Two posts ago, I talked about the use of the sixth as a sort of sweetening agent in improvised solos. If you haven’t yet done so, I recommend that you read that article before proceeding with the following exercises. It’s always good to understand a little about the whys and wherefores of what you’re doing, particularly when it comes to connecting saxophone technique with jazz improvisation.

One thing I didn’t mention in the previous post, and an important point at that, is the angularity that sixths bring to a musical line. Broad interval that they are, sixths are by definition intensely angular, and as such provide a colorful and interesting way to break up a linear flow.

The three exercises on this page are all based on the C major scale. (Click on the image to enlarge it.) The first exercise features basic sixth diads, moving up and then back down an octave.

The second exercise begins on the third of the C major scale (the note E) and moves up a sixth to the tonic C, thereby strongly implying the C major chord and establishing the key center. The exercise moves downward from there, incorporating the added color of passing tones and chromatic lower neighbors.

Exercise three, ascending an octave, approaches each lower note of the diads with a chromatic lower neighbor. While the result is a series of three-note groups, I’ve written the exercise in eighth notes rather than triplets to create a syncopated effect.

Consider each written exercise to be just the abbreviated form of what you actually need to practice. You should take all three exercises up and down through the entire range of your saxophone. You’re smart enough to figure out the missing pieces for yourself, and you should do so.

I suggest that you start by picking one pattern and memorizing it in all twelve keys, beginning with the first exercise. Then proceed to the next pattern and do likewise.

Yes, I know–I’m a drill sergeant and you hate me. But I promise you, all that hard work will pay big dividends with time. One of these days, you’ll thank me. Really. “Thank you, Bob,” you’ll say. Until then, my ego is tough enough to handle the lack of love.

Hey, there, fellow jazz saxophonists and other jazz instrumentalists, I haven’t forgotten you! Even as I’ve been blogging about the big, late-October weather system that has been blowing through the Great Lakes, I’ve been contemplating my next post for sax players. I hope you’ll find that what follows was worth waiting for.

A riff from Jimmy Forrest

Back in my college days, Basie tenor man Jimmy Forrest lived in Grand Rapids. Naturally, I owned one of his albums, a vinyl LP titled “Black Forrest.” It was a hard-swinging, straight-ahead collection of tunes that showcased Jimmy’s ability to deliver both high-testosterone bebop and wonderfully lyrical balladry. The album included a heaping helping of blues, and in one of those blues, Jimmy worked into his solo a lick reminiscent of the old Jetsons cartoon theme song, which sounded something like this:

I liked that lick, and I incorporated it into my blues playing. The thing that made it sound so hip was the sharped fourth–aka the flat five, though in this application, that’s not the correct theoretical term–which defines the lydian sound.

What makes lydian sound so lydian?

Good question. There are two scales that can be considered lydian: the traditional lydian church mode built off the fourth degree of the major scale, and the lydian flat seven scale, also known as the lydian dominant.

The term “lydian dominant” is a bit confusing, since each word, “lydian” and “dominant,” suggests a function of the scale that cancels out the other one. In this case, however, “lydian” refers to the raised fourth scale degree, and “dominant” describes how the scale and its characteristic chord function. The more accurate term is actually “mixolydian sharp four,” since the scale is used the same way that a standard mixolydian mode is used: as a scale choice for dominant seventh chords.

Whatever you wish to call it, the lydian flat seven sound is defined by its raised fourth scale degree. But other scale options for dominant seventh chords also contain the raised fourth/flatted fifth. The half/whole-step diminished scale and the diminished whole tone scale both come instantly to mind. What makes the lydian flat seven different?

Its consonance with an unaltered dominant seventh chord.

Following is a G lydian flat seven scale, which you would use over a standard G7 chord:

Note that this scale neither raises nor lowers the ninth of the G7, nor does it alter the fifth, nor does it lower the thirteenth. Only the fourth degree gets raised a half-step to create the characteristic lydian sound. The raised fourth doesn’t clash with the third of the dominant chord the way that the unaltered third of the standard mixolydian mode does, in effect making the lydian flat seven scale the more consonant scale.

Triad superimposition

When you build triads off of the first and second degrees of the lydian flat seven scale, each triad is major in quality. For instance, a G lydian flat seven scale gives you the following:

Note that the first triad outlines the foundational notes of the G7 chord, minus the seventh, while the second triad emphasizes the ninth, raised fourth, and thirteenth. Thus,  a quick way to emphasize the lydian sound over a dominant seventh chord is to superimpose a major triad whose root is a whole step above the chord root. In other words, if you’re soloing over a Bb7, play a C major triad; if you’re working with a D9, play an E major triad, and so forth.

