In my article “Compound AABA Form and Style Distinction in Heavy Metal,” which was just published in Music Theory Online 27.1, I make the argument that metal music has a normative, default song form, that is used in the overwhelming majority of songs in the genre’s historical core styles.

This form is called “compound AABA.” “Compound” means that each A has several sections, usually including Verse and Chorus. After two As (or two Verse-Chorus cycles, if you want to think about it that way), there is usually a contrasting “B” section, which in metal and hard rock often has a guitar solo.

While many people (see the article) argue that what separates metal from pop music is that metal doesn’t have any formulaic conventions, that simply isn’t true. That isn’t to say that metal bands aren’t highly creative with their song forms; but many of them do creative things while clearly still participating in this convention of compound AABA form.

One song that draws on this convention in a unique way is Iron Maiden’s “Transylvania,” from their debut album Iron Maiden (1980). Iron Maiden wrote some of the most variable and creative song forms of any metal artist from the early 1980s. But this one song in particular features a compound AABA form that hardly departs from the convention at all. The twist? There are no vocals, so you might have missed the “Verse” and “Chorus” structure.

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My first academic article was just published! It’s been years in the making and I’m quite proud of it. 🙂

This article is meant to be a theory of form for metal music (and most kinds of heavy rock) that represents the norms in the genre, to enable other scholars can make more clearly-grounded evidence-based statements about the innovations of individual bands, or the unique properties of specific songs.

It’s been published at the open-access music theory journal Music Theory Online. Here’s the abstract and Example 1, which is a “map” of compound AABA form; the two of these are hopefully a good summary of the article.

https://mtosmt.org/issues/mto.21.27.1/mto.21.27.1.hudson.html

Here’s a link to this article on my Academia.edu page.

“How Much Math is in Math Rock? Riffs, Progressive Rhythm, and Embodied Music Theory” is a paper I presented at the Society for Music Theory conference in November 2020. SMT happened to be an online-only conference because of COVID-19, so I had to record a video version of my talk to post online. Normally I wouldn’t bother posting about a conference paper, but since I already have a video recording and everything, I thought I might as well put it up here!

You can view the 20-minute video here. Also, here’s a copy of the slides if you want to scrutinize the examples.

I’ll be presenting the next stage of this project at the PROGECT 2021 conference, which is also scheduled to be online. Feel free to email me if you’re interested in a copy of that talk. s s hudson at u dot northwestern dot edu.

Abstract:

This paper explores embodied experiences of “metrical constructedness” (Macan 1997), using a new theoretical tool called “motional conceptual models” to analyze the motion experienced in progressive rock’s riffs. Prog rock/metal is often associated with “mathematical” complexity of odd time signatures and polyrhythms. But this complexity rhetoric leaves some mysteries, including: the use of such rhythms by non-prog bands; or Meshuggah’s claim that “there is no mathematical approach” in their music; or online arguments about whether Metallica’s …And Justice For All (AJFA, 1988) is “prog-influenced,” when the album is mostly in duple meter and contains few polyrhythms.

Riffs are not just sequences of notes, but motions experienced by performers and listeners (Fast 2001). My “motional conceptual models” represent one experience of a riff’s motion, framing that shape as a prototype category to explain how it can be recognized despite variations (see “conceptual models,” Zbikowski 2002). These “motional conceptual models” show how manipulations of riffs can lead to manipulated perceived motion—providing a unified theory for “ABAC Additive Metrical Process” in Dream Theater (McCandless 2013), truncated riffs by Meshuggah (Pieslak 2007), Meshuggah riffs that begin “in media res” (Lucas 2018), and riff fragmentations I observe in Metallica’s AJFA. Changes in riff shape can thus be perceived as interrupting the normal looping of meter, and this impression of artificial intervention is one possible explanation for Macan’s “constructedness.” This embodied cognition approach to riffs also demonstrates how it is possible to write rhythmically “progressive” rock and metal rhythms by feel, with no math required.

