Post-Tonal Harmony Ideas (1)

1. Post-Tonal Harmony

"Post-Tonal" Harmony refers to harmonic practices not based on tonality that emerged since the end of the nineteenth century.

Basically, this includes any variety of atonality, such as free (i.e., non-serial) atonality and serialism, but, at least in my definition, it could also include music based on Messiaen's modes of limited transposition (or other constructed modes), quartal and quintal harmony, bitonality (provided it does not sound like tonality with chord extensions), and even the use of chords borrowed from tonality, but not used in a tonal context. A longer, but by no means comprehensive, list can be found in an earlier blog post I wrote (A Sampling of Post-Tonal Techniques and Ideas for Composition), and there are many on-line sites with information on this topic.

2. Atonal Harmony

"Atonality" which can be thought of as a sub-genre of post-tonality, tends to be defined more narrowly. Here is the opening paragraph of Wikipedia's article on Atonality:

Atonality in its broadest sense is music that lacks a tonal center, or key. Atonality, in this sense, usually describes compositions written from about 1908 to the present day where a hierarchy of pitches focusing on a single, central tone is not used, and the notes of the chromatic scale function independently of one another (Kennedy 1994). More narrowly, the term atonality describes music that does not conform to the system of tonal hierarchies that characterized classical European music between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries (Lansky, Perle, and Headlam 2001). "The repertory of atonal music is characterized by the occurrence of pitches in novel combinations, as well as by the occurrence of familiar pitch combinations in unfamiliar environments" (Forte 1977).

To be clear, my definition of post-tonality is considerably less restrictive than the opening sentences of the Wikipedia article above, which appear to preclude the possibility of pitch-centres in atonal music.

3. Pitch Centricity

The idea of "pitch centricity" – music that is based in some way on a pitch centre – is inherent to tonal and modal music, but many (click this link, and/or Google the term) argue that it is also relatively common in atonal/post-tonal music.

I agree with this, which is why I often encourage students to write some variety of post-tonal music with pitch centres, and to move between different pitch centres within a composition, borrowing from tonality the concept of departure from, and return to, a "home" pitch centre, using various "modulations" along the way. A fellow composer and long-time friend of mine, Omar Daniel (who teaches at Western University), once told me something along the lines of, "one of the biggest problems I see in student compositions is an unwillingness to modulate," by which he meant change pitch centre, not change key. I think.

4. Can Post-Tonal Music use Triadic structures from Tonality?

Quick answer: Yes, it is fine to use harmonies borrowed from tonality (e.g., major, minor, diminished, dominant sevenths, etc.) in post-tonal music, as long as they are removed from their hierarchical/functional context within tonality. Indeed, that is the main topic of today's blog, and if you want to skip ahead for examples of how this can be done, scroll down to #8 below.

If part of our definition of post-tonal harmony is "harmonic practices not based on tonality," it would be useful to understand what we mean by tonality.

5. Tonal Harmony

Tonality refers to a systematic approach to musical composition using major and minor scales, based on:

1. Hierarchical chord-progression practices involving chord functions (e.g. pre-dominant to dominant to tonic class; );
2. Relationships between notes, such as contextual attractions or tendencies (e.g., leading-tone resolution in dominant harmony (^7-^8));
3. Resolutions of perceived instabilities (e.g., chord 7ths, suspensions, and other non-chord tones).

6. Common Chord Progressions Found in Tonal Music; A Chord-Flow Chart

"Hierarchical chord-progression practices" in tonality refers most generally to the chords that establish a key, namely dominant – tonic harmony, and predominant – dominant – tonic harmony. This is the basis of the following chord-flow chart, as found in Tonal Harmony, by Stefan Kostka and Dorothy Payne (McGraw-Hill):

By the way, this is a diatonic version of the chart for major keys, but it is virtually identical in minor keys. Chromatic variants of the above chords usually function as their diatonic versions, so bIII functions as iii, bVII functions as vii°, bVI functions as vi, etc. Also, there are exceptions to this chart found in the music of many composers of tonal music; the chart is a pedagogical tool, meant to represent the chord-flow options that are usually found in tonal music.

7. Does this mean chord progressions that do not follow the above chart are post-tonal?

Not necessarily; V - IV - I is a relatively common pop and blues chord progression that is clearly tonal, and yet V to IV is not available in the chart, and there are other exceptions as well (another common one is bVII - IV - I).

The following progression, in which every chord after the third does not follow the above chart, is clearly tonal. It consists of a descending C-major scale with a first-inversion triad on every note. This is an example of "parallel-sixth chords," wherein passing sonorities are not considered to be functional; the underlying functional harmony would be I6 - V6 - I6:

8. Finally! Some Post-Tonal Options: Combining and Recontextualizing Chords to produce Post-Tonal Sonorities; You won't BELIEVE #3!

As stated previously, my definition of post-tonality is fairly open; harmonic practices that came after tonality and are not tonal can be considered to be post-tonal. This would include post-tonal music that combines triads (or seventh chords, or ninths, etc.) found in tonality in such as way as to produce sonorities that are clearly not tonal and are not used within a tonal context.

