Category Archives: Practicing Saxophone

When Practicing Is More Than Just “Practicing”

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“With great elegance, he contrasts the dullness of mindless routine with the exhilaration of mindful ritual”

-Maria Popova, about the cellist, Pablo Casals 

It would be an understatement for me to say that I enjoy my daily saxophone practice more than ever at any point in my life. I look forward to it each day with buoyant anticipation and great delight.

Though I play “better” on some days than others, I never have a “bad” day practicing. (Really!)

This wasn’t always the case for me.

To be sure, I’ve always (even as a beginner) been disciplined about daily practice. I would even say I was a bit “obsessed” at times. Diligent, committed, strategic.

But for most of my musical life, there was not much enjoyment in the process of practicing. The exceptions were when I was having a particularly “good” day playing. These days were few and far between.

It was mostly a “no pain, no gain” attitude that I brought into the practice room. You know, the “If it sounds good, you’re probably not practicing” kind of thing. I practiced for one reason only: to improve. (To be clear, wanting to improve is still important to me!)

But all this began to change as I discovered the Alexander Technique as an effective way to help me deal with a debilitating neurological condition known as focal dystonia.

An essential principle of the Alexander Technique is in giving the “quality of process” top priority in any activity you’re engaged in. In short, you learn to not just focus on your desired goal (the specific thing you’re trying to achieve musically/technically, as you practice), but to always pursue that goal in a way that is in best accordance to your human design and your intentions.

Ease, economy of effort, balance, poise…these qualities of psychophysical experience become as important as the desired musical/technical result itself.

F.M. Alexander described this commitment to the quality of process in activity as the “means whereby”. Or as I say, the quality of “how I use myself doing whatever it is I do”.

So by design, paying attention to the means whereby means being present…curious, receptive, reflective, purposeful, edifying, self-compassionate, playful…It also means being willing to take your time in doing what you do. Not getting ahead of yourself, so to speak.

When you bring these qualities into your daily musical practice, you just naturally practice “better”. You become more efficient in your efforts, more effectively strategic, more open and honest in what you actually “hear” as you practice, what you’re actually capable of. You become more willing to explore being “wrong” to find new possiblities.

You also become so much clearer about what you want, about who you are as an artist.

But you can also learn that being this mindful in the practice room has a remarkable effect on your conscious experience as a whole.

You can discover that paying attention to the quality of the “how” of your practice routine provides a meditative experience. An experience of mindfulness in movement, merged with intention.

In this experience your brain activity actually changes, as in any type of meditation practice. And you might find that you enjoy these new changes in your consciousness, that you find this kind of “presence” in your practice routine as being deeply satisfactory.

And ultimately, you can bring this kind of mindfulness into your daily life, learning to be present and engaged in even the most seemingly mundane activities.

So instead of just practicing as a “means to an end”, you might find that the process of practicing becomes an end unto itself.

How do you go about doing this?

Start with looking for ease in yourself: an easy, fluent and stable connection to the ground; free and expansive neck and shoulders; mobile hips, knees and ankles; full, dynamic, natural breathing, etc.

Then get clear about what it is you want in the moment, what specifically you’re aiming for (musically/technically) as you engage with your instrument.

Use your time mindfully, as well. Choose to stop, to pause, to redirect your attention between “takes” while practicing a particular exercise.

Cultivate curiosity. Ask yourself lots of questions:

“What would I like to have happen?” (What do you want musically/technically?)

“How am I ‘using’ myself right now” (Are you free, mobile and expansive?)

“What am I actually hearing?” (Are you listening openly and actively?)

“What shall I do next?” (Should you repeat what you’ve just played, or move on? Why, or why not?)

Finally, practice being kind to yourself. Take your time. Speak to yourself gently. Smile at your “mistakes” and learn from each one. Realize that the act of practicing your instrument is actually a way of deepening your discovery and understanding of yourself.

Be grateful for this remarkable experience of creating and sensing resonance. And for being able to once more, each day, go inside yourself to find beauty and send it out into the world (even if you’re the only one there to hear it!)

I’ve been practicing through these principles for over 18 years now, and I can tell you that the intrinsic satisfaction of daily practice is a precious, “stand-alone” gift. And as a bonus, I continue to improve and grow as a musician, and as a human being, in ways I never before imagined.

I wish the same for you, too.