Slipknot is not a safe pick for a blog about metal. Lots of aging Gen X metalheads have hated Slipknot since the day it was created and refused to accept it into the fold. Why? mumble mumble “it doesn’t sound like metal” mumble mumble “the masks are a gimmick.” Well, you got me on the second one. The masks sure are a gimmick—but metal has always been full of gimmicks. Kiss’s make-up and secrete identities were a gimmick. Twisted Sister’s cross-dressing getup was a gimmick. Yngwie Malmsteen’s gorgeous curls and bundles of bangles and self-comparison to virtuoso violinist Niccolo Paganini is a gimmick. GWAR’s insane latex alien costumes are DEFINITELY a gimmick. And if you want to get really meta about it, Metallica’s no-makeup denim-‘n’-leather longhair image is also a gimmick, in a way.

But the first one isn’t true: Slipknot sounds like metal. Or at least, for listeners who don’t throw a fit and refuse to listen, Slipknot’s music does all the same things that metal does for you, and does them in spades.

If Slipknot were just another metal/metal-adjacent band, there wouldn’t be much of a story. Some think it’s metal, some don’t; you say tomayto, I say tomahto. We’ve all heard that before, a hundred or a thousand times.

But there’s something more to it than just a squabble over genre boundaries: Slipknot’s best songs are true neck-wreckers. Simply put, Slipknot is one of the heaviest bands of the late twentieth century, whether you like them or not. So why are Slipknot songs such bangers?

Part of a series “Metal Monoliths” about epically long metal songs.

As I’ve written in an article forthcoming in the journal Music Theory Online (( This article will be published at the end March 2021. Portions of this blog post appear in that article. )), metal songs often follow a pretty simple formula—as James Hetfield once said, “verse-chorus-verse-chorus-middle eight and then out.” (( Kitts, Jeff.  “Cover Story,” Guitar World, December 1998, 54-62, 98-104. Cited by Raymond Aglugub in his 2007 Master’s Thesis. )) John Covach calls this “compound AABA form” (( Covach, John. 2005. “Form in Rock Music: A Primer.” Engaging Music: Essays in Music Analysis. Oxford University Press, pp. 65-76.)), where each of the As is a verse/chorus pair, and the B is some kind of contrasting section like the “middle eight.” This form is usually pretty easy to follow—you can find it on almost every track from any classic 80s album, like the most famous albums by Metallica, AC/DC, or Judas Priest.

But what happens when you stretch this formula out over a much longer time scale? Aaron Van Valkenburg wrote in his Master’s Thesis from 2010 about how Metallica expands this verse/chorus-based form by stuffing it with extra riffs in unexpected places, pushing towards longer and longer songs over their first four albums. Van Valkenburg says about perceiving large-scale AABA:

Metallica’s song structures are much more elaborate than most pop songs primarily because of their use of extended introductions, transitions, and instrumental solos (lead breaks). Nevertheless, Metallica’s music strives to subordinate these elaborations within a hierarchical system that highlights the verse-chorus rotation. This allows the listener to trace in his or her mind the large-scale progression inherent in the AABA structure.

(Van Valkenburg 2010, p. 30)

I found one even longer AABA song but it’s a bit harder to follow: “Suite Sister Mary” by Queensrÿche. And arguably, the AABA structure here is harder to keep in mind here—partly because of the evolving and shifting and progressive way in which Queensrÿche uses this form, and partly because it’s just so damn long.

If you run any kind of internet website related to metal, you occasionally get cool emails from folks around the world. Recently I heard from a guy named Brian Straight, who in the early 1990s formed a death metal band called “Witch-Hunt” based out of Richmond, VA. A small label called Lost Apparitions Records has just published a retrospective of their underground recordings. The same week as I heard from Brian, I had just moved to Richmond, VA to start a job teaching music theory at the University of Richmond. Too good of a coincidence to pass up!

