I went to high school in the late 1980s. I was a musician. You can sum the whole situation up in two simple words: hair metal.
So yeah, I knew who Joe Satriani was. Even though I was a bass player at the time (and, given that I could read and write music, an overemployed one), I lived in the land of lead guitar players.
You see, there were “rhythm guitarists” and “lead guitarists.” Though lead guitarists were known at times to be seen playing rhythm, it was made quite clear that their purpose in life was to step up and cut loose after the second chorus with the obligatory guitar solo.
The guitar solo is a unique vehicle for proving the musician’s alpha-male status among other musicians, as well as ensuring that he would get laid like a madman (1).
Of course, there wasn’t much to it. All he really had to do was play a harmonic minor scale really fast for sixteen bars, ensuring that he ended it with a frenzied run up the neck, finishing off by hitting a high artificial harmonic and dive-bombing it down with the tremolo bar.
Seriously, that crap worked like Viagra for 16-25 year old boys with bad perms all across the United States for a few years.
There was a sort of idol worship thing going on within the guitar community, wherein somebody, who was just a bit better than that weird kid down the street, could string together a few cliched riffs, produce a whole album of interminable self-indulgence and make money off it.
I can’t remember all of them, but every week there was a new one: Vinny Moore, Paul Gilbert, Steve Vai (2), and lord help us, the insufferable Yngwe Malmsteen. Joe Satriani fell into this group as well, though he was a bit older (and a bit wiser).
Of the whole crowd, I found Satriani the most tolerable. He had chops, yeah, but he also had a good ear for melody, a somewhat recognizable tone, and his articulation was impeccable, even at speed. His first album was particularly intriguing, and though I haven’t kept up, I can recognize his style whenever I hear it.
At the end of the day, though, Satriani records music primarily for other guitar players. That means playing really technical stuff and showing off. That’s fine and well, but for a guy with his talent, I’d think he’d do more.
I’m not talking about solos. I’m talking about overall arrangements and form. I’d love to hear him something truly challenging and mind-blowing, like Zappa did. Instead, we’ve got verse/chorus/verse/chorus/BIG GUITAR SOLO/recap/fade.
Meh. I suppose he’s got to cater to his audience.
In any case, the underlying form is pretty limiting. This style requires somewhat simplistic harmonic language and rhythm. We’re talking generic rock music here, one small step up from adult contemporary.
As such, there’s bound to be some repetition, no matter how slight.
So, Coldplay stands accused of ripping off a terribly bland Joe Satriani song. To be fair, the chord progressions are shockingly similar (3), but I’m not sure that’s enough to warrant a plagiarism charge.
They’re hardly a band known for their originality. “Talk” is practically a rewrite of Kraftwerk’s “Computerliebe”, and “Strawberry Swing” cribs a melodic phrase from Catherine Wheel’s “Show Me Mary.”
It’s the second example that’s more illustrative. “Show Me Mary” is a closing track from a relatively obscure record, and I doubt it ever got any airplay. So, is it a rip of Catherine Wheel? Doubtful.
Here’s a fun example. When I was in conservatory, I wrote a viola sonata. I was really happy with it until my professor played the second movement from Ravel’s String Quartet for me. They were so similar I’d have had a hard time claiming I’d never heard it.
The point wasn’t to expose dishonesty (I detest Ravel, and had never heard the piece). It was to point out something that’s blatantly obvious:
There are only twelve tones in the scale we use, and for the most part, we only use a framework of seven at a time. Tell me there’s not going to be some duplication at some point.
It gets even worse in rock music, which stopped developing harmonically pretty much on arrival. You’ve only got a few tried-and-true chord progressions, so repetition is inevitable. The resemblance between the Satriani and Coldplay songs is striking, sure, but it happens all the time. In a medium that punishes originality, this is what we get.
“If I Could Fly” isn’t “Stairway to Heaven” or “Giant Steps.” It’s a tonal rock song, using four familiar chords in a progression that’s likely been used hundreds of times over the years.
To be honest, I’ve heard a few motifs and blues cliches in Satriani’s solos that could be tracked back to other musicians’ work. Nobody would accuse the man of plagiarising in that case, since it can be argued that those motifs are common to the point of being archetypes. The same goes here.
Of course, proving plagiarism in music is a different can of worms than it is among other media. You can break it down into several scenarios:
- Homage, such as with Zappa’s work (quoting Petrouchka in a doo-wop song)
- Parody (which could also include the above)
- Sampling, in which the source is both acknowledged and kept intact
- Unintentional repetition of a common motif, and
- Intentional theft.
So, where does it enter the realm of legal action? Who decides the difference?
I suppose if you could find recordings of the musicians in Coldplay conspiring in the studio, you could prove intent. But what the heck would that be? “I know guys, let’s rip the Satriani tune! That’ll piss off the Yanks!”
Somehow, I don’t see them getting far with that.
So, how does culpability get established? In research, it’s easy to prove sources and compare wording, but we don’t have the equivalent in music (unless it’s lyrics that are being ripped). Such a thing is a hard sell, and has only worked with limited success in the past.
Finally, how do you establish damages? Can Satriani, an artist with a decidedly different audience, prove that Coldplay’s song cost him money? If anything, this whole thing has likely spiked his album sales quite a bit.
This whole thing is a colossal non-issue, and if I didn’t respect Satriani, I’d expect it was about ego and/or money. I just have to assume this whole thing is a misunderstanding, though I do wish it didn’t take litigation to settle it.
(1) “In fact, many musicians are convinced that in order to get The Blow Job after the show, they have to play LEAD GUITAR.”
–Frank Zappa, The Real Frank Zappa Book, p. 165.
(2) In all fairness, Vai is a phenomenal and imaginative musician on many levels. It’s not his fault he got caught up in the whole “heavy metal lead guitar god” thing. To this day, I wonder if his career path was unjustly limited by that.
(3) The guy analyzing it says it’s in F minor, but it’s actually in Aâ™. The correct chord progression is IV-V-I-vi (Dâ™-Eâ™-Aâ™-f). It’s a matter of debate, but the melody resolves to an Aâ™ (“seas would rise when I gave the word“). Guitarists tend to think in minor keys; I don’t know why. I suppose it’s why string players in general think in sharp keys, while wind players think in flat keys.