Monthly Archives: July 2011

How Often Do You Stop Listening To Yourself As You Practice Your Instrument?

I was giving an Alexander Technique lesson this morning to a young violinist who had come to me because of some problems with pain and tension (particularly in his left shoulder) as he played. This morning I wanted to see what he does with himself as he practices, so I had him practice an arpeggio exercise that he knew from memory. My intention was to let him play for about 10 minutes uninterrupted as I observed.

At one point in the exercise (playing the G diminished arpeggio), I began to hear his intonation go haywire. Most of his intervals became flat in pitch, and rather lifeless sounding, as well. It was in stark contrast to his typical intonation and complex tone color.

Yet he played straight through as if there were nothing at all wrong. Now, understand, this is a young man who is unusually mindful, very bright and has very nice intonation. (He’s the concert master in an honors youth orchestra here in Los Angeles.)

At this point (it was about 5 minutes into his practice) I decided I needed to stop him. I asked, ” Can you hear anything different about your intonation?” He paused, and said he wasn’t sure. So I had him go from the beginning again. When he arrived at the G diminished arpeggio, his intonation again began to suffer. I stopped him again and asked him this question:

“Where is your attention right now, more to what you’re doing, or more toward what you’re hearing?”

Without hesitation he said that it was much more toward what he was doing as he played as opposed to what he was hearing. (He wasn’t daydreaming or anything like that, he was just primarily focused on the mechanical aspect of what he was doing.)

I asked him if he started the exercise this way. He said no, that at first he had a balance between paying attention to what he was doing, and what he was hearing. As he got to the diminished arpeggios he said that he couldn’t aurally imagine them the same way he could with the diatonic arpeggios (tonic, subdominant). For that reason he realized he was trying to play the diminished arpeggio by concentrating on what he was doing at the expense of what he was hearing.

So first, I had him isolate and sing the G diminished arpeggio pattern that was part of the exercise. Then I asked him play it on his violin, but asked him to really listen to himself. Immediately he heard his bad intonation, smiled then began to correct it back to his normal, beautiful intonation.

All he had to do was to give himself a chance to actually hear what he was playing. It was that simple.

How often do you lose sight of your sound (of your whole self for that matter) when you narrow your attention to only take in the act of executing the music? I know that when sight reading or playing a difficult passage it’s easy to lose touch with everything (except the anxious anticipation of the unknown) .

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

If you find yourself doing this, simply shift your attention back to what you hear and what you are doing with yourself as you play.

In the case of my young violinist this morning, he had actually lost sight of both of these things, letting himself get wrapped up into the mechanics of executing the music, instead of the music of the music. (Yes, I actually meant to say that.)

What my student also realized was that, as he lost touch with his sound, he had also lost touch to how he was using himself. Because of this he went back into some of his old patterns of harmfully misdirected effort (his left shoulder began to tense up quite a bit). As he stopped to give himself a chance to hear himself, he also returned to the newer, lighter, easier, more efficient use of himself. (He let go of that shoulder tension.)

What you hear and what you do as you play music go seamlessly hand in hand. One supports the other. One relies upon the other. One affects the other (for better or worse). You might be surprised at how often you stop hearing yourself because you’ve stopped listening the your music.

The practice room is a great place to work on this expanded, integrated attention. And I know from experience that it is highly possible to cultivate this kind of attention. So see what you do as the music gets more difficult or nebulous. Then simply listen.

Opening Your Mouth: One Simple Tip For Wind Instrumentalists And Singers

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As an Alexander Technique teacher, one of the most common habits of mal-coordination I observe involves how wind instrumentalists and singers open their mouths as they perform. Whether to take a breath, or to simply set the embouchure (in the case of the wind player), I too often see this: the performer opening the mouth from the wrong side of the joint. Let me explain.

Your jaw is a joint that has two movable sides: A bottom side (called the mandible, or “jawbone” side of the joint) and a top side (called the maxilla, or “skull” side of the joint). Technically speaking you only have one jaw, and that’s the part (the mandible) that hangs from the skull. But in reality you can open your mouth from either side of the joint, skull-side or jaw-side.

