Tag Archives: Improving Musical Performance

Think Expansively To Play Better Music

As both a performing artist and an Alexander Technique teacher, I tend to observe the physical manifestations of a musician’s performance with one simple inquiry: “Is this person mostly expanding or mostly contracting as she or he makes music?” In essence, I’m looking for whether or not she or he is primarily gaining or losing stature while playing.

To be clear, you’re always contracting muscles to play music. You have to. And even when you’re “expanding” your stature there is still muscular contraction (along with a lot of release) going on. The real question is: What are you mostly doing with yourself as you play music?

A simple way to begin to address this question is to notice yourself in reasonably neutral, easy balance (not playing your instrument), then see what happens the instant you go play. Whether sitting or standing as you begin to play one of two things will happen: Either you “bear down” as you play, pulling yourself downwards and inwards; or you release yourself upwards and outwards. You tend toward either contraction, or expansion.

Noticing this in yourself can sometimes be difficult, as you are very used to whatever it is that you do habitually to play music. Even observing it in others can be an exercise in the observation of subtlety.

With some performers, it’s very easy to see when they pull down and contract, creating a good deal of pre-anticipated effort and strain. Perhaps you even notice this in some of your music students. (Perhaps you even notice it in yourself.)

When performers move with expansion, it often goes unnoticed. It’s as if they are really doing nothing at all, just leaving themselves alone as they play. And in reality, that’s precisely what’s happening. You see, you naturally move toward expansion if you don’t interfere and just let it happen. It’s how your neuromuscular systems is wired. You expand as you oppose the forces of gravity.

And what generally accompanies this physically expansive tendency is freely expressive, dynamic music.

The truth of the matter is that many great performers are actually going back and forth between contraction to expansion. In a sense, this mirrors the movement of breath. Inhalation and exhalation. It’s also a metaphor for artistic expression. Tension and release.

The really great performers ride this tension/release cycle from the music, and from within themselves. But mostly they default to release and expansion. That’s the baseline.

Other performers tend to default mostly toward tension and contraction. That’s their baseline. Usually (but certainly not always) this manifests itself as over-efforted, sometimes awkward and inconsistent musical expression.

So notice what you do with yourself as you play. Do you mostly expand or mostly contract? Here are some guidelines to consider in the form of questions you can ask yourself:

Am I pulling myself downward and inward as I begin to play? If you are, just think about releasing upward and outward instead. As counterintuitive as this might seem, it makes perfect physiological sense. A boxer, for example, knows that the power of the punch comes from the whole body expanding upward and outward, creating greater leverage and velocity.

What am I doing with my head and neck? Again, are you stiffening your neck and pulling your head downward, or leaving your neck alone and letting your head release upward? When you stiffen your neck you begin to interfere with the entire process of expansion.

What am I doing with my shoulders? Are you picking them up toward your ears, or are you leaving them alone? Are you letting your arms release away from your body? Letting your hands release from your back and arms?

What am I doing with my lower back? Are you arching or otherwise straining your back as you begin to play? Let your back and pelvis stay neutral.

What am I doing in my legs and feet? Are you locking your knees by throwing them backward? If so, let yourself release your knees as your weight moves slightly back toward your heels. Let your feet expand onto the floor (Don’t curl your toes!)

How is my breathing? Are you gasping noisily to inhale? If you are, see if you can notice how this affects your entire stature (contraction or expansion?) Keeping your breathing easy and quiet can work wonders for maintaining your stature, ease and balance.

Watch this video of the great violinist, Jascha Heifetz, as he plays Hungarian Dance #7 by Brahms. What’s noteworthy here is what he is not doing: He’s not pulling his head down. He’s not narrowing his shoulders. He’s not pulling his arms in toward his body (notice how free his arms and hands are!) And so forth. What you see instead is expansive, expressive easy music making. He is clearly working in cooperation with his physical design. Enjoy!

Master The Art Of Stopping To Improve How You Practice

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Recently a talented young violinist came to me for Alexander Technique lessons because he couldn’t play for more than about 10 minutes at a stretch without feeling significant amounts of pain and tension, particularly in his left shoulder area.

After listening to him talk about how he approaches practice, then observing his overall habits of movement and balance, I finally asked him to play so that I could take a look at what he was doing.

What I saw was no surprise to me based on what I’d already observed: A huge amount of preconceived tension that was not at all necessary to the act of playing the violin. In essence, his playing mirrored his general attitude and use of himself, being somewhat rigid and effortful, aiming for a narrow conception of perfection. He almost wouldn’t let himself move at all as he played, pulling downward as he “planted” himself.

His thinking (and therefore his energy) was being misdirected. Add to all this his rather inaccurate body map, specifically, misunderstanding how his arms worked in relation to the rest of his body.

