Michael Jackson was auditing a music theory class when the professor dismissed Billy Jean as having the simplest chord progression in popular music. What happened next proved that what academics call simple and what artists call genius can be the exact same thing. It was October 1993 and UCLA’s music building was hosting a graduate level course called advanced harmonic analysis.

The class met twice a week in a small lecture hall on the third floor, capacity 40 students, though enrollment was only 22. This was an elective for serious music students, the kind who could read boach fugues, analyze brahm symphonies, and debate the finer points of modal interchange. Dr.

Marcus Richardson had been teaching music theory at UCLA for 17 years. He was 52, had a PhD in musiccology from Yale, and genuinely loved what he did. He believed deeply that understanding music theory was essential to appreciating music’s true complexity. He also believed, though he wouldn’t say it quite this directly, that classical music was inherently more sophisticated than popular music, more complex harmonically, more demanding technically, more worthy of serious academic study.

This particular Tuesday afternoon, Dr. Richardson was teaching a unit on harmonic complexity versus simplicity. He’d prepared examples ranging from Renaissance polifany to contemporary jazz, demonstrating how chord progressions could be analyzed for their sophistication. About 10 minutes into class, the door opened quietly.

A young man, or at least someone who looked young, slipped in and took a seat in the back row. He was wearing baggy cargo pants, an oversized UCLA sweatshirt with the hood up, a baseball cap under the hood, thick framed glasses, and a medical mask. The mask wasn’t unusual. Flu season was starting, and considerate students often wore them when sick. Dr.

Richardson paused his lecture. “Can I help you?” “Sorry I’m late,” the young man said, his voice muffled by the mask. “I’m auditing. I cleared it with the department yesterday.” Dr. Richardson vaguely remembered an email about an audit request. Name: Michael, the young man said. Michael Johnson. All right, Mr. Johnson.

Please don’t make a habit of being late. We’re discussing harmonic complexity. Sorry, won’t happen again. The young man pulled out a notebook and pen. Dr. Richardson returned to his lecture. As I was saying, harmonic complexity can be measured several ways. number of chords in a progression. Frequency of modulation, use of extended harmonies, voiceleading sophistication.

Classical music, particularly from the romantic period forward, excels at all of these. He pulled up a musical score on the projector, a passage from a shopen nocturn. Look at this progression. We have secondary dominance, borrowed chords, chromatic voice leading. This is complex harmony. The students took notes.

The guy in the back, Michael, was writing something in his notebook. “Now contrast that with popular music,” Dr. Richardson continued. “I’m not saying pop music is bad. It serves its purpose, but harmonically it’s simple. Often just three or four chords repeated, very little modulation, basic voice leading.” He pulled up another example on the projector, the chord chart for a popular song from the 1980s. Dr.

Richardson had deliberately chosen one that fit his thesis. Four chords, 1 645. That’s it. The entire song. This is why from a music theory perspective, we can’t analyze pop music with the same depth we analyze classical. There’s simply less there to analyze. One student raised her hand. But Dr.

Richardson, couldn’t you argue that pop music achieves complexity through other means like production or rhythm or melody? Perhaps, Dr. Richardson conceded. But we’re discussing harmonic complexity specifically, and harmonically most pop music is quite basic. He clicked to his next example. Take Billy Jean by Michael Jackson.

Enormously popular song, sold millions. But harmonically, he pulled up the chord structure. This might be the simplest chord progression in popular music. It’s essentially one chord, F minor, for the entire verse. The chorus adds B major and G sharp minor. That’s it. Three chords, minimal movement. A child could play this progression.

In the back row, Michael stopped writing. His pen was still on the paper, but he’d gone very still. This is what I mean, Dr. Richardson continued, warming to his subject. Pop music relies on production, on the personality of the performer, on marketing. It doesn’t need harmonic sophistication because that’s not what sells records, and that’s fine.

Different art forms have different priorities, but let’s not pretend that pop music is harmonically complex. It simply isn’t. Michael raised his hand. Dr. Richardson looked surprised. Auditors rarely participated. Yes, Mr. Johnson. I don’t think that progression is simple, Michael said, his voice still muffled by the mask.

