It’s always a sad sight when a record shop closes down, but my sadness is somewhat offset by the massive price reductions that inevitably follow. Crazy price everything. When Dave’s record store on Smith St “moved” earlier this year I stumbled on some absolute gold. Within a week I had completely pillaged the place for every piece of vinyl that caught my eye (more about this another time). A week later I came back in search of books. Among the books I came across was an old Psychology textbook from the 1940’s. Although it was the “year 7 history assignment with soy sauce” aesthetic that initially grabbed me, a quick flick through revealed some interesting (if not probably outdated by now) concepts that got me thinking.

Under a section on auditory perception a theorist argued that while the sensation of sound is an innate ability, the interpretation of sound is learnt as we progress through life. The book goes on to refer to research that indicates that babies cannot tell the difference between a major or minor scale. Fascinating!

All of us who grew up steeped in (or conditioned to) the western music tradition have a fairly dichotomous reaction to the placement of the third note in a music scale. Major third = happy, minor third = sad. For example, ‘Happy Birthday’ = major = happy, ‘We Suck Young Blood’ by Radiohead = minor = sad. However, recently I become increasingly aware that the music that plays around with this assumption often produces the most poignant songs. This, at least from my point of view, is what removes, for example, Brian Wilson, from the throw away cheesy pop songwriter category and places him firmly into the category of musical genius. What is remarkable about Wilson’s songs is that there is so much more to them than first meets the ears. Pet Sounds is much more than the sum of its parts. It takes more than catchy hooks and cornball lyrics to get the kind of response that this record elicits.

The enduring emotional association that I have with the Beach Boys has always been sadness, in fact in my opinion, their body of work makes up some of the “emotional” music in my collection. ‘Wouldn’t It Be Nice’ is possibly my favourite pop song of all time. The song is written almost entirely in major chords (save the bridge and a few passing chords) and the melody is so undeniably catchy it makes the transition into a chocolate commercial seem natural rather than sacrilegious. Yet beneath the sickly sweet veneer lies the genuinely moving lyric “it only makes it worse to live with out it.” Cue the minor chords, cue the endless pining of a million adolescent souls on the cusp of loosing their innocence. It’s heartbreaking.

There is so much in the delivery of that one line. Love is never as pure and naive Wilson presents and the major key that deliver the lyrics to us just make this vision of love seem all the more idealised and unobtainable. I once heard a rumour that the lyrics to the song were originally “we could say good night and sleep together” instead of “stay together,” and to me this one lyric could have ruined it all. The thing that takes this song from kitsch to genius is the sense that it represents a tragic search for innocence in a corrupted world. The major key serves to highlight the thinly veiled idealisation and escapism of the song pulling it further away from the reality that Wilson and his audience are painfully aware of.

Daniel Johnston, another often name checked “musical genius,” also has this major-key-meets-intensely-sad thing down pat. Most of Johnston’s major key music is drenched in raw glimpses into his disturbed mind, and the result is far more affecting than I’m ever really expecting. Perhaps what is so undeniable about Johnston’s use of the major key throughout his catalogue is that it adds an air of hope to his songs. The ‘Sun Shines Down On Me’ is a perfect example. Written in A major, the song contains some of Johnston most hopeful moments in both lyrics and melody. Yet even in this song of hope, I always get the impression Daniel is hoping for hope (“The sun shines down on me/I want to feel like I deserve it”) and these lyrics add a painful undercurrent to the song that lingers much longer than the melody itself. The depth of this song, as much of Johnston’s work, lies in what is implied rather than stated directly in the lyrics. As these songs form over major chord progressions it skews our initial reactions. It forces us to deal with the strange juxtaposition of Johnston’s vulnerability over a melody as strong and positive as any Beach Boys song. This conflict is at the centre of Johnston’s enduring charm.
 
Major keys make me sad, but in a wonderful way. I don’t know how to explain it. Wilson and Johnston are some prime examples, but this applies to almost all pop music (I’m a little embarrassed by this but I get a similar feeling from the chorus of Gwen Stafani’s ‘Hollerback Girl’ when the horns kick in). It’s not unsolicited sadness and it’s not introspective emotional sludge either. Actually, maybe sadness is too simplistic, not accurate enough a description. Transcendence may be the word I’m looking for. Somehow melodies in major keys just get to me. Apparently though, babies don’t feel the same way.