I have been playing, writing and thinking about accompaniment for about twenty five years now. It is a subject that is vast, deep, wide, endless, and probably completely invisible to most people that listen to music—because the best accompaniment often draws attention to itself the least! Anyway, I have been looking for a setting where accompanists and other players (those they accompany) could share reflections on the many mysteries of the discipline. What I've included below are just some starting thoughts on ...

The Subtle Energetics of Accompaniment

Rhythmic Signature

Pulse. Each player has their own natural pulse, an expression of their temperament and musical signature. It expresses itself in a unique way with each kind of tune (jig, reel, etc.) but has a consistent feel.

Stability. Each player also has a range of stability around this rhythmic pulse character. Some are rock-steady with relation to their temperament, others waver and their pulse is weak. This stability can change over time, as the player matures (as a person and a player); for example, a child may be much less steady than the adult player. This is neither good nor bad; for example, the less steady a player is in their own pulse the more receptive they may be to learning from another player's signature. This is, at best, the way it is with children. Anxiety around one's lack of stability, however, is a sure way to damp down most of the benefits of this state.

Inward/Outward. Related to the above, each player has a natural tendency to be turned inward or outward (Jung might call this introvert vs. extravert) with their music. Instability in an introvert will generate different dynamics than with an extravert. Some players set their own pulse, others respond to the pulses of those they play with. Certain roles, like soloist or accompanist, celebrate one or the other of these capabilities, although everyone can learn to do either by intention.

Comfort and Challenge. Because each player has this natural signature (their pulse, their stability in that pulse, their orientation inward and outward, among other things) they have what might be termed a comfort zone where they are playing in accord with their signature, and a borderline where they are being challenged in some way. Some players are capable of challenging themselves; these are the folks who learn best on their own and develop quickly; they have learned to enjoy the stretch. Others tend to stay put, reach and get stuck at plateaus more. These people can be energized by playing with other musicians who can challenge them, and in situations that challenge them. As a simple example, having to play faster, or slower, than one is accustomed to, or easily able to, is a challenge familiar to many musicians.

So everyone has their own tolerance or enthusiasm for challenge, from themselves and from others. The correlations aren't obvious; not everyone who can challenge themselves is comfortable being challenged by others; it implies a loss of control that may threaten them in ways that simple challenges to their competencies do not.

Weaving Signatures Together. Given all of these subtle energetic qualities to be considered, the dynamics of how we play with other people is a mysterious art indeed. First we need to consider our own signatures; and coming to know ourselves in this intimate yet objective way is a journey all unto itself—one that may take our lifetime, or several lifetimes.

But in addition, as an accompanist, or more generally as a musician following music as a path of inner development, one must decide in what kind of relation one will stand with other players. Will one be a challenger, an accommodater, one that comforts and makes cozy the musical setting, or one that soars on their own wings and expects others to lift them up? I think that it is best to ask this question, or live it rather, or, best of all, play this question every time you sit down to play music. For every situation, every combination of players, listeners (live, in a living room, a concert hall, or future, the listeners that will hear a recording you are making), dancers, etc. is a different web of energies and dynamics to be read and written to. When we approach such beautiful complexity with any kind of frozen position (even one we consider "goodness") we limit our possibilities for reading the wild new possibility opened up, for ourselves and others, in just that new situation.

Matching Rhythmic Pulse

Here are four qualities in the interaction between two players and their signatures. Think of it as a quality of "giving weight" in dancing, or wrestling for a more aggressive metaphor.

Push. Challenge; this would usually translate to speeding up the rhythm, but in certain circumstances "pushing" to go go slower may feel like what's happening. The main idea is that you are adding or strengthening the will or intentionality being brought to the music, the struggle against the "gravity" of the signature.

Pull. Here there is more of an image of drawing back on the reins, holding the horse from galloping. Again, usually this would correlate to preventing music from speeding up, but not always. This could be an attempt to hold back one aspect of a signature that has got out of balance, and, self-reinforcing, is spiralling towards an out of control state.

Lock in. Both of the above modes of engagement suggest a situation where the accompaniment is "stronger" than the lead player, more aware of dynamics and able to shape them. But when you are playing with a master musician, you may be hanging on for dear life facing your own challenge! In this case, the goal may be getting "in the pocket" or "in the groove" matching as best you can the energetic quality of the lead player. For beginning accompanists this should be the goal you strive for before trying to consciously influence energetics in the ways described above.

