s River, the Joni Letters (2007). Childs’ career as a jazz pianist had always run in parallel with his steady development as a gifted instrumental composer of music for orchestra and chamber ensembles. His college degree is in fact in musical composition. Childs’ place in the world of composed music extends to significant organization work, which includes a term in the mid-2010s as president of Chamber Music America.

One of the substantial challenges in crafting Map to the Treasure was surely how to select singers best suited to the emotional and dynamic qualities of each individual song. Childs and Klein scouted across a wide array of possibilities, netting consistently effective (while sometimes surprising) pairings. I would not have expected opera soprano Renée Fleming to sing the opening track “New York Tendaberry” (the title song of Nyro’s 1969 album by that name). But the choice works really well, and for this plus the arrangement and instrumentals, the recording was awarded a Grammy. Maybe selecting an opera singer shouldn’t in fact have been all that much of a surprise given Herbie Hancock’s choice of Kathleen Battle for his 1998 album, Gershwin’s World. Or maybe the idea of categorizing any singer, irrespective of the source of their reputation, is of limited use.

Backed by cellist Yo-Yo Ma, Fleming begins the song in her huskier low register. As the song proceeds through Nyro’s poetic sound play, her marked consistency of tone and quiet intensity is uplifted by sustained low strings, as she sings: “A rush on rum / Of brush and drum…” The instrumentation thins as if suspended in time while the lyrics continue “And the past is a blue note / Inside me…” The pace speeds up ever so slightly towards a cadence punctuated by the piano and cymbals (Brian Blades plays drums on this and the subsequent three tracks), underscoring the words “So I ran away in the morning.”

The second verse begins in the framework of a jazz ballad, slow and stately; a cello obligato suddenly opens the door to a rich, harp embroidered repetition of the words “blue berry.” The listener perceives the pace as again picking up, this time even more, with Debussy-esque broken chords in the strings as Fleming sings broadly and at times breathily, carefully evenly marking the time.

The level of emotional intensity builds as Fleming sings “Now I’m back, unpacked.” What follows is a beautifully coloristic instrumental segment joined by a cello counter melody played by Yo-Yo Ma. The music crescendos, building to a frenzied pitch, setting up an emotional high point as Fleming sings “You look like a city / But you feel like religion to me.” I find myself resisting literal interpretation of this coming of age song of love and loss, departure and return, pain and self-discovery. I’d prefer to allow Nyro’s use of language stand as-is with its hints, allusions, and pure joy in alliteration. Nyro’s lyrics are innately musical in themselves. Billy Childs goes further than Nyro by dramatizing poignant phrases and the overall poetic arc of this and every subsequent song.

An impassioned cello passage carries us into the third stanza, which Fleming delivers as a regal ballad, “… Where Quakers and revolutionaries…” but Childs’ surprises us by once again dramatically increasing the musical intensity, musically underscoring Nyro’s words: “Join for life / For precious years…” This is reinforced with a piano-led ostinato before the instrumentals seemingly vaporize. We enter a beautiful vocal-cello duet articulating the penultimate words, with Fleming then sustaining the final syllable “tears.” This provides a bridge to Billy Child’s languid piano solo, backed by a quiet pizzicato strings ostinato. The song concludes with a final solo cello line’ Fleming rearticulates the words “New York Tendaberry.”

“The Confession” (Eli and the Thirteenth Confession, 1968) looks to Becca Stevens to interpret this song of sexual awakening. Billy Childs captures well the happy go lucky, innocent opening, “Super summer sugar coppin’ / In the mornin’ / Do your shoppin’ baby.” In her own version, Nyro’s understated and intimate vocal treatment garbs her “confession” of previously unspoken longing and anxiety. Billy Childs alternates the song’s most tender, internal moments – the refrains “Would you love to love me baby? / I would love to love you baby now,” her pained anguish, “Oh I hate my winsome lover… But tell him he held my heart…,” and instances of self-reflection “I keep hearin’ mother cryin’ / I keep hearin’ daddy through his grave” – with hints of a substantive change ahead. Nyro declares “Super ride inside my lovething” and then assertively and exuberantly declares in self-affirmation, a blend of sexual and religious language, “Love my love thing / Love is surely gospel.” The latter is set by Childs within a rhythmically pulsing musical backdrop that leads to a rollicking, extroverted electric piano solo by Childs, maybe evoking Ramsey Lewis.

The third track is Lisa Fischer’s understated yet soaring rendition of Nyro’s song of yearning for love from someone who loves someone else, “Map to the Treasure” (Christmas and the Beads of Sweat, 1970). Billy Child’s arrangement takes an optimistic turn at “Take my hand now / There is a land now / In the treasure of love,” backed by rhythmic piano comping and broken chords and by a sonorous pizzicato bass line. The impressionism of Laura Nyro’s lyrics are paralleled in Child’s colorful orchestration. Quiet, sustained descending string notes then accompany the optimistic words “Come to me baby / You got the look that I adore, that I understand / My pretty medicine man.”

