Melodic Figuration Theory: The Hidden Logic of Melodic Behavior

by David Fuentes, Ph.D.

It’s not unusual to hear the same melodic pattern surface in different melodies. Take the opening phrase of “It’s a Wonderful World.” It uses the same notes in the same order as “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”—yet the two songs feel worlds apart. Different rhythms, different pacing, different expressive weight. Normally, we’d chalk this up as a happy accident and move on.

But what if it isn’t a coincidence at all? What if these recurring patterns point to something composers have been using all along without noticing—a shared vocabulary of melodic “figures”—common shapes that quietly underpin every tonal melody we know?

Once you know which patterns to listen for, they’re hard to miss. These compact, three- and four-note figures recur across styles, eras, and genres—not as surface similarities, but as familiar “agents”: bits of melodic motion that carry their own sense of direction and energy. The more we listen, the more we find that melodic figures don’t just recur; they behave.

Melodic Figuration Theory (MFT) bring this intuitive vocabulary into the open. It identifies a few dozen recurring shapes and shows how each one harbors intrinsic kinetic potential—implied ways of moving that influence how it normally urges a line forward or lets the composer modify it to create some special effect.

Because MFT also accounts for the natural, intuitive syntax that shapes how these figures interact, it can reveal something traditional theory has rarely considered: that melody has its own interior logic—its own reasons for moving the ways it does, not solely dependent on the harmonic framework beneath it.

Here’s how it works.

Tier 1: The Vocabulary of Melody consists of 36 distinct elements, anchored by 24 melodic figures—the “pre-melodic gestalts” underlying all tonal melody. Their essential character persists, no matter the rhythmic, harmonic, or registral setting. Each figure embodies kinetic potential and characteristic tendencies—tendencies the composer can yield to or subtly redirect.

Tier 2: Five Dimensions of Melodic Behavior. Unlike analytical theories that locate underlying structural frameworks, MFT observes what’s directly perceptible—five dimensions that every musician feels and every composer can learn to control. Central to MFT is the insight that every dimension operates in two modes: normal behavior, which follows expectation and creates flow, and modified behavior, which arrests attention and generates expression.

Tier 3: Melodic Syntax explores the responsive nature of melodic logic. The composer transforms a melodic figure into a melodic gesture by adding rhythm. In this way, the figure is not the smallest intact unit of melody; the melodic gesture is. Whereas melodic figures possess kinetic potential, melodic gestures are fully kinetic. A gesture harnesses conviction and emotion to convey meaning with immediacy. Going further, just as a conversation hinges on the intuitive relationships between a statement and a reply, MFT brings to light ways that gestures interact through a finite system of responses to build cohesive, dynamic phrases.

Tier 4: Melodic Schemas shows how Tiers 1–3 open ways to build comprehensive frameworks grounded in intuitive logic. This is where patterns of behavior and expectation solidify into something a listener can apprehend as a whole—regardless of style, length, or complexity.

TIER #1: The Vocabulary of Melody

Melodic Figuration Theory holds that all tonal melodies draw from the same well: a vocabulary of 36 distinct melodic elements. This lexicon is anchored by 24 Melodic Figures—the pre-melodic gestalts that animate the entire system—and their reach is total. From the simplest folk song to the most elaborate concerto, these figures are always present, always at work.

This is new. These aren’t just recurring patterns; they are active agents. Each figure embodies its own kinetic potential—an internal energy that manifests in two distinct ways:

Motion within the figure (isolated): Each figure’s shape dictates a specific internal shifting of weight from first note to last—much like the curves and chutes of a waterslide choreograph the rider’s experience.

Motion beyond the figure (integrated): The energy a figure builds doesn’t stop at its last note—it follows through, connecting to the next figure or terminus with its own logic and consequences.

By identifying these characteristic tendencies, MFT opens a way to understand melodic motion as nearly autonomous. Consider how individuals behave within society: each person carries their own inclinations and moves with real independence—yet no one acts in a vacuum. Family, institutions, and circumstances shape what’s possible and allowable. Melodic figures work the same way. Their motion arises from within, but is continually shaped by the musical environment around them.

This view differs from the prevailing assumption that melodic motion and coherence depend primarily on an underlying framework of structural pitches. MFT does not deny that such frameworks exist. Rather, by recognizing that each melodic figure has kinetic potential, MFT shows that much of melody’s motion and coherence can be understood directly at the musical surface—without tunneling down to hidden architecture that only specialists can locate, and rarely agree on.

And there’s more. The ambient musical forces of Tier 2—localized harmony, metric placement, connection, register, and contour—exert a stronger influence over surface-level melodic behavior than deeper structural forces do.

The following table contains all 36 members of the melodic vocabulary. Each figure is shown in root position, which signals opportunities for inversion—either to involve other chord tones or to flip its intervals. All figures also have chromatic versions, and some have pentatonic versions. The possibilities for rhythmicization—including note repetition—are limitless.

Click on any element to hear how it behaves in a few well-known melodies across eras and genres.

If melodic figures are so pervasive, why does this vocabulary feel both familiar and new? A central tenet of MFT is that composers don’t acquire our knowledge of these figures through deliberate, formal study. Instead, we absorb them through years of singing, playing, and listening until the patterns become second nature. The result is a shared vernacular: figures that surface again and again, not by scholarly decree, but through the collective muscle memory of generations of composers.

What we could never do before.

The ability to identify a limited set of melodic elements lets us do something groundbreaking: compare one melodic moment with another. Why does this matter? Because comparison is how every field moves forward. Practical insight doesn’t arise from isolated facts. It comes from lining things up and asking, “What makes one figure’s resolution feel inevitable while another catches us totally off guard?”

Material scientists develop stronger composites by comparing how structures respond under stress. Urban planners shape better cities by comparing long-term outcomes across zoning and transit strategies. Astrophysicists chart the universe by comparing light from distant galaxies to evolving cosmological models. In every case, the breakthrough came not from more data, but from finally having something to compare.

Now that we can identify the building blocks of melody, we can look as close as we want. By comparing how the same figure behaves in different situations, we can map normal and modified behaviors across five key dimensions of melodic behavior—localized harmony, metric placement, connection, register, and contour—as dependably as we can demarcate the regular and irregular resolutions of a dominant seventh chord. As we do, we’ll find something powerful. Not only have composers across styles and centuries played these modes off each other to charm, stir, move, and unsettle us—they’ve done it in the same ways to achieve the same effects. That’s what makes MFT’s toolkit of expressive techniques not just descriptive but genuinely instructive, with each technique grounded in examples drawn from composers who use it effectively.

TIER #2: Five Dimensions of Melodic Behavior

[1] HARMONIC MELODY

An experienced stonemason doesn’t need to measure every rock to know if an arch will hold. They scan the pile, weighing a stone or two in their hands, sensing for curve and the fit—a gestalt impression that transcends calculation. Apprentices see a pile of stones; the mason feels the arch.

