Using the Augmented Scale with “Giant Steps”

I tend to arrive at things the hard way, which is to say, by personal discovery. For instance, I come across a large circular object and find that it has a unique quality, namely, that it rolls, and this gets me all excited, and of course I have to go tell all my friends. “Hey, Fred,” I say, rolling my circular object around on the lawn in front of him, “check this out! Pretty nifty, eh?”

“Ermmm, yeah. Nice. A wheel,” says Fred.

“A what?” I reply.

“A wheel,” Fred repeats, confirming my sudden suspicion that others may have already crossed this territory before me.

“Exactly, ” I say. “A wheel. Isn’t it great?”

Fred scrutinizes me for a second, then walks away. Now you know why I don’t have any friends named Fred. Used to, don’t anymore.

Anyway, the same principle probably applies to this post on using the augmented scale over “Giant Steps” changes. I’m sure it has already been done, and I’m probably just the last person to know about it. But since I haven’t come across any other literature that addresses the subject, either on the Internet or elsewhere, I thought I’d talk about it here.*

I do seem to recall reading somewhere about a connection between the augmented scale and the Coltrane tune, but it was just a passing comment that never went into any detail. I have no idea where I came across it. Evidently it planted a seed, though, because the relationship between the scale and the set of chord changes, both of whose symmetrical constructions emphasize the interval of a major third, has been intriguing me lately.

So earlier this evening, having thought the theory of the thing through, I finally sat down with my sax and my Jamie Aebersold “John Coltrane” CD and played around with the concept. It’s still very new to me, as is the sound of the augmented scale, but I’m satisfied at this point that I’ve acquired a very useful and colorful tool.

Simply put, the augmented scale is as close as you can get to a universal scale that covers “Giant Steps” in its entirety–not just the cantilevered dominant-tonic cycle, but also the ii-V7-I cadences. The application isn’t picture-perfect, but it works, and besides, a little dissonance is beautiful, right?

I’m not going to get deeply into the theory behind my thinking. I’m just going to assure you that, just as you can play an entire 12-bar blues using one blues scale, you can improvise on all of of “Giant Steps” using a single augmented scale. It’s not something you want to base an entire solo on, particularly since the augmented scale is such a foreign sound; but for that same reason, it’s also a very nice color to tap into, and you can coast along on it for as long as you please without having to think too much about making the changes. As long as you stay within the scale, you’re golden.

But of course, you want an example. So without further ado, here are a couple of licks on four bars of the “Giant Steps” cycle. Me being an alto man, I’ve written them for Eb instruments, so you may need to transpose. Click on the image to enlarge it.

Three points to be aware of:

• Use care in handling the perfect fourths of the dominant chords and the flatted thirds of the tonics.

• I’ve shown the standard chords without alterations. However, by virtue of its construction, the augmented scale works best with “Giant Steps” when you flat the ninths and raise the fifths of the dominant chords and flat the fifths of the minor sevenths.

• The sound of the augmented scale is quite different from everyday major/minor tonalities. So set those standards aside and suspend judgment until you’ve worked with the augmented scale long enough to get it into your ear.

That’s it. As for any further brain work, that’s up to you. Of course, you’re probably way ahead of me on it to begin with. That’s why, at this point, I’m turning my mind in other directions. For instance, I was sitting under an apple tree the other day, and an apple dropped off and bonked me on the head. I wondered why. What makes things fall? It’s almost like there’s some kind of a force or something. Has anyone looked into that?

They have?

Nuts. I was afraid of that.

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* ADDENDUM: I take it back. After posting this article, I came across an excellent writeup by Jason Lyon that digs deeply into the theory of using the augmented scale with “Giant Steps.”

Kenny Garrett with Miles

When it comes to alto sax players, Kenny Garrett sits in the tiptop echelon of exciting contemporary voices. The man not only has formidable chops, but a deep understanding of how to use them to generate consistently electrifying performances.

This YouTube clip features Kenny playing with Miles Davis in Paris. As high-energy as the music is, I find the unspoken connection between the two men–the jazz patriarch and the keeper of the flame–to be almost as fascinating as Kenny’s solo. Davis appears mesmerized by the sax warrior’s unrelenting barrage of ideas, and Kenny seems inspired by the presence of the Legend. Whatever the dynamic actually was, evidently sparked by some microphone problems that Garrett was experiencing, the result is unquestionable. There’s a whole lot of music going on here.

I love Kenny’s use of sequence, repeated tones, and motifs as organizational devices. And check out his tone splitting toward the end of the solo. In every respect, both technically and conceptually, the guy is an absolute master. Wish I could get my arms around just half of what he’s doing!

The Loudest Sax Player Ever

My friend and fellow musician Dave DeVos once told me, “You are the loudest sax player I’ve ever known.”

His words weren’t a compliment, just a statement of fact tinged with a slight mix of incredulity and annoyance. I’m a very loud sax player, much louder than I realize. As the old cliche says, I don’t know my own strength.

Of course I can play softly, but soft is not my default mode. Part of that is attributable to my horn, which is an old Conn 6M “Ladyface” that is very good at translating the air I move through it into immense volume levels. Another part is due to my mouthpiece, a Jody Jazz classic #8. But I think the main reason I’m a loud player is directly linked to the guy behind the horn. I just seem to have a knack for massive sound output.

I wasn’t always a loud player. I entered my freshman year in college a quiet young saxophonist. My sound at the time was styled after Tom Strang, a local alto man who owned a jazz bar in Ada called the Foxhead Inn. Tom had a smooth, mellow sound, very pleasing to the ears. He was not a loud sax player.

