The Doctor Is In: Molly Miller on Structure, Theory, and Jamming
The trio bandleader and Jason Mraz backer breaks down her journey through guitar academia, how to play with other musicians, and whether theory still matters.
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This time on Dipped In Tone, Rhett and Zach chat with Los Angeles-based trio troubadour Molly Miller, known for her work with her own trio and pop star Jason Mraz. Miller’s virtuosic playing, chameleon-like genre flexibility, and uncommonly deep knowledge of the guitar and music theory—courtesy of her nine years spent at USC attaining her doctorate—have made her a sought-after of jack of all trades in the guitar community.
As you might guess from the name of her band, Miller’s home turf is trio playing, and her latest record, The Ballad of Hotspur, is a tumbleweed Western rendition of the power and imagination of the sparse band configuration. Miller explains how she configures her guitar tones with her arrangements, why recording live off the floor works best for her threesome, and how to write instrumentals that don’t drag.
Unlike many musicians who like to live on a dangerously flexible schedule, Miller loves structure, usually rising early to fit a regimented schedule. But do things like routine and an academic’s knowledge of theory take some of the magic out of music? Miller has good insight for how to strike a balance between intuition and musical book-smarts. Later in the episode, stay tuned to learn how the algorithm might be changing how we learn guitar, and the eternal importance of jamming with strangers.
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The very powerful signal processor of the Future Impact V4 is able to replicate the various oscillator, filter, amplifier and envelope generator blocks found in classic synthesizers. In addition, it contains signal processing blocks more traditionally used for processing the sound of an instrument such as a harmonizer block and audio effects such as chorus, distortion and EQ. These architectures complement each other in a very flexible way.
Setting the standard for the bass guitar synth pedals since 2015, together with an enthusiastic community and long line of great artists, the Future Impact V4 is the guitar synth platform for the next decade.
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Though Lou Reed seemed to only use a handful of chords, his shrewd right-hand strumming created limitless rhythmic variations.
Beginner to Intermediate
Beginner to Intermediate
- Focus on syncopation.
- Add muted strums to enhance your rhythm playing.
- Learn how to modify complex rhythmic patterns into smaller, more comprehensible figures.
Though usually more lauded for his lyrics than his guitar playing, Lou Reed had a distinctive style of strumming that can make replication a challenge and seemingly impossible for beginners to comprehend. With a combination of syncopations and muted strums, Reed’s rhythm guitar—from his time with the Velvet Underground to his solo career—has a groove and feel that all guitar players can learn from.
We’ll start with a relatively simple strummed hook that shows Reed’s roots. Ex. 1 is a variation on “There She Goes Again” from The Velvet Underground and Nico, which was recorded in 1966 and released in 1967. This strum was clearly inspired by Marvin Gaye’s “Hitch Hike,” as it duplicates Gaye’s intro almost exactly, albeit in a different key. (It is worth mentioning that “Hitch Hike” also inspired the Beatles “You Can’t Do That.”)
Ex. 1
Ex. 2 is the samething but performed with cowboy chords instead of barres.
Ex. 2
With Ex. 3, a la “Sister Ray” from 1967’s White Light/White Heat, we get into Reed’s more syncopated strums. Note that after the first beat, the emphasis of each strum is on an upbeat, including the changes from G to F, then from F to C, followed at the end by a typical Lou Reed-ism of strumming while in mid-change (though in all fairness, many guitarists do this). Thus, the last upbeat notes, which imply a G chord, are in fact a byproduct created by the switch, not a specific chord.
Ex. 3
Ex. 4 is the same strum but capoed at the 5th fret, using cowboy chords instead of barres.
Ex. 4
Our final Velvet reference, Ex. 5, comes from “Sweet Jane” (Loaded, 1970), which is a song I loathe teaching to students as it is deceptively tricky—it was the inspiration for this lesson—and can make one feel demoralized. True, the song has only four chords, but the syncopated switching and muted strums can cause problems for many players, and not just beginners. Take your time to get the nuances of the switches and mutes.
Ex. 5
Better yet, start with Ex. 6, which is a simplified version of Ex. 5, using cowboy chords instead of barre chords, as well as a more straightforward strum. True, it does not conform completely to the original, but it is a worthwhile starting point. Once this is mastered, try playing Ex. 5 with the open-position chords before moving onto the barres.
Ex. 6
Solo Years
Ex. 7 is a take on “Walk on the Wild Side” from 1972’s Transformer, arguably the most famous Lou Reed song. Here we’ve graduated from eighth-notes to 16th-notes in the right hand. Once again, the muted strums play a vital role.
Ex. 7
Like the previous two examples, you might want to start with the simpler Ex. 8, although the only change is that the mutes have been omitted. This example demonstrates how essential the mutes are, as the feel changes completely when you leave them out.
Ex. 8
Ex. 9 also comes from Transformer and is a variation on“Vicious.” Additional syncopations and muted strums, both different from “…Wild Side,” complicate what should be carefree.
Ex. 9
Ex. 10 is, again, a simplified alternative.
Ex. 10
Examples 11 and 12 demonstrate two options for fretting chords, using Reed’s “Leave Me Alone” from Street Hassle (1978) as a vehicle.