All Your Musical Expression Depends Upon This

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Whether you’re simply producing a sound, running a scale pattern, playing an etude, or improvising a phrase…none of this is possible without movement.

Now, that might seem obvious, but it has deep implications. You simply can’t have music without movement.

Even in computer-generated music, something has to move in order to produce music. Things have to be coordinated with respect to time so that we as listeners can have a meaningful, musical experience.

But in this post, I’m talking specifically about the movements you make on your particular instrument to produce music.

Without movement, without human movement, there is no musical expression on any type of acoustically generated instrument. You move air, you create friction on strings, you strike things…

And the quality of your musical expression is deeply conditioned by the quality of the movement you use to play your instrument.

Musicians are movers. To be a skillful musician, you must also be a skillful mover. Every single technical or pedagogic problem a musician is having is, by design, a problem with movement.

And I’m not just talking about the quality of the movement of the specific bodily parts that seem to be most involved in playing your instrument. I’m not talking only about skilled fingers, or hands, or feet, or facial muscles, per se. (Though these things are clearly important!)

No, I’m talking about something much broader: the coordination of your entire self.

I use that word, “self”, very carefully here. Because from a functional, neurophysiologic point of view, you are much more than a mass of flesh and bone playing an instrument. You are a whole, interdependently integrated organism, whose attention, (and intentions!) impact the quality of both your specific skill, and your overall coordination.

Movement is something that falls under an even larger umbrella called reaction. How you move in space, how you maintain posture and balance, how you hear/listen, how you use your time, are all under this umbrella.

As you play your instrument, you are constantly reacting to a plethora of stimuli, both internal and external (what you hear, imagine, feel, want, sense, etc.) How you react to all this stimuli is manifested through your movement.

And the quality of those movements can either support, or interfere with, your musical expression.

So pay gentle attention to how you move, to how you react moment to moment as you practice and perform on your instrument.

What is the overall quality of your movement? How would you describe it? Is it fluid, mobile, grounded, light and efficient? Do you have a dynamic relationship to the ground? Are you simultaneously free, and stable?

If you answered “no” to any of these questions, keep in mind that you can change. You have the capacity to choose more mindfully efficient ways to move.

My work as an Alexander Technique teacher is designed at helping musicians discover and restore the quality of movement that is most helpful to optimal musical performance. It is something that I not only teach, but that I also apply to my own musical practice every day. It enables me to discover ever more efficient movement possibilities when playing saxophone. It steers me toward clarity as I express myself musically.

So if you’d like to play your instrument with greater ease, expression and control, consider the overall quality of your movement. Give it top priority. Allow your neck and shoulders to move freely, let the ground support you, let your ribs move easily as you breathe, and aim at moving with a light, upward, and expansive quality.

Think “balance and mobility” rather than “position and posture”. Speak to yourself kindly. Take your time. Explore. Cultivate curiosity. Believe that there is always more ease available to you. (Because there is!) Move well, play even better. Enjoy!

Remember to Pay Attention to This Important (Yet Too Often Overlooked) Component of Your Practice Routine

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The first time I give an Alexander Technique lesson to any musician, there are three things in particular that I’m going to pay the closest attention to before they even play one note on their instrument:

1. How they describe the problem (or perceived need) that led them to see me for help.

2. How they maintain their upright “stature” (habits of misuse or imbalance in sitting, standing and moving in general).

3. How they assemble their instrument to prepare to play.

It is this third thing (assembling the instrument) that I wish to address in this post.

What I often see in a first lesson when a musician gets ready to take the instrument out of the case, is a considerable amount of what we refer to in the Alexander Technique as “misuse”.

Usually this entails lots of compression in the body:

Head pulled down onto the spine.

Shoulders narrow and held.

Arms, fingers and hands tensing up.

Forehead wrinkling as the eyes go into a fixed and narrow gaze.

Ribs being held to temporarily hold the breath.

Spine collapsed and knees locked while bending to pick up the instrument.

And more.

In short, lots of misdirected effort…

Plus, there is nearly always a sense of hurriedness in the entire process, as if the “task” of putting the instrument together is just some mindless necessity to get out of the way so that the “real” activity can actually start.

Yet it is the very act of preparing your instrument that can have a profound impact upon how you proceed with the rest of your practice session. Most notably in two ways:

First, how you’re organizing your attention to prepare for the work ahead.