He was a terrific student, bright, disciplined and motivated, and it wasn’t long before I was able to help him to play his instrument and otherwise move more easily. Each week he would report being able to play for longer and longer periods with no pain or exhaustion.

But the cornerstone of his improvement wasn’t improving his body map, or re-learning his balance and coordination, or even changing his erroneous preconceived ideas about playing the violin (just to be clear, he needed all these things if he were to improve, and all are VERY important). The most essential skill he learned was how to stop during his practice sessions.

I spent about 10 or 15 minutes during each one of his lessons just watching him practice. I wanted to see exactly how he practiced. What I noticed was that he rarely if ever stopped during an exercise, no matter what. I would see him flinch as he made mistakes, or as his intonation went awry, but that’s about it.

So we worked on getting him to stop more and play less during his practice sessions. We followed this rule: You stop the moment you notice yourself creating any unnecessary tension (going into your habit) or you stop because you don’t like something about your performance (intonation, wrong note, rhythm, articulation, etc.).

It took some persistence (from both him and me), but he went from stopping maybe once in a 10 minute period to stopping 20 0r 30 times. Each time he stopped, he gave himself a chance to notice what he was doing, prevent himself from doing the wrong thing (habitual, misdirected tension) and redirect his thinking in a more accurate and constructive way.

In essence, he learned the art of stopping. And he learned that every time he stopped and gave himself a chance to notice, prevent and redirect, that two things happened simultaneously: He weakened his habits of tension as he strengthened his new habits of ease and balance.

Each week I literally see improvements, not only in how he uses himself as he plays, but also, his musicianship: His intonation, flexibility with time, interpretation, dynamic range and more, all improving regularly. He can now play for very long periods without pain or exhaustion.

So learn the art of stopping. It is probably one skill that musicians neglect the most. Without stopping in a strategic way, you run the risk of doing the same thing the same way over and over again without any real chance of improvement.

Here are some guidelines to follow to help you cultivate your stopping skills:

Devote some time everyday to paying attention to yourself and stopping when something isn’t quite right. You can either notice things kinesthetically (“I’m starting to tighten my neck and raise my shoulder as I play.”), or aurally (“I’m beginning to rush.” or, “I’m playing this note sharp.”) Once you notice something that’s not quite right, simply stop playing and observe yourself. Then redirect your thinking toward ease, balance and expansion.
Notice how you react when you make mistakes. What do you do when you know you’ve made a mistake? Do you tense up? Where do your eyes go? What happens to your breathing? Does how you react help or hurt your performance? Learning how to make mistakes “without flinching” is an essential skill (especially for the professional musician!) If you can learn to make mistakes “graciously” during practice, you’ll take that skill right into performance.
Give yourself a chance to think. Once you’ve stopped, wait. I mean really wait. Make stopping, noticing, preventing and redirecting be your primary objective. As the great classical trumpeter, Rafael Mendez said about practice, “I used to practice 8 hours a day. Nowadays I only practice 3 hours every day, but I really listen to myself.”
Shift your thinking from the mechanical to the conscious. If you learn to stop more as you practice observing, preventing and redirecting, you can continue to strengthen the neuromuscular connections that lead to consistent performance. Forget “muscle memory”. Think about improving the connections between your brain and the rest of your body.

As I continue to progress as a musician, I find myself playing less and thinking more during practice sessions. This has served me very well, and I think it can help you, too.

Artistic Expression And Physical Gesture

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This morning I read an excellent blog article by Gerald Klickstein (author of The Musician’s Way: A Guide to Practice, Performance, and Wellness) about a skill that musicians too often neglect: “the ability to sense musical gestures before performing them.” He calls this ability, appropriately enough, “feeling ahead.”

Near the beginning of the article Mr. Klickstein offers this quote by violinist and teacher, Ivan Galamian:

“The mind always has to anticipate the physical action that is to be taken and then to send the command for its execution.”

F.M. Alexander (the founder of the Alexander Technique) would probably describe this phenomenon as conscious direction. Specifically, that your thoughts shape and anticipate your actions. To play music well, your direction has to be clear and always present.

Without this kind of direction, your risk serious inconsistencies in your performances. To paraphrase from Mr. Klickstein,”You must be able to perceive each musical expression as a physical sensation before you play it.”

I couldn’t agree more. And I’d add that as you progress as a musician, that your ability to “feel ahead” improves as well. Specifically, your anticipation of gesture changes.

But there’s a possible down side to this: What if the physical sensations you are imagining before you play a phrase or idea are habitually tense, and actually counterproductive to the process of playing the phrase or idea? Is it possible that your conscious direction is inaccurate? That your “thinking ahead” is sometimes causing you more trouble than you might be aware of?