By far, the most efficient way to open your mouth is from the jaw-side. This is really mostly a matter of letting the jaw release away from the skull. But what I see far too often are singers and wind instrumentalists opening their mouths from the skull-side of the joint. By doing so they put excessive strain not only on the jaw structure, but also on the entire head/neck structure which creates a type of tension that interferes significantly with breath and coordination.

Try this little experiment:

Place one of your hands, palm-side down under the bottom of your chin, so that your fingers are lightly touching your throat. Now, keeping your hand still to stop your jaw from moving, open your mouth (you’ll be opening your mouth from the skull-side of the joint). Now close your mouth from the jaw-side of the joint. Repeat this open and close process two more times. You’ll feel your head being pulled back by all the tension you’re placing on your neck to open your mouth.

In Alexander lingo, we say pulling your head back by tightening your neck in such a way interferes with your primary control, that is, the relationship of your head to your neck and back that is absolutely primary in how it conditions the quality of your entire bodily coordination (including breathing!)

If you pull your head back to open your mouth your directly interfere with to things. First, by tightening your neck you interfere with the free use of your limbs (your hands will be compromised). Second, by pulling your head back you will press your larynx in towards the bones of your neck significantly interfering with your ability to inhale. (If you’re a singer, it’s also going to create way more tension on your vocal mechanisms.)

Also, almost without fail what goes hand in hand with this habit is gasping the breath in noisily through the mouth during inhalation. Not only is this disruptive to the music, but it is not the most efficient way to breath in quickly. (I’m going to write specifically about this in a future post.)

So what do you do when you open your mouth? Observe yourself when playing or singing, especially when you must take breaths quickly. You might find that you already are in the habit of letting your jaw release away from your skull to open your mouth. If so, great! You might also find that for the most part you let your jaw release away from your skull, but under the pinch of taking a quick breath you start to go toward pulling your head back as you open your mouth from the “wrong” side of the joint.

If you find yourself doing this habitually, now’s the time to start lessening that tendency (aiming to eventually eliminate it!) Here’s a way to proceed:

Start practicing opening your mouth without your instrument. Just think about letting your head stay in easy balance on top of your spine as you let your jaw release away from your skull.
Practice opening your mouth with your instrument as you bring your instrument toward your face. Then place your instrument in (or onto) your mouth and let your jaw and lips come to the instrument, but don’t yet make a sound.
Repeat this step, but this time once the instrument is “in place”, blow a bit of slow, warm air without any intention of producing a sound.
Put it all together. Give yourself a few moments each day, maybe when working on long tones or other tone studies to be mindful about how you open your mouth.

Your sound, breathing, ease and coordination will all improve by subtracting this one little habit in your playing.

What is your habit? Observe yourself as you play and sing, especially when taking quick breaths.

A Master Musician Talks About Growth And Improvement

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This is an excerpt from a video about the great cellist, Janos Starker. Here he is working with a young cellist in front of a group in master class. He listens carefully, then gives her one simple thing to change in how she produce her vibrato. Immediately we hear an improvement. You can actually see her face light up as she has one of those “aha!” moments that we musicians cherish and always remember.

I love when Starker says (giving advice about how she should use her thumb to anchor her vibrato), “Don’t press it. Feel it.” This invites her to be more kinesthetically receptive (not working too hard to find the sound), and more expansive with both her sound and her expression.

The maestro goes on to speak about what is necessary for musical growth. One of the most significant points he makes is that to improve as a musician, you must constantly edify yourself. (Specifically, you must change your beliefs about what works and what doesn’t) Advancement, as he says, means that you realize that you were wrong about doing some of the things you’d been doing to try to improve. (I’m paraphrasing and interpreting here, but I think you’ll agree.)

At the end of the video we get to see and hear Starker in performance. Notice how open and free he is as he plays. His arms appear so free, as if they were gracefully soaring away from his back. It’s important to keep in mind that no matter how well he played in that moment, that he was still open to the possibility that he wasn’t doing everything “right”.

F.M. Alexander said, “To know when we are wrong is all that we shall ever know in this world.” As a musician, you might find this to be true only in hindsight (still, true nonetheless). But it does allow the possibility that you can do what you do in a better way. I think Mr. Starker would agree, too.