Traditional theory lacks this gestalt. It treats melody like a series of isolated entities: chord tones vs. “embellishing tones.” That label alone betrays the problem, signaling that some notes are merely second-class citizens. In reality, what we call passing tones or neighbor notes aren’t like gargoyles on a cornice—extraneous and decorative. They’re the grout. They’re the very material that binds each figure into a singular, meaningful unit. Every note belongs fully to its figure, defining both its physical contour and its harmonic footprint.

Like the experienced stonemason, an experienced musician doesn’t need to measure every note. She recognizes whole patterns—figures—and the harmonic framework they carry. The contour alone reveals the bones.

Try for yourself. Scan these five figures and let your ears anticipate their harmonic weight. You’ll find the contour alone is enough to signal the underlying structure. Then play the video to reveal their “skeletones.”

a. The normal harmonic behavior of melodic figures places the first skeletone on a beat.

One of the most reliable conventions in tonal music is that harmony changes on the beat. And skeletones follow suit.

“Away in a Manger,” by James R. Murray

Comparing harmonic behaviors will be clearest when only one thing changes at a time. So the rest of Tier 2 uses a single figure in every example—the 3-Note Scale. Same figure, four harmonic applications: normal behavior, normal behavior with reinterpretation, role reversal, and harmonic divergence.

Reinterpretation.
Any skeletone within a melodic figure can be reinterpreted, as shown in the following chart. As you study it, start with the first column. In the top row, the skeletone C4 is the root in C major. Drop to the second row, and C4 is the third in A minor. And so on.

Harmonic flexibility based on the number of chord tones.

Notice that throughout every reinterpretation, the skeletones never abandon their structural role—they remain the harmonic backbone of the figure. Only their harmonic identity changes. This is why reinterpretation is normal behavior: the figure’s internal architecture stays intact.

Now I’ll reharmonize “Away in a Manger.” Originally, the first figure’s skeletones were the 5th and 3rd of F harmony. This time I’ll make them the 7th and 5th of D7. Bar 2 gets a similar reinterpretation. (I’ll explain what happens to the skeletones in bar 3 in the next point.)

“Away in a Manger,” reharmonized

b. Modified harmonic behavior of melodic figures #1: role reversal.

As we just heard, reinterpretation is an extension of normal behavior: a figure’s skeletones keep their structural role—they remain skeletones—even as their harmonic identity changes.

Role reversal goes further. Reinterpretation changes a skeletone’s harmonic identity while preserving its structural role. Role reversal changes the structural role itself—what was a skeletone becomes a non-chord tone, most often an appoggiatura.

Here’s what that sounds like in practice. Listen again to the third 3-Note Scale (on “crib for a”) in the previous reharmonization. Normally, F4 and D4 (notes 1 and 3 of the figure) would act as skeletones making the middle note a passing tone. But not here. F4 becomes an appoggiatura to E4 (the only chord tone in the figure), simultaneously changing D4’s role to passing.

Changing a skeletone to an appoggiatura is more drastic than simply reinterpreting it as a different skeletone. Still, each member of a harmonically reinterpreted figure has a clear harmonic role. That’s not the case for the next form of modified behavior.

c. Modified harmonic behavior of melodic figures #3: harmonic divergence.

Like “Away in a Manger,” “Eleanor Rigby” also uses three 3-Note Scales in sequence—but this time, by resisting and even ignoring the underlying harmony. Let’s zoom in on the first two figures.

The D5 (on “rice”) punches out a 7th—especially poignant because it’s not heard in the supporting E minor chord. What’s more, it also contains a chromatically altered passing tone—C#5 (on “in”)—which adds a Dorian hue. And then comes the 3-Note Scale (on “church”).

The figure plants its flag squarely against the harmony—and wins. Its kinetic integrity is simply stronger than the pull of the underlying chord. Nothing sounds wrong—if anything, the dissonance sharpens the emotional point, adding urgency and depth exactly where the lyric demands it.

“Eleanor Rigby,” by Lennon & McCartney

So the harmonic divergence “Eleanor Rigby” arises from transposing a 3-Note Scale while holding a single harmony. But in “Breathe,” the melodic figure itself remains steadfast while the harmonies around it change.

“Breathe,” by Holly Lamar and Stephanie Bentley

Some may argue that the two highlighted B4s are appoggiaturas, implying that there’s nothing unusual about the harmony of these 3-Note Scales. I’ll counter that we hear all three 3-Note Scales the same way: as a sort of several note pickup to G4. In MFT, we call this sort of pickup a “ligature,” which I explain in the next section, “Metric Placement.”

Harmonic divergence exposes an essential truth in Melodic Figuration Theory. While melodic figures certainly have the potential to clearly define harmony, composers and improvisors also freely use them purely for their shape. In other words, the elemental patterns of melody have such kinetic integrity that they often sound “right” even when they don’t clearly delineate a clear, stable harmony.

Wrapping up. Melodic Figuration Theory flips the traditional script regarding the relationship between harmony and melody. Rather than taking a note-by-note inventory to separate chord tones from non-chord tones, MFT advocates that skeletones form a harmonic framework for each melodic figure, which offers a more comprehensive understanding of how the notes in a melody interact in harmonically cogent ways. And so we find that harmony isn’t just a backdrop for melody—it’s structural material, built directly into the shape of every figure. Harmonic divergence doesn’t contradict this; it confirms it—proof that a figure’s kinetic integrity can be strong enough to stand on its own.

[2] METRIC PLACEMENT

Meter is music’s essential pulse: a living, dynamic cycle of strong and weak beats that acts as a gravitational engine. Depending on how musical elements align with that engine, a composer can generate feelings ranging from deep stability to playful confidence to intense agitation. That range is possible because meter works on us physically before it works on us intellectually.

When listening to or playing music, we internalize the metric cycle as a continuous flow of physical sensation—the gravitational weight of a strong beat landing, transferring its energy upward through the weaker beats that follow, each one lifting toward the next point of contact. Think of a sprinter’s foot pushing off the ground. Musical elements—including each note within a melodic figure—take on the characteristic lift and heft of the metric positions they inhabit.

To hear this principle in action, listen how drastically the same 2-note surface rhythm changes as I shift it to begin at different points within the metric cycle.

A 2-note rhythmic pattern repeated four times while repositioned in the metric cycle

In version 1, the sixteenth note is a pickup, coming just before the beat which makes the rhythm bounce and skip.
In version 2, putting the sixteenth note right on the beat syncopates the dotted eighth such that both notes feel “hammered” or “beaten.”
And version 3 avoids the beat altogether, making the notes run barefoot across hot coals.