Whether you like it or not, nearly all your musical gestures are tied into your habits. So to reframe what Ivan Galamian said above, your mind will anticipate the physical action that is to be taken and then send the command for its execution, for better or for worse.

Because of this, it’s a good idea for you to make a lifelong study of your habits and gestures as they pertain to making music. To do this you must learn to discern what you’re actually doing (as opposed to what you think you’re doing) and place it into context within the following questions:

Does all the tension I create in myself as I play support my musical aims (acoustically, artistically,expressively or otherwise)?
When I make music, am I using myself in such a way that is in accordance with my physical structure, and how my physical structure works in relation to gravity?
Are my movements and gestures spontaneous or are they habitual?

Some of your habitual tension is not at all necessary to good music making. But because it is, well, habitual, it probably doesn’t feel wrong to you. This is where careful self-observation (and a good Alexander Technique teacher!) can help tremendously.

Alexander described the phenomenon of responding with gestures that are counterproductive to the desired intention as end-gaining. When you end-gain, you are following the stereotyped response patterns that are ingrained and perpetuated by your habits.

It’s interesting for me to watch videos of musicians performing on YouTube. Sometimes I’ll watch only the video, with the sound muted, 6 or 7 times before I actually listen to the performance.

I do this as a study of movement as it relates to expression. As I watch I start seeing certain “gestures of expression” over and over with some artists. Usually I can categorize these into 4 or 5 specific patterns of unnecessary tension.

When I turn the sound up what I typically see is that each physical gesture by the performer precedes (by only a split second) each actual artistic expression. It’s as if the performer’s physical gestures are dictating (or at least greatly limiting) the expression.

I rarely see this with great musicians. With the greats, I usually notice the opposite: the gesture seems to follow the expression.

So notice what you do as you perform. Are your performance gestures the same in practice as in concert performance? In a recording session? Are your gestures spontaneous?

Always remember that you have choices, and that when you give yourself true choices, you can (to quote Mr. Klickstein once more) let your “imagination run free.”

Making Music Together: There’s No Substitute For Rapport

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As a serious musician you probably spend a great deal of time in the practice room. This is a highly solitary activity. Countless hours refining, discovering, re-thinking, all with the aim of improvement. And improvement you get. But have you ever noticed that no matter how well you play in the practice room, that’s there’s are some people that you just don’t play well with?

I’m not talking about people who obviously don’t have decent musical skills. Of course if you play with somebody with bad time or intonation you’re probably not going to be as free, relaxed and present with the music as you are playing with better musicians.

But have you ever played with one or more musicians that actually do have a great deal of skill, but that you just can’t connect with them as you play? This is a question of rapport (or lack of rapport!)

My dictionary defines rapport as, “a relationship of mutual understanding or trust and agreement between people.” I like this definition, because it consistently describes my relationships with the musicians I like playing with.

One such musician is Christopher Garcia. He is literally one of the most complete and versatile musicians I’ve ever played with. He makes remarkably complex and beautiful jazz on the drums (melodic, intense, yielding) , Indian classical music on tabla (he’s been seriously studying Indian music for over 30 years), contemporary classical music on the marimba, pre-columbian Mexican music on hand-made instruments, and practically anything else in between. (He’s also has some serious mojo as a rock drummer!)

Chris has toured and recorded with a plethora of highly recognized musicians from many genres, and can currently be heard as the drummer for the Frank Zappa alumni group, “The Grandmothers.” I’ve known and have been playing with him in a variety of groups for the last 20 years. We go back.

Recently Chris and I started playing duets: just drumset and saxophone. Now this presents as many challenges as it does opportunities to express ourselves musically. We play pieces, sketches, completely free improvised compositions, standard jazz songs…whatever we feel like.

The challenge is to make the music complete and cogent. We haven’t yet recorded anything, but I’m pretty certain that we’re meeting the challenge splendidly. It just feels so right.

He and I have played together in a large variety of musical settings, and have spent a considerable amount of time on the road together. But we’ve never played in this duo format. It had been over a year since Chris and I had played together when I called him to see if he was up to playing duets. He was, so we made a date to play.

The very first thing we played was a simple blues line by Sonny Rollins called “Blue Seven”. We ventured together on a magnificent musical journey, letting our playing fold and unfold around the theme, form, and spirit of the piece we we’re playing. It never felt as if I were leading nor following.

The music simply poured out of us, bringing surprise and delight. I was finding so much new music in me. Even technically, it seemed that I’d transcended my preconceived limits, though at the time, I didn’t care if I did or not.

After we brought the piece to its conclusion, we both smiled at each other, as Chris said, “Gee, it’s like we’ve known each other for years.” And indeed we have, not just musically, but personally as well. We trust each other. We allow ourselves to play together freely and vulnerably. Our collective playing adds up to more than the sum or our parts. (sorry for the cliche, but it’s really true!)