Here are some examples; play the audio file below each example to hear what they sound like:

1. This is based on the combined C major and F# major chords (i.e., two major chords whose roots are a tritone apart) found in Stravinsky's Petrushka (1911); I added a three-note figure with two additional pitches (Ab and D) at the end, because I like the sound:

2. This begins with a C7 chord, upon which four additional pitches based on a B° triad are added:

3. The next example starts with a D7 chord that becomes a D9 on the third beat of the bar; a G#m chord with a major seventh and major ninth is superimposed:

• Examples 2 and 3 above, which began with dominant seventh chords, could be used in a tonal context, if the dominants resolved to their expected tonics within tonal music. #2 could therefore resolve to an F chord, and #3 could resolve to a G chord. Try this yourself, if you can access a keyboard, to hear what this would sound like.

• Therefore, in order for the above examples to truly be post-tonal, they should not progress to any chords that could be interpreted as constituting a progression of functional harmony.   

 4. The next example uses quartal harmony, but, instead of stacking a series of perfect fourths on top of one another, which creates a pleasant-but-static quality, I stacked two perfect fourths, then went down by whole tone and stacked two more perfect fourths on that note, then repeated it a third time, finishing with three stacked fourths instead of two. The result is very different than just stacking fourths on top of one another until you run out of notes:

Try superimposing different chord combinations, notating any you like and/or find to be of potential use in your compositions. Feel free to borrow any of the examples above as well. You don't need to limit yourself to chords, either; you can start with a chord and then add to it different notes or scalar passages that happen to sound good, and help recontextualize the chord so that it no longer sounds like a traditional tonal sonority.

9. But Wait! There's More! Tonal Chords Progressing in a Non-Tonal Way

Another way to present tonal chords in a post-tonal context is to create progressions that consistently and deliberately do not follow the above chord-flow chart, and do so in a way that prevents any suggestion of a clear tonic chord and functional harmony. If you try this, you may find that it is a surprisingly difficult task to create a chord progression that doesn't sound "wrong" to your ears.

This may be due to the strongly tonal association each individual chord has, since each individual chord in such a progression is typically major or minor; when recognizable chord-types do not "behave" (i.e., progress) as we expect them to, it can be disconcerting. In the section 8 examples above, where different chords were superimposed, the resulting vertical structures were not traditional tonal chords, and thus created fewer expectations that they "ought" to progress in a tonal way.

– – – – –

Giant Steps is a John Coltrane jazz composition so seminal that its chord progression is known as the "Coltrane changes;" it is required learning for any gigging jazz musician. Although it is tonal, it uses some unexpected chord changes: BMaj7 to D7, GMaj7 to B♭, and E♭Maj7 to F#7; these are somewhat unusual progressions in tonal music, although they are common enough that there is a name for them: Each chord pair forms a chromatic-mediant relationship. Not only that, and this is probably what makes it sound so unusual, but the first chord of each of the chromatic-mediant pairs also forms a chromatic-mediant relationship with the first chord of the next pair, and the same is true for the second chord of each pair as well.

It also uses some very common progressions, notably, several V7-I tonicizations. However, each tonicized chord (G, E♭, and B) is a major third from the next one, which means that together, they outline an augmented triad; this is highly-unusual! It is usually played very quickly, which helps make the augmented triad of tonicized roots even more evident:

Again, Giant Steps is tonal, but you can explore the possibility of using tonal triadic structures (i.e., major, minor, diminished, etc. chords, possibly with chord extensions like 7ths, 9ths, etc.) in a post-tonal context by writing chord progressions that do not follow our chord-flow chart above, taking particular care to avoid any hint of ii - V - I progressions, which are used to establish keys in tonal music. As mentioned above, You may find this a challenging task, but if you do come up with any you'd be willing to share, please do so in the comments section!

Here's one attempt; some of it uses double-chromatic-mediant relationships (two triads a third apart with no notes in common), some uses chromatic-mediant relationships (two triads a third apart with one note in common), and there are some non-tertian root movements as well. To my ears, it succeeds in avoiding being tonal (at least in any obvious way), but does it succeed as a musically-useful chord progression?

10. And That's Not All!

While this last approach above can produce useful results, I find that a much more satisfying and rewarding approach is to write a progression of non-tonal harmonies, each of which would be the result of sitting at a piano and just trying different harmonic sonorities until you find one you like or consider to be useful, and repeating this until you have perhaps 12-16 chords. If you'd like learn more about this approach, it is described in greater detail in this blog post: Project 1: Writing an Atonal Theme and Variations. In my experience as a teacher, it has produced some of the best work I have heard from early-stage composition students.

One of the keys to growth and improvement as a composer is to be willing to try new things; I encourage you to experiment with these approaches and many others.

Judge Me By My Composition, Do You? (Part Two)

In my earlier post on this topic, I discussed judgement in general, and specific ways in which this can be applied to music.  In today's post, I will write about the challenges in evaluating compositions, and suggest twenty-one aspects to consider when evaluating a new work.  In my next blog, I will look at the the three ways, or "planes," of listening to music proposed by Aaron Copland in "What to Listen for in Music" (1957).   At a later date, I will continue this series by writing a blog on judgement in composition competitions, and in the academic setting.

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The subtitle for today's entry could be, "It Takes a Village," because it is about something that can be extremely valuable in the creative process:  Seeking feedback from others, and giving feedback to others.  Just as in the African proverb, "It takes a village to raise a child," it also takes a village to develop a composer.  We don't become good composers on our own.

One way in which this is manifested in our composition classes is that everyone is encouraged to comment on others' weekly presentations.  Evaluating a composition we are hearing for the first time can be challenging; it can be difficult to sort out our reaction to the work, and even more difficult to know what to say about it.  When students play in-progress works for each other in our composition class, we sometimes struggle to come up with comments that are constructive, insightful, and honest.