Ex. 11
Ex. 12
Our last example, Ex. 13, is based on Reed’s late-’80s “comeback” hit, “Dirty Boulevard” from New York. Here we not only get syncopations, but a rhythmic variation in the chorus—same chords, different rhythms. Pay attention to that quick, almost-ghosted B note on the “and” of 1 in measure two. It almost seems like a mistake but it adds so much.
Ex. 13
The Lou Reed Legacy
When most fans think of Lou Reed, the first thing that comes to mind is his pioneering subversive, transgressive, and poetic lyrics. But, clearly, that is not all there is to his work. In truth, Lou Reed is an incomparable musician whose guitar playing should not be underestimated. So, take this lesson as a starting point and search out more of his idiosyncratic strums. You will be well rewarded.
Montana’s own Evel Knievel
If artists aren’t allowed to take risks, and even fail, great art will never be made. Need proof? Check Picasso, Hendrix, Monk, and Led Zeppelin.
In sixth grade, I went to a strict Catholic school. When you have an Italian-Irish mother, that’s just part of the deal. The nuns had the look and temperament of the defensive line of the ’70s Oakland Raiders. Corporal punishment was harsh, swift, and plentiful–particularly toward boys—and we all feared them. All but one second grader. I can’t remember his first name; nobody used it, because his last name was Knievel. His uncle was Evel Knievel, the greatest and perhaps only celebrity ever to come from my home state, Montana. On the playground, we would watch in awe as this wild Knievel kid raced by us, nuns chasing in an awkward, sluggish pursuit as he knocked kids over, dust, books, and gravel flying behind his path of terror. This kid was fearless. It was truly inspiring to watch.
I hadn’t thought about my schoolmate for decades, until recently, when I saw Dave Chappelle talking about a terrible show he had in Detroit where the audience rebelled against him and began chanting, “We want our money back. We want our money back.” Chappelle told the angry mob: “Good people of Detroit. Hear me now. You are never getting your f*****g money back. I’m like Evel Knievel. I get paid for the attempt. I didn’t promise this shit would be good.”
Good art is a gamble. Look at Picasso. In 1907, he spent nearly a year drawing rough sketches and eventually painting his jagged, raw, unpretty Les Demoiselles d’Avignon. Picasso kept Les Demoiselles d’Avignon in his Montmartre, Paris, studio for years after its completion due to the mostly negative reaction of his immediate circle of friends and colleagues. After its first public showing in 1916, critics were hostile. Today, the painting is hailed as a pivotal moment in art history—the first true work of both Cubism and modern art. Many argue that the 20th century began culturally in 1907, with this painting that today hangs in the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Picasso wasn’t paid to make folks comfy; he got bank for shoving boundaries.
Similarly, I remember my sister and I watching a clip of Hendrix’s feedback-drenched “Star-Spangled Banner” at Woodstock. I couldn’t really process it at the time, but I knew I was watching something that had never been done. When he got to the “bombs bursting in air” part, it sounded like a barrage of explosions. Then, he references the mournful military bugle call “Taps,” played on bases at the end of each day and at funerals. My sister was offended. When I asked why, she said it was “unpatriotic.” I watch it now and I see a Black Army veteran who justifiably had a complex relationship with the country he had served. Martin Luther King was assassinated a year earlier, police brutality toward Black citizens was common. Black Americans were disproportionately stuck in low-wage jobs, and unemployment rates for Black workers were roughly double those of white workers. And although Hendrix was discharged, many of his Army buddies were overseas fighting a war they did not understand or support. So, yes, unpatriotic seems appropriate. But Hendrix’s performance was iconic because he dared to try to show his complex feelings through his guitar.“That’s the sweet spot: Fearless doesn’t mean flawless.”
Listen to Led Zeppelin’s groundbreaking “Black Dog.” The B section is so wonky, sticking out like a sore thumb with that weird timing that always feels wrong to me, but it would not be the rock masterpiece it is without that unsettling section. Maybe that’s the sweet spot: Fearless doesn’t mean flawless. Thelonious Monk’s janky genius proves that; those off-kilter notes hit you in the gut, not the head. Beck, Bowie, Coltrane… they didn’t polish away the edges; they leaned into them. That’s what makes you feel like a kid at an amusement park, wide-eyed and along for the ride.
When somebody hires me, they get what they get. I want to nail it, but art is subjective, so my idea of what feels right may not jibe with theirs. Humans are not great at communicating, so often I walk away from sessions and gigs wondering if my contribution was good, great, or garbage. But that’s a stupid question I try not to allow myself to indulge. You can’t do great work playing scared. There are times when music is not creative, just painting by numbers, trying to give the customer what they think they want. I do a lot of that to make a living, but that’s more like being a vending machine spitting out custom orders, not an artist.
Real artists are like that Knievel kid—leaving a trail of chaos, and not apologizing for it. I think artists who do it the best flip the script. Their audience isn’t just a judge, but a co-conspirator in the mess. They’re betting on the artist’s next move, not buying a finished product. They’re paying for the front-row seat to potential, not a flawless show. The paycheck was for the swing, not the home run. If the audience pays for “enjoyment” that turns artists into jukeboxes, not creators… if artists aren’t free to fail… innovation dies.