The fourth track, “Upstairs by a Chinese Lamp” (New York Tendaberry, 1969) opens with shimmering strings, wind chimes, and sonorous piano, setting the stage for the song’s rich poetic language, “women buy Milk, tobacco, soap and matches… Spring whispered in her ear / Like soft Mediterranean wailin’.” Esperanza Spalding’s gentle voice captures the breezy quality of the song, punctuated with Wayne Shorter’s darting soprano saxophone. The lyric “You could hear the woman sing / In the soft flames of spring” is followed by a more extensive Shorter solo backed by Brian Blades’ drums, bass, and Childs, displaying the pianist’s gifts as an accompanist. This leads into the core piano motif that Laura Nyro composed for the opening, which in the original served as a leitmotif for this song. Spaulding concludes, following the lyrics “Winds caress, undress, invite / Upstairs by a china lamp / They softly talk in the cool spring night,” with a sweet vocalization: “la-la-la-la-la…”

In contrast, Rickie Lee Jones’ delivery of Nyro’s reportorial depiction of a discovering a dying drug addict, “Been on a Train” (Christmas and the Beads of Sweat, 1970) captures the grim scene. The song opens with expressionistic string quartet sonorities, followed by a spare tom-tom beat punctuated by a periodic two-note descending string figure. The double meaning of the word “tracks” appears during quicker, steadily pulsing repeated chord, also on the strings, and Jones’ vocals turn more anguished “no, no, damn you mister,” answered by an intense, angular solo by saxophonist Chris Potter, prefacing the hopelessness of the addicted man, to whom Nyro’s character responds with “I’m going to sing my song for you” yet “I’m never going to be the same.” The crisp drumming on “Been on a Train” is by Vinnie Colaiuta, who also plays on the subsequent tracks.

Billy Childs follows the tragic tone of “Been on a Train” with the light, upbeat “Stoned Soul Picnic,” sung by Ledisi. The lyrics “There’ll be lots of time and wine / Red yellow honey / Sassafras and moonshine” call to mind a carefree time, reinforced by the funk-inflected rhythmic repetition of the word “surry.” Childs’ setting also captures Nyro’s impressionistic painterly side, referencing “trains” here in a manner in sharp contrast to “Been on Train.” Now, the lyric “There’ll be trains of blossoms / There’ll be trains of music / There’ll be trains of trust” is supported with harp and gentle strings. Ledisi’s vocal delivery continues broadly across a circle of fifths progression into a cadence. This heralds a return of the cheerful opening mood. This time, the rhythmic patterns guide us into a funky acoustic piano solo, out of which the song fades. Yet the track continues with a segue to the next song, by means of an abstract, pointalistic string segment.

Susan Tedeschi delivers a powerful yet nuanced reading of “Gibsom Street” (New York Tendaberry, 1969). Each of the multiple emotional meanings found within this alternately mysterious, menacing, and assertive song find their place in Billy Child’s rendition. A paradoxically upbeat musical setting becomes the container for the lyric “they hang the alley cats on gibsom street.” A more plaintive musical environment, embroidered by saxophonist Steve Wilson shapes the lyric “I wish to keep my mirror hidden.” The music builds into grand Broadway swagger when Tedeschi continues: “to hide the eyes that looked on gibsom street.”

An introspective piano solo then casts the music in a darker mood. Childs’ chromaticism leads into rapid fire pianistic runs, bridging into a rhythmically pulsing ostinato played by the band. Layered above these phrases are repetitions of the melody (without vocals) to “all my sorrow, all my loving,” upon which Steve Wilson solos to fevered pitch. The ostinato builds and the door opens to Tedeschi’s joining with the lyrics to the phrase, again and again. A mood of foreboding returns, as Childs repeats low bass notes on the piano while the vocal continues. This is followed by a lighter mood which is brought into question when Wilson presents broken shards of saxophone lines, paired with pointillistic strings.

Chris Botti’s trumpet (Childs was for several years, Botti’s musical director and pianist) plays a mournful-yet-hinting-at-hopeful opening to “Save the Country” (New York Tendaberry, 1969). This song first gained fame by The Fifth Dimension. Vocalist Shawn Colvin brings to it a simple, wistful reading, a reminder of the optimism and determination of the Civil Rights and anti-war movement era: “I got fury in my soul / Fury’s gonna take me / To the glory goal / In my mind I can’t study war no more.” Botti’s solo, over sustained strings and spare piano comping, is bittersweet, befitting a period of hope and its complex, only partially fulfilled legacy. Billy Childs’ piano chorale provides a bridge to Colvin’s return, this time declaring optimistically “we can build the dream with love.” Sustained strings provide support. The song concludes with a broadly stated piano accompaniment, aligned with Colvin’s assertion of Nyro’s lyric, that we can “save the country now.” Botti’s trumpet coda restores the mood of the introduction.