I’m sorry. The song you just mentioned, I don’t think it’s harmonically simple. Dr. Richardson smiled indulgently. Well, Mr. Johnson, I just showed you the chord progression. It’s three chords with minimal variation. That’s the definition of simple. But you’re only looking at the chord symbols, Michael said.

You’re not looking at what’s actually happening in the music. A few students turned to look at the guy in the back. This was bold, challenging Dr. Richardson directly. The chord symbols accurately represent the harmonic structure, Dr. Richardson said, his tone becoming slightly condescending. That’s their purpose.

They represent the basic framework, Michael said. But they don’t show the voice leading, the inversions, the way the baseline creates harmonic tension against the chords, the suspended notes that resolve and resuspend, the way the string arrangement adds passing chords that aren’t in the basic progression. Dr. Richardson frowned.

You’re describing production choices, not harmonic complexity. Production choices create harmonic complexity, Michael said, especially in that song. The baseline essentially functions as an independent harmonic voice. It’s not just playing the root notes of the chords. It’s creating its own melodic line that sometimes agrees with the chords and sometimes creates tension against them.

That’s called a walking baseline, Dr. Richardson said. It’s not particularly sophisticated. It’s called counterpoint, Michael interrupted gently. The baseline is in counterpoint with the chord progression, which is in counterpoint with the melody, which is in counterpoint with the string arrangement.

You’re looking at the song as if it’s three chords on a piano, but it’s actually multiple harmonic layers interacting. The class was very quiet now. Several students were writing quickly in their notebooks. Dr. Richardson felt his authority being challenged. Mr. Johnson, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t think you fully understand music theory.

Can I explain? Michael asked. Explain what? Why that song is harmonically complex, even though it looks simple on paper? Dr. Richardson made a show of checking his watch. We have 5 minutes before the break. Go ahead. Michael stood up. He walked to the front of the classroom, and Dr.

Richardson noticed he moved with unusual grace, like someone very comfortable in their body. Can I use the board? Michael asked. Certainly. Michael picked up the chalk and started drawing. Not chord symbols, but actual staff notation. He wrote out the baseline, the chord progression, a simplified version of the melody, and the string parts, all on separate staves.

Look at measure three, Michael said, pointing. The chord is Fsharp minor, but the bass plays Dsharp, which is the sixth. That creates an F sharp minor 6 chord, which has a completely different color than a standard F# minor. Meanwhile, the string arrangement holds an A from the previous measure, creating a suspended sound against that D sharp.

He continued drawing, his chalk moving quickly across the board. Then the bass descends to Csharp, creating a different inversion. The melody hits B, which becomes a fourth against the Fsharp, adding tension. The strings play a passing G sharp that isn’t part of the chord at all. It’s a passing tone that creates momentary dissonance.

Several students were now standing to see the board better. This is all in the first four measures. Michael said, “The chord symbol says F minor, but what’s actually happening is a constantly shifting harmonic texture. The bass creates one layer, the chords another, the melody another, the strings another.

They’re all working together to create harmonic movement. Even though the basic chord isn’t changing, Dr. Richardson stared at the board. The analysis was correct, more than correct. It was insightful. Then in the chorus, Michael continued, drawing more. When the chord changes to B major, the way it’s voiced creates this sense of release.

But it’s not just the chord change. It’s that all these layers suddenly align. The bass finally plays the root. The melody resolves, the strings support instead of creating tension. That alignment is what makes the chorus feel powerful. He stepped back from the board. So yes, on paper it’s three chords, but in practice it’s multiple harmonic voices creating complexity through layering, voice leading, and interaction.

What academics might call simple and what actually creates the harmonic sophistication are looking at two different levels of the music. The classroom was silent. Dr. Richardson walked to the board, studying Michael’s analysis. It was sophisticated, graduate level, possibly beyond, the kind of analysis that required not just theoretical knowledge, but deep practical understanding.

Where did you learn this? Dr. Richardson asked. From doing it, Michael said. From doing what? From writing songs. from producing, from spending thousands of hours in recording studios working on arrangements. You’re a producer sometimes. Dr. Richardson turned from the board to look at Michael.