Playing with it. Finally, real playing means playing with these elements just as one plays with musical tones and beats. When two master musicians play they can dance through these modes of engagement, having a conversation, sparring, making love. This means not being in love with any one of the modes, being open again to what is beckoned by the moment.

Finer Dynamics of Interaction

Let's work from a basic understanding of the forces described above to look at what happens in a single musical line between accompanist and melody player. Here are some possibilities, each of which corresponds to musical events which you have heard, if not played, many times.

These could apply equally to the rhythmic accents suggested by the tune itself, or to a player's improvisations and variations around that tune. The melody can be translated into a kind of rhythmic patois of sparse vs. filled-in notes, stressed notes vs. un-stressed notes, perceived rhythmic figures with connected vs. unconnected passages (outlined, for example, with sustained and clipped notes). Some players will stick closely to the repeated phrase structure, others will vary it widely. Cape Breton players, for example, would not improvise within the tune; but a typical performance pattern for these players is to play each tune 2 or 3 times and play medleys of many tunes. Each tune then serves, structurally, as a new kind of phrasing idea that builds tension or just variety from the last. Irish players, by contrast, might play one tune many more times and revel in the twists and turns they introduce in interpreting the tune.

Creating the Floor. This is the basic skill of good accompaniment. You create a rhythmic "floor" or foundation on which the melody player can dance as they will. The key here is partly that you are not moved by the variations, pushes and pulls that the melody player may throw in. You stand your ground and give them theirs. Artie McGlynn is a master of this kind of playing. It is particularly important the larger the ensemble becomes, where the accompanying instrument must serve as a single voice among many.

The other variations below are better suited for one-on-one playing between a solo instrumentalist and a chordal accompanist.

Mirroring. The most obvious way to accompany is to mimic as exactly as possible what is going on in the melody. When you mirror the basic melody this is the easiest thing to do (provided you know the melody!). When the player is improvising, and you manage to guess what they will do rhythmically in the next moment, and do it at the same time, this is one of those moments of "musical telepathy" (or just plain lucky guessing) that defines the art.

Echoing/Anticipating. If one hears the idea and immediately tosses it back, I call this echoing. There's a sense that the idea has travelled some distance and been reflected back. It may be that this is just your reaction time, or that you planned a similar phrase and got to it later. If you get to it earlier that could be called anticipating. There are fancier versions, like echoing back the idea but slowed down to half time or sped up to double time: what might be termed replicating at different rhythmic levels.

Countering. Here, the idea is to play different stuff than what is going on in the melody. It translates into rhythmic ideas what counterpoint is in melody: doing something else, going in a different direction. If the melody sits on a long held note, play short rhythmic repeated chords underneath it. If the melody has a flourish of fast notes, play a statement of sparse, held chords that keep a long phrase thread present in the music.

The main idea is that you are working with foreground and background levels of attention. In creating the floor you shape and then stay at the background level. Here, you move in and out from background to foreground through countering.

Countering in song accompaniment. This is very important in accompanying songs (e.g., melodic "fill" accompaniment like fiddle). The idea is you need to get out of the way while the words are being sung, then occasionally drift into the foreground during the pauses. There are at least three different structural levels of pauses or spaces in songs: breaths, just short gaps between words; rests, the spaces between lines; and breaks, the spaces between verses. Particularly important moments are places like the lead-in between the verse and the chorus. This transition builds energy throughout the song because the compelling expectation of the repeated chorus builds for the listener. So the way you treat these spaces will vary throughout the song.

Countering in dance music. Countering is also important in dance music accompaniment at the junctures where the parts repeat or progress (A to A, A to B, B to B, B to A). Each of these junctures has their own unique quality in the time landscape of a 32-bar tune.

• The A to A is the first restatement; it is outlining the basic phrase architecture of the tune, and for the experienced ear of a listener it contains within it the seed of the entire extent of the tune. They know what's coming.
• The A to B is the journey out, having built the foundation of the tune.
• The B to B maintains the outward extent of the tune.
• The B to A is the strongest pull, back to the beginning and the familiar ground of the tune.

These transitions will change with each repetition of the tune, the energy signature changing as variations increase or the familiarity of the tune heightens the link with the dancers.

Other obvious transition moments are changes of tune, and the beginning and ending of the playing. Over the course of an evening of playing, the level of risk-taking and excitement will also build. The basic energetic structure of the two halves of a typical dance evening are something like love-making, building to a crisis and then you waltz.

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