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DownerMan Revival
Music By the Numbers

by Alek Grabinski - alek@best.com

Using numbers to count objects is a tool which all humans use for practical purposes. The business world is enamored of the idea of quantifying unquantifiable things - assigning numerical values to intangible qualities and tracking those numbers as if they were real, quantifiable, objective measures. These confections are called metrics - everybody who's heard this cute word, Please shudder in unison. Metrics are useful if you have an unambiguous and meaningful number to track - the number of widgets an assembly line worker assembles in one hour, or the number of defective widgets the worker finds. These numbers can be used to calculate real and meaningful things - the output of a factory, or the cost of bad goods. Metrics begin to sway towards dangerous fantasy once they get out of the realm of the countable and into subjective areas like "satisfaction" or "morale" or "quality" or "goodness." While this unfortunate truth works against my thesis, I forge on - having taken an opportunity to slag metrics.

What I am here to tell you is that I have discovered a formula about music appreciation. The formula is this:

Q_uality x A_ccess > T_hreshold

What does it mean? Let's look at the terms. The quality of a band - their goodness as compared to their peers, or the other bands you listen to, or to some fictional All-Star band which plays in Heaven or Hell, is assigned some number. The assignment is arbitrary in the size of the number which is chosen - for instance, you could choose between 1 and 100, between 1 and 10, between 0 and 1 - but is consistently applied and has more to do with the music than anything else (that's so you don't give a really high Q to a band just because you're sleeping with the drummer). Some elements to consider are musical inventiveness, lyrical depth, technical proficiency of the players, and player interaction. Needless to say, your favoritest band in the whole wide world would rate pretty high up there, maybe even receiving a Q of 100 (or 10, or 1).

The second number is accessibility. This takes into account two important factors which influence your relationship to the music. The first is how common it is for the band to make their music heard. A band which ventures out once a decade to play four shows per continent would rate a very high A. On the other hand, a band which tours incessantly, playing multiple-night runs in many cities, has a low A - you know they'll be back around eventually. Similarly, a local band which doesn't venture out of the local metropolis has a high A, because they're playing nearby several times a month. Accessibility also takes into account the element of familiarity and approachability with the band and their scene; as I argued in my column on emotional connection to the music, the more emotional investment one has with the music, the more likely one will enjoy the show (in other words, you may trade off some Q if you have a high A due to familiarity).

The threshold is determined by several factors, and it's your personal number. Loosely speaking, the T indicates just how much Q you need to hear in order to enjoy an evening with a band of accessibility A. (I've been thinking about this concept of threshold for a while and still haven't drawn any conclusions. Is it "better" to have such a low threshold that you'll enjoy just about anything, so that you eventually cannot differentiate between greatness and schlock, or is it "better" to maintain your threshold at a level at which satisfaction is rare, but when it comes, it's transcendent?) The threshold is not constant over time, as your tastes change and the level of your criticism waxes and wanes, but it is constant on any given day. My personal T is somewhere in the middle of the scale, I think; it's has been declining steadily over the past decade as I've learned to appreciate more different aspects of what music is.

So what? Let's take a look at three different cases. The first is King Crimson, which has spanned 25 years in vastly different configurations, all under the guidance of Robert Fripp. When I first heard The Great Deceiver, their outstanding quadruple-disc live collection from 1972-74, I learned that what Phish aspires to do - to create something huge out of the individual elements in the band, all listening to one another but constructing something completely unfamiliar and fresh - was being done as seriously by Fripp and Company two decades before. The live shows that I've seen (the 90's incarnation of the band) have left me speechless, stunned, and awed at the immensity of the music. Grandeur seems an appropriate word to describe the live show. The Q score I give King Crimson is very, very high.
For their A score, though, I'd have to give them a near-zero. The band tours infrequently at best. The ushers at King Crimson shows are instructed to allow people into the performance room only between songs, like an opera. Patrons are expected to remain seated throughout the show. The separation between performer and patron is a mile wide. While I could envision that Tony Levin and Adrian Belew would be very friendly in person, I have a hard time thinking that Bob Fripp is going to call me up to go bowling any time soon. Yet, despite the low A, King Crimson's Q x A product exceeds my T - and as long as this continues to be the case, I will be actively involved: I keep tabs on their tour schedules, I see shows when they come to town, and I continue to buy new releases.