Of the three metric placements, version 1 emerges as the normal alignment for this rhythmic figure because its heaviest (longest) note aligns with the beat. This distribution of short and long notes affirms the most stable relationship between the rhythmic figure’s weight and the meter’s cycle.

a. Metric placement influences both melody and harmony.

Shifting a pitch pattern to different positions within the metric cycle does something unexpected: it doesn’t just change where the pattern sits. It changes what the pattern is—something that catches even experienced musicians off guard.

A 17-note melody made from a 4-note repeating pattern, shifted metrically each time

Shifting this 17-note series within the metric cycle causes different melodic figures to emerge. We can also say that the same series of notes can produce different melodies when we start it at different points within the metric cycle. The shifts also create different implied harmonies each time. This is mind-bending but perfectly logical, especially when we consider that harmonic rhythm is tied to meter, a well-established fact we all learned in second semester theory class.

In the previous section (Harmonic Melody) we saw and heard that melodic figures have a harmonic dimension. Now it appears that they have an metric dimension, as well. And that metric dimension manifests in two ways: (1) normal and modified ways to align figures within the metric cycle, and (2) interior rhythmic/metric motion within melodic figures.

b. Normal and modified metric placement of melodic figures.

The normal metric placement for any melodic figure is this: start on a beat, which (depending on the number of notes and the rhythmic value) leaves its last note “dangling” on an upbeat. This positioning creates a sense of grounding at the beginning and open-endedness at the end.
We can modify the normal behavior of a figure by repositioning it differently within the meter.

In the example below, versions B–D show modified metric alignments of the 3-Note Scale.

For examples from actual songs, I’ll start with the same 3-Note Scale melodies from the section on harmony, this time marked to show their metric placement.

“Away in a Manger” uses normal alignment.
“Eleanor Rigby” uses normal alignment with syncopation. Syncopation only slightly modifies metric placement. That’s because in syncopation, the first note of each figure “jumps the gun” to get to the upcoming note a tad early. The result is a lengthened note that still occupies the same metric spot.
“Breathe” presents with an entirely different metric placement. Its 3-Note Scales are ligatures, set up so that only the last note lands on the strong beat. And the repeated notes in those 3-Note Scales create anticipations to each upcoming pitch.

In all three songs, I’ve used bold formatting to show how the accentuation of important syllables corresponds to the strong beats, making the lyrics easy to grasp. Those familiar with the concept of prosody will recognize that the music in our speech relies on the same metric principles I’ve shown in this section.

Next, we hear the 3-Note Scale as a pickup. Though this figure is a common choice for a pickup of this length, notice something a bit odd: the scale doesn’t land where it leads. That is, the stepwise motion doesn’t follow through across the beat, but rather leaps. And because the note it leaps to is an appoggiatura, this particular pickup configuration packs quite a wallop. I have more to say about leaping away from stepwise motion in the upcoming section on “Connection.”

“The Greatest Show on Earth,” by Victor Young

Finally, the straddled figure that opens “Desperado” encapsulates its central theme: asking a road-weary outlaw why he never seems ready to settle down. This gets intensified through harmonic divergence. The B4 that initiates the gesture belongs to the upcoming G chord, not the current D major. Still, the ear immediately grasps the implications of the unsettled harmony.

As for rhythm and meter, the last two syllables, “ra-do,” are both syncopated, but not in the same way. The first arrives early, the second comes late, such that the melody itself resists any notion of putting down roots. Taken together, these precise pitches and rhythms create a potent, yet understated, confluence that captures the song’s emotional weariness and longing in a single, telling gesture.

“Desperado,” by Don Henley and Glen Frey

c. Interior rhythmic/metric motion within melodic figures.

The interior motion of many melodic figures can make them seem to go with or against the natural “grain” of the meter. Here are three examples. In each case, I’ve rewritten the same figure differently to produce different rhythmic groupings, each with metric implications. I indicate the implied rhythmic groupings they create with slurs and also re-notated them in the ossia line.

Wrapping up. Melody draws kinetic energy and expressive power from its placement within the metric cycle—not just by landing on beats, but by negotiating with them: arriving early, settling late, hovering between touchpoints, or pushing off from them with deliberate force. The same melodic figure can whisper or shout, float or pummel, depending entirely on where it sits within that cycle. This is why a composer’s figure choices, as important as they are, tell only half the story. Where you place them matters at least as much—perhaps even more. Master metric placement, and you don’t just control rhythm. You control how every note in a melody is physically experienced by your listener.

[3] CONNECTION

The word connection already has several applications in melody. On the note-to-note level, we imagine each note connecting to the next note, but because the notes actually sound off one at a time, this is an “audio illusion.” Moving to the phrase level, listeners often sense a melodic chain or ribbon of notes extending all the way from first to last. And then there’s a totally different sort of melodic connection involves short- and long-term memory that help us compare what we just heard with what happens next and probably much later, as well.

However, the two types of connections we’ll explore here have gone entirely unnamed and unexamined until now—which seems like a significant oversight, given how much of a melody’s flow, expectation, and expression hinge upon them. Composers across styles and centuries have wielded these connections with remarkable sophistication—yet no framework has ever named them, let alone explained how they work.

a. The beat as a melodic target.

In the previous section on metric placement, I used the analogy of a sprinter’s foot pushing off the ground to capture the most intense moment within the metric cycle. Both connections we’ll cover in this section depend on understanding the melodic implications for this moment.

While the running analogy provides a good starting analogy, we must now account for a glaring difference. The sprinter doesn’t have to think about where each foot will land, trusting that the track maintenance crew has sufficiently provided a level surface to run on. But in a melody, some “footfalls” will be higher or lower than others—sometimes drastically so—such that a melody must “aim” for each beat, and decide which pathway to take.

7 Ways to get from D to G using eighth notes

The first option takes the most direct path, which we also mark as the “normal” connection. It’s simple, efficient, and feels absolutely familiar. Of course in music, “normal” hardly implies “best.” In certain contexts, the direct approach feels confident and elegant. In others, the same pathway can come off as blunt, cliché, emotionally flat.

These choices lie at the heart of melodic connection. Melody moves in time. Its touchpoints are bound to measured time. And so, each melodic figure choice commits itself to a pathway that either falls in line with, defers, or even resists the bounds of musical time. Particularly when lyrics come into play, such choices can shape their meaning, as you can hear in the two melodies below.

Both span D5 to G4, the very same fifth as the examples above. Each excerpt has also been decomposed using the “opposite” pathway: if the original takes a direct route, the ossia takes a diverted one, and vice versa. The differences aren’t merely mechanical. Listen to how the expressive physicality of a line shapes its meaning.

“The Halleluia Chorus,” from The Messiah by George Frideric Handel

“A Groovy Kind of Love,” by Toni Wine & Carole Bayer Sager (The Mindbenders)

The angular shape of Handel’s melody makes it nearly impossible to sing legato, driving home its weighty theological message. The opposite holds true for “A Groovy Kind of Love.” Notice how the same pathway that works perfectly in one situation can spoil another.

b. Melodic links.