Perhaps because they make us feel good, the easiest comments to make are positive ones, such as:

• "That was great!"
• "I really like it!"
• "I really like the [rhythmic freedom, text setting, harmonic language, colour, use of space, etc.]!"

There is value in all of these in that they are supportive and encouraging, both of which can help motivate the recipient to continue composing. This is a good thing, because whatever your level as a composer, you are likely to improve by sticking with it.

However, the last comment above is the most helpful because it is the most specific. It is heartening to get positive feedback, but a composer usually wants to know how to make their compositions better; honest reactions from others are essential in achieving this.

More difficult to articulate are comments that might be seen as being negative.  Most of us would prefer to avoid being confrontational with others (unless, of course, they cut us off in traffic!), but what do we say if we don't like, or don't react well, to sections within the composition, or even the entire composition?  

My suggestions are to (i) find something positive to say if you can, but (ii) be truthful about what didn't work for you, or what you found confusing. You don't necessarily need to know how to fix a problem, or even exactly what the problem is, in order to comment on it. However, if you can, (iii) try to be specific; below is a list of twenty ways to do this, and they don't just apply to evaluating others' works; ask them about your own compositions as well:

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21 Things to Consider when Evaluating a Composition (in progress, or completed)

1. Are there aspects that could be better notated such as note spellings, rhythms, etc.?  This can be a good starting point for a critique, because it is seen as being a more objective area on which to comment, which makes it a "safer" starting point than critical subjective comments (such as, "okay, I gotta be honest here, bars 20 to 120 make absolutely no sense to me! NONE! ZERO!!! What the hell were you thinking there?"). But even notation issues can involve some subjectivity; when it comes to enharmonic spellings, for example, some choices are clearly more logical than others, but there are times when what is more logical to one person is less-so to another. But, for the most part, notation aspects are indeed more objective than compositional quality aspects.
2. How is the opening? Does the opening grab your attention, or does it draw you in more gradually?  Either way can work, but if neither occurs, you may need to rethink your opening.
3. Does an idea/section go on too long, or not long enough?  The latter is fairly common in works by inexperienced composers.
4. Are there too many ideas? Too many ideas, like information overload, can overwhelm the listener. If you use a limited number of ideas and grow at least some of them in various ways, the listener may be more drawn into the music. 
5. Are musical ideas heard once and then abandoned? This is related to the previous point — chances are that if there are too many ideas, some are heard only once — but theoretically, a composition with only a few themes could present some of them once. Either way, it's generally a good idea to organize your musical architecture so that main musical ideas are heard again in some form (e.g., exact or varied repetitions; motivic development and/or transformation of the theme). That said, not every idea needs to be heard more than once… A composition can seem pedestrian if every theme is repeated, varied, developed, etc., in some way.
6. Which are the important ideas? How does the music convey this to the listener?
7. Do the musical ideas seem unrelated?  Not all thematic material in music needs to be overtly related — contrasting ideas are also welcome — but one of the fundamental organizing principles of classical music composition over the past millennium has been the presence of some degree of organic unity.
8. Does it have a mixture of stability and instability?  Longer-form classical works have sections that are harmonically stable (such as thematic presentations), as well as other sections that are less stable (such as transitions, and development). Instability creates tension, and stability can provide a resolution of that tension; both are important elements in music.
9. Are some sections seemingly "stuck" around one particular pitch? Could it benefit from a "modulation" at some point? Modulation in non-tonal music may seem like a strange idea (how can you change key if you're not in a key?), but it can be achieved by establishing a "home" pitch class (e.g., D), then moving away from it to establish new (and probably temporary) "home" pitch classes (e.g., Bb, Ab, etc.).
10. How are cadences created?  Are they effective?  Do they sound out of place, perhaps because they are borrowed from traditional tonal cadence formulas? Cadences in tonal music have varying degrees of strength in terms of the closure of thematic ideas; how do we create varying degrees of strength in post-tonal cadences?
11. Does it have artistic integrity?  This is difficult to define, but it is something we tend to recognize when we hear it… Perhaps I will post a blog entry about this at some future point.
12. Is it too predictable? Or is it so unpredictable that you find it confusing? Or does the balance between predictability and unpredictability seem just right? If so, is does it always feel "just right?" Or are there parts where things feel overly predictable?
13. Related to the previous point, when ideas are repeated, are they varied in any way?  "Copy and paste" capabilities in computer music notation software make it easy to repeat material, but consider varying repeated material as well. Too much exact repetition becomes too predictable, and this can lose the listener's interest; little (or big) changes to repeated material may surprise the listener, and maintain or increase interest level. 
14. Does the texture ever change? Does it change too much, or not enough?  
15. Is the texture too busy? If so, it can be hard for the listener to know what the relative importance of different lines is?  Always be clear on the hierarchy of your musical materials.  What line is most important? What elements have a background, or middle-ground role?  If our main melodic idea is covered up by the other instruments, the listener may not be able to focus on it. Alternatively, you may wish to write a piece in which texture itself is the focus; no single line is meant to be most prominent, just the entire texture as gestalt. Well-known examples of this include Ligeti's Atmosphères, and Penderecki's Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima; this approach is sometimes called "sound mass" composition.  Whichever approach you take should be clear to the listener.
16. Is there a clear climax? Does it arrive too early or late?
17. Does it have an identifiable musical character, within sections or overall? Is the musical character consistent within sections? Does it evolve in an effective way, or do mood changes seem disconnected/unrelated? Sometimes we may write very fine musical ideas that are not connected in any way to the rest of the composition; perhaps they would fit better in a different composition, or different movement?
18. Does it sound too much like the musical style of someone else? This is a tricky issue; I have written blogs on originality, the gist of which is that originality is important in art, but not as important as many tend to assume. See links below for more on this. Also, imitating a composer or compositional practice is a time-honoured way of developing craft. If you are going to imitate someone's style or technique, however, all I suggest is that you (a) be aware that you are doing it, (b) acknowledge it in some way, and (c) try to find a way to put your own spin on it, which is where originality comes in.
19. Does it have all necessary score details (tempo indication, dynamics, articulations, phrasing slurs, breathing slurs, bowing slurs, pedal markings, percussion identification chart, percussion beater indications)?  Do they make musical sense?  Don't put these into the score last, after the piece is otherwise complete; better to put them in as you go, taking your time with them, Doing otherwise causes us to rush through this process, often resulting in score details that make little sense, or are inconsistent, or applied in some sections but not in others.
20. Does the score communicate the composer's intentions clearly, or are there confusing or ambiguous aspects?  Many composers have had the experience of writing instructions on the score that we thought would be clear to the performer(s), only to find out that they are not, and the performer interprets our score in a way we had not foreseen, and in a way we do not like. In a professional situation, where performers are paid by the hour, clarifying your instructions/intentions can be expensive, which in turn can lead to the organization that programmed your music being disinclined to programme it again in the future (unless you become a celebrity, which in our society allows you to get away with bad behaviour!). It can also cause performers to lose confidence in you as a composer ("I have no idea what this composer wants here!  S/he clearly has no idea of what they are doing!").  Sad to say, this is an attitude most composers have probably encountered and have had to overcome at some point in their careers.
21. Is it written idiomatically, meaning does it sit well for the instrument(s) or voice(s) used in the score?  A passage may be idiomatic but still difficult; if it is difficult, is there a good reason for it? Most good performers do not shy away from learning difficult passages, but they can become frustrated if they spend a lot of time working on a passage, only to learn at the first rehearsal that their part is buried in the middle of a thick texture that no one can hear.