Second, what you’re doing in your body as you prepare for this work. (To be clear, both of these things are inextricably related.)

Whenever I see a musician “scramble” to mindlessly assemble the instrument, what I also notice in their “use” as they begin to play is simply a continuation of that same psychophysical state. In other words, misdirected effort in assembling is followed by a similar misdirected effort when actually playing.

So when you practice each day, consider paying attention to what you are doing with yourself as you move toward, and assemble, your instrument.

Here are some things to keep in mind and to aim for:

Give yourself time. It all starts here. Not only in being more leisurely in how you approach and assemble your instrument, but also giving yourself a chance to return to the present moment. Think of it as a brief “warmup meditation”.

Aim for light, easy and balanced. Whether you’re sitting or standing, allow yourself to release into the length and width of your full stature. No need to sit up or stand up “straight”, simply let the ground support you and expand upward and out into the room.

Breathe. You don’t need to take a breath, or even breathe deeply. Just bring your attention gently to your nostrils and notice that you already are breathing. Taking time in doing so is moving you in the right psychophysical direction for practice.

Proceed with freedom and ease. Be mindful of how you move toward your instrument. As you bend, allow your hips knees and ankles to work together in a gently integrated way. Aim for balance, suppleness, and lively but light mobility.

Be kind to the case. If you’re instrument is in its case, take your time opening latches, zippers, etc., As you do so, pay attention (and wish for) the same easy, spacious use of yourself you had in moving toward your instrument.

Be kind to your instrument. Aim for the same quality in your hands as you reach for your instrument you’d like to have when you’re actually playing it. It is sometimes this first contact with your instrument that can set the tone and mood of your practice session. And of course, assemble it with love, care, and a sense of gratitude. (You’re getting ready to do the thing that lights up your heart and soul!)

Be kind to yourself. Expect good things. Caress that first note with a gentle curiosity, as if you’re gradually discovering your sound. Listen to and realize that sound, then wish for more as you continue to explore and shape your sound to suit your imagination.

So notice how you approach and assemble your instrument when you begin your practice session. Discover how being gently mindful in doing so can become an essential part of an efficient and effective warm up. Follow the procedures I’ve detailed above, and enjoy the difference!

Clarifying A Common Misconception About Your Lungs To Help You Breathe More Optimally

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Uploaded to www.sxc.hu for use.

Many of the chronic problems wind instrumentalists and singers encounter with breathing are due, in part, because of misconception.

In particular, misconception of the structure, function and coordination of the mechanisms involved in both natural (passive) and extraordinary (as in playing or singing) breathing.

I’d like to address and clarify a very common misconception here in this post: the size and location of the lungs themselves.

Let’s start by some of the things some musicians think they are doing with their air:

“I’m putting the air down there in my belly.” Or, “I’m placing the air down into my diaphragm.” And other ideas to this effect.

I won’t digress here about why it’s impossible to “place the air down in your diaphragm”, other than to say that the air you inhale never goes directly into your diaphragm.

It enters into your lungs. Simple as that.

The primary function of your diaphragm is to assist in changing the size and shape of your lungs to facilitate inspiration and expiration. It does this in concert with your intercostal muscles (the muscles between your ribs), as well as with other auxiliary muscles.

So where are your lungs, exactly?

Well, they’re higher up and further back in your body than you might have thought. Here’s a simple, animated video from the DVD entitled, Move Well, Avoid, Injury, to help you get a visual on all this:

As you can see, the air doesn’t actually go into your “belly”. The three-dimensional movement of your abdominal area is largely on account of the displacement of the abdominal content, because of the movements of the diaphragm and ribs (and other structures, as well.)

So what’s the possible downside of trying to “put the air down there in your belly”?

Well, in the simplest sense, by trying to do the impossible, you’re most likely also interfering with your natural, optimal breathing coordination.

Whenever I see a wind instrumentalist trying to “put the air into the belly”, I typically also see a stiffening up of the neck and shoulders, accompanied by a downward compression of the head on top of the spine, and a narrowing, or hollowing, of the lower back.

All this tends to prevent the ribs from moving freely enough to sufficiently (and efficiently) transform the internal dimensions of the thoracic cavity (the part of your body including, and inside of, your ribs) that facilitates the movements necessary for full and dynamic breathing.

