Musical Texture Through Thick and Thin

Prof. Carol

Texture. It applies to music as well as fabrics! Actually, texture is one of five parameters used to describe style in Western music. These five dimensions are taught in music appreciation courses, so perhaps you’ve encountered them already. They’re: Melody, Harmony, Rhythm, Texture, Timbre, and the sixth one, if there are words, Text.

Melody, harmony, and rhythm are more familiar concepts. But what are texture and timbre? Texture, in music, is the “thickness” or “thinness” of the musical lines. In short, texture concerns the number of lines the ear takes in simultaneously. 
 
Think of a sandwich. A sandwich can be thin, with a layer of peanut butter (and maybe some jam squished in). Or you might eat a jumbo Italian sub with four layers of meat, two kinds of cheese, lettuce, tomato, onions, sauces, and a final layer of jalapeños (that’s how we eat Italian in Texas). Neither sandwich is better or worse—both have a place and an audience. 

Moving the sandwich idea to music, think of music sung by a barbershop quartet. Here, our ears absorb a four-part texture: four singers move together as a unit. Sometimes their lines coincide (four-part harmony) and sometimes they move independently. Either way, we hear four layers, or a four-part texture.

When a composer composes music, he or she thinks about texture. Should I make this part thinner or thicker to convey a different emotion?

To make a thicker, and more interesting, sandwich, we pile on more “stuff.” In music, we’d call it “thick texture” when we pile on more musical lines. Contrast this thicker-sounding texture with a smear of peanut butter, which translates to a single melody line.  Perhaps the composer would choose a thin texture for a scene in a film where a child is walking down a lane.  If other people rush in, then contrasting musical lines could be added, thickening the texture. And intensifying the effect. 

The contrast between thick and thin creates musical tension and release. It’s one of a composer’s favorite ways to create musical excitement.
 
In our cowboy town of Bowie, Texas, we’ve assembled a vocal ensemble. We call ourselves the “OK Chorale” (I know, it’s corny). We sing mostly a cappella, or unaccompanied, vocal music. We’ve been rehearsing a three-part Mass by English Renaissance composer William Byrd. There are just three musical lines (or voices, as they’re called). 
 
With only three vocal lines, how much textural contrast can there be, you might ask? You’d be surprised. Byrd was a genius with sound. One of his favorite tricks is to drop out the top voice—the highest voice—and let the two lower parts keep singing. It’s fantastic how the sound explodes when that high line comes back in!  
 
If Byrd can create tension-release with just three musical lines, think how much more tension-release Beethoven could cook up with a full orchestra. Now here’s the challenge. Take a piece of music and see if you can track the texture. First, separate, in your ear, the musical lines. How many are there?  If it’s a small group, maybe a singer, bass, guitar, drums, keyboard: basically a five-part texture (although the guitar and keyboard can layer extra musical lines into the sound). 
 
Once you determine how thick the texture is (how many layers are in the sandwich?), listen to the song and track the changes in texture. Every time the singer drops in and out, the texture thins or thickens. But what about the other instruments? Does the bass ever drop out?  The guitar?  The drums? And if so, what is the effect on releasing energy, or musical tension? And what happens when those instruments come back in? What emotions did it evoke?
 
It’s admittedly challenging to start listening to music this way. But it’s enlightening, too. Remember, whoever composed or arranged the song thought exactly in these terms. 
 
And if you don’t find enough tension-release in the songs you usually listen to, switch over to something else, perhaps jazz, classical, or Big Band. Take Duke Ellington’s Mood Indigo (1930), or the opening of Stravinsky’s Firebird (1911). Remember, every sound counts. 
 
In fact, “sound” is where we’ll start when we take up the topic of timbre in my next post. Happy feasting.

Carol Reynolds, aka Professor Carol, a former music history professor at Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas, has launched a new company, Silver Age Music. Her latest product is a multimedia course: “Discovering Music: 300 Years of Interaction in Western Music, Art, History, & Culture.” Prof. Carol now lives on a ranch, raises goats, and writes and lectures on classical music (to humans).