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Sometimes we have difficulty articulating a criticism in a focussed way. We may need to hear the piece again (and again) in order to formulate a well-articulated suggestion. But if this isn't possible — and in our composition class it often isn't, because there are many students' works we need to listen to every class — then you could say something like, "around the top of page two, there was something that I wasn't sure about, but I'm not exactly sure what it was… Do you know what I mean?"  If the answer is no, perhaps someone else from the class will jump in and say, "yeah, I wondered about that too; I think it may be that the mood suddenly changes there," or some similar, more specific comment. This occurs a lot in our class, in my experience.

If you have a constructive critique to make — meaning a specific concern, idea, or reaction to the music — take comfort in knowing that the recipient (a) is probably, like you, hoping to hear honest reactions to their music, and (b) does not need to act on any of the opinions expressed about their music; you are just suggesting things for them to think about, some of which may help make their composition stronger.

When receiving feedback, try to:

1. Understand it. If you do not, feel free to say, "I'm not sure I understand; could you clarify?" Or, "Do you mean the top of page 2? I wasn't sure about that section either, but didn't know what to do there." Or, "You are suggesting I burn my score and take up something useful in life, such as a training programme to become a WallMart greeter (or Costco shopping-cart wrangler, or elevator operator in an ancient building that still uses such people, etc.). Is that about it?" This last one works particularly well with a touch of frost in your voice.
2. Communicate that you welcome feedback. On rare occasions in the past, a student has responded to comments in what seemed like a defensive way (or they have not responded at all; no acknowledgement, no disagreement, and no indication that the comment was heard, let alone understood… basically, non-response as a form of passive aggression; read all about it here), which has created an awkward atmosphere that quickly shut the door to further comments from classmates.
3. Take notes on the suggestions.  Sometimes a comment can seem rather lame at the time, but later, upon further reflection, it might begin to make more sense… Try to keep track of all comments made, both as a way of acknowledging them (which shows your willingness to hear what others have to say), and as a way of acting on them later if you so choose.
4. Feel free to disagree. All that is asked of you is that you understand and consider what others have to say, but there is no expectation that you will necessarily agree with their comments.  Here's an example:  "I agree that this opening idea is very short, and that we don't hear it again, but my plan is to come back to it later and extend it into a much bigger section." Or, "yes, the texture is very busy and confused, but my plan is to gradually make it clearer in this next section." Or even, "But there is a musical climax! It's here!" (while gesticulating wildly in the general direction of its location on your score). However, know that disagreeing too much can come across as defensiveness on your part, which in turn can discourage others from sharing honest reactions to your music with you. Always remember that it takes more courage to make a constructively-critical comment than it does to make a non-specific, "that was GREAT" kind of comment, and try to encourage others to be completely honest in expressing their reactions to your music; if you are seen as being defensive, you are unlikely to get many honest reactions to your music that could help you make it better.

One of the qualities that I believe is shared by all great or good composers is having the courage of one's convictions; there may be times when others don't see/hear things the way we do, but it doesn't necessarily mean they are right and we are wrong, or vice-versa. One of the things we learn as we develop as composers is to have confidence in the value of our ideas, but I don't know if you ever reach a point where you don't welcome and consider feedback from others.

