Can you imagine Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” without John McVie’s iconic closing line?
Many of us are more than content hanging back from center stage and driving from the rear, choosing instead just to make folks move by improving the groove, all while having little to prove. Of course, this doesn’t describe every bass player. But if the shoe fits, there can be a flip side: Having a play-it-cool personality can sometimes mean playing it too cool. Some of us struggle with self-promotion and owning our contributions to the music. But your creative input is worth something. Modesty to the point of undervaluing your creativity can lead to less money in the bank, especially when it comes to your contributions to songwriting.
Of all the possible income streams, songwriting—and related publishing income—has always been the real golden goose of the music biz. Think about it: The most prosperous bassists, say, the Paul McCartneys and Stings of the world, wrote much of their respective band’s material. That’s one of the reasons the non-songwriter players, typically the bassist (and maybe the drummer, too—looking at you, Ringo) are often the least financially successful members of the band. Of course, you can earn a pretty good living on bass without songwriting, but having even partial credit for cocreating a song is worth claiming if you pitched in ideas that go beyond following a chart with groove and panache. There’s more than one way to handle this; some bands, like U2 and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, split the music writing credit equally.
Note that, in the U.S., copyright law covers the melody and the lyrics. Generally speaking, it doesn’t cover chord progressions, arrangements, or parts. (Which is why the 2015 jury verdict supporting Marvin Gaye’s heirs’ allegation that Pharrell Williams and Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” infringed on Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up” was so messed up—but I digress.)
“If you create a part that is fundamental to the song’s structural foundation, or that takes the song in a new direction, like sketching out a new prechorus or bridge, you may be doing more than adding to the arrangement.”
But that doesn’t mean you have to be McCartney banging out “Scrambled Eggs” on piano to be involved in a song’s creation. Bass players have as many good creative ideas as anyone. The key to getting credit is in (1) knowing when one of your musical ideas rises to the level of songwriting, and (2) speaking up about it.
Let’s take a look at a couple of contrasting examples from Fleetwood Mac. John McVie’s grim, minor riff at the end of “The Chain” from 1977’s Rumours largely defines that section of the song. The composition as a whole simply wouldn’t be the same without it. That’s probably why he shares a songwriting credit with his bandmates—one of his few songwriting credits with the band.
Compare that with Christine McVie’s composition “Say You Love Me,” from the previous album, 1975’s Fleetwood Mac. When the chorus arrives, John McVie launches into a clever countermelody that dances up, down, and around the vocal while hitting all the necessary harmonic beats. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, pause right now and go appreciate this nugget of low-end gold.) Arguably, the bass on the “Say You Love Me” chorus is more substantive musically than the “Chain” riff. It’s an awesome arrangement ingredient, but is it essential to the composition? Could a singer/guitarist kumbaya their way through a solo acoustic rendition without including that part? Sadly, the answer is yes, they absolutely could. No songwriting credit for Mr. McVie.
There are countless examples of brilliantly composed bass lines—consider McCartney’s carefully crafted part on George Harrison’s composition “Something,” or Rufus bassist Bobby Watson’s incredible performance on Michael Jackson’s “Rock with You,” or pretty much any Motown track with James Jamerson—that don’t merit songwriting credit.
If you play originals or back up original artists onstage or in the studio, there may be times when you’re called on to do more than interpret a chord chart. If you create a part that is fundamental to the song’s structural foundation, or that takes the song in a new direction, like sketching out a new prechorus or bridge, you may be doing more than adding to the arrangement. You’re participating in the songwriting.
If that’s the case, it could be time for a delicate conversation with your cowriter(s), whether that’s the artist or bandleader, the producer, or your bandmate. I have talked with pro players with hit songs who sometimes agonize over this part of the job, or at least play it very carefully, so as not to eliminate themselves from future work. But if you do create something that’s essential to the composition and decide to assert yourself and stake your claim for a share of the songwriting splits, be fair, be cool, and get it in writing. Just remember that you are a badass, and get to it.
George Martin’s productions for the Beatles—13 albums and 22 singles—earned him a place in modern musical history, garnered him a knighthood in the U.K., and changed the role of the record producer from hired-hand to auteur. Martin, who died Tuesday evening, March 8, in his home at the age of 90, rose from his straight-from-college job with the BBC’s music department to helming sessions for not only the Fab Four but also Elton John, Jeff Beck, Stan Getz, the Mahavishnu Orchestra, America, UFO, the Little River Band, Ultravox, James Bond films, and, seemingly, countless more, including solo albums by Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr.
Trained as a classical pianist and oboist at London’s Guildhall School of Music and Drama, Martin brought his training and taste to bear on popular music. He became a house producer at EMI in 1950, making a series of comedy records and running classical sessions until, in the early ’60s, he was moved by the changing tides in musical taste to hunt for a winning rock group. He found the Beatles.
As John Lennon explained in 1971, “George Martin made us what we were in the studio. He helped us develop a language to talk to other musicians.” And through that language—and with the assistance of Martin’s complementary skills as an arranger—the Beatles were able to build new layers over the bare-boned rock-song architecture that was their foundation, eventually creating such towering pinnacles of musical accomplishment and sonic grandeur as Revolver, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, “The White Album,” and Abbey Road.
Martin with George Harrison, Paul McCartney, and John Lennon. The latter said, “George Martin made us what we were in the studio. He helped us develop a language to talk to other musicians.”
Through those recordings and many that followed with other artists—including his hit title songs for the James Bond films Goldfinger and Live and Let Die, which boasted his richly orchestrated arrangements for Shirley Bassey and Paul McCartney and Wings, respectively—Martin helped form an elite class of record producer. Along with Phil Spector, Quincy Jones, and Brian Eno, he left a unique sonic thumbprint on his work, and, in conjunction with his engineers, developed a wheelhouse of techniques that included ultra-close miking of acoustic instruments, flanging, artificial track doubling, hand-cut tape loops, and backward tracks.
Late in life, Martin revealed many of his techniques in public appearances and in a pair of documentaries: the three-part BBC television series The Rhythm of Life, screened in 1997 and ’98, and 2011’s 90-minute Produced by George Martin, which features a wealth of archival footage and interviews with McCartney, Starr, Beck, and others.
In the following months, expect a wealth of tributes to Martin and the music he helped create. Meanwhile, our editors chose to pay homage to the great producer by picking some of their favorite tracks from his catalog to share.
Ted Drozdowski — Senior Editor