Want To Find Your True Voice As An Improviser? Transcribe Yourself

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One of the standard practices in studying jazz music is to transcribe improvised solos played by great performers. From the more “classic” masters such as Louis Armstrong, Lester Young, Charlie Parker and Bill Evans, on up to contemporary artists such as Brad Mehldau, Mark Turner or Dave Douglas.

Transcribing a solo that you really like reaps many rewards. It dramatically improves your ear (in my opinion, this is the greatest benefit), narrowing the gap between impulse and expression.

It helps you to expand your harmonic and melodic conception as an improviser. It presents new technical challenges for you. It inspires you by giving you a firsthand aural and kinesthetic experience of how absolutely beautiful and complete an improvised solo can be (it helps you to raise your own standards).

But transcribing solos can have a down side for some musicians. For some, the main aim of transcription is to find phrases (licks, patterns, fragments, etc.) that can be memorized and later used for material during an improvised solo. An arsenal of pre-formed “ideas”, if you will. Though this is expedient, and will certainly help you play more fluently, it doesn’t really do much to help you to find and cultivate your authentic voice as an improviser.

Now, for sure you need to work on patterns, ideas, etc. This is the “material” of your improvisations. But you need to transcend that material to be able to play freely and personally. As the great improviser and teacher Warne Marsh would tell his students (after he was sure they’d worked hard on a particular pattern or idea, “Very good. Never practice that again. You don’t want your playing to become hard, to become mechanical.”

Now, Warne, like many great jazz musicians, transcribed solos. He could play many Lester Young solos easily by ear. But you never, ever heard those Lester licks in any of Warne’s solos.

In fact you never even hear any Warne Marsh licks in any of Warne’s solos. That’s because Warne didn’t have any licks. He instead relied upon his ability to make music in the moment with his own impulse to create. He wanted only to play what he felt and heard. He wanted to express his true voice.

To find that true voice you need to explore what you really hear and feel as you improvise. What is your voice? What do you hear? What do you feel as you improvise? What would you play if your instrument and technique were never in the equation, only your creative spirit?

A great way to explore those questions is to transcribe yourself as you sing your improvisations. That’s right, sing your improvisations.

There are two main benefits to be gained from this.

First, you’ll get a chance to free yourself from your “isms” You know, “saxisms”, trumpetisms”, “pianoisms”, etc., whatever your instrument is. If you transcribe your sung solo and play it on your instrument, you can find all kinds of ways of moving through melodic material that you’ve never explored before. We often get stuck improvising with what feels kinesthetically familiar, rather than what we hear or would like to express. By playing something outside of your “isms” you develop technique and conception in an integrated, practical way.

The second benefit is you’ll get a chance to see what you actually do hear up to that point, so that you can compare that to what you’re studying and practicing. As much as you might like to have all those advanced harmonic and melodic ideas integrated into your solos, you might find that you just don’t hear them yet. No problem, keep practicing them and start singing them (if you aren’t yet doing so).

So here’s a simple way to get started. Choose a standard song (or chord progression, mode, etc.) that you know well, and that you enjoy. Get some kind of a music-minus-solist type of play-along recording (Band In A Box, Jamie Aebersold, etc.) Play and listen several times in a row to the pre-recorded track. As you listen, hear an improvisation in your head (not yet sung). After a few times repeating the track, start to sing your solo. Do this several times, until you really feel connected to the music.

Now record yourself singing your improvisation with the play-along track.

Listen back to your work. See if you can find a solo that you really like. (If you can’t, just see if you can find a chorus or two.) Transcribe it. It is most important to find the notes on your instrument first, but you also might want to eventually write down your transcription. Analyze it. How would you talk about if you were teaching a class in jazz improvisation? What do you like about it? What do you dislike? What are you hearing?

If you practice this regularly (as I have, and continue to do), you’ll gain great confidence in yourself as an artist for one main reason: You’ll realize that nobody in this world imagines and plays music quite like you. You’re literally one of a kind. In my book, that’s a lot, and nobody can take that away from you.