There is a fine line between having the courage of one's convictions, and being so stubborn that you signal an unwillingness to consider opinions that are counter to your own.

If we receive feedback in the spirit in which it is given, it can help us to improve our music.

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I'm evidently repeating myself; here's what I wrote on this topic quite a while ago (my second-ever blog entry, in fact!):

Invite criticism from others.  

 • While it is true that most of us need occasional encouragement in order to go on, we also need honest and constructive feedback from others if we are to grow as artists. The reason for this is that the creation of art is an inherently subjective process, but art itself generally has a communicative (or at least affective) function; in order to learn what effect our art has on others, we need people to tell us their thoughts and reactions to it. Invite criticism from friends and family, of course, but also from people you do not know as well — It is sometimes easier for a stranger to be honest with you than a friend. (Why is that?)

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→ Links to Blogs on Originality and Art ←

Originality and Quality of Initial Musical Ideas

How Important is Originality in Art?

Is Originality a Detriment in Art?

Originality — Does it have Any Role in Art?

(Somewhat) Related:  Group Composition Lessons; Pros and Cons

Writing for Piano

  How do you write idiomatically for piano? Non-pianists often find it a challenge to write well for the piano, and even experienced pianists can struggle with this. Here are some considerations that may help:

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You don't need to be a Good Pianist in order to write Good Piano Music

    Virtually all the "great" (and even "pretty great") composers from Bach forward were also known as excellent keyboard performers; when they wrote for keyboard instruments, they really knew what they were doing!  

   However, it is not necessary to be able to perform well on an instrument in order to write well for it.  While most of the great composers were excellent keyboardists, they also wrote well for all the instruments in an orchestra, many of which they likely could not play well (or even at all).  The ability to play an instrument can be a great asset in learning to write idiomatically for that instrument, but it is not essential. Ravel and Ligetti are cited below as composers who were not virtuoso pianists, but who wrote extremely well for piano.

   That said, I recommend that anyone wishing to become a better composer develop at least some piano proficiency. It can give you a better intuitive understanding of how to write idiomatic piano music, and it is one of the two most useful instruments on which to compose any type of music, including orchestral; the other is the computer, but computer notation programmes do not, by themselves, give you a sense of how to write idiomatically for instruments, ensembles, and voices.

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Mind the Gap!

   When writing chords (solid or broken), take into account that (i) the gap between thumb and index finger on each hand is wider than the gap between the remaining fingers, and (ii) the left and right hands mirror each other (so the gap in the LH is on the right, and vice-versa in the RH).

Aerial view of typical piano right-hand position: Note the gap between thumb and index finger.
 Note also the Day-Glo red fingernails, facilitating the location of wayward fingers under poor lighting conditions:

Shrewd readers will have noticed this thumb-to-index-finger gap already, perhaps at a very early stage of development (!), and may be asking, "So what?"

Well, okay then! Here you go:

→ A chord with adjacent notes to be played by thumb and index fingers (such as the first chord below) is difficult to play if there is also a wide gap between the index and little fingers.  Not necessarily impossible, just more difficult.  It may be that the sonority you want can only be achieved by writing an awkwardly-spaced chord like this; that may be fine, but be aware that writing lots of awkwardly-spaced chords is likely to be seen by pianists to be unidiomatic, and may cause them to be less inclined to perform it.

The first chord in the examples below is awkward, or even impossible for some pianists; try playing it (but don't try too hard, lest you hurt yourself!) to see why it is problematic.

In the second example, the gap between the thumb (1) and index (2) fingers makes playing this chord relatively easy if the performer's hand can span a 9th, but performers with smaller hands would find the stretch difficult.

The third example below demonstrates a trick that can sometimes be used to circumvent this challenge: The pianist can play two adjacent notes with the thumb, as long as they are both white notes, or both black notes. This works for solid chords, but not for arpeggiations, and can be indicated by a vertical square bracket adjacent to the notes to be played by the thumb, along with the fingering.

Try playing these yourself at a piano — they are all for the right hand — to get a feel for the relative ease or difficulty of each hand position. Also, remember that while these examples are all solid (i.e., non-broken) chords, the same principle applies to arpeggiated chords as well:

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Full Spectrum Available! (except where prohibited by law)

   There are 88 keys on the piano, but only 39 of them are between the F at the bottom of the bass clef and the G♯ at the top of the treble clef; if you limit yourself to the notes found on the treble and bass clefs, you use only 44% of the available notes on the piano.

   Try playing sonorities (chords, melodies, arpeggios, etc.) you write in all registers (on an acoustic piano, if possible) before deciding on the register that works best. Use 8^va and 15^ma indications above or below the grand staff as needed. [8^va above a staff = 8^ve higher; 8^va below a staff = 8^ve lower.] Do not automatically default to using only those notes that can be notated in the treble and bass clefs.
   Besides the standard, "LH in bass clef and RH in treble clef," consider each of these options:

1. Both hands in the treble clef, possibly using 8^va and 15^ma indications for the right hand (RH; see first example below), or, if you are going to be staying in an extremely high register for more than a few bars, using an "ottava" treble clef (treble clef with an "8" above it, which indicates that pitches should be played an octave higher), or even a "quintima" treble clef (15 above the treble clef, which sounds two octaves higher);
2. Both hands in the bass clef, possibly with similar 8^va/15^ma indications/clef adjustments below the left hand (LH) to sound an octave or even fifteenth lower;
3. Hands spaced very widely apart, at the extremes of the keyboard;
4. Hands very close together, perhaps one physically on top of one the other;
5. Crossed hands; LH playing higher notes, RH playing lower notes.
6. Hand-over-hand; long arpeggio or scalar pattern starting at one end of the keyboard and continuing to the other end, with each hand taking turns playing the notes.

