Ronan Guilfoyle’s Rhythmic Philosophy

What if everything you thought about rhythm—its complexity, its reliance on math, its dependence on notation—was flipped on its head? What if, instead of being something abstract and academic, rhythm was the most human, embodied, and intuitive part of music?

This is the world you enter when studying with Ronan Guilfoyle (which I am now doing). An acclaimed bassist, composer, and educator, Ronan has devoted much of his musical life to uncovering rhythm’s deeper truths. His approach is rooted in simplicity, physicality, and deep listening—yet it challenges everything we take for granted as musicians trained in the Western tradition.

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Rhythm Is Not Complex—It’s Multifaceted

Ronan often emphasizes a key distinction: rhythm is not complex—it’s multifaceted. The word “complex” suggests difficulty, confusion, or chaos. But rhythm isn’t hard to understand—it’s just rich, layered, and deeply tied to the body.

Compared to harmony and melody—subjects that dominate music education—rhythm is woefully underrepresented in most institutional curricula. This is particularly ironic given jazz’s origins in African music, where polyrhythm, groove, and bodily entrainment are fundamental.

In Dublin City University, where Ronan helped develop the jazz program, students are required to study rhythm for one hour every week, across all four years of their degree. What might be even more surprising is that for the first three of those four years, students don’t even use their instruments. They just clap and sing.

This is not a step backwards—it’s a return to rhythm’s origin: the body.

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Rhythm Is the Delivery System for Notes

John Patitucci once said something that resonated with Ronan:

“Rhythm is the delivery system for notes.”

A note without rhythm is just a flatlined pitch—lifeless, shapeless. Rhythm gives the note its shape, its context, its impact. In that sense:

• Rhythm is shape

• Melody is line

• Harmony is color

Everything we hear in music is being shaped by rhythm. From phrasing and feel to groove and interaction, rhythm is the dimension that gives music motion and vitality.

So why is rhythm still treated like a secondary subject in so many educational settings?

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The Limits of Notation and Time Signatures

One of the most thought-provoking ideas in Ronan’s philosophy is that Western time signatures are artificial constructions. They exist not because music naturally organizes itself into 5/8, 7/4, or 4/4, but because notation requires structure.

Notation didn’t arise from creative necessity—it arose from practicality. As music in the European church tradition became more complex, people began to forget it. So they wrote it down.

Notation has its uses, but it also has major limitations. For example, it can tell you what pitch to play and when to play it, but it cannot tell you how to play it.

Think about this: if a piece of sheet music says “Reggae” at the top, that one word has to convey a vast body of knowledge, vocabulary, and feel. The style isn’t written—it’s assumed.

Notation doesn’t account for the feel of one saxophonist’s sound versus another, or the groove of a samba played behind the beat, or the subtleties of rhythmic interaction in a jazz trio.

This limitation becomes especially glaring when we rely too much on thinking about rhythm through a mathematical lens.

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Rhythm Is Not Math

This is a big one. We often hear musicians describe rhythm as “mathematical,” but Ronan urges us to resist that framing. Mathematics is its own language—abstract, symbolic, and logical. Rhythm, on the other hand, is physical. It’s about time, space, motion, and relationships.

Rhythm can be notated mathematically, sure. But that doesn’t mean it’s made of math.

You don’t learn rhythm through equations. You learn it by feeling it, moving with it, and developing a physical and emotional connection to time.

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Rhythm Is a Human Trait—But Not an Innate One

One of the most profound insights Ronan shared is this: the ability to synchronize with rhythm is uniquely human, but it’s not something we’re born with. It’s something we learn.

• Marching armies

• Football chants

• Group singing

• Mothers rocking their babies

• Blind people using foot rhythm to cross streets

• Heartbeats and lullabies

All of these are rhythmic behaviors that develop socially and physically over time. Rhythm is embedded in human experience, and engaging with it can be neurologically and emotionally powerful. (Fun fact: group singing releases oxytocin, a hormone linked to bonding and connection.)

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Groove, Feel, and Repetition

So what is groove?

According to Ronan, at the broadest level, groove is repetition. It’s the consistent placement of notes in time—placed the same way, every time.

Take samba as an example. A “Gringo Samba” or a “Casio Samba” might hit all the right notes and rhythms, but something still feels off. Why? Because true samba is played just slightly behind the beat. It’s subtle, but it’s always consistent.