“To a Child” (Mother’s Spiritual, 1984) is given a whimsical opening befitting this meditation on Nyro’s hopes for her newborn baby. Dianne Reeves’ gentle and emotionally subtle approach provides the most straight forward treatment of any of the songs on the album. Yet the strength and consistency of her voice, paired with Billy Child’s expansive mid-song instrumental chamber music segment, renders this as lovely a rendition as Nyro’s original. Child’s harmonic development of Nyro’s form adds enormous depth, particularly as Reeves articulates the closing words “And if I smile as you reach / above the climbin’ bars / To see the stars… Wish you harmony…” followed by Reeve’s soft, deeply felt vocalizations.

It would be easy to imagine that Billy Childs’s setting of “And When I Die” (More Than a New Discovery, 1967) was designed for Alison Krauss. The gentle guitar picking, piano punctuation, ticking of the drums, sustained strings, and dobro guitar (played by Jerry Douglas) render this an aspirational statement of personal freedom, acknowledgement of the finitude of life, and a recognition that a new generation will follow. This strikes me as quite different in tone than the upbeat anthem made famous by Blood, Sweat and Tears. The repeated refrain (sung in harmony by Allison Krauss and Dan Tyminski) “Don’t want to go by the devil / don’t want to go by the demon / don’t want to go by Satan / don’t want to die uneasy” builds suspense as the song moves towards its conclusion, “And when I die / And when I’m gone / There’ll be one child born / And a world to carry on.”

All in all, I just love this album, and find myself returning to it again and again. It is not my practice to write “record reviews.” I’ve done that just once in the past, and like that time, this wasn’t really my intent here either. I must say, though, that this one is on my “desert island” short list, as are Laura Nyro’s own versions of these and other songs.

This album was released in 2014 by Sony Masterworks

Posted in great musical thinkers, memories, Memories of shows, metahpor, metaphor, musical content, musical perception, Personal notes, Reflections on musical context, religion and music
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“Pat Metheny: Stories beyond words” – reflection 9 – from A to Z

•March 28, 2024 • Leave a Comment

I’m delighted to say that the book is now complete and being readied for printing. Release is scheduled for August 5, 2024, to be published by University of Chicago Press.

Here are, for fun, a few words in alphabetical order about various aspects of the book:

A is for appendix (a book’s appendix, that is)

B is for bibliography

C  is for chapters

D is for drafts (of the manuscript)

E is for electric guitar

F is for form (of the book and musical form

G is for Gary Burton (who introduced Metheny to Boston and then to the wider world)

H is for historical narrative, a way to treat diverse topics within a chronological frame

I is for index (and introduction)

J is for (book) jacket

K is for kaleidoscopic (discovery of new things by listening to music multiple times)

L is for Linda Manzer, luthier for Metheny’s acoustic guitars and the 42-stringed Pikasso

M is for Metheny (as per the title of this book)

N is for nonaligned (Pat’s way of positioning himself within the musical universe)

O is for Offramp, the first of Pat’s albums that caught my attention upon its release

P is for preface

Q is for quantity (as in word count)

R is for readers (the ones who vetted and reviewed this book and, also, hopefully you)

S is for storytelling, a metaphor that forms a throughline in this book

T is for table of contents

U is for University of Chicago Press, publisher of this book

V is for vocabulary, musical and linguistic

W is for Wes Montgomery (a major early influence on Pat Metheny)

X is for (Song) X, a duo recording with an important influence on Metheny, Ornette Coleman

Y is for I don’t know whY (but as with all things, maintain your curiosity)

Z is the doubled letter in “jazz,” something Metheny refers to as “a verb… more like a process than it is a thing.”

Posted in Crafting the text, musical content, Pat Metheny, Personal notes, the book's life in the world
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“Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words” – reflection 8 – Mike Stern & Jack DeJohnette speak about Pat

•March 17, 2024 • Leave a Comment

Here is the second set of comments that have come in from musicians & scholars about my forthcoming book and about Pat Metheny. Mike Stern’s are drawn from a recent extended conversation I had with him. Jack DeJohnette articulated his in writing. Some segments will appear on the book jacket and others on the University of Chicago Press’s catalog webpage for this book. The process of reaching out and gathering these is one of the most enjoyable aspects of writing a book about musicians.

“We were all blown away when we first heard Pat play. His touch is so sweet and 
soulful and so lyrical. I love that vocal sound. I like to try to get that in myself as 
much as I can. Even at a really young age, you could already hear these qualities and his incredible vocabulary. His ability to hold onto his sensitivity and perfectionism all these years is a serious strength. As a guitar teacher, Pat was really supportive to me and to a lot of other players. It would be natural to write a book about someone 
quite as accomplished as Pat. I really dig his music, that’s for damn sure.” 
– Mike Stern, guitarist 

“One of the first recordings [by Pat] that got my attention was Bright Size Life, and I was impressed by his compositions and his improvising. It’s still one of my favorite recordings of his. It was my pleasure to put together a band with my all-time favorites Herbie Hancock and Dave Holland, Pat and I discussed it and he agreed to coproduce and be part of it. We also toured. Parallel Realities turned out to be an important historical recording that people still talk about. He’s a visionary innovator who is constantly challenging himself in the most creative ways… that’s what a great artist is supposed to do. Thank you Pat!” 
– Jack DeJohnette, drummer

Posted in Crafting the text, great musical thinkers, In the hands of readers, memories, metaphor, musical content, Pat Metheny, sources
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“Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words” – reflection 7 – by Bill Bruford & Kevin Fellezs

•March 10, 2024 • Leave a Comment

One of the most fun things about the process of moving a completed book into production is selecting, inviting, and then including the reflections of people whose comments will appear on the book jacket. These quotations will also be among those to appear on the University of Chicago Press’s catalog and in its publicity.