   Here are examples of the above that I made up; play them, and see if they give you any ideas for your own compositions:

   All six examples are in the audio clip below, separated by a second or two of silence; the first has an extra bar not visible above:

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Texture and Patterns

   Decide on a music texture, and try to keep it consistent for the duration of a section or even an entire piece if writing a short composition (e.g., 1-2 pages). Longer compositions are likely to have multiple texture changes, but shorter pieces tend to be relatively consistent in terms of texture (e.g., Bartok: Mikrokosmos).

   The choice of texture is of course up to you (every choice you make in composition is up to you!) but one way to make an informed choice would be to look at textures in a variety of piano scores, and borrow/commandeer ones you like.

   Try to avoid getting so caught up in studying scores that you get overwhelmed, however; if you want to buy a pen, and go into a store with a thousand to choose from, your decision would be considerably more difficult than if you went into a store with only three pens. Confucius probably said something like this.  If not him, then perhaps another wise person, such as Yogi Berra, or Groucho Marx.

     Patterns are commonly found in much piano music, particularly in the left hand. Examples include various forms of the Alberti bass (repetitive-pattern broken chord figures), left hand chordal patterns in waltzes (boom - chuck - chuck ...), various arpeggio figures such as the ones used in the C-major or C-minor preludes in book 1 of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, or the considerably more demanding arpeggiation figures in the C major Etude from Chopin's collection (here's a link to a performance on YouTube).  See these patterns and others in the music examples below.

This is not to suggest that patterns must be used in your music, but be aware that idiomatic patterns are easy for muscle memory to retain, grasp, and execute. This is true for any instrument, and for the voice as well.

   Frequent pattern changes can be more challenging to perform than occasional ones, simply because there is more for the brain to process in a given time period. However, music in which a given pattern continues for too long can sound predictable and monotonous. It is presumably for this reason that the left hand, Alberti bass pattern in Mozart's famous Sonata "facile" in C major, K. 545 (see opening bars below), is used in the four bars and then it breaks off, not used for another twenty bars, at which point it returns only briefly.

   On the other hand, several of the preludes from Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier continue repeating a single pattern of the opening bar for almost the entire piece (e.g., C major, C minor, D Major from book 1), and then there's pattern-based minimalism, in which repetitive patterns are at the core, although subtle shifts tend to occur that can sustain interest. Clearly, a listener's sense as to how long is too long for pattern repetition depends on context, and what is going on musically.  In the case of the cited Bach preludes, the harmonic progressions sustain our interest throughout the course of these works.

   In my experience, early-stage student composers can struggle with this issue, either changing patterns too frequently and for reasons that seem inconsistent with musical logic (such as changing an accompaniment pattern twice in a relatively short phrase), or repeating the pattern for too long, and then changing it unexpectedly and illogically. 

   To summarize, patterns are used frequently in piano music, especially as accompaniments, and it is useful for composers to be aware of this. We also need to be aware of inherent challenges in performing the music we write; frequent pattern changes, or awkward, unidiomatic patterns can make music difficult to play, and can convey less musical logic to listeners. Depending on the challenge, and whether the performer understands the logic behind it or not, writing challenging music can sometimes have negative consequences, such as flawed performances, a performer's loss of confidence in the competency of a composer, a reluctance to perform the work at all, and outright hostility. And yes, I speak from experience…

   On the other hand, most performers I have known have had no objection to performing challenging music if they understood the musical logic behind the challenges, and the writing was idiomatic. 

  

Various Patterns and Textures in Bach, Mozart, and Chopin

Bach: WTC I, Prelude 1                                   Bach: WTC I, Prelude 2

Mozart: K. 545, I                             Mozart: K. 310, III

Mozart: K. 570, II

Mozart, K. 332, I

Mozart, K. 467, II

Chopin: Etude, op. 10, no. 1

Chopin: Nocturne, op. 9, no. 2

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Establishing a Kinesthetic Connection. With the Universe Piano.

   Although you do not have to play piano well in order to write well for it, establishing a kinesthetic (i.e., tactile) connection with the piano can help you to develop a better feel for writing idiomatic piano music.

   Write a few bars of piano music, then go to the piano and see how it feels to play it. This is a kinesthetic exercise, the point of which is to develop some tactile connection between the music you write and the way it feels to play it on the piano.  If you are a non-pianist and are perhaps reacting to this suggestion with sudden-onset apoplexy, don't concern yourself too much if/when you play wrong notes (unless they are off by an octave or more... then you may wish to worry); the goal is to find out how it feels to perform your music, not to find out how your music sounds.  A good pianist is likely to play the right notes.  Think of yourself as an actor in a movie playing the part of a pianist; the actor just has to pretend to play the piano and move his/her hands accordingly, while the actual sound would be overdubbed later, performed by a competent professional.  Hopefully.

   Or, do the opposite: Compose a few bars at the piano, then enter the music on your computer or write it down, evaluating your musical fragment as you do.  How many motives are there? Are they related?  How can this idea be expanded? Work on these things for a while away from the piano, and then return to the piano to hear how your added bits sound/feel.

