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The doo-doo-doo and the da-da-da
Fan Sound Effects and their Ubiquity and Variety by Ben Cohen brcohen@tm.net

Throughout the history of music, and perhaps more specifically the genre of rock and roll, the use of sound effects by fans has been at once pervasive, inventive, complementary, and real annoying. The auxiliary sounds are strictly a by-product of the fan, not the band. Like its close cousin, the air guitar, the sound effect is weird and comes in many, many styles.* From the wha-waw of a deep bass groove, to the real decent bow-de-bow-bow in a straight keyboard-driven beat, to the plucka-plucka-plucka-plucka-plucka of guitar scratching, the fan’s contribution to any song can not be ignored.

Experts and practitioners alike have agreed on the basics. There are several standard techniques, all beginning with consonants: bow-be-bow; dow-de-dow, mow-me-mow, now-ne-now, and, though less frequent and far more difficult, wow-de-wow and zhow-de-zhow. Likewise is the line deriving from the ‘ooh’ sound: doo-de-doo, noo-ne-noo, etc; those deriving from the ‘ah’ sound, most famously, na-ne-na-nah; and, lest we forget, the obscure ‘eeh’ sounds, like bee-bee-bee or nee-nee-nee. Certainly, the variations are as countless as the fans themselves, but these standards have emerged over time.

The historical question of how this phenomenon arose** is not all that interesting, but for some basics: Beethoven, and then Brahms, were known to sing the notes. Ludwig Van especially did so, unbeknownst to him, after his years of deafness overtook him. The American scene can take most of the credit though, through jazz, and not just be-bop, but all of jazz. Sarah Vaughn is our best example: she made her name singing the notes. I could go through a list, but really, who the hell cares? We all know Gillespie loved it, Ellington had to, and Mingus was all over it (his mouth not being otherwise pre-occupied, as with Parker, or Davis, or Coltrane). But the rock genre owns the sounds now. And not just the rock genre, but the jam band rock genre. Or at least they should.

This stuff is almost their exclusive domain. I mean, sure we can sing along with the piano line to Elton John (Benny and the Jets) or to the camaro rock of Kansas or Foreigner, but where’s the fun it that? (Incidentally, I’ve been told too that a good example is the wocka-chicka wocka-chicka of a real good porn flick. But that of course is hearsay.) This explains why using the sound effects themselves as lyrics is worthless (from Doo-doo-doo de-da-da-da of The Police to Michael Jackson’s Shoo-be-doo-be-doo-be-doo-da-day): those songwriters are tempted to be clever, to capitalize from the fans’ input. But it fails. It fails because it is the lowest form of music innovation. The writer is saying to everyone that they can’t do any better than the fan, they have nothing to offer but what they get back from the audience. If you went to see a band live, and the band shouted to you what you were shouting to them – because they heard from you, and not vice versa – their would be a total lack of respect, of awe for the artist and their creation, or lack thereof. Hell, you might as well have a band.

The seasoned jam band fan is well apprised of this phenomenon. Easily enough explained, jam bands play out more, so there is far more opportunity for the phonetic sing-along. Jam bands elicit the most response from their fans. They just really play out, by definition in fact. Ironically, it is the less lyrical bands that are easier to sing along with. So, the Dead has its own bwow-yow, beedy-mweed sound (think New Minglewood Blues, or Here Comes Sunshine). Phish is a lot easier though (fewer lyrics) and can range much wider in fan response (compare a Wolfman’s transition – bass heavy gack-giddy-gwack-debwack-bwow - or the ending of Bowie – beedily-beedily-beedily-beedily-beedily-beedily-beedily-beedily… - or the hard, distortion-laden danana-danana-dana-janana-janana-nana of BBFCFM). Also, the bass line has true relevance, as any Phan knows, since one can easily gauge the intensity of the thudly jam by noting if it’s more of a wha-gwah, a bwowck-gowk, or a true Fall 97 bwoock-giggidy-gwoock. (The transition from the ‘wha’ note to the ‘gwoock’ note being pivotal here. Try it at home, it’s safe. Sing the wow-gwow-wow; do it a few times. Okay. A few more times. Now go for the bwoock-giggidy-gwoock. Told ya.)