I choose people whose judgement I trust deeply as musicians, writers, musical thinkers, and readers. There have been four so far; here are the first two. I’m really thrilled to have these voices on the jacket.

These are from drummer and scholar Bill Bruford and from the director of Columbia University‘s Center For Jazz Studies, scholar Kevin Fellesz. I feel honored and proud that they agreed to read the manuscript and then share their thoughts and reactions on my new book. These are also the first reactions I’ve had from anybody about the completed book, following more than three years of work on it:

“Pat Metheny performances have quickened the soul of the academic, the layman and the musician for many years. He has been so much a part of the furniture for so long, one needs a book like this as a reminder of his considerable contribution to American cultural life. Written in a breezy, inclusive style, this book should be on the shelf of anyone who enjoys Pat’s music and would like to know why; anyone who wants to know more about his process and methodologies; and anyone who simply wants to know how to listen more closely.” – Bill Bruford 

“Bob Gluck gives Pat Metheny fans – and that includes this reader – a series of listening guides that deepens our appreciation of Metheny’s music. Outlining the innovative approaches Metheny utilizes to produce the music we cherish. Gluck compels us to re-listen to the music we thought we already knew with newly expanded ears. Gluck’s remarkable book traces Metheny’s musical ideas that have shaped his music, enabling us to enjoy the guitarist’s myriad accomplishments in a deeply connective, heartfelt way. This book is for more than just Metheny’s many fans, however – it is for anyone who wants to think about and, perhaps more importantly, feel music more deeply, more intensely, and more profoundly.” – Kevin Fellezs, author of “Listen but Don’t Ask Question: Hawaiian Slack Key Guitar Across the TransPacific”

Posted in In the hands of readers, memories, musical content, Pat Metheny, the book's life in the world
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“Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words” – Reflection 6 – “tell me, how do these books come about?”

•February 23, 2024 • Leave a Comment

Recently, an old friend asked me why I had chosen to write about Pat Metheny. There are, in fact, compelling reasons for this choice – as I’ve previously written: I’m fascinated by the ideas that drive Pat Metheny’s approach to composing, the way he integrates composing and improvisation, the long imaginative arcs of his musical gestures, his resistance to rigid “genre” boundary lines, the beauty of his compositions and playing… I could go on, but…

This is now my fourth book within 12 years, but I don’t think that I actively choose most of my topics. I know this may sound cliche but they seem to choose me.

I never set out to write an Mwandishi book, although I was writing about that band a propos collaborations between electronic musicians and jazz musicians – Herbie Hancock & Patrick Gleeson, Anthony Braxton & Richard Teitelbaum, and others. I started talking at length to Herbie and his former band members, comparing and contrasting multiple performances of the same repertoire, found that I had a fair bit to say. People started telling me that this is a book and I responded, for a time, “ok, if so, then you write it!” But the next thing you know, I had a book contract and 19 drafts later, voila, a book!

The next book, what I refer to as the “Children of Ornette: Miles ‘Lost’/Anthony Braxton/Circle…” book (officially: “The Miles Davis Lost Quintet and Other Revolutionary Ensembles”) was intentionally a follow-up to the first. This time I made the conscious decision to fill out more of the historical period addressed in the Mwandishi band book.

An alternate sequel might have been about the 1970-71 period for Wayne Shorter and early Weather Report, but for a variety of reasons.l it is summarized in a (long) footnote in the “Miles Lost Quintet” book. As it turns out, there is now a Weather Report book in print, but it may be something I return to at a later date.

In the case of Pat Metheny, the idea arose while I was working on something completely different, but which wasn’t really working. Part of that abandoned project was published as an ebook about Paul Winter. Several older blog posts address other slices of what I had working on (about embodiment, metaphor, non-human species…) which may crop up again in future writing.

Meanwhile, I had been enjoying periodic conversations with Pat without the slightest thought that I might write a book about him. As I narrate in the introduction to the new book, one day he gave me one of his newly published songbooks. What I did with it followed a familiar pattern of mine – while I was rehearsing for an upcoming album release, I played my way through maybe 100+ of the Metheny tunes rather than working on the album material.

This led to my taking 15 of the tunes, some simple and some quite complex, into gigs I had booked. And as usual, once I start playing something a lot, I find myself fascinated by what makes it tick. I started to think about the Metheny compositions in a deeper, more analytical, and ultimately writerly kind of way, and I was off and running. Many conversations and musical explorations later, a book began to take shape. He was open to the idea, and three years later, here we are.