The second case concerns a band called Grampa's Chili. I first heard this South Bay quintet about a month ago at a free show at a local ale house. W walked in, secured a Murphy's, and within three minutes were dancing to a fine groove of original songs. At the set break, three of the five band members came up to us and introduced themselves, thanked us for coming, and made it comfortable for us to be there. We stayed for the rest of the evening, thoroughly enjoying their blend of intense jams, offbeat lyrics, and cleverly-crafted songs. A week later I found myself at the Brookdale Lodge, sitting at the bar with Mike the singer before they started their set, and once again I found myself in a warm, welcoming environment where the music was all the more special because of the bond between the band and their fans.
To apply the formula, it's important to misappropriate a line I heard Charlie Dirksen say at his Leftover Salmon show, "They're not Phish." No, Grampa's Chili is not Phish. They are not KVHW, nor the Grateful Dead, nor King Crimson. Their Q is lower than the Q for these other bands. But they have a very high Accessibility score, precisely for the reasons I described above: They welcome fans with open arms. They play locally, frequently, and sometimes for free. They create a cheerful place to let loose. They banter with the audience; they honor requests. Their Q x A product exceeds my T easily, because the comparatively lower Q is more than made up for by the high A I feel when I'm at a show. I'm already making plans to see their next shows, and am in the process of arranging to get more of them on tape (if you are interested in hearing live Grampa's Chili on tape, feel free to contact me; and if you want to spend a fine evening, check out their dates on their website; bring a bowl and bring a friend!).

The third band I'll discuss is the Juggling Suns. In a fit of adventurousness I bought their latest album, Living on the Edge of Change from the Homegrown Music Network, along with several other discs. On the first listen through, I was struck by two thoughts: "Never lead off an album with a one-riff song" (Wicked History), and, "These guys can jam, though it's all Type I jamming." (If I remember the discussion from rec.music.phish a few years back, Type I jamming is generally confined within the song's chord structure, changing things like tempo, syncopation, and maybe a little dissonance for tension, whereas Type II jamming redefines all aspects of the song, including its chord structure. All jambands can jam in Type I jamming; only the big'uns can do Type II and sustain it.) Last night I popped the disc in again and listened less actively to it, and I really enjoyed it, especially the second half of the songs (though Wicked History continues to bug me). >>From the perspective of musical talent, they rate a Q as high as Grampa's Chili, maybe even a bit higher. But because they're from New Jersey, and they don't tour regularly in the Bay Area, I have to rate them a low A (even though they look like they're cut from the same bolt of "friendly musician" cloth that Chili are, and likely have the same type of kind scene in their locale). The Q x A product for the Juggling Suns is less than my T. What does this mean? It means they're likely to remain below my radar for upcoming local shows. It means I'm not likely to jones for live tapes, nor purchase more of their albums. They have only one way of reaching me, which is to increase their A. Maybe I'll meet them halfway as I work on reducing my T (though not to the point where I lose my have some musical morals, so that I'm more likely to make the trek to the next Juggling Suns performance near me. On the other hand, if the Juggling Suns were to relocate to the Bay Area, their A would skyrocket, and they could count on me to be a regular fixture at their shows.

So what does this have to do with the price of tea in China? Next time someone invites you to see a band, you'll be armed with the cold, hard, irrefutable metrics - "Sorry, d00d, my budget only provides for tix to see bands with products greater than my T factor, and that band only scored a 42..."

DM

DownerMan aspires to a world where there are only 0's and 1's, and all shades of gray are forced to choose absolute sides. Come... join us... don't be afraid...

Support your local musicians! If you're in the South Bay, check out the Vibe Tribe - BlissNinnies, Old Dead Bug, and Grampa's Chili.