Witch-Hunt’s songs have a unique brand of melancholic aggression. The band’s guitar and vocal tone could be compared to demos and early albums by Nihilist/Entombed or Mayhem, but they have a somber restrained utterly beyond either of these. This gives the songs a sort of timeless feel that is reinforced by the lyrics and some of the synthesizer intros. I don’t know how this eternal quality was received when Witch-Hunt’s recordings were first made 20 or more years ago—but listening to this release in the present is an awesome experience. It’s a bit like picking up some gruesome obsolete weapon in a forgotten corner, blowing off the dust, and finding out that it’s still finger-splitting sharp.

Editor’s Note: This post is guest written by Calder Hannan, who is a PhD student in music theory at Columbia University.

One of the most enjoyable things about a lot of metal, for me, is the way that it often forces me to think about and experience time in new and challenging ways. While I and others have written a fair amount about bands that obviously play with rhythm and meter, such as Meshuggah, Dream Theater, Car Bomb, and The Dillinger Escape Plan, I’ve been thinking recently about a song from a less obviously technical or experimental band: “The Atavist’s Meridian,” from Inter Arma’s excellent recent album Sulphur English.

In June 2019, I finished my PhD dissertation and graduated from Northwestern University! (This post is backdated.) You can read the abstract below, or download the full 300+ pages on Academia.edu.

Chapter 1 is about headbanging and drum patterns in metal music. Check it out! The rest of the dissertation is about classical music. More details below.

Chicago’s heading into a cold snap again, so I was at Trader Joe’s a night early stocking up on enough beer and peanut butter cups that I won’t have to leave my apartment all weekend (they say Thursday is the new Friday). And what genteel strains did I hear floating over the mountain ridges of Green Juice and Pumpkin Spice Instant Oatmeal? “There ain’t no cure for the Summertime Blues…” Someone up there must have a sick sense of humor. The parking lot is covered in ice and the high temperature tomorrow will be almost twenty degrees below zero, and here some hipster music algorithm is playing a summer hit from the 1960s.

Or so I thought. Imagine my surprise when I got home and realized that “Summertime Blues” was released in the middle of the winter, on January 16, 1968. ((Well, one could argue that it wasn’t really winter, since Blue Cheer lived in San Francisco and it never really gets below 55F there, even in mid-January. Maybe they wouldn’t have appreciated the irony.)) They released a cover of a summer song in winter, and here I was listening to it in winter, too. That’s enough of a dumb coincidence that I kept thinking about it.

Then I remembered that I’ve got this blog that I theoretically still write, and I’ve been looking for something to write about to kick off a series about the 50th anniversary of the birth of heavy metal. Somewhere in the dusty corners of my mind I dimly recalled that Blue Cheer’s Vincebus Eruptum came out in 1968, and fifty years ago is 1969. I can’t do that one, I thought. I would’ve had to write that piece last year. But then I thought what the hell, 50 years is a nice round number but it doesn’t really mean anything. So here it is, time to celebrate Half a Century (Plus One) of Heavy Metal with a post about the genesis of heavy metal, “Summertime Blues” by Blue Cheer.

What’s that, you say? Blue Cheer isn’t really metal? Metal really began with Black Sabbath or Deep Purple? I respectfully disagree.

After two decades of being rejected from the metal genre, System of a Down is getting more love these days. At the beginning of their career, the band had this misfortune to be lumped together with that short-lived 90’s fad “nu metal” (System of a Down never accepted the label, though). System of a Down continued to have a contentious relationship with genre, but especially with metal. Metal fans lambasted System of a Down for being paradoxically too commercial and too weird, too political and too silly. ((If you don’t believe me, check out this thread from Encyclopedia Metallum.)) But more recently, the band seems to be getting more favorable treatment, placing well on several lists of “best metal of the 21st century” and that sort of thing.

This could be because people who were growing up when System was popular (like myself) are now in their late 20s and early 30s and working their way into rock journalism jobs. Another factor could be their enduring success as one of the heaviest bands to continue to sell out stadiums. I mean, how many other metal(ish) bands can successfully attract a headline spot and an devoted crowd at a major festival like Download when they haven’t released an album in more than a decade?

But it’s also because their music actually has a fair amount of metal in it. Continue reading