The book is now complete and about to enter production. It’s been scheduled for an August 2024 release by University of Chicago Press, my third round with that marvelous publishing house!

Posted in Crafting the text, musical content, Pat Metheny, Personal notes, sources
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“Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words,” reflection 5 – music and the metaphor of storytelling

•February 5, 2024 • Leave a Comment

One focal point of my recent writing has been exploring ways that metaphors can be used to talk about. Music, This has appeared in my blog postings and in my forthcoming book Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words (University of Chicago Press, coming in Fall 2024). Metheny’s work provides a useful lens to consider the meaning of a storytelling metaphor in part because Metheny himself speaks in these terms. But maybe more important, I find that the metaphor helps me understanding his music and, in the book, provide keys to listening to it.

By storytelling I truly mean “story” as a metaphor, not literal storytelling. Unlike my daughter who, as a child, constantly invented stories with characters and plotlines, here I am talking about “stories” in a very different way, but one I find no less meaningful. There is, in fact, a long tradition of music treated in a directly referential manner (in the book I note several examples in Euro-American Art music of the 19th and 20th centuries, and one finds this in other cultures as well). I also have, in a previous article, about pioneering electronic composer Morton Subotnick’s Sidewinder (https://newmusicusa.org/nmbx/morton-subotnicks-sidewinder/) suggested a narrative approach to a musical work. There, I explained why I provided playful names to the various sonic gestures or phrases that comprise the piece:

“Sidewinder introduces us to a cast of ‘sonic characters.’ Deviating from inherited traditions of electroacoustic music in which sounds are described in strictly sonic rather than referential terms, I have given them suggestive names. My rationale is tied to the magical way in which Subotnick’s sonorities exist somewhere between the referential and the abstract. The opening sound sequence, after which this work is named, is highly suggestive. Whether or not the work is in fact simply about the sounds themselves rather than forming a dramatic narrative, is beside the point. One can choose—or choose not—to read in a story line, or multiple story lines. I personally prefer not to do so, instead allowing my imagination to take me at each listening.”

I assigned playful names to nine of Subotnick’s sounds or gestures: “Rattler,” “Stoomp,” “Rev,” “Sound Mass,” “Worble,” “Helicopter,” “Pluck,” “Kalimba,” and “Pulsing Mass.” Were I listening and writing on another day, I might have come up with different names, alternate conceptions, or even simply listened without any suggestive narrative helpmates.

What I wasn’t suggesting was that this was the only way to hear Sidewinder, just one route to guide listening. My point was that one could listen in any number of ways and, even if one were to imagine a narrative or characters represented by musical features, there were numerous avenues for that, too. My goal was to model how one might do so and, for listeners unfamiliar with music akin to Sidewinder, offer a way to find an entry point to approach the music. This seemed natural to me, since it has long been clear to me that humans are by nature story tellers and we tend to internally narrate much or all of our experiences. We can resist this and listen just to individual sounds themselves without reference, as in the traditions of electroacoustic music, following Pierre Schaeffer’s musique concrete, or to listen to melody qua melody, or listen more analytically. But once we start listening to chord progressions as they follow a course that inextricably becomes cyclical, we are on the edge of telling a story.

The metaphor of “telling a story” has a long history among jazz musicians and the idea of musical dialog appears across musical traditions, notably in Black America. In Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words, I make note of the ways Randy Weston, Kenny Barron, Esperanza Spalding, and some of Pat Metheny’s mentors have used the metaphor. I also trace how At the same time, Metheny himself is clear that music, unlike language, resists referential meanings: “One of the many things I love about music is that it is always just out of sight, just out of reach. You get glimpses of it here and there, now and then—but it is ultimately always out of reach.” In the book, I provide a narrative, story metaphor treatment to Metheny’s “Imaginary Day,” “America Undefined,” and a few other works.

My suggestion that Metheny’s work can often be listened to through a “storytelling” metaphor is primarily grounded in the concept that a story, such as a film plotline, takes the viewer/listener/reader from one “place,” and then, metaphorically, on a “journey” that includes points of tension and repose, maybe intrigue, and eventually, a resting point. This is akin to a metaphor I once heard drummer Billy Hart use for the way Herbie Hancock improvised, picking up a baby, carrying it for a while, and then laying it down. I introduce the concept of metaphor through the work of Lakoff and Johnson, among the first of a number of writers to construct a substantive conceptual framework for how we conceptualize the world through metaphor.

Metheny has sought, from an early point in his career, to approach composition in a manner that supported this concept. He found that he could facilitate it, at times, by constructing forms with extended, stepwise bass lines, juxtaposed with subtly shifting harmonies. In that way, an improvisation can inventively unfold over an extended period of time, sufficiently expansive to create a distinct sense that a kind of (metaphorical) “journey” has taken place. Metheny preferred this concept over the existing alternative of 1930s song forms favored by bop musicians or riff and vamp structures drawn from R&B, preferred in the 1970s by Chick Corea, Herbie Hancock, John McLaughlin, and others. An ensemble that blended the idea of “story” with riffs and vamps was Weather Report.