Now, WSP brings out an entirely different pitch of fan sing-along, and probably because of the bongo influence. (Try out C. Brown, or Pleas) They may remind many of a good laid-back guitar sing-along with Robbie Robertson and The Band on a warm early 70’s evening, because they can get the same blee-da-dum-de-numb sound. (Similar reasoning can be used to dispel accusations that some Phish jams are too Dead-esque, because it isn’t the music that’s the same, it’s the way the fan sings it. Think of a mid-chill part Reba, for example.)

From outside the jam band scene, the doom-de-diddy-doom of, say, Beastie Boys, is all well and good, but can it ever reach the essence of a me-now-nehna-mwow of The Allman Brothers? Probably not. Plus, a Beastie Boys fan is more concerned about correctly rhyming ‘master blaster’ with ‘drinking shasta’ than zhoom-zhumenoo-didoo, didoo the guitar line.

As a linguistic phenomenon, the sound effect is as multi-faceted as language itself. Colloquialisms can dominate, so that one section of the country chooses the dow-de-doo’s (such as the Northeast and selected parts of the central plains states) for the same songs that a Pacific Northwesterner or a Midwesterner may choose to utilize the softer bow-be-dow. A few dozen minutes into the Mountain Jam the bweeh-diddy-bwah-dow of a Connecticutian counters the nyee-zhud-blee-blow of southeastern Montanans. A prime example of colloquialisms is that of central Ohioans. They enact a peculiar style, using the ‘squow-squeeow’ where the typical listener might say ‘byow-bow.’ On first listening, it is almost too funny, too easily mockable. They are actually adding in sounds that are not conceivably part of the music. But, try it a few times. It becomes fun. Think of Carini, or it’s great-uncle Kashmir. It almost has to start with a Squwana-nana-na squwana-nana-na. Once you do it, the sound effect can be nothing else. It turns out that a lot of guitar leads can be nothing else. To be sure, it’s a matter of personal preference. Nobody can deny that.

This should not be confused with the deeper, more intricate interplay of sound effect, lyric, and note. For example, when Phish sings Freebird a cappella, they are assuming everything about this essay up front. They understand the entire point of this narrative and are working on a higher level: an ode to the fan sing-along, the a cappella dream of every audible air guitarist. It harks back to the true genesis of the idea, the jazz age, riddled with noises, sound effects, lyrical screeching, mouthing saxophone sounds, or bass plucks.

As Emerson said, no doubt anticipating this phenomenon, "That is genius!"

So, shim-sha-zhibby-de-blap-bebap-glap-brag, squwanna-brah-mownenah-back-diggy-boo-back, vin-blappedy-gwowck-tabby-wig-wowk, crab in my crab in my crab in my shoe mouth.

Because, really, the whole damn thing turns on Manteca.

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* The analogy is apt, because sound effects can be affected from drums and keys and horns and bass alike, but are done to a lesser degree that the guitar, just as air drumming, air bass guitaring, or air keyboarding may occur, but to a lesser extent than the king of all air instruments, the guitar.

** It's tempting to answer this question by referring to the famous debates over how to correctly sing Led Zeppelin’s Carouselambra. About a third of those polled insisted on biddy bow-de-bow-de-bow be-bow bow, almost half insisted on diddy-dow-de-dow-de-dow de-dow dow, while the rest of the losers tried to say it was mow-ne-mow-me-now-mow. I still think the bow-de-bow’s had it in spades.

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Ben Cohen is a working stiff, daily dreaming otherwise. He tries to write things, listens to music a lot. Soon enough, he will be a historian and not an irritable sap.