O acorde diminuto (tríade) é formado por duas terças menores sobrepostas. Alguns autores descrevem o acorde diminuto da seguinte forma: T - b3 - b5, essa é uma maneira bem simples e prática de aprender a formação do acorde, o que ocorre é que algumas vezes os estudantes iniciantes confundem a formação e acabam por bemolizar a terça e quinta de qualquer acorde, o que às vezes não é necessário. Outra possibilidade é a compreensão do acorde é a seguinte forma: T - 3m - 5D. O objetivo de hoje é simples, basta escrever, tocar e cantar os acordes diminutos e ir aos poucos percebendo na paisagem sonora os acordes de tipo. Bom estudo.
Com muita honra me encontrei com @thejacksons , lendária banda de @michaeljackson , na foto @jackiejackson5 , ontem foi @poppa3t e “”@marlonjackson Tito Jackson (Guitarrista) com meu livro “The Jacksons A Word Dream” de minha autoria. A segunda banda que mais vendeu em toda a história. Uma das maiores honrarias que já recebi em toda minha vida. Com @jackiejackson5 @marlondavidjackson5 .
There are 57 books solos in my career as a writer. Very happy and honored to be able to present to the world my first book entirely in English, "The Jacksons - A World Dream," which tells the story of one of the greatest bands of all time. The sale in the main bookstores and in the internet, by Helládio Holanda.
São 57 livros solos em minha carreira como escritor. Muito feliz e honrado em poder apresentar ao mundo meu primeiro livro totalmente em inglês, “The Jacksons - A World Dream”, “Os Jacksons - Um Sonho Mundial”, em que se narra a história de uma das maiores bandas de todos os tempos. A venda nas principais livrarias e na internet, por Helládio Holanda.
“Hai mai pensato di andare via e non tornare mai più? Scappare e far perdere ogni tua traccia, per andare in un posto lontano e ricominciare a vivere, vivere una vita nuova, solo tua, vivere davvero? Ci hai mai pensato?”
— Il fu Mattia Pascal - Pirandello
MASSEDUCTION's opening track “Hang on Me” presents Annie Clark as the restless consumer on a come down, a prologue to the excesses of thought and sex and substance that populate the record. Her voice is uncharacteristically cracked but still hopeful, begging for someone to cling to while everything crashes around her.
Her fifth record, MASSEDUCTION is maximalist by definition: Lyrically, aesthetically – the all-caps, the clashing red and pink and leopard of its cover art – and musically; with Clark’s virtuosic guitar playing crashing into layer upon layer of synths and programmed beats. Every song contains sounds or ideas for ten others, as though the record might suddenly burst and multiply like spiders running from a nest. There is a complete sense of Clark at the centre: and she knows from experience that loneliness lives at the core of excess.
“Los Ageless” is a near-future fable of eternal youth, its accompanying video a pastel-coloured plastic surgery nightmare. Nestled between the depictions of cage-dancing girls and endless artificial summer is the repeated refrain, “How could anybody have you and lose you and not lose their minds too?”, an explanation or an excuse: People don’t just destroy themselves – or let others destroy them – for nothing, you know. As the song fades out, her usually assured voice laments, “I tried to write you a love song,” a kind of epilogue or correction.
Gender and sexuality are presented as experimental, unfixed: On “Sugarboy”, Clark proclaims, “BOYS! I am a lot like you / GIRLS! I am a lot like you,” an update of Prince’s promise that “I’m not a woman / I’m not a man / I am something that you’ll never comprehend.” The title track’s refrain of “I can’t turn off what turns me on,” is Clark embracing the unhinged elements of her sexuality, as one who has shed all the urges of adolescence, and whose control stems from her acting like a man. Instead, Clark prizes adolescent urges as part of her spectrum of sexual experience, wrestling back uninhibited, self-serving female pleasure.
MASSEDUCTION defies explanation and critique, rendering the critic a dead weight in the dust of its ever-accelerating sucker-punch of ideas.
James Blake deduced that "music can't be everything" after the emotional heavy lifting and self-examination of 2016's The Colour In Anything, and the press that followed pointed to an artist more open and in touch with himself. Blake's personal development is the primary driver of fourth LP, Assume Form, a tight 12 tracks that show the artist at his most approachable, romantic and optimistic.
These feelings are apparent from the opening verse of the album's title track. "I hope this is the first day / That I connect motion to feeling," Blake sings, adding, in the chorus: "I will be touchable by her, I will be reachable." Further on, they're undeniable. "You waive my fear of self," he expresses on "Can't Believe the Way We Flow." "I've thrown my hat in the ring, I've got nothing to lose with you," he sings on "I'll Come Too," backed by a lovelorn vocal sample and sweeping strings.
Major keys aren't new to Blake's repertoire, but he has never expressed joy and feeling so plainly. To suggest he has entirely abandoned the dour moods of his earlier work would be wrong; now he's using them as juxtaposition against the album's uplifting moments. It's best captured in "Don't Miss It," which finds Blake recounting anxious, cyclical thoughts in slight vibrato.
Blake's continued openness has also crept further into his creative process, with Assume Form boasting the largest number of credited collaborators to date. On "Mile High," a reserved Travis Scott leaves ASTROWORLD behind for a graceful turn in Blake's world, ceding the rap star power to a wound-up André 3000 on "Where's the Catch?" Moses Sumney pushes his range for a haunting hook on "Tell Them," while Rosalía lends both harmony and Spanish vocals to "Barefoot in the Park."