A melodic link hones in on just a small portion of a melodic pathway, which happens to be at the most critical moment in the metric cycle: the transition between beats. And so, a melodic link involves exactly three notes: the last two of the first element and the first note of the second. That means that melodic links can occur between:

two melodic figures
a melodic figure and a melodic dyad (in either order)
a melodic figure and a single tone (in either order)
or a single tone and a dyad (in either order).

Further, melodic figure links can involve any type of melodic motion: steps, leaps, and repeated notes.

Normal (seamless) vs. modified (accented) links.

When making links, not all types of melodic motion are equivalent. Stepwise motion at the end of a beat cycle creates an urgent expectation to continue moving stepwise to the upcoming beat, while neither leap-wise motion nor repeated notes exhibit any particular inclination. And so, this section focuses on links where the first figure ends with stepwise motion.

Letting stepwise motion at the end of a beat continue by step into the next beat creates a seamless (normal) link. By contrast, leaping from stepwise motion at the end of a beat creates an accented (modified) link. The effects are easy to hear. Seamless (normal) links feel smooth, natural, even inevitable. Accented links, by contrast, create a “written in” expressive accent—one that’s nearly impossible to perform legato.

Seamless and accented links following a 3-Note Scale

These next two songs use the formula for accented links to celebrate the experience of “making it.”

“Looks Like We Made It,” by Richard Kerr and Will Jennings

“Theme from New York, New York,” by John Kander and Fred Ebb

There are a very few exceptions to this guideline. For example, the step-leap link formula in pentatonic melodies won’t produce an accent as long as the leap (gap) is a minor 3rd. Similarly, sometimes a modified metric placement seems to create a step-leap link crossing a beat. Such is the case in the next example with the Double 3rd as a ligature.

“If I Only Had a Brain,” by Harburg and Arlen

What we’ve gotten wrong in the past.
The phenomenon of seamless links raises questions about stepwise motion throughout the metric cycle (i.e., stepwise motion before the end of a beat). And here, we come to a pervasive miscalculation within the pedagogy of melody. Our failure to notice that some but not all stepwise motion creates an expectation to continue by step has resulted in the highly misleading requirements teachers give beginning students: “Move mostly by step, adding just a few leaps for variety.” (This reduces the balance of steps and leaps to a ratio.) Actual composers “break” this rule so often it can hardly be considered a rule, not even for novices.

Follow through before starting anew.
In most industries, progress isn’t just sequential, it’s also conditional. Workers and engineers alike must secure a formal sign-off on the current phase before moving on to the next. Melody is no different. Each phase of a phrase must “sign off”—complete its gesture—before starting the next one. As you’ll soon see, obeying this “rule” opens the door to more freedom than restriction.

Listen to the two large leaps in Bach’s “Invention #11.” They’re not only large, they’re dissonant (minor 7ths).

“Invention #11,” by J.S. Bach

But are they really leaps of a minor 7th? Another way to hear this melody is that each large leap initiates a new phase of the phrase. I’ve marked the first leap to illustrate this below.

Metric placement plays an essential role in making this melody comprehensible. In the next example, I’ve shifted both of Bach’s leaps to break the natural flow of the metric cycle: leaping between beats rather than letting stepwise motion take its natural course. Even though the interval size remains unchanged (the new leaps are also minor 7ths), leaping a 7th between beats sounds harsh whereas leaping a 7th after a beat doesn’t. To fully appreciate the differences, I urge you to sing along with the video. The cross-beat leaps not only sound wrong, they’re much harder to sing.

Moral of the story? When it comes to leaping, timing matters more than distance.

While we’re on the subject of linking melodic figures, let’s consider two more applications: (1) phrase parsing and (2) funk.

First, notice Bach’s accented leap to D5 and the musical reason for it: The accent heralds an impending cadence. This shows that Bach was aware (even if intuitively) of the difference between smooth and accented links, plus when and why to use each.

Going further, we find occasions where Bach set up far-reaching passages that alternate smooth and accented links to achieve syncopation. Take “Prelude #5,” for example.

In bar 1, all four beats receive emphasis via accented links. Then things get funky in bars 2-8 where a syncopated pattern ensues. This same scheme—accented links on all four beats in bar 1, syncopation for the next seven—repeats three times through bar 24. That’s no accident. That’s architecture. And this isn’t a casual observation. Bach’s alternation of seamless and accented links produces a rhythmic momentum that genuinely swings—another famous example being Invention #4. It isn’t surprising that this aspect of his writing has gone unnoticed: without a formula for distinguishing seamless from accented connections, there’s simply no way to see it. MFT makes it visible for the first time.

Here, I’ve marked the smooth links (on beats 1 and 3) with slurs and used red noteheads to highlight the accented links. Of course, in Bach’s time, people didn’t mark articulations this extensively (if at all). In this prelude, articulations would be superfluous: the performance instructions are indelibly woven into the melodic line. In fact, I invite you to listen to any recording (or play the piece yourself) and you’ll feel the syncopation so clearly you’ll swear there must also be a drum track.

“Prelude #5 in D,” WTC I, by J.S. Bach

(Kinetic potential. Kinetic potential…)

Wrapping up. Through understanding how melodic figures connect with each other as they align within the meter, Melodic Figuration Theory offers the composer precise ways to control melodic flow and expression. We can decide to take normal or modified pathways between melodic targets—arriving with confidence, hesitating at the threshold, or vaulting past it entirely.

Narrowing the focus to the juncture between beats, we found ways to fine tune melodic connections further through a variety of link formulas, including formulas for seamless vs. accented connections. Finally, we found that completing a melodic gesture before launching the next isn’t a restriction—it’s what gives composers the freedom to leap as far and as boldly as they like, landing exactly where the music needs to go.

[4] REGISTER

Each melody occupies a given registral “space” delimited by its lowest and highest notes. Very few melodies inhabit all of the available registral space all the time. Instead, most establish a “home” register only to venture away and back, treating register much like a tonal center. That’s the big picture. However, it’s often the more localized strategies that provide the greatest intrigue. For example, shifting registers can break a melody into a back-and-forth dialogue (compound melody). Also, manipulating register offers one of the most effective ways to contrast one gesture or phrase with another. And finally (for now), many composers use register to create “plot twists”—those sudden, striking notes that jolt or delight us, and hit us like a surprise reveal in a thriller, flipping our expectations.

Once again, Melodic Figuration Theory, with its ability to precisely define each figure’s registral properties and behaviors, is uniquely poised to explore and catalogue the full expressive power of this under-discussed dimension.

Melodic figures and registral span.