Another example is pianist Erroll Garner. He played “behind the beat” constantly—but never slowed down. His sense of time was impeccable. He was deliberately behind, not dragging.

This consistency creates a template—a rhythmic container—that defines how music feels. Groove is not about what you play; it’s about how you place it.

And this isn’t just for musicians. Most listeners—whether trained or not—respond primarily to two things:

1. Sound

2. Feel

And “feel” is almost entirely a rhythmic phenomenon.

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Composite Rhythms and Relationships

Ronan introduces a powerful idea: rhythm is not just about the individual parts—it’s about the relationships between them.

A single click, a single note—those don’t create rhythm. But the moment you have two events in time, you have a relationship. And those relationships can be simple, complex, or anything in between.

For example, when you clap on the “and” of each beat against a metronome, you’re not just practicing syncopation. You’re creating a composite rhythm between yourself and the click. The two parts form something greater than the sum of their parts.

This relational approach is what allows for entrainment—what Ronan calls the “plate spinning” quality of jazz. Since everyone in a jazz group is playing in the moment, based on feel and context, they’re constantly listening, adjusting, and interlocking with each other.

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Becoming a Rhythmic Being

The core of Ronan’s philosophy is this: rhythm is not something you apply to music. It’s something you become.

You must become a rhythmic being. Your body must understand rhythm before your instrument ever can. Technique and theory won’t help if the rhythm isn’t embodied first.

This is why Dublin’s jazz curriculum focuses on clapping and singing rhythms for three full years before applying them to the instrument. You have to hear the rhythm. You have to feel it in your body.

Once that happens, translating it to your instrument becomes a technical issue—not a musical one.

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Every Great Musician Has Something Unique

Back in 1989, Ronan played at a festival with Dave Liebman and John Abercrombie. He watched as musician after musician took the stage, all brilliant—and all uniquely expressive.

He asked himself: What is it that makes these musicians great?

His answer: Every single one of them could do something that no one else could do. It might be one thing or multiple things—but at least one was entirely their own.

That insight led him to write down and analyze everything he was doing rhythmically. He later shared these ideas with Conor Guilfoyle and Mike Nielsen. Eventually, when he showed his material to Dave Liebman, the saxophonist said:

“You have to put that in a book.”

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Part II: Practical Exercises from Ronan Guilfoyle

Now that we’ve explored the philosophy, let’s look at some of the exercises Ronan assigns to internalize these ideas. These aren’t mere warm-ups—they’re transformational practices designed to develop internal time, relational feel, and rhythmic independence.

1. Subdivision Pyramid with Konnakol

Metronome at 50–60 bpm:

• Say one note per beat (4 times), then two, then three, etc., up to 8

• Then descend: 7, 6, 5, etc., back to 1

• Use konnakol:

  • Ta (1)

  • Taka (2)

  • Takida (3)

  • Takadimi (4)

  • Tadigenaka (5)

  • Takidatakida (6)

  • Takidatakadimi (7)

  • Takadimitakajuno (8)

2. Clapping on the “&” of Each Beat

Set a steady click and clap on the offbeat. Increase the tempo over time—up to 220 if possible. At that point, the click feels fast, but remember: you’re still clapping at 110. You’re not trying to squeeze into a smaller space; you’re responding to the pulse.

Ronan says most people don’t “play with” the metronome—they get bullied by it. Instead, treat the click like a musical partner.

3. Clap Across Subdivisions

Set the metronome to ~68 bpm. Practice clapping:

• The fourth 16th note of each beat

• The second triplet of each beat

• The third triplet of each beat

• Mix and match: e.g., clap the second 16th on one beat, then the third triplet on the next

Don’t think “1e&a” or “trip-let.” Think of it as a rhythmic melody or a composite rhythm with the metronome.

4. Sing While Clapping

Add a simple melody like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Sing it slowly (quarter notes) while clapping:

• Second 16th note of each beat

• Second or third triplet of each beat

This builds independence and trains you to hold internal rhythmic structures while executing unrelated rhythmic gestures.

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Final Thoughts

Ronan Guilfoyle’s approach to rhythm isn’t about mastering complexity—it’s about recognizing simplicity in layers. It’s about listening, breathing, syncing, and responding. Most of all, it’s about transforming your perception of time, not just in music but in the body, the self, and the group.

If you want to become more than a player—if you want to become a rhythmic being—this path is as human and musical as it gets.

For more, see The Importance of Rhythm Theory on the Guitar Lessons Myrtle Beach blog.

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