One device that Metheny has drawn upon to achieve a sense of continuity across extended musical segments is by employing a series of motifs, brief musical figures or phrases, generated in the moment, but to which Metheny returns again and again within the solo. I trace examples of Metheny’s favorite guitarist, Wes Montgomery, and another important influence, saxophonist Ornette Coleman modeling this idea in the 1950s and 60s.

“Storytelling” is one of many metaphors by which one can listen to and explore music. When you read Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words, you’ll understand what I mean by listening to the musical examples while you read the text. Something to look forward!

Posted in Crafting the text, great musical thinkers, metahpor, musical content, musical perception, Pat Metheny
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“Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words” reflection 4 – music writing, empathy and differentiation

•January 1, 2024 • Leave a Comment

Writing a book about a musician (forthcoming, University of Chicago Press, Sept. 2024) always entails a two-to-three year period immersing myself in that person’s music, ways of thinking, experiences, and perspectives. As in the past, with Herbie Hancock, Miles Davis, Paul Winter, and others, this has once again been my experience with Pat Metheny, starting in January 2020. This kind of experience has always been a great source of learning on many levels – musical, conceptual, cultural, and other – as it has most certainly been once again this round.

Two things have made my experience writing about Pat Metheny different from the others:

First, my focus this time has been finely tuned to one musician rather than to a musician’s band (as with Herbie Hancock’s Mwandishi Quintet/Sextet/Octet, the Miles Davis “Lost” Quintet, and to some degree the Paul Winter Consort), nor has it dealt heavily with a cluster of intersecting circles of musicians (as with the groups I write about in the Miles Davis book – Ornette Coleman, Chick Corea and Circle, Anthony Braxton, MEV, Revolutionary Ensemble, 19th Street Loft, and others). I do write about Pat Metheny in the context of Gary Burton and Steve Swallow, the Pat Metheny Group, the quartet that recorded “From This Place,” the changing cluster of “Side Eye” musicians, and others. I also home in on the personal perspectives of two musicians who have worked with Metheny for years (Steve Rodby and Antonio Sanchez) and of Pat Metheny’s current guitar tech (Andre Cholmondeley).

Second, Pat Metheny is the first musician I’ve written about who is of my own generation (born six months apart), whose influences in some important ways overlap with my own, and whose musical perspectives, like mine, cross aesthetic,  technological and other perceived boundaries. Each of us in our own ways pushes back against expectations that musicians should stay in their lane (“jazz” musicians shouldn’t play “pop” music, “acoustic” musicians shouldn’t play “electronic” music, “classical” musicians shouldn’t do anything else… and vice versa). This is in many ways generational because for an increasing number of younger musicians (Tyshawn Sorey and Esperanza Spalding come to mind), a far broader “playing field” is becoming normalized. For Pat Metheny, the Beatles weren’t more or less important than Wes Montgomery, while Gary Burton and Steve Swallow bridged the two. For me, Jefferson Airplane wasn’t more or less important than Cecil Taylor, while Frank Zappa bridged the two.

Being a musician is so embedded within my sense of self (I do not claim to be unique in this respect) that prose writing bridging empathetic understanding and scholarly distance is at the core of my scholarly skillset. Crucial to my ability to write about musicians is noticing where my subject’s perspectives align with my own and discerning with clarity where they do not. Yet this is not a static binary distinction since I can find commonality in purpose or conception with another musician while recognizing that we may each arrive in that place from very different trajectories and aim for different artistic ends. Alternately, the trajectory may be similar while the musical outcome is different. Achieving clarity of understanding thus involves repeatedly shifting from identification to differentiation, toggling back and forth between the two. At times this can be confusing, while ultimately the result brings forth deeper understanding.

This alternation of identification and differentiation is really what allows me to understand another musician. I learn about other musicians by playing their music  – and – listening to them play their music, and dialoging with them. The sum of all these experiences, and others, serves as a bouncing board (and mirror) that helps me understand how I personally understand the music as if it were my own – and with that I am able to perceive the musician’s work with scholarly distance.

While finding points of musical commonality with Pat Metheny has been crucial to my ability to write about his work, equally important has been identifying the ways we differ. Here’s one example. Pat Metheny – a guitarist – composes primarily at a keyboard instrument rather than on guitar. I on the other hand – a keyboardist – compose almost exclusively at the keyboard no matter what instrument I’m writing for. Pat has commented that the design of the guitar and the physicality of navigating a guitar doesn’t substantially influence his composing. For me, the process is quite different.

A blog post I published on August 18, 2020 collected several of my previous reflections about the relationship between physicality and embodiment, and musical expression. You can read these here:

thinking about unconscious aspects of musical improvisation… the new book

In a post dated August 4, 2015 I wrote: “We improvisers prefer to consider what we do as intentional translations of thoughts into sounds. And there is something to that…”

What I’ve learned about Pat Metheny is that this description more or less defines how he composes. I then add in the blog- and this is as true of Metheny as it is of me – “Honestly, I think that much of what we improvisers do is unconscious.” Pat Metheny conceptualizes music mentally and emotionally, conscious of harmonic and pitch relations, melodic shape, long arcs of phrasing and melody… And of course while improvising, this cognition helps shape how he plays, more than muscle memory, favorite turns of phrase, habits… (note that others disagree with me on this point) even while maintaining an often identifiable sound and aesthetic. I am of course over simplify to make a point.