“Registral span” refers to the distance between the lowest and highest notes in a melodic figure, gesture, or phrase. And here, one of the quiet strengths of melodic figures comes into focus: each one carves out its registral span with clarity and precision.

Half of the 24 melodic figures are “fixed,” meaning their registral span never changes—ranging from a 2nd to a 4th. As shown in the graphic below, these figures move mostly by step. Any leaps are limited to a 3rd, which we refer to in MFT as “gaps.” (To highlight gaps, I’ve filled them in with faint noteheads.)

The Fixed Figures arranged by their registral span

The remaining 12 figures are “flexible,” and can span from 4th to however far a performer’s instrument and proficiency allows. In each case, the flexible figure contains a true leap, which unlike gaps can expand or contract at will. Here are a few examples.

Some flexible figures

a. Controlling the slope.

Registral span is a vertical measurement. But when we hear register unfold over time (even a very short time), it’s better understood as “slope”—the degree and speed that a melodic gesture rises or falls. Take the first two gestures in the chorus of “Best of My Love.” Both involve nearly the same number of notes (4 notes vs. 3), but the first rises a 6th while the second falls a 3rd. The first slope is steeper than the second. Once you’re aware of how slope can contrast, you’ll be surprised at how often you encounter it.

“Best of My Love,” by The Eagles

Balanced, but not formulaic. The ossia line in the previous example lets us hear what can happen when we directly mirror the slope between a pair of ascending and descending gestures (the most normal response). The dialogue feels too predictable.

Now let’s zoom out to hear the registral plan of the entire phrase. The melody opens with a generous, upward-leaping arpeggio. Each gesture that follows drops just a little, until the melody settles back into its original register: a strategy (schema) known as a gap-fill pattern. You’ll hear it in songs like “Over the Rainbow” and “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” plus countless melodies across all styles.

But in this phrase, we get a modified version of the fill. The third gesture (“you get the best of my”) uses the Oscillator—a figure that hovers rather than descends. Lingering for a moment gives the phrase exactly the breathing room it needs. And there’s another twist at the end: the super quick, final drop on “love.” All told, the figures in this phrase don’t just vary in pitch—they vary in slope, each one shaped and timed to fit its expressive moment. The special contribution of MFT in this context? Because MFT includes figures that share the same span but differ in slope, this kind of fine-grained shaping becomes more vivid and more controllable.

If normal applications of slope occur when the overall contour of a melodic figure matches the overall descent or ascent of a melody, composers can modify slope by using figures that go against the grain of the melody’s overall direction. Such is the case in the next example where descending 3-Note Scales actually push the line upward.

“O, For the Wings of a Dove,” by Felix Mendelssohn

Normally, a melody’s registral movement feels organic—rising and falling in ways that seem natural and unforced. Isolation and overstepping the line both break that spell deliberately, using register as a tool for sharp contrast rather than gradual shaping.

b. Isolating registers.

Figures with fixed spans are also effective at partitioning an entire phrase into separate registral regions. “Oh Bess” begins with a gut-wrenching wail by putting its pickup far beneath the melodic space that follows, launching the melody from a place of raw, aching vulnerability. The response, set in a lower tessitura—one that feels more resigned—leaving no doubt about the answer: he already knows the heartbreaking answer to his plea.

“Oh Bess, Oh Where’s My Bess,” from Porgy and Bess, by George and Ira Gershwin

c. Overstepping the Line.

The lyrics in “Nobody Told Me” present a more fluid kind of inner dialogue than “Oh Bess,” and the registral scheme follows suit. Each four-bar phrase builds upward through mostly chromatic Runs, unfolding two bars at a time. While the line feels continuous, it still carves out two registral zones. This time, the division isn’t created by registral distance but by a mid-phrase pause that momentarily clears the slate.

In bars 5–8, Rodgers repeats the first phrase nearly verbatim. But then comes the plot twist: at the word “quake” where the melody leaps a minor 3rd. In a chromatic context, any leap will normally feel enormous. More importantly here, “quake” breaks through the melody’s earlier “ceiling,” established when the first phrase peaked at B4. And so, with the arrival of C5, that ceiling gives way—making the new high note feel even higher than it is.

Overstepping the line is a classic melodic technique: (1) establish a (temporary) “boundary,” (2) retreat, then (3) exceed it. The result is a surge of expressive energy, achieved with little more than a well-placed leap.

“Nobody Told Me,” by Richard Rogers

Wrapping up. Composers—from Baroque to jazz to pop—have long relied on register as a core expressive tool, using similar tactics to anchor, bend, or shatter registral boundaries. Melodic Figuration Theory uncovers register’s structural and expressive power, revealing how fixed figures hold their ground and flexible figures expand or contract as needed. Such distinctions allow composers to take a strategic approach to register: Perfectly shaping and timing registral slope, establishing different isolated zones, or marking a clear registral boundary—only to vault past it for maximum drama.

[5] CONTOUR

To prevent aimless wandering—a common melodic flaw—many instructors provide basic melodic templates to act as guardrails. While it’s useful advice as far as it goes, it doesn’t go nearly far enough. We’re about to see why.

Six common melodic shape templates

“Jarabe Tapatío” seems like a perfect example to demonstrate the concept. At a glance, we can easily recognize its overall contour as an inverted arch built from two straight lines.

“Jarabe Tapatío” (Mexican Hat Dance), by Jesús González Rubio

However, our experience of melodic shape both nuanced and dynamic. If linear geometry is all we point to, we neglect a key element that gives melody much of its sizzle. So let’s zoom in.

Listening closer, we notice two different sorts of “straight” lines. If the descending line has a serrated edge, the ascent is straight as a razor.

“Jarabe Tapatío” with melodic figures marked

This distinction gets to the heart of how MFT understands contour: as a layered process shaped by motion at three interconnected levels. The “inverted arch” analysis is just the beginning of the story.

1. Macro motion (phrase and section): the dramatic arcs that structure a melody’s large-scale shape. 2. Mezzo motion (figure and gesture): the pattern-rich level where melodies gain their personality and drive. 3. Micro motion (note-to-note): the fine details—like the chromatic inflections in the first two Auxiliary figures that tighten up the note-to-note motion.

Normal and modified behavior can operate at any of these three levels—and crucially, at more than one level at the same time. In Jarabe Tapatío, the macro contour follows a perfectly normal inverted arch while the mezzo motion does something far more interesting.

Listen what happens when we keep the macro shape of Jarabe Tapatío intact but use matching figures throughout. The macro contour follows the traditional guidelines perfectly, but the melody loses its zing.

Alternate versions of “Jarabe Tapatío”

a. Contour as a means to continuity, variety, and contrast.

The most fundamental—and normal—use of contour is also its most versatile: shaping gestures to continue, vary, or contrast with one another. Even stark contrast qualifies as normal behavior here. A composer who follows an ascending gesture with a descending one isn’t doing anything unusual—they’re working within melody’s most natural logic.