   Either way, the point is to try out your music at the piano.  Don't rely solely on your notation programme's playback function as you compose, because it won't give you a feel for the music; it can play passages without hesitation that sound great to your ears, but which are extremely impractical or even impossible for a performer.

   I also recommend doing this kinesthetic exercise with very challenging music by the great composers (e.g., Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Debussy, Bartok, etc.); simply attempting to perform a bar here, a bar there, will give you a sense of what is possible in terms of idiomatic writing for piano.

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On Attempting to "Out-Shred" Liszt and Rachmaninoff

   "Shredding" refers to impressively fast, loud, and flashy playing of an instrument, usually guitar. But you can apply the concept to piano as well; Liszt did!

   Attempting to outdo or emulate the great romantic composers in writing works of spectacular, showy virtuosity may not be wise in the early stages of compositional training. There is much to be said for simplicity: "Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler" (attributed to Einstein, but many people have articulated a similar sentiment, notably the 14th-century philosopher and theologian, Ockham, and possibly Yogi Berra as well).

   I do not mean to suggest that one should never write showy, flashy compositions — highly-skilled performers like to show off (there's a sweeping statement!), and showy, flashy compositions allow them to do this. 

   However, most composers associated with this type of music (e.g., Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Albéniz, Brahms, Prokofiev, etc.) were themselves spectacularly-accomplished piano virtuosi, and as such, they understood the capabilities of the instrument better than most non-pianists and pianists alike. If you are reading this blog post because you wish to improve your ability to write idiomatically for the piano, then perhaps trying to beat Liszt and Rachmaninoff at their own game (i.e. write showier, flashier music than they did) may not be a very practical way to do this.

   There are, as every composer knows (and embraces!), exceptions to every rule or sweeping statement, of course. Maurice Ravel was one of the greatest composers of piano music that ever lived, but he evidently did not consider himself sufficiently skilled to perform his more challenging compositions, and he is described as merely a "competent pianist" in Wikipedia (Wikipedia: Maurice Ravel, retrieved 18 Jan. 2014). György Ligeti (28 May 1923–12 June 2006) has said he never became a "good pianist" because he did not begin piano lessons until he was 14, and yet he has written some impressively-virtuosic piano music, such as his three volumes of Etudes, and his Piano Concerto. Here's an example:

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L.H. and/or R.H. Octaves; For what purpose?

   Although it is possible to play many bass lines in octaves if the notes don't move too fast, don't make that your default approach to writing for the left hand (or the right hand, for that matter); the ear can tire of constant octaves pretty quickly. One or both hands playing in octaves can be an effective way to bring out a melodic line, and/or create more sound volume than would otherwise be the case, but octaves are likely to be more effective if used sparingly, perhaps saved for a particularly dramatic section, as in the two examples above in which left-hand octaves are used (Mozart, K. 332, bar 157, and Chopin, Etude, op. 10, no. 1).

   If you wish to double a melodic line in octaves, consider having each hand play the melody two (or more) octaves apart (as in #5 below); the effect is quite different than a line doubled one octave higher or lower, and it (i.e., #5) is also easier to play than having all the octaves in one hand.

   Below is a one-bar passage, mostly in 16th-notes, played at a relatively quick tempo, in eight different versions (discussion to follow):

Recordings of the above examples:

   The initial passage in the left hand is, by itself, fairly challenging, because it moves quickly (8 notes per second) and doesn't follow a pattern. If it were a rapid chord arpeggiation, pianists would find it less challenging because they typically practice arpeggiation patterns that span multiple octaves; you see this sort of thing in piano concertos frequently. Check out the start of Beethoven's Emperor Concerto to see what I mean.

   Although #1 is not an easy passage, a good pianist should be able to play it cleanly in each hand with a little practice.

   If you ask the pianist to play the left hand in octaves (as in #3 above), the difficulty level increases significantly. There are undoubtedly pianists who could play #3 cleanly in one hand at this speed, but (a) it would likely require a tremendous amount of practice, (b) it possibly would not be played cleanly every time, (c) the pianist would probably play it with staccato articulations on many 16th-note in order to get through it in tempo, and (d) it seems likely to be intimidating and discouraging to many pianists.

   If you give octaves to each hand (#8), you have just upped the difficulty level another few notches, which is bordering on insanity!

   Regarding examples 3 and 8 above, students have occasionally told me that a particularly challenging or awkward passage they have written is playable by someone they know, so there is no need to change it. This may be true, but if a passage seems likely to be extraordinarily difficult for most pianists, the question becomes, is it worth it? Examples 5, 6, and 7 sound quite similar to example 8, but they are less challenging for the performer (although they too are not easy); is the relatively small difference in sound worth asking the pianist to put so much work into it, and the risk that it will not be performed cleanly?

   I would not write anything like #8, UNLESS the pianist had expressed a desire for an extraordinarily challenging score, AND I showed them the passage was told they could play it, AND I listened to them playing it and liked it.

   There are other options: You could add selective octave doubling within each hand if it does not add significantly to the difficulty level, like this:

  #9 might be pushing the limits of what is reasonable to ask of a pianist, but it's worth trying if you want a somewhat-bigger sound than #7, and if you show it to a pianist to get their take on it.