For me, the physicality of my relationship with the piano dates back to my earliest experiences and it hasn’t notably changed. I am sufficiently knowledgeable about harmonic and pitch relations, repertoire and a range of musical approaches, so while I may not be actively thinking about them, these are always present somewhere in my mind (this is of course true of many experienced improvisers, including Pat Metheny). But for me, the conceptual or cognitive side of composition isn’t always at the core of inspiration or initiation for my composing. The feel of the keyboard and my engagement with it is in many ways my North Star for musical “thinking,” whether the task is composing or improvising (and what Pat Metheny observes about himself is true of me too – I paraphrase here – “composing and improvising are similar endeavors at very different temperatures”) The processes that drive how each of these unfold for Metheny and I differ.

My 2015 blog post continues: “… Among the modes of improvisatory cognition is muscle memory. Some may define this as ‘habit,’ and sometimes it is. But there’s an element to playing, at least for me, that is substantially physical. It arises in the ways we shape or move our fingers, our lips, mouths, feet, doing so in ways that our body knows are right. This isn’t necessarily the same thing as habit; it is simply another way of intuiting and knowing. I find that what I play is more often what my body wants to do than is usually acknowledged by musicians (including me)… Placing trust in my fingers and arms does not come easily since I was rigorously trained to trust only in sheet music. So much so, that it was hard for me to even trust my memorization of sheet music. Only in mid-adulthood did I rediscover my early childhood free abandon at the keyboard, before ever starting lessons… One of the gifts I discover when trusting my body’s judgment is that I allow great latitude to making mistakes.”

I’ll add that the directions my compositional process heads – following the initial phase of inspiration and gathering of materials – can be far more cognitive than I’m stating. Such is the nature of musical form, however open, and how one can employ it to give shape to musical ideas as these unfold in time. It is also true that certain compositional influences, particularly Wayne Shorter and Johann Sebastian Bach form a kind of musical backdrop that influences what my hands “like” to do and how I mediate between the physical and cognitive aspects of my musicianship. And of course, when I’m playing with others, close listening, response, and guiding are important drivers of what I play.

As the production of my new book heads to its conclusion, culminating in a September 2024 publication date, so does my own musical productivity continue to evolve. The process of composing and recording this past year (in fact I recently released a new album) cannot but be in some form of dialog with my thinking about Pat Metheny. This doesn’t mean that I’ve been composing music that sounds like his music, but maybe it subtly responds to aspects of his musical thinking that have been impacted by the process of writing. I’ve certainly learned a lot from the experience. I’ve certainly emerged musically changed in subtle ways as a consequence of each sustained writing project I’ve undertaken. I look forward to consolidating what I’ve learned musically from this one, just as I anticipate the arrival of the published book and its journey in the hands of readers.

Posted in Crafting the text, great musical thinkers, music and the body, musical content, musical perception, Pat Metheny, Personal notes
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Letting go of roads not taken

•December 7, 2023 • Leave a Comment

What is one thing you would change about yourself?

I would love to feel less regret about alternatives I decided against, particularly when my choices actually worked out quite well.

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A wonderful juggle: completing a recording while writing a book …

•December 6, 2023 • Leave a Comment

Many musicians juggle composing/performing careers with academic positions. For many years, until my recent retirement from teaching, I’ve been one of these people. I’ve also been among the subset of musicians whose work includes large scale writing projects within what I’ll term (pun intended) a “three-channel mix.” I refer to the trifecta of making music/teaching/writing. This balance act has been a good thing for me. Playing informs how I understand the music I write about, teaching sharpens how I articulate and explain my ideas, and writing (and the musical listening involved) influences my playing and composing. I enjoy this mix while very much appreciating the period following the conclusion of any of these projects, and with that, having the opportunity to regroup and consider where it all has brought me as a musician. The opportunity to relocate my own voice as a composer/player after submerging in other peoples’ work is really important. These points of calmer, more narrowed focus are also always great learning experiences, since everything has changed in some way, shape, or form.

I’ve now completed the first release of my new recording And Every Fleck of Russet. The recording became available exclusively on BandCamp on December 1. A second release will occur when the recording becomes available on multiple streaming platforms including Apple Music, Spotify, Tidal… on January 5, 2024. The “official” release date is January 15, 2024. At the same time, I await page proofs for the new book Pat Metheny: Stories Beyond Words. My task will become proofreading the manuscript and paginating the index. I’ve already chosen the musician names, terms, and key words that will be listed. While this aspect of a writing project may be a bit tedious, it is important to me. The index offers a way to present alternate paths by which readers can navigate the book; thus I carefully choose what terms are included and which subtopics are prioritized.

