Am, B diminished, E7. That is the whole chart for Saturday's Latin Funk jam, and it hides one idea that unlocks half of minor-key music: a single raised note. Here is what the three chords are doing, why that one note matters, and the shapes that make all of it easy.
Saturday's lesson was one track, start to finish: Latin Funk in A minor, 121 beats per minute, a sixteen-bar form. Three chords on the screen behind me. Most people look at a chart like that and see something simple. It is simple to play. It is not simple in what it tells you, and the difference is the lesson.
Here is the short version. Two of those chords live in A minor the way you learned it. The third one does not, and it is the one that makes the groove sound like it is going somewhere.
A minor is the home chord. Its notes are A, C, and E, and if you know only one minor shape on the neck, this is the one you know. The track sits on it for most of the form, so the first job is to get comfortable there and stop hunting for the next chord before the next chord arrives.
B diminished is the second chord, and it is built straight out of the A minor scale: B, D, F. Nothing borrowed, nothing exotic. The word diminished scares people because the symbol looks like a warning sign. It is just the chord that happens to live on the second step of a minor key. Play the three notes and it sounds tense, unresolved, leaning forward. That lean is the point. It is a chord that wants to go somewhere.
E7 is the third chord, and here is the thing: E7 is not in A minor. The natural A minor scale gives you an E minor chord on the fifth step, E, G, B. The chart says E7, which means E, G sharp, B, D. That G sharp is the raised seventh degree of the scale, and the scale that has it is called harmonic minor.
Why raise it? Play the two versions back to back. E minor going to A minor is soft; it drifts home. E7 going to A minor is a shove. The G sharp sits one fret below A and pulls up into it like it is on a string. Composers figured this out centuries ago, and every flamenco player, every Santana record, and every Latin groove you have ever danced to is running on that one raised note. The track borrows it for exactly one chord, and that one chord is what gives the sixteen bars a destination.
So when you solo, you solo in A minor almost everywhere, and when the E7 comes around, you reach for the G sharp. Not the whole scale, just the one note. Land on it over the E7, release it to the A when the chord changes, and you will sound like you have studied harmony for years.
Here is something I showed on Saturday that saves you a lot of memorizing. A diminished seventh chord, four notes stacked in minor thirds, is perfectly symmetrical. Any of the four notes can act as the root. Learn one shape and you own it in four places on the neck, three frets apart, and it will never sound wrong because it is the same four notes every time.
Over the B diminished in this track, that shape gives you a built-in riff. Slide it up three frets, up three more, back down. It is one shape moving in a straight line, and it sounds like you planned it. Those symmetrical shapes are also where a lot of the close-form voicings come from: the A minor shape I use on the top strings, the one you move to G sharp minor and back, is the same idea. Find the shape, then move it.
If you want this track to sound the way it does on the record, roll to the neck pickup. The Santana sound is a neck humbucker, a little drive, and a lot of sustain. On a single-coil guitar you will get a brighter, drier version of it, which is also fine; the notes are what matter. The G sharp sounds like a decision on any pickup.
A week of that and minor keys stop being a mood and start being a map. Then watch Saturday's lesson and take the parts you want.
The lesson, dead air cut: the chart, the changes, the shapes, and playing over the full track.