(Original posted on June 26, 2000)
Although the title doesn’t suggest a book about music, this work by Kunihiko Yamashita encompasses his previous writings and is filled with reflections and insights, making for a very rewarding read. If forced to categorize it, this book wouldn’t be a music theory or composition technique manual (though it can certainly withstand such readings), but rather “music criticism.”
To elaborate, it could be described as a record (a documentary) of the author’s activity in trying to capture, understand, and give meaning to “his own musical sensibility” through criticism of artists he has primarily engaged with, such as “Keith Jarrett,” “The Beatles,” “Ryuichi Sakamoto,” “Chick Corea,” “Mr. Children,” and “Tetsuya Komuro.” As such, it’s self-evident that merely following the text and understanding the logic is not enough.
For those who compose with even a somewhat reflective attitude, this book can be a proposal for bringing to light the values of their “own sensory experiences.” You might think, “Ah, so there’s this way of looking at ‘a certain sound that feels good for reasons I don’t quite understand’.”
Furthermore, it describes things that many practice but are rarely written about in any book (for example, the framework of fourth intervals in a melody and the sense of distance and difference from the background harmony (in a broad sense); in common terms, the meaning of the relationship between pentatonic melodies and harmony). This also brings a sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted from one’s chest.
Anyone who has analyzed another’s music will understand that in analyses based on common tonality, one can encounter ambiguities, such as whether to view a certain non-diatonic chord as a borrowed chord or a temporary modulation. These are often things you wouldn’t know without asking the composer, and even the composer might not always be conscious of them. What if the reason was simply “because it felt good”?
Moreover, if “a note appearing in the melody was a so-called ‘avoid note’,” have you ever felt “analytically dissatisfied,” caught between the “good feeling” you experienced and the theory of avoid notes? To be frank, I think one has no choice but to silently trust the feeling of “good,” but sadly, for the “desire to understand and find meaning,” that’s not enough to be convinced. It seems the author has also spent many years trying to satisfy such a “desire.”
So, what kind of perspective has the author gained? I want you to “experience” the details through the book itself, so I’ll avoid going too deep into the content, but the key points, as indicated by the title, are “Ellipse” and “Skeleton.”
The exchange and fusion of the sound worlds of “movable do” and “movable la.” The author seems to use “ellipse” to refer to the relationship he discovered by re-examining the connection between “do” and “la,” which he had previously thought he understood simply through terms like “relative key” and “parallel key.”
And then, by focusing anew on “song,” he finds meaning in the framework (skeleton) of song, specifically the fourth interval (which the author calls “memory of the voice”). (Note: this idea is attributed to the late Minao Shibata).
The strong center possessed by a song, and the center possessed by the harmony that supports it. In the gap between them lies a “pleasant sound” that cannot be seen from the perspectives of functional harmony or modality alone, and the “skeleton (the fourth interval as memory of the voice)” is effective for capturing it.
In the first place, I believe it can be said that songs, as seen in Japanese traditional children’s songs (warabe-uta) and Hungarian folk songs, inherently possess a strong center. Therefore, it’s an understandable idea that people from such cultures have their own “what makes a song naturally a song.” It seems this is what he calls the “skeleton (the fourth interval as memory of the voice).”
The author has also long shown interest in “blues” and even proposed the concept of “meta-blues” in his book “The Music of Chick Corea” (1995, Ongaku No Tomo Sha Corp.). It seems that “Ellipse and Skeleton” is the result of re-examining this “meta-blues (which at that point was only from the ‘movable do’ perspective)” from the ‘movable la’ perspective and thoroughly pursuing the newly discovered relationship with “song.” Therefore, discussions of blues also feature prominently in this book.
However, “blues” here does not refer to a specific music genre. The author defines “blues” as the feeling one gets from the “pleasant sound (chord changes)” itself when hearing blues music (this is detailed in his book “The Music of Chick Corea”). That’s why you’ll often see expressions like “I feel the blues in this part.”
Incidentally, his book “The Music of Chick Corea” is considered a culmination in proposing a “grammar of timbral change موتيفيated by modes (modality).” It clearly expresses the author’s desire, before becoming aware of “song (memory of the voice),” that “various fascinating ‘pleasant sounds’ could be grasped by what might be called this ‘super-modalism’ (or hyper-modalism).” If you’re interested, please give this a read as well.
Now, I have also read Mr. Yamashita’s “Ryuichi Sakamoto: A Musical History” (1993, Ohta Publishing), and I believe what is consistent throughout is the “desire to understand and find meaning.” There’s an almost obsessive quality to his stance of pursuing and trying to give meaning to sounds that “feel good to the author.”
The author’s words, “Whether it was Ryuichi Sakamoto or Chick Corea, my logic truly hadn’t caught up with my own sensations,” sound like a self-reprimand and encouragement directed at himself. His desire will likely continue to seek an outlet in the future.
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