The cover art finds Blake in repose, hands behind his head, staring into the camera. No longer masked by double exposure, deep blues and greys, Assume Form is Blake coming into focus.
It is radical, in a world of constant sensory overload, to use quietness to make yourself heard: this is something Jessica Pratt uses masterfully on her new album. The plinked keys, strummed strings and warbled words are having none of it – Quiet Signs, as sparse and subtle as its name suggests, shares its secrets only with those willing to give their complete and undivided attention in exchange.
Though there is much common ground with 2015’s gorgeous On Your Own Love Again – prominent and distinctive use of acoustic guitar, at-times unintelligible (yet still beautifully sung) lyrics, a nod to folk music of yore and, of course, that strange, otherworldly voice – Quiet Signs is more finely tuned, sleekened by a studio where previous releases, largely home-recorded, were grainy and warmly primitive. This refinement is immediately clear, as the slinky, cinematic piano of album opener "Opening Night" leads into the silken melody of "As The World Turns."
Pratt is hard to pin to specific genres, eras, realms, shapeshifting through Quiet Signs’ spindly silver branches like Woolf’s Orlando – at one moment a siren accompanied by synth strings (on "This Time Around,") the next a 16th-century courtier (on the Greensleeves-evocative "Crossing"), later a mournful chorister ("Silent Song") and eventually, on "Aeroplane," an ethereal all-seeing deity.
There is no sense here of a ‘difficult third album,’ nor the kind of alarming change of direction that breaks fans’ hearts, but rather a skilful honing of a craft – a less frantically picked guitar here, a more softly spoken word there, a little bit of flute. And what a wondrous thing, for it is, I think, much harder to make what you have subtly better than to try your hand at something completely new.
Sophie Ellis-Bextor takes two decades of tunes for a symphonic spin on The Song Diaries. A superb songwriter with an instantly identifiable vocal approach, Ellis-Bextor’s chameleonic career turns at retro-modernist disco, new wave and adult contemporary balladry.
But, in true Ellis-Bextor fashion, a simple singles collection transformed into something more: enter The Song Diaries. Produced in collaboration with Ed Harcourt, The Feeling bassist Richard Jones and David Arnold, The Song Diaries charts Ellis-Bextor’s journey from frontwoman for theaudience to an engaging solo entity through reimagined tracks.
“Heartbreak (Make Me a Dancer),” one of Ellis-Bextor’s stormiest floorfillers from her fourth album Make a Scene (2011). Originally composed as an acidic, electro-pop groove with mock- violin touches, the frenetic programming finds itself swapped out for actual cascading strings. Even with the new organic instrumentation in place, the compositional integrity isn’t lost on “Heartbreak (Make Me a Dancer)." If anything, the song's intensity is increased.
Throughout The Song Diaries, each song finds its mood heightened by these symphonic alterations. Intricate synth-sections are recast as mighty string beds on “Mixed Up World.” Elsewhere, robust brass pumps in the place of a power pop pulse on “Catch Me.”
Ellis-Bextor delivers two makeovers for “Murder on the Dancefloor” on the LP. In its first version, it is spun into an uptempo ballad, trimmed with castanets and just enough percussion to lend it an airy Latin feel. That aspect is expounded upon with the “orchestral disco version” with a kicking rhythm section that gives it a light, four-on-the-floor boost that teases out its vintage pre-Song Diaries vibes.
The scope of the musicianship on The Song Diaries is impressive. But, ultimately, as it has been with every Sophie Ellis-Bextor effort post-Read My Lips (2001), the record will impact most with those open enough to receive its charms. She needn’t worry though, The Song Diaries will find a home in the hearts of those discerning enough to enjoy having their pop perspectives reoriented by a woman that wields her artistic vision fearlessly.
“Lux prima” is Latin for “first light,” and as a title it’s a nearly perfect fit for the debut effort from Karen O and Danger Mouse.
The album largely oscillates between two modes: mixtape adventurism and mashup experimentalism. Bookend songs “Lux Prima” and “Nox Lumina” are the latter, and are of a pair: they’re the two longest songs on the record and they imagine the result of something like stitching together the groove of Massive Attack’s “Protection” and the spaciness of Pink Floyd’s “Shine On You Crazy Diamond." And the duo pulls it off via lush production and brilliant melodies. Similarly, “Reveries” morphs from bedroom demo guitar picking to haunting art-pop craft as it progresses, its steady and confident build selling the endeavor.
As for the former mode, take the bluesy stomper “Woman” or the disco-infused “Turn the Light” as examples, both of which are (mostly) played straight. They shouldn't work, either on their own or within the context of an album in the typical sense, but they do because of the ‘no boundaries’ mentality throughout. This is to say nothing of the superbly layered, headphone-preferring production and some strong hooks, of course.
As for the lyrics, they encapsulate the music by suggesting an independence of their own. After declaring that “We’re the life inside a flame” on the bubble bath lovely “Drown," O asks to be allowed to drown as a release. The title track seems to discuss a freedom in anonymity in the refrain: “I’m nowhere, I’m no one, I’m nobody/ There’s nobody but you." And on “Redeemer” she sees freedom as transformative by shedding one’s makeup and tail.
Yet it’s a promotional photo of the duo that might make for the most effective summation of Lux Prima. In it, Karen O and Danger Mouse are in a corner, at the edge of a pool. Karen O stands and is wearing a bold dress that changes color depending on the light, while Danger Mouse sits next to her wearing a traditional suit and tie. It’s the juxtaposition of shimmering and subtle, of everything and nothing. It’s the idea that not only do opposites attract, if paired correctly they can become something great.