Composers across all eras have used contour as a way to contrast one melodic gesture with another. In fact, when it comes to building contrast, we even find identical pairings, as the Arpeggio + Double 3rd combinations below.

“Allegro molto,” from Symphony #40, by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

“Sidewalks,” by The Weekend

Of course, contour can also provide a means of continuing (i.e., repeating) gestures. The two similar figures in this song are frequently heard together.

“Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,” by Brian Hyland

b. Melodic tailoring.

“Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie” is a prime example of “melodic tailoring,” a key compositional technique MFT can offer helpful instructions for. There are two kinds of melodic tailoring.

1. Adaptive tailoring. Say your friend suffers from anisomelia (a condition in which two paired limbs differ in length), and so he routinely takes new trousers to the tailor. A professional-looking alteration is one where no one notices. Composers can face a similar situation when repeating melodic ideas, as we hear in “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie.” The composer adjusts intervals, hoping the alterations will blend in seamlessly.

Naturally, when we adjust intervals, we often end up changing melodic figures. Yet there are always several figures that share the same contour. Once again, the table of melodic building blocks provides a handy resource. For example, here are three contour types with three figures that meet their criteria.

Some similar contours found among melodic figures

2. Face-saving tailoring. Often, it’s possible to repeat/continue a melodic idea exactly or nearly so, but the results sound too formulaic (sometimes even goofy). Imagine if our national anthem went like this:

“The Star-Spangled Banner,” by Frances Scott Key

3. Expressive tailoring. Often enough, a composer will choose to repeat a melodic gesture more emphatically the second time around. We call this “expressive tailoring.” In expressive tailoring, we preserve the contour but make it “bigger.” In melody, this either means translating steps into leaps, or making small leaps larger. (Using the previous analogy, imagine your friend got his trousers back only to find that the tailor made them into bell bottoms!)

Altering the registral span to achieve expressive tailoring.

Fogerty’s melody for “Oh, boy!” shows that expressive tailoring doesn’t need to be drastic to make a dramatic impact.

c. Nested figures.

Beyond repetition or contrast, MFT reveals a deeper kind of correspondence—one that’s often felt but rarely noticed. I’m talking about nested figures: subtle patterns that recur beneath the surface, creating subtle familiarity—a sort of musical déjà vu—from the inside out.

Some examples of nested figures.

For a real life example, the opening gesture of “Always on My Mind” (on “Maybe I”) is sung to a consonant 3-Note Scale. The “I” hangs alone, vulnerably so. The response (on “quite as often”) is sung to a Return figure, which, because it contains a 3-Note Scale, makes it feel like a repetition of the first gesture. But not so fast.

The “extra” note (E4) at the end of “often” not only marks a departure, it also sits uneasily against the B minor harmony beneath it. That friction deepens the sense of regret—musically expressing what the lyrics only hint at. We do and don’t hear the same thing twice. And there’s the rub.

“Always on My Mind,” by Wayne Thompson, Mark James, and Johnny Christopher

This next country song is also tangled up in mixed feelings about love. Its matter-of-fact opening gesture captures Eddie Dean’s boredom with his wife. In contrast, the second gesture—where Dean sings about his mistress—unfolds with a more compelling contour and opens up a wider registral space. And yet the contrast isn’t as stark as it first seems. The second gesture grows organically from the first, thanks to a shared nested figure—an LHP, circled in red.

The second phrase (bars 5–8) sort of transposes the first phrase (bars 1–4) up a step. Let’s listen for its notable alterations.

First, in normal transpositions, the melody and harmony rise or fall together. But here, only the melody in bars 5–8 moves up a step. Despite my marking G4 in bar 5 as the 9th, the Roll (on “one I’ll remain”) the relationship between figure and harmony is far better understood as a case of harmonic divergence. Given the singer’s story, it’s hard not to hear the disconnect between melody and harmony as a tell.

Second, Dean’s melodic transposition breaks at “heartaches,” the emotional centerpiece of the verse. Like the first three gestures, this one also contains a nested LHP figure, but it’s chromatically inflected, adding a sharply-felt constriction at “heartache.”

“One Has My Name the Other Has My Heart,” by Eddie Dean

Among composers and musical experts, “melodic development” has long been the gold standard of compositional mastery. Melody can be “developed” in many ways—through variation, reharmonization, phrase extension, fragmentation, sequence, to list a few. MFT adds a new method to the list: nested figures. But nesting operates at a different level than the techniques above. It’s what happens when a composer’s ear is working at its most refined—when technique disappears and resonant listening takes over.

Composers have always heard these deep connections intuitively, long before anyone had a name for them. MFT makes them visible for the first time—which means what was once felt can now be found, studied, and deliberately pursued. Covert, fully organic, brimming with expressive consequence—in both “Always on My Mind” and “One Has My Name,” nested figures intensify the singers’ inner conflicts by having the story and melody develop in tandem.

Wrapping up. Traditional treatments of melodic contour have largely ignored its smaller details—much like a state map that flattens a scenic country road into featureless lines and curves. Follow that map and you’ll get where you’re going, but you’ll miss everything worth seeing (or end up driving through some poor farmer’s field). Melodic Figuration Theory treats contour as a multi-layered topography instead, with macro, mezzo, and micro motions working both together and independently—each level capable of normal or modified behavior, sometimes simultaneously. Tailoring gives composers precise control over how melodic ideas repeat and evolve. And nested figures take that control to a level where technique disappears, resonant listening takes over, and the melody seems to follow its own enigmatic yet inevitable logic.

TIER #3: MELODIC SYNTAX

Just as speakers and writers form sentences by arranging words into clauses, and clauses into phrases, composers and performers form melodies by arranging figures into gestures, and gestures into phrases. This section takes a close look at this process: making and responding to melodic gestures.

[1] FROM MOTION TO MEANING: THE EXPRESSIVE POWER OF THE MELODIC GESTURE

No doubt you’ve noticed that I’ve been using the word gesture rather than the more common terms like fragment, segment, cell, or motive. But why? Because the standard terms reduce the smaller parts of a melody to materialist abstraction.

In contrast, a gesture is a kinetic force. A gesture harnesses conviction and emotion to convey meaning with immediacy. We wave our hands to say “Stop!” “Slow down!” or “Come closer!” We put a finger to our lips to ask for silence. Yet the majority of the gestures we make throughout each day don’t carry specific messages: instead, they capture and convey the conviction and feeling beneath our words. Likewise, as the notes in a melody move, they trace out sonic shapes that embody the same emotional energy as the gestures we make with our hands and bodies when we talk.

a. From figure to gesture: how motion becomes expression.

A figure, on its own, isn’t yet a melody. Its kinetic potential is real—but potential needs a trigger. Rhythm is that trigger. The moment a composer rhythmicizes a figure, potential becomes motion, and motion becomes expression. That’s when the gesture is born. In this way, the gesture—not the figure—is the smallest intact unit of melody.

