Part 2: Joplin’s Theory and Composition Style
- Davis McGhee
- Apr 1
- 3 min read
Updated: Apr 15
Joplin’s music was characterized by syncopation, structured form, and classical influences.

Scott Joplin didn’t just write music—he crafted a philosophy.
To him, ragtime wasn’t merely a backdrop for dance halls or saloons; it was a refined art form, as deserving of intellectual and cultural respect as the compositions of Chopin or Brahms. While the broader public often saw ragtime as catchy or disposable, Joplin believed in its potential to convey sophistication, emotion, and lasting artistic value.
As Gunther Schuller notes, he was "convinced that ragtime was a serious musical genre" worthy of standing alongside the European classical canon (Schuller 172).
What set Joplin apart from many of his ragtime peers was his insistence on formal integrity and emotional nuance. His music wasn’t rushed or flashy—it was composed with care and precision.
Many of his pieces followed the classic “ragtime march” structure—an AABBACCDD form built on 16-measure phrases that balanced repetition with variation (Berlin 112). This allowed him to develop musical ideas in a way that felt both structured and spontaneous.
Take Maple Leaf Rag, for instance—its syncopated energy and intricate phrasing evoke a sense of elegance beneath the toe-tapping rhythm.
And sometimes, when you sit down at the piano and play through Solace—one of his more meditative, tango-inflected rags—you’re struck by how closely its aching lyricism resembles something like Debussy’s Clair de Lune.
The way the melody glides over gently shifting harmonies creates an atmosphere that feels deeply introspective. It’s not hard to imagine someone hearing Solace for the first time and being surprised to learn that it came from the so-called "King of Ragtime"—not a French impressionist composer.
That emotional reach is what Joplin was fighting for: ragtime not as novelty but as narrative.
Harmonically, Joplin pushed boundaries. He incorporated chromatic movement, secondary dominants, and key modulations—elements that added color and sophistication to his rags, setting them apart from the simpler works that flooded sheet music stands during the ragtime craze (Blesh and Janis 121).
He didn’t just want people to play his music—he wanted them to feel it. That’s why he included performance notes in his scores, cautioning musicians not to rush. “It is never right to play ‘ragtime’ fast,” he famously wrote (Jasen and Tichenor 205).
His rags, he believed, should be played with sensitivity, allowing their depth and intricacy to shine.
This devotion to depth found its fullest expression in Treemonisha (1911), Joplin’s ambitious opera. A fusion of ragtime rhythms with operatic form, Treemonisha told the story of a young Black woman who uses education to uplift her community—an allegory that paralleled Joplin’s belief in music as a force for cultural elevation (Berlin 143).
Though it was dismissed in his lifetime, modern scholars now see the work as a visionary bridge between African American traditions and classical opera (Schuller 185).
To study Joplin’s compositional approach is to witness a battle between perception and potential. He resisted the narrow definitions imposed on him by race and genre, insisting that the music of Black America deserved a place in the halls of high art.
In doing so, he laid a foundation that countless American composers would build on—across jazz, classical, and even film scores.
In a sense, Joplin’s work invites us to listen more closely—to find complexity where others only hear rhythm, and to recognize beauty in places history has often overlooked.
His legacy is a reminder that sometimes, the most powerful music is the kind that refuses to be boxed in.
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