Here is the way the album, titled And every fleck of russet (Electricsongs Music, 2024) is described in the advance publicity:

“…a playful, musical boundary-crossing collection of Bob Gluck’s recent compositions. After a decade and a half of work that centers interaction between fellow musicians, And every fleck of russet, composed and recorded 2020-2023, is an introspective solo album. The music ranges across a broad canvas of emotions and textures, from evocative ballads to whimsical and fantastical regalia. The album concept has roots in Gluck’s long fascination with Bill Evans’ multitracked solo piano album “Conversations With Myself” in its interplay between melodic directness and layered complexity. And every fleck of russet expands this sonic pallet beyond the piano to electronic sounds rooted in Gluck’s early recording career, and his fascination with precursors of keyboard instruments including the dulcimer.”

The album title, incidentally, is inspired by a line from the Robert Frost poem “After Apple Picking.” I was looking for a line from a poem that fulfilled one single purpose, a reference to the color field captured in the front and rear photographs I took of the brown, orange, and yellow autumn leaves just as Summer shifted into Fall. Russet seemed about right and Robert Frost being a favorite poet of mine… it all fell into place.

The liner notes, addressing each individual track, can be found on my Bandcamp page (https://bobgluck.bandcamp.com/album/and-every-fleck-of-russet). One aspect I do not address there are the ways that writing about Pat Metheny influenced this musical work. These are not obvious when you listen to And every fleck of russet. Listening closely to Metheny’s work pointed my attention to certain ideas about musical form, as well as some elements of his sonic vocabulary, each of which found their way into my musical work. For example, a few tracks include layers of plucked string sounds; among these are the ballad that opens the album, “Something Happening,” which sets up a timbral contrast between plucked string sounds and several layers of pianos, and the intentionally humorous third track, “Abundantly,” which takes an unexpected turn when masses of plucked string instruments suddenly jump to the fore within the mix. 

The plucked string instruments aren’t guitars but rather a variety of hammered dulcimers. To some degree, the “stringiness” of some of the textures have a loose connection in my mind to aspects of Pat Metheny’s sound palate (particularly his Pikasso 42-string instrument and, from “Imaginary Day” and later, an unfretted acoustic guitar). Even so, the specific sonic choices more deeply speak to my interest in precursors of the modern piano, specifically harpsichord and clavichord. I’ve come to think of the hammered dulcimer as a clavichord without the wooden enclosure or its mechanical striking mechanism initiated by depressing a key. While I’ve been playing hammered dulcimer this past year (often processed with various kinds of electronics), the dulcimer sounds on this recording are sampled, the goal being to access a broader range of dulcimer sounds than my own can produce. 

The other Metheny-influenced idea that seeps into And every fleck of russet is multi-section musical forms that gradually and steadily unfold as if walking through a railroad flat apartment, at times featuring bass lines that move stepwise, sometimes clouding how one might mentally and emotionally process the ambiguous harmonies that result. As multi-sectional works with unusual harmonic movement, tracks five, “Lost World,” and seven, “24 of December,” most directly fit this description. Other, unrelated influences inform additional tracks, for instance track six, “Enmeshed,” which is a playful homage to the spinning motion of the Bach’s C-minor Prelude from the Well Tempered Clavier. Also here, dulcimer sounds make a surprise appearance towards the conclusion of this track, returning us to the theme of “stringy” sounds.

And every fleck of russet was created over a two-year period. I have been recovering from an auto accident that made it impossible for me to sit at a keyboard. For this reason, I spent my musical time composing, playing, and recording while standing up during 20-30-minute intervals. It came as a surprise to me to discover that I had created solid versions of forty minutes of material. This realization suggested the possibility that I had a nearly completed album. I did some re-recording, added a new fifteen-minute piece with a new modular analog synthesizer with an extended keyboard synthesizer solo, and voila, the album was complete. 

The timbre I use for this solo instrument (performed on a Roli Seaboard, an unusual keyboard that looks like a long strip of black foam imprinted with key-like shapes) was influenced in equal measure by Pat Metheny’s Roland guitar synthesizer playing and Robert Fripp’s long-sustained fuzz Gibson Les Paul guitar sound. The timbre is one part cello, one part trumpet, and one part fuzz guitar, and I play it in a manner akin to a cross between a synthesizer ribbon controller and unfretted guitar.

The book project emerged in large part from my experience playing some of Metheny’s repertoire during performances in 2019 and 2020, concluding nine months prior to the auto accident. My set-up for each of these dates was a piano or digital keyboard plus the Roli Seaboard, and I often drew upon the cello-trumpet-fuzz guitar timbre. Thus, my return to this sound on the final track of And every fleck of russet is a reprise of the instrumentation on those gigs (with the addition of the “stringy dulcimer choir,” as I affectionately call it). A few of those Metheny-centered trio sets took place in a wonderful remote studio that easily accommodated pandemic era trio sessions (separate rooms, great ventilation, and wonderful musicians); two were live broadcasts and all were well recorded. One of these will become available during this coming year; it is being mixed right now and I am thrilled with it. You’ll hear more about the recordings and the musicians at a later date!

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