By the way, since neither triad includes the seventh of the scale, you can apply the above superimposition equally well to both the G7 and Gmaj7 chords.

Major triad couplets in inversion for the lydian sound

Okay, time to start getting the stuff I’ve just covered into your fingers and your ears. Click on the exercise to your right to enlarge it. It’s a practical extension of the superimposition principle I’ve just described that takes you through different inversions of the triad couplets based on the G lydian flat seven scale. As always, take the exercise up and down the full range of your instrument, and through all twelve keys.

I’ll have more to say about the lydian flat seven scale, but this ought to keep your woodshed smoking for a while.

Visit my jazz page for more articles on jazz improvisation, jazz theory, and saxophone playing.

If anyone embodies the improvisational and technical aspects of jazz education, it is Emile De Cosmo. I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know Emile since the time he contacted me about an article I had written about jazz contrafacts, and I can tell you, the man is deeply knowledgeable, and as excited to share his insights into jazz theory and technique building today as he was back in my college days, when I first bought one of books in his Polytonal Rhythm Series.

Our initial conversation, back in early February, resulted in my adding another of his books, The Diatonic Cycle–a tour de force of the twelve major scales and their relative harmonic minor scales–to my practice library. Last week, after chatting with Emile on the phone, I purchased yet another book coauthored by him and his wife, Laura. A compendium of articles that Emile and Laura wrote for Jazz Player magazine, The Path to Jazz Improvisation is a treasury of insights into the vast array of scales and modes that are available to jazz improvisers today. At $14.95, the book truly is a steal–and no, Emile didn’t give me a free copy so I’d write him a glowing review*. I ponied up the money just like anyone else, and I’m glad I did. I know a fair amount about jazz theory, but there always seems to be something new to learn, and Emile and Laura’s book is proving to be a good source.

I’m thinking right now about the chapter I’ve been reading on the Byzantine scale. In his foreword to the book, David Gibson, editor of Jazz Player, writes, “When I read his chapter on the Byzantine Scale I almost fell off my chair. I had never thought about jazz in those terms. I suddenly realized that jazz improvisation has roots which go back much further than the jazz master of the 1920s, 30s, 40s, and beyond.”

Of course my curiosity was piqued by Gibson’s words. The Byzantine scale? I’d heard of it before, but never explored it. I think I had some vague idea that I had it already tucked in my pocket as some mode of the harmonic minor scale. And indeed, the Byzantine scale is related to the harmonic minor, but it is a scale unto itself, and a darned interesting one.

Probably the easiest way to conceive of the Byzantine scale is, as Emile describes, to superimpose two major seventh chords a half-step apart. For example, if you dovetail CM7 and DbM7 and then arrange the chord tones in successive order, you get the following: C, Db, E, F, G, Ab, B, C.

Another way to think of this is to approach every tone in a major seventh chord with its chromatic lower neighbor–e.g. for the DbM7 chord (Db, F, Ab, C), you would precede the Db with C, F with E, Ab with G, and C with B.

The De Cosmos recommend using the Byzantine scale with major seventh and dominant seventh chords that share the same root as the scale. In other words, you’d use a C Byzantine scale over a C7b9 or a CM7. At least one other application quickly suggests itself to me as I look at the structure of the scale, and that is to pair it with an altered dominant that is based on the second degree of the scale. For instance, by playing a C Byzantine scale over a Db7#9, you get both the flatted and natural sevenths (B and C), allowing the latter to function as a passing tone between the flat seventh and the root of the chord.

I have to say, though, that it may be a while before I dig into the Byzantine scale in earnest. Right now I’m focusing on the diminished whole tone scale, with some forays into both the augmented and diminished scales. Those pack challenges enough. But I think I can see a new area of woodshedding on the horizon. Emile and Laura’s book should prove a valuable resource, and you’ll hear more about it from time to time. I have yet to write about Emile’s concept, the polytonal order of keys, or POOK, for short.

But that’s for another post. As for this one, well…the day is beautiful, and Lisa and I have plans to visit Meijer Gardens. It’s time to get rolling. Happy practicing!

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*Emile did, however, send me a POOK T-shirt and a CD of he and Laura playing tunes that he had written. I don’t mind telling you that the De Cosmos can blow!