   Another option involves octave displacements between LH and RH; this works well, but bear in mind that, at least in this example, the pitch changes are twice as slow as in previous examples, although the surface-level 16^th-note activity remains the same:

    Always have a good reason for writing a passage in octaves. The main justifications for such a passage are (a) you want the big sound that octaves can give you, or (b) you like the colour (including the colour of octaves played quietly). If you want octaves for their colour, also consider both hands playing the passage one, two, three (or more if feasible) octaves apart; each of these options produces a slightly-different colour.

Having each hand play octaves simultaneously, as in #8, is entirely feasible if the notes are moving less quickly, or if the notes are following a familiar pattern for the pianist, like an ascending chromatic scale, for example. 

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Pedal Power

   Consider the pedals. Or, more precisely, consider what they do, and how they differ. Once you are done considering them, consider writing piano pieces that use the two pedals that hardly ever get used: Una corda, and Sostenuto.

   There are three pedals on most grand pianos and many uprights, yet most composers only ever require (or at least politely ask) the pianist to use one. This need not be the case, although it is of course fine if you only use the sustain (also called "damper," which seems counter-intuitive since it lifts the dampers from the strings, as opposed to dampening them) pedal, or no pedal at all.  But no matter what pedals you use, make sure you indicate your intentions in the score.

   Here are the three pedals, and what they do on a grand piano:




1.    Una corda, or "soft" pedal (on the far left).  Its function is, as you might guess, to soften the sound, but bear in mind that it also changes the tone colour slightly.  A chord played using the soft pedal can sound just as loud as a chord played without it (if you play the una corda chord more forcefully to compensate for the effect of the soft pedal), but the timbre will be slightly different. 
   
   
      Una corda, by the way, means "one string" in Italian; on a grand piano, depressing this pedal will shift all hammers slightly so that only one string is struck, producing less sound than when all strings (two or three, depending on the register) are struck, which is what normally occurs when you play a note on piano. 
   
   
      If you have not spent much time looking inside a piano to see what happens when a note is played, or when the una corda pedal is depressed, give it a try next time you have the opportunity! It's very interesting. The score indication for this pedal is: una corda, or U.C., followed by tutti le corde, or tre corde, or even _* to release the pedal.


2.    Sostenuto pedal (the middle pedal on most grands), described in Wikipedia as "the least used pedal of the three on the piano." This makes it sound a bit like the poor cousin of the pedal family, but it can produce very attractive resonance effects, and can be a useful device for contemporary composers. 
   
   
   What it does, and how it works:  It causes the piano to sustain only selected notes, while continuing to dampen others. If you (a) depress any number of piano notes, (b) depress the sostenuto pedal, then (c) release those notes but keep the sostenuto pedal down, those notes will continue to ring, although other notes will not.  The sostenuto pedal sustains only the notes that are sounding at the point the pedal is depressed, as well as the overtones of those notes.
   
   
      Its ability to produce selective resonances can create interesting sound effects.  If you silently depress several notes that are in the harmonic series of another pitch and then depress the sostenuto pedal, when you play the fundamental staccato, and fairly loud, to be effective, we hear the attacked staccato fundamental, which is dampened immediately, followed by ringing harmonics of that note. Or, you could do the opposite, as in the example below in which fundamentals are depressed silently in a low register, while overtones are articulated forcefully in a higher register. 
   
   
      As with any sound effect, overuse may reduce its impact, but, if you like this idea, consider finding interesting ways to use it as the basis a piece, perhaps a study.  If you want piano notes to be depressed silently, make sure you give the pianist sufficient time to to this; try this yourself at a piano to get a feel for the time required.
   
   
      Most uprights do not have this feature.  Instead, many have a middle pedal that dampens the sound in a much more pronounced way than the regular una corda pedal (which itself can produce an interesting effect).  To create a sostenuto pedal effect on an upright, you can silently depress notes in one hand and keep them depressed while you play other notes in the other hand; the example below can be played this way.
   
   
      The score indication for the sostenuto pedal is: "Sost. Ped." followed by _* to release it, and composers usually indicate the notes to be sustained with nonstandard note-heads, such as diamond shapes: 
   
   
   



3.    Damper, or "sustain" pedal.  This is the default/standard pedal; it lifts all dampers from the piano strings, causing them to continue sounding while hands are removed from the keys (which would otherwise result in dampers being lowered onto the strings, killing the sound). This is the pedal to which "ped." indications refer, followed by _* to release it. You can also use line/bracket indicators for this pedal:  ________^_________^_______|


   Even if you use only the damper pedal in your compositions, I recommend indicating in your scores as clearly as possible where you want it used, and where it is to be lifted.  I used to do this inconsistently, thinking that pianists would probably prefer to make their own judgements as to when to use the pedal. While this may be true of many pianists, it resulted in lots of questions from performers about my intentions regarding pedal use, and writing scores that cause performers to request clarity on what we want is an inadvisable practice for composers. I therefore try to be as specific as possible now, but I also usually let pianists know that they are free to use their own judgement regarding modifying my pedal indications.

Another use of the damper pedal is to provide sympathetic resonance to notes played on other instruments, somewhat similar to the sostenuto pedal. If the damper pedal is depressed and loud notes are played by other instruments or sung, you should be able to hear the resonance of these notes in the piano.  The instruction, "play into piano" is sometimes used to achieve this effect.

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  The texture discussion above on the challenge of finding a balance between too much repetition with too little, which is something that I have written about in other posts, if you still have a pulse and wish to check them out:

• The Ross (née Heisenberg) Uncertainty Principle
• Two musical dichotomies: Familiar vs. Unfamiliar, and Expected vs. Unexpected
• More musical dichotomies