So take a good look at the video I’ve posted here. Notice the size and the specific location of your lungs, along with the range of movements the lungs go through via the actions of the ribs, diaphragm, and other muscles. By clarifying this misconception, you might very well discover a new freedom, flexibility and fullness with your breathing that had been eluding you in the past. Enjoy!

Time and Rhythm: Discovering the Magic Between the Beats

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“Many people think that how they commit to the metronomic beat is the only game in town. But in bebop, the game in between this beat and the next one is really the main game.”

-Charles McPherson

“The metronome is not my sense of time. My sense of time lies between the metronome clicks.”

-Bill Plake

Well, I have at least one thing in common with alto saxophone great Charles McPherson. We both agree about our relationship to time (and how we perceive it).

Many musicians who seek my help in improving their sense of time and rhythm tend to have this more “passive” approach to the beat, as described above. This is, in part, because they view playing with “good” time as some kind of burden, as something they are obligated  to do in a rather precise and inflexible manner.

But playing with “good” time is not a burden. It is a liberator,  making your music more vivid, along with optimizing your skill and coordination.

And for you to play with “good” time, you need to be flexible and dynamic in two specific ways:

First, you need to be flexible and responsive to the time/rhythm/feel nuances of the other musicians with whom you’re playing.

Second, you need to have a dynamic rhythmic imagination.

It is this “dynamic rhythmic imagination” that I wish to address here.

No matter what kind of music you’re playing, “between the beats” is where all the possibilities lie. If you’re playing “interpretive” music, lets’ say, Bach, for example, it is your imagination of the “unevenness” (the emphasis and de-emphasis) of each of the eighth notes in a particular phrase that give it a unique expressive quality.

In other words, it is how you “imagine” the eighth notes relative to the beat  that puts your personal stamp on the music.

If you’re an improvising musician, on the other hand, it’s not just how  you imagine the eighth notes relative to the beat, but also what  you imagine rhythmically.

By “what”, I’m talking about the complexity and richness of your rhythmic expression. I’m talking about more than just continuous eighth (or sixteenth) notes.

Syncopation, polyrhythm, metric modulation, polymeter…even silence…all of this can be part of your rhythmic imagination. The “game in between this beat and the next one”, as Charles McPherson says.

And for sure, as an improvising musician, the “how” of how you play your eighth notes, sixteenths, etc., relative to the beat, is a vital component of your expression. (I think of this as a part of your “time feel”.)

But the bottom line is that none of this happens without consciously strategic and constructive work. In the simplest sense, that means working on two specific skills:

  1. Your sense of pulse (your ability to imagine and accurately predict) the beat (or “clicks” on the metronome).
  2. Your ability to imagine and move with an ever-expanding vocabulary of rhythmic expression relative to that beat.

The key word here is imagination.  When you’re practicing, that might mean using a minimal amount of metronome clicks relative to the rhythm being explored.

So for example, if you’re working on feeling eighth-note septuplets (seven notes played within two beats), it would make little sense to set the metronome clicking on each eighth note of the septuplet. Doing so might make your eighth notes sound “more even and precise”, but will do nothing for your rhythmic imagination. Ultimately, it is your carefully cultivated “rhythmic imagination” that will make your rhythms most precise, whether your playing by yourself or with others.

It would be more beneficial to set the metronome click in three ways. From easier to more challenging, these are:

  1. One click per each septuplet.
  2. Two clicks per each septuplet. (Believe it or not, you’ll most likely find this to be a bit more tricky.)
  3. One click per measure. (So, in 4/4 that would be one click for every 14 notes)

Once you’re able to do all this fairly readily, next would be to displace the click of the metronome relative to the septuplets, perhaps having it click beat two of each measure (or if you’re really up for a challenge, having it click on the “and” of beats one and three!)

Working on rhythms with this kind of intention and precision yields remarkable results, whether you’re an interpretive or improvising musician. The music “between the beats” comes alive inside of you with sometimes startling energy!

I’ve composed an e-book filled with exercises to help you enrich your rhythmic imagination, as well as to improve your ability to predict  the beats. Working daily in this way will help you build measureable skills that apply to whichever kind of music you play.

In any case, I encourage you embrace Maestro McPherson’s assertion, and discover the magic between the beats. Here’s a link to Ethan Iverson’s excellent interview with Charles McPherson. Enjoy!