And I realized something that I come back to over and over: I can practice until I’m blue in the face, but I’ll always play beyond my preconceived capacity when I’m playing with musicians with whom I have rapport.

This principle, I believe, applies to all musicians. We’re not just components that we plug in to each other at gigs to make music. (Although to survive professionally we need to be that, too.) We’re human beings with real human connection. The stronger this connection, the greater the music.

Here’s a brief video of my friend Chris performing with the great violinist Harry Scorzo. Chris is using chop sticks to play percussion on Harry’s violin, striking the strings that Harry’s not playing. (Seriously! Harry and Chris also have remarkable rapport). This is a very unique musical statement. I hope you enjoy:

The Best Saxophone Lesson I’ve Ever Taken

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This probably sounds crazy, but the best saxophone lesson I’ve ever taken was from somebody who didn’t even play the instrument. It was given to me by Frances Marsden, my first Alexander Technique teacher. How is it possible (you might ask) that somebody who knows nothing about playing the saxophone could help me become a better saxophone player?

Ironically enough, it is precisely because Frances knew nothing about playing the saxophone that she was able to help me so much. She did something very simple, but immediately practical: She observed what I was doing as I played, then asked questions about it.

She would ask, for example, “Is it necessary for you to tense and raise your left shoulder as you play?” I would stop for a moment and think, then reply, “No, it’s not at all necessary. It doesn’t help my sound or my fingering technique.” She would continue, “Let’s see what would happen if you don’t do that.” And of course, I found that if I didn’t do that, I would play better.

We went on and on like this. She, rather innocently asking questions and I, stopping to observe and reconsider my technique. You see, Frances didn’t know what was necessary to produce sound or create technique with the saxophone. She was just observing the tension I was creating as I played, and asking me if it was necessary. Sometimes it was, but more often than not it wasn’t.

She became fascinated by the whole process as well. With a childlike curiosity, she would observe and ask based upon a genuine desire to understand what was involved in playing the saxophone. She acted as a sort of a mirror for me: I was able to change many of the habits of unnecessary tension I was bringing into my saxophone playing.

By the time I’d take this remarkable “saxophone” lesson, I’d already taken about 10 Alexander lessons from Frances. I came to her because of some serious coordination issues I was having at that time that forced me to take time off from professional performance. In the first lessons we didn’t even look at how I was playing the saxophone. Instead we dealt with my general coordination: How I sat, stood, used my arms, maintained balance, breathed, walked, etc.

It was in these first lessons that I gained a much clearer understanding and kinesthetic sense of how my habits of tension were manifesting themselves. This was a good strategy, because had we started right in on the saxophone, I would have been so emotionally tied up into my own playing (and my beliefs about playing!) that I wouldn’t have been able to be truly open to seeing what my habits were.

But after significantly refining my skills of self-observation through my lessons (and making noticeable improvements in my overall coordination and balance), Frances thought it was time we addressed the saxophone directly.

Now, mind you, my saxophone playing was already beginning to improve quite measurably just from improving my overall coordination. I was finding a great deal more ease, consistency, and most important: optimism.

This is no small point. You see, many “saxophone specific” problems are really just problems of balance and coordination. Improve your balance and coordination, and indirectly, you improve your saxophone playing.

Here’s what I learned in that Alexander/saxophone lesson about my saxophone playing habits:

I tighten my neck as I jut my face forward (especially when playing altissimo)
I tighten across my chest as I lift my left shoulder up towards my ears
I pull my right shoulder downward toward the left side of my pelvis, and pull the left side of my pelvis upward toward my right shoulder
I hyperextend my right leg, throwing my knee backwards into a “lock”.
I throw my head back as I open my mouth, gasping noisily as I inhale
I over-extend my left wrist (bending it backwards), especially as I play up in the palm keys.

If you saw me, I probably looked like many saxophone players do. Most of the above habits are so subtle, that many saxophonists and saxophone teachers would never notice them. (Frances couldn’t immediately see some of them , but she could easily feel them with her hands!) Many saxophonists get desensitized to noticing the habitual patterns of unnecessary tension that many (even great) saxophonists have.

For this reason, it’s helpful to have a fresh set of eyes. Somebody who might not know the saxophone, but knows very well the workings of the human organism.

After having that remarkable lesson, I was able to develop a wonderfully useful strategy for improvement: Simply stop carrying out some of these habits. To be honest, that takes a considerable conviction, persistence and strategy, not to mention the investment of time. (But the rewards are so consistent, that it is easily worth it.)

To make a very long story short, I’ve since been able to rid myself of theses problems and am not only playing professionally again, but I’m also playing better than ever before. It all begins with changing your beliefs about what it takes to play, and then cultivating an ability to observe and to ask the right questions. That’s where the help of a good teacher comes into play.