And a melodic gesture can be conceived in either of three ways. Sometimes we start with a melodic figure and rhythmicize it—stretching one note, repeating another, shifting accents to create momentum or hesitation. Other times, we begin with rhythm (for example, the rhythm of lyrics) and “figure-ize” it, finding just the right shape to make the words really sing. And yet other times, often actually, both emerge at once—spontaneous and inseparable—the way they do in improvisation.

b. Each melodic figure can produce an unlimited number of melodic gestures.

As a case study, I’ll show several melodies that begin with the same figure: a Leaping Auxiliary. But first, I’ll show why this particular figure is so flexible. (Not all figures are!) Each Leaping Auxiliary has two defining components:

1. A chordal leap, which can be any size and move up or down. 2. A three-note auxiliary configuration, where the neighbor tone can move in either direction.

What’s more, either the leap or the auxiliary configuration can come first—doubling the number of possible ways this figure can unfold.

All possible arrangements of a Leaping Auxiliary based around C4, E4, and G4

And once rhythm enters the equation, the number of possible gestures explodes into infinity. Here are but a few.

Some melodies that begin with a Leaping Auxiliary figure

[2] NOT JUST ONE THING AFTER ANOTHER: THE RESPONSIVE LOGIC OF MELODY.

Whenever you or I compose a melody, we intuitively do two things that feel so natural we barely notice them.

In other words, each melody unfolds like a conversation. Something gets “said.” Then something else gets “said” in response.

And here’s the heart of it: there are only three ways to respond to any gesture (or phrase, or section). We can (1) repeat it, (2) vary it, or (3) contrast it. These are the same options we have when talking. One person says something; the other agrees, adds a twist, or says something contrary or new.

In this example, I apply all three options to respond to the first gesture in “Twinkle, Twinkle.”

Now, within these three basic responses lies a vast range of possible behaviors—25 distinct ways to repeat a melodic gesture, 25 ways to vary it, and 25 ways to contrast it: 75 options in all. Each response creates a different effect—and each can be learned.

In the subsections that follow, I offer a few representative examples of each type of response. As I do, I’ll spotlight aspects of MFT that come into play.

a. Three ways to repeat a gesture.

Picture a typical day in your studio. You stumble upon an opening gesture you like, but you’re not crazy about any of the follow-up responses that first come to mind. So you look through MFT’s catalogue of 25 continuation responses and choose a few to try.

Repetition #1: Respond with a chordal arpeggiation sequence.

[drawing upon: harmony melody, contour, and adaptive tailoring] A “chordal arpeggiation” sequence keeps the same harmony while repeating its gesture starting on a different chord tone each time. As a result, the size of some intervals will change from gesture to gesture, just as they do when we invert chords. (E.g., in figured bass: 5‑3, 6‑3, and 6‑4).

Repetition #2: Respond with an “adaptable sequence.”

[drawing upon: harmony melody, contour, adaptive tailoring, and expressive tailoring] An “adaptable sequence” has much in common with an arpeggiated sequence. Both repeat their segments while allowing for intervallic adjustments whenever the melodic segments and harmonic progression don’t move in tandem, as they do in a standard sequence (e.g., a circle of 5ths sequence).

For example, look at the first beat of the first two segments of the sequence below. The melody proceeds down a step (from C4 to B3), but the harmony drops a 4th (from C major to G major). That means we can’t simply transpose directly but need to tailor the second iteration so the Leaping Auxiliary fits the chord tones to most closely resemble the original. It’s the kind of thing that happens all the time—yet I’ve never seen it named, let alone taught.

You’ll also notice that I used a different sort of repetition for the last iteration. Rather than continue with “adaptive tailoring” I switched to “expressive tailoring” for the last iteration—a very common strategy in this situation. While we’re here, this example helps us better understand the difference in intent between adaptive and expressive tailoring. The former seeks to repeat without the listener noticing any changes (as in bars 1-6); the latter intentionally varies the repetition for expressive purposes (as in bars 7‑8).

Repetition #3: Respond by repeating part of the gesture.

[drawing upon: nested figures] Here, repeating just the second half of the first gesture creates a new figure: the Trill.

Pretty good, but it doesn’t pique your imagination. So you try repeating bar 2 two more times (as you just did), but this time, using different notes for each repetition. You notice that it’s possible to create a Run while repetiting the 2-note gesture.

Repetition #3 (alternate): Respond by repeating the ending on different notes.

b. Two ways to vary a gesture.

We can use the Building Blocks of Melody table as a catalog for generating variations. Here’s one of the most basic sorts. Start with an outline target notes and “connect the dots.” As I showed in the discussion of connections (A.3.a), we can approach any target note taking a direct or indirect path.

Variation #1: Respond by adding figuration.

[drawing upon: direct and indirect connections and the Building Blocks of Melody table]

The highlighted notes show that both the proposition and the response use the same melodic outline.

Variation #2: Respond by varying the metric placement.

[drawing upon: metric placement]

In this example, I’ve chosen to vary the length of the initial gesture.

Variation #3: Respond by varying the gesture length.

[drawing upon: the MFT formula for making gestures]

c. Two ways to contrast a gesture.

Musicians are often surprised to hear that contrasting a gesture effectively is harder than it sounds. I draw this conclusion from my own work as well as working with students for over 30 years. So the final stop on this brief tour of melodic syntax will demonstrate the power of the “5 Dimensions of Melodic Behavior” to help a composer find something different to do.

Contrast #1: Contrast simplicity with complexity..

[drawing upon: melodic contour]

Contrast #2: Contrast the registral span.

[drawing upon: melodic register and melodic span] Here, the response not only inhabits a smaller registral space than the proposition, it’s also in a higher tessitura.

TIER #4: MELODIC SCHEMAS

In Tier 1, we met the vocabulary of melody—not as a box of Lego bricks, but as a roster of active agents. These figures give us the ability to make precise behavioral comparisons between one musical situation and another.

Armed with this vocabulary, Tier 2 broadened our view to the physics of melody, mapping how melodic figures negotiate the forces of harmony, meter, register, and contour. We saw that figures aren’t just generic patterns—each has a “normal” way of moving and a “modified” way of surprising us.

Tier 3 showed how each melody unfolds like a conversation—a conversation between melodic gestures. Something gets “said” (the composer puts forth a melodic gesture) then something else gets “said” in response (the composer repeats it, varies it, or contrasts it).

This brings us into the world of musical schemas, which we explore in this section.

An overview of musical schemas.