As an early influence, Tom’s tone pointed me toward a somewhat Desmondesque approach, not exactly the kind of robust Cannonball sound that could melt the wax in a listener’s ears at 100 feet. It was more a kind of foofy-foof-foof tone–subdued and, I thought, pleasantly sophisticated.

It was this mellow, sedate sound that I brought with me to the student big band at Aquinas College, where I sat under the august directorship of jazz professor Bruce Early. I was assigned to the first alto chair, and my lack of experience was such that I felt eminently qualified to fill the position. Clearly word of my abilities on the sax had preceded me, and Bruce had simply placed me where he knew I belonged. First chair. It was inevitable.

I’ll never forget my first awakening to the possibility that maybe I wasn’t all that and a supersized order of fries. The band was playing through some tune I’ve long since forgotten, and in the middle of the chart there was space for an alto solo. Cool. A chance for me to show my stuff, give Bruce a taste of my chops. I launched into the solo. Foofy-foof-foof, I played, subtly, while the rhythm section whanged away.

Bruce stared at me. “Play louder,” he said.

Ah. Louder. Okay then. Foof-foof-foofy-foof! I declared, in a volume that could almost be heard from ten feet away.

Bruce’s stare became a glare. “Louder!” he barked.

My gosh, what did this guy want? Here I was, foofing as loudly as ever I had foofed, and Bruce was calling for more.

I returned his glare with a desperate glance.

Foof? I played. Foofy-foof!

I was trying, but I quickly trended toward the softer, cocktail lounge volume that I was used to.

That did it for Bruce. “BLOW!!!!” he yelled. “For crying out loud, BLOOOWWWWW!!!!!!”

Some of the more seasoned musicians snickered, and my face went red as a beet. Hell’s bells. Fine, if it was volume Bruce wanted, I’d give him volume. And I did. I had a lot to learn about embouchure and tone production, but at that point I instinctively dipped into the raw essentials, filled my lungs with air, and blew my ever-loving cheeks off.

From that time on, while Bruce yelled at me for any number of things, my volume level wasn’t among them. He never again complained that I was playing too softly. Nor has anyone else, for that matter. Not ever. I’ve played with highly amplified blues bands and church worship teams and outblown them without using a microphone. I’ve been asked plenty of times to turn it down a bit, please. But no one has ever come to me and said, “Could you play louder? I can barely hear you.”

Just ask Dave. He’ll be glad to tell you, as soon as his ears stop ringing.

Chicken Soup for the Solo

The meds that the doc prescribed for me seem to finally be working their mojo. I’m still coughing, but it’s no longer a painful cough, and yesterday’s feverishness has passed. Today I went out and bought a bunch of Amish chicken and a whole passel of assorted veggies and rice, and I made up a huge potful of chicken soup. I’ve heard more than one person tell me that the old wive’s tale is true: homemade chicken soup has a wholesome, curative property. I believe it. People breathing their last gasp have been known to revive at a mere whiff of my chicken soup.

Anyway, it’s been a week since I’ve played my horn, and in the interrim, I’ve felt so lousy that I haven’t even thought about it. As for storm chasing, ha. Good thing I didn’t go down to Tornado Alley last weekend with Bill and Tom–not only would I have been miserable, but by now they would be, too.

Storms have been lighting up the Plains pretty much all week. My friend Kurt Hulst was out in Oklahoma yesterday with his pal Nick, and he posted some nice pics on his blog. I’m assuming he caught the supercells in northern Texas earlier today as well. Can’t wait to see those photos.

Of course, I’ve been out of the action. Out of practice on my sax, out of the picture for chasing storms. In another couple of days, though, I should be ready to rumble. I just hope the weather feels the same way. My head is finally back on my shoulders only barely enough that I might start giving a rip about the forecast models, and maybe even be able to make some sense out of them again.

Enough for now. Tornadoes can wait. Right now, a bowlful of chicken soup is calling my name. If I eat enough, I might find myself in good enough shape by tomorrow to blow a few notes on my saxophone. Chicken soup for the solo. I like that idea.

Using Sequence in Jazz Improvisation

Okay, campers, listen up: it’s time to talk about…

SEQUENCE.

Yes, sequence. A fundamental building block of music, and a very handy device in the improviser’s toolkit.

What is sequence? There’s nothing mysterious about it. Sequence is simply the repetition of a melodic idea beginning with different tones. Sequence can be diatonic within a key, and many scale exercises consist of scale material organized sequentially. Sequence can also be an exact, interval-for-interval repetition of a motif (or lick), which often–indeed, almost inevitably–will take you out of key.

The beauty of sequence lies in the coherency it brings to a solo. Sequence is a means of organizing melodic material in a way that the listener can immediately relate to. In the midst of a free-form flow of melody, sequence provides a sense of logic, a momentary theme for the ear to latch onto and follow through one or more permutations.

In its simple, diatonic form, sequence creates interest as you navigate your way through a single scale, chord, or ii-V7-I cadence. But sequence can also be used to take you out of key The strength of repetition has a way of making “wrong” notes sound right–a quality that becomes increasingly important when you’re playing tunes with little in the way of harmonic interest. When you’re in the midst of a two-chord jam, diatonic scales get boring pretty quickly. You’ve got to create energy. How? By using chromaticism–tones outside the key center that add color. Sequence is a great way to do so in an organized fashion.

Now, one picture is worth a thousand words, right? “Don’t tell me, show me,” is what you’re thinking. Relax. I’m not going to leave you hanging without a few examples. I’ll provide some material you can practice in an upcoming post. Right now, I just want to introduce the concept of sequence and whet your eagerness to get a few exercises under your fingers.

“But I want to start noooowwww!!!

Patience, Grasshopper. It’s Saturday afternoon, it’s spring, and I want to get out and enjoy the day. Stay tuned, though. I’ll be back with a few goodies. Promise.