You wrote what you just analyzed? Yes. You wrote Billy Jean? Yes. Dr. Richardson actually laughed. Mr. Johnson, I appreciate creative thinking, but let’s not. Michael reached up and removed his mask, then his glasses, then pushed back his hood and took off his baseball cap. The classroom erupted.

Several students literally screamed. Someone dropped their textbook with a loud bang because standing at the front of the classroom was Michael Jackson. [snorts] Dr. Richardson’s face went through several expressions in rapid succession. Confusion, disbelief, recognition, shock, embarrassment. “Oh my god,” Dr. Richardson said.

“My name’s not actually Johnson,” Michael said with a slight smile. I apologize for the deception, but I wanted to observe the class without this. He gestured at the students who were now pulling out cameras, talking loudly, some crying. It took Dr. Richardson several minutes to calm the class down. He had to threaten to end the session early before students finally quieted.

“Mr. Jackson,” Dr. Richardson said, and his voice was different now, uncertain where before it had been confident. “I apologize. I didn’t realize. You didn’t realize I’d be here, Michael said. But you also didn’t realize that calling something simple might be missing what makes it work.

I was analyzing the harmonic structure. You were analyzing the chord symbols, Michael corrected gently. Which is valid. That’s one way to look at music. But it’s not the only way. And when you call something simple based only on chord symbols, you’re missing the production, the arrangement, the layering, the performance choices that create the actual harmonic experience.

Dr. Richardson sat on the edge of his desk. I’ve been teaching that pop music is harmonically simple for years. Some of it is, Michael said. Some classical music is simple, too. Folk songs arranged for orchestra, simple hymns. Simplicity isn’t bad, but when you assume all pop music is simple because the chord charts look simple, you’re making the same mistake as someone who says all classical music is boring because they only listen to the melody line.

So, what you’re saying, Dr. Richardson said slowly, is that I’m teaching music theory divorced from musical reality. I’m saying that academic analysis and creative practice should inform each other. Michael said, “Theyory without practical experience misses complexity. Practice without theoretical understanding misses structure.

You need both.” Can I ask you something? Dr. Richardson said, “Why did you audit my class? Why not just I don’t know, send me an email telling me I was wrong.” Because I wanted to understand how you teach. Michael said, “I wanted to see what students learn about music from academic analysis.

And honestly, you teach theory very well. Your explanations are clear, your examples are good. You just need to remember that chord charts aren’t the whole story. The rest of the class session became a conversation. Michael stayed at the front, answering students questions about his creative process, how he thinks about harmony, how production affects harmonic perception.

Dr. Richardson listened, occasionally asking questions himself. After class, Dr. Richardson asked Michael if he’d be willing to give a guest lecture sometime. Michael agreed. on one condition. Dr. Richardson would also visit a recording studio to see how music is made from the production side. They did both.

Michael gave three guest lectures in Dr. Richardson’s classes over the next year, demonstrating how pop music creates complexity through means that don’t show up in chord charts. Dr. Richardson spent a week observing recording sessions, learning about production techniques, beginning to understand music from the makers perspective rather than just the analysts. Dr.

Richardson’s teaching changed. He still taught harmonic analysis, still used classical examples, still valued theoretical understanding, but he stopped dismissing pop music as simple. He started bringing in full recordings instead of just chord charts. He’d have students analyze not just the harmony, but the production, the layering, the way all elements created the total effect.

His course became more popular. students appreciated learning theory that connected to all kinds of music, not just classical. And Dr. Richardson found his own understanding deepening. He started hearing complexity in places he’d previously dismissed. 10 years later, he published a book, Beyond the Chord Chart: Harmonic Complexity in Popular Music.

In the acknowledgements, he thanked Michael Johnson, who taught me that what we call simple and what creates genius are sometimes the same thing. viewed from different angles. Michael Jackson was auditing when the professor called his song the simplest progression in popular music. What happened next taught the professor that complexity isn’t always visible to those who only know theory without practice.

That chord charts tell one truth about music, but not the whole truth. And that the moment you believe you fully understand something is the moment you’ve stopped learning about it. If this story of academic humility moved you, make sure to subscribe and hit that thumbs up button.

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