Over the past few decades, musical scholars have begun identifying “schemas”—recurring patterns or frameworks that composers, improvisers, and performers recognize instinctively and then draw on to create or interpret melodies. These schemas act as a kind of auditory scaffolding, capturing the essential structure, function, and feel of common musical situations. While often associated with the Galant era, we now know these frameworks stretch across the centuries—from the voice-leading patterns of Bach to the songwriting of the Beatles, and even into the structural density of modern metal. Some key characteristics include:

Recognizable Patterns. From day one, we’re taught to hear core formations—the cadential 6/4, the ii–V–I jazz, or the architecture of a sonata—until they move from conscious study into second-nature hearing.
Cognitive Efficiency. Schemas accelerate real-time decisions. An improviser doesn’t think “measure 1, chord I; measure 5, chord IV”—they sense the twelve-bar blues structure and let it guide their fingers.
Flexible Application. Schemas invite creative manipulation rather than mere imitation. A composer writing a new concerto or string quartet isn’t simply following a recipe—they’re working within a living framework, pushing against its expectations, subverting or fulfilling them for expressive effect.
Cross-Genre Validity. Many schemas transcend individual styles. The circle-of-fifths progression underpins everything from Baroque chorales to jazz standards to contemporary pop. The lament bass migrates from Renaissance madrigals to Baroque arias to rock ballads. The more you look, the more you find the same deep structures surfacing across centuries and genres.

Melodic Figuration Theory follows this exact trajectory: from start to finish, it takes what has long been an intuitive, felt process for the melodic mind and makes it overt. Because existing methods don’t account for melodic figures, they don’t explore their structural, behavioral, and expressive manifestations in melody. As such, MFT is uniquely positioned to bring new schemas to light. In the section that follows, we’ll briefly explore four ways MFT-specific schemas can spark imaginative ideas as composers return to their studios day after day.

[1] MFT-SPECIFIC WAYS TO INTEGRATE MELODIC FIGURES WITH STANDARD MUSICAL SCHEMAS

Melodic figures pair instinctively with familiar musical schemas—whether in their basic form or through one of their modified applications. For instance, take the cadential 6/4 formula, whose melody is often built around a 3-Note Scale. By applying the principle of nested figures, we get new elaborations.

Using nested figures to elaborate a common 6/4 melodic formula

[2] MFT-SPECIFIC WAYS TO USE EACH MELODIC FIGURE

Each of the 24 melodic figures brings its own signature normal and modified behaviors—abilities it excels at plus common ways to stretch or alter those behaviors. Take the Crazy Driver for example.

This traffic graphic illustrates two reasons for the Crazy Driver’s mnemonic name. Both represent its most common behaviors, yet as you’ll soon see, there’s another that’s even crazier. These two options here are normal because they move as directly to their targets as possible. That said, moving to a goal a 3rd away is even normal-er than swerving around the same note.

Now, in actual contexts. First, the Crazy Driver traveling to a target a 3rd away.

“Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho,” Negro Spiritual

Next, the Crazy Driver returning to the original pitch.

“Toreador Song” from Carmen, by Georges Bizet

This final Crazy Driver schema creates an accented link (covered in the Connection section). Each of the three songs below accent an important note through a modified treatment of the Crazy Driver figure.

[3] MFT-SPECIFIC APPLICATIONS USING THE FIVE DIMENSIONS OF MELODIC BEHAVIOR

For this demonstration, we’ll explore how metric placement can control a gesture’s metric placement.

Most melodies launch squarely on beat 1 of bar 1. But “My Funny Valentine” uses the “Anda-2 schema”—shifting the gravitational center to the upcoming strong beat, felt as “beat 2” in hypermeter (notated in the analysis).

“My Funny Valentine,” by Richard Rogers

Now imagine that the composer of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” loved her figure combinations but wasn’t wild about their overall flow. So, she reconfigures it to fit the Anda-2 metric schema.

“Twinkle, Twinkle,” adapted to the Anda-2 metric schema

And while she was at it, she worked in the expressive outburst from “My Funny Valentine.” Both came from applying an MFT technique called the “radical note”—an intentionally abrupt disruption, a kind of melodic plot twist. MFT includes 15 schemas for creating a radical note, and radical notes themselves are just one of 75 melodic technique schemas in the system. Melodic techniques are a whole other facet of MFT—one we’ll have to save for another time.

[4] MFT-SPECIFIC SCHEMAS FOR BUILDING PHRASES

Given that every element of music follows a familiar pattern, framework, or mental template, isn’t it odd that we have just two schemas for building complete phrases: the musical period and the musical sentence? Yet countless phrases don’t fit neatly into either category. In fact, many share traits that could justify adding new phrase types to our toolkit someday.

What I want to explore here is how to use MFT’s tools to build “one-off phrase schemas”: imprinting the behaviors of one phrase onto new melodic materials. To demonstrate, I’ll derive an MFT phrase schema from a Beatles tune I just caught on the dad-rock station while driving home from grocery shopping. “Lady Madonna” is a musical sentence, but not “just” a sentence (if there’s any such thing?). By analyzing the syntactical behaviors MFT emphasizes, several distinctive traits emerge.

“Lady Madonna,” by Lennon & McCartney

Now I’ll use these distinctive traits as a schema, reworking the melodic figures of “Twinkle, Twinkle.”

Wouldn’t you know it? I hit one snag right off the bat. “Twinkle” starts with a perfect fifth, already too wide to qualify as a small‐span gesture (which describes the first gesture of “Lady Madonna”). Yet that opening perfect fifth is part of a Leaping Auxiliary, which contains a nested Auxiliary figure which offers several options.

I wrote three options (A–C) using “Lady Madonna’s” rhythm. (Even though preserving the rhythm is not a necessary part of adapting a schema to new figures, it can yield some cool results.) Yet since I’ve chosen the minor mode, this rhythm feels a bit too energetic to me today. So I decided to simplify it, hence versions D–F. Still nothing I like. So I tried related figures, and found the Double Neighbor has two nested auxiliary figures, which, after some chromatic alchemy (H), I love.

“Twinkle, Twinkle,” adapted to Lady Madona’s phrase schema

[5] SCHEMAS FOR BREAKING SCHEMAS.

Composers tend to be leery of schemas, seeing models, templates, and formulas as crutches that stifle creativity. This attitude takes root early in a musician’s training. When a teacher shows “the right way” to do something (exam conditions aside), it’s usually with a tacit understanding: “First you learn the rules; then you break them.”

But do we really “break the rules” at random? With no intended effect? No regard for context? This common wisdom starts to sound simplistic upon closer inspection.

The point is: there are schemas for breaking schemas.

Composers across periods, styles, and genres have taken the same “detours” to achieve the same melodic effects. This is what has made it possible to contrast “normal” and “modified” behavior throughout this Brief Introduction. It’s also what makes Melodic Figuration Theory so exceptionally well-equipped to map out every highway, side street, and back alley you’ll need to continue exploring the vast melodic landscape with insight and delight.