When I was a 19-year-old theater intern in New York City, I befriended an old-school music director named Frank Zuback. To this day -- a great many years later -- I'll never forget a point Frank made about vocal riffing. (Riffing, as you most likely know, is when a singer strays from the written melody.) We were discussing the musical RENT, and Frank pointed out that most of the cast members, who were doing a ton of riffing in the show, had no idea where these riffs came from. Dare I say it: they didn't know the etymology of their riffing?
I remember feeling kind of annoyed at Frank's comment. Just let me enjoy my RENT, man! But even then, I wondered if he was right. Frank went on to point out that riffing, at least the kind heard in popular music, had its roots in rhythm and blues. There was so much pain in this music that the melody just wouldn't do -- the singer had to reach far and away from the known notes, trying (if only in vain) to excise his pain with an even more personal melodic line. It's as if the melody was trying to break free from its reins, just as the singer was aiming to flee his pain.
But this is not the riffing we hear in contemporary music. It's generally not riffing born of pain or some intense experience, but it's riffing born of, well, riffing. Singers hear other singers making use of their considerable technical skills, moving over and around the melody, and they, in turn, do the same. It's almost a competition to see who can do the most riffs, the fastest, the highest and the loudest.
But sometimes, like Emperor Joseph pointed out in Amadeus, it's just "too many notes."
Thanks to YouTube, one can watch the likes of Christina Aguilera or Mariah Carey sing a simple tune like "Happy Birthday" (certainly not a song born of any real pain or suffering), and the melody seems a mere passerby in a sea of riffs. With such an inflated economy of riffing, then, when the same ladies end up performing songs that do have true depth or seriousness (Aguilera's "Beautiful," for example), the effect is so much less powerful -- we're inured to the constant vocal maneuvers, and so the serious and the sexy and the sustained all start to blend together.
Let's not forget that some of the most striking performances are those when the performer holds back. This is especially true, I think, in songs meant to convey a sense of sexiness or flirting. When Marilyn Monroe was tasked with performing "Happy Birthday" to JFK (lovingly recreated last season on Smash), her economy of notes is striking -- there was not a hint of riffing to be found in her vocal seduction. It was all about what Marilyn was not saying -- or, in this case, singing -- that gave the performance such a lasting impression. By stripping the song down to its bare (pun intended) essentials, Marilyn was communicating a world of desire, warmth and sexuality.
If there's any one area in American cultural life where this backwards idea of riffing has seemed to most take hold, it's in the performances of American Idol contestants. Riffing, on Idol, has become the placeholder for real emotion or connection, so much so that I wonder if the audience and judges have stopped looking for anything else. Kelly Clarkson, winner of Idol's first season, did seem to have a modicum of vulnerability and connection -- her riffs, at least part of the time, seemed to be coming from her own experience and challenges. But now, more than ten years later, Idol performers seem to be a copy of a copy of a copy -- mimicking the results of connection without conveying much actual connection.
With all that said, I was encouraged, earlier this season on the show, by an exchange between Idol judge Jennifer Lopez and auditionee Colton Dixon. Colton had almost made it to the Top 24 the previous season, but was ultimately sent home. So, after what was undoubtedly a disappointing first defeat, Colton made his second try. And the year between auditions seemed to bring out some personal (and, therefore, musical) growth for the young singer. After auditioning with David Cook's "Permanent," which, for me, felt totally authentic, with just the right amount/kind of riffing, Jennifer commented:
"Colton, you're amazing. But you know what makes you better? Pain."
Exactly, Jennifer.
Some choice riffing, used as it was originally intended -- to call out while also bringing relief from pain and disappointment -- can land you a job, garner hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers and, most importantly, help create a memorable and honest performance.
Follow Ben Toth on Twitter: www.twitter.com/bentothmusic
None of these so called "singers" know how to SING.
My advice is that if you want to be taken on a journey with the emotional impact of delivery, look to other styles of singing rather than mainstream pop and R&B.
In my opinion, early Whitney Houston rode the very fine line between riffing because she could with when she should. Her optionals added power and meaning instead of showcasing her obvious ability. I couldn't tell you what half of Mariah's songs are about and some of the notes she sings, frankly, only dogs cans hear. ;)
I read somewhere a long time ago that when accessorizing an outfit, just before you go out the door, take something off. Accessories are meant to enhance, not to stand alone. Riffs and optionals are supposed to enhance the meaning of what you are singing, not replace it.
What really upsets me is when there is a great tune that was made great by some performer who infused feeling and pain into it, but that tune was covered by Mariah Carey with all that riffing and over production, the Idol scene seems to think it's a Mariah song.
How in the world can anyone prefer Mariah over Nilsson when it comes to "Without You?" How can anyone think that "Without You" is a Mariah standard and then, when some wannabee on Idol massacres it, talk about not living up to Mariah instead of Nilsson?