To quote the great improvising pianist Thelonious Monk, “A man’s a genius just for looking like himself.”

It’s important to remember that the vast majority of great jazz artists “looked” (okay, actually “sounded”) like themselves. And this is why we still cherish them.

What I learned From The Gypsies About Playing Music

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For years I’ve been deeply interested in the music from the Balkan region of southeastern Europe. I’ve traveled to Bulgaria, Greece, Macedonia, Romania and other countries primarily to listen to the folk music there. Early on I discovered the music of the Roma, or as they are more commonly known, the Gypsies. They are ubiquitous in this part of the world, and are well-known for their very distinctive musical stylings and stunning virtuosity.

It is commonly held that the Roma originally came from the Rajastan region of India and migrated towards Europe. I’ve had the privilege of witnessing many astonishing performances in the Balkan countries by the local Roma population. I’m always struck by how absolutely easy it looks for them to play music.There is literally no barrier between expression and execution. No nerves, no self-consciousness, no judging, no excess tension. Just joyful, fiery music.

They are also known for their incredible endurance playing music. It’s no problem for them to play all day and all night (as many weddings in Balkan villages require), seeming never to tire.

If you were to ask one of these musicians if playing music was difficult, you would probably be met with an incredulous, bemused look. It would be as if you asked them if it was difficult to taste food. It’s something that comes so naturally to them, that I doubt whether these musicians even ponder the question.

Some years back I saw a marvelous film called Latcho Drom. I guess you could call it a staged documentary about how the Roma have migrated from India, as told through their music. In the film, one particular group stood out to me. They’re called Taraf de Haidouks, and they are from a small village called Clejani, which is situated in the Wallachia region of Romania. I was floored by their passionate, soulful, technically dazzling playing. I immediately became a big fan. About a year after seeing the film I got a chance to see them perform here in Los Angeles at Royce Hall.

It was at that performance that I witnessed a simple, almost unnoticeable thing that completely changed my belief about playing technically challenging music (about playing music in general, really). For the first time in my life I began to notice a sort of reciprocal relationship between technique and tension. With these musicians, specifically, the more technically challenging the music became, the more free and relaxed they seemed to be in body and mind.

At that point in my career I believed the exact opposite. Speed equals tension and contraction.Intensity equals tension and contraction. A big sound equals tension and contraction. (This was before I began to study the Alexander Technique. In fact, it was my experience at this concert that ended up being a stepping stone to my discovery of the Alexander Technique.)

The moment that most sticks out in my mind from this concert was when the leader of the group, Caliu Gheorghe (a virtuoso violinist!), was playing a piece from their repertoire that I was quite familiar with. It was a suite of dances from different regions in Romania. At one point in the piece, there is a break where the band stops playing and Caliu Gheorghe plays a lightning fast unaccompanied solo at a ridiculously fast tempo to introduce the new tempo of the next dance in the suite.

As I anticipated this solo break, I could feel myself beginning to “prepare” (as if I had to play such a solo). I started holding my breath, clenching my neck and jaw, bracing my arms and locking my knees…all as I sat in the audience watching. Essentially I was contracting into myself. That was my reaction to playing fast tempos.

But then I saw this remarkable thing: The split second before the solo break I saw Caliu Gheorghe react in a different way. I witnessed him softening his knees as he sort of let his head float up off the top of his spine. I could also see him releasing his arms away from his body and I think I even saw how easily he was breathing. He was expanding and releasing as he prepared to play instead of contracting. A much different reaction than mine. (Again, this happened in one split second.)

Then he launched into his solo with such joy, presence and utter technical control that I found myself laughing out loud . Besides sounding so good, it looked so easy to do. I was inspired! From that day forward I began thinking about a different way to react as I played music. I’ve been on this path for some years now and the rewards have been huge.

Here is a video clip of Taraf de Haidouks performing Rustem si suite. Notice how free all the musicians are as they play this very intricate and rapid piece. (Caliu Gheorghe is the first violinist to appear at beginning of the performance). Notice the joy, ease and deep emotional expression these musicians bring to the performance. Hope you enjoy!