Tag Archives: Jazz Improvisation

Deepening Your Improvisational Expression By Slowing Down

Ellery Eskelin and Warne Marsh are about as different from each other as can be, both as tenor saxophonists, and as improvising artists. But they share (or shared, in the case of the late Warne Marsh) one practice discipline in common: improvising very slowly.

They and many other great improvising artists engage in this discipline because it deepens the connection between what they think and feel, and what they play as they improvise. In essence, it helps to make their playing more intentional. More personal (and therefore unique).

If you’re a student of improvisation, you know that the challenges are many. You have to spend a great amount of time learning (and eventually transcending) a great deal of material, concepts and skills.

And if you aspire to the highest level of expression as an improviser, you face this challenge in particular: to play fluently, in real time, without resorting to stereotyped (whether somebody else’s or your own) patterns. Generating original ideas immediately without a safety net. It takes tremendous discipline, tenacity, honest self-evaluation and time to develop the necessary skills at this level.

You must be able to step into the unknown without relying exclusively upon your habits. No small feat.

It is too often that an improviser becomes fluent at the expense of losing spontaneity, deep exploration, and genuine “in the moment” creativity. Practicing slow improvisation can help you develop to bridge the gap and find the balance between spontaneity and fluency.

By improvising slowly you can:

Become aware of your habits-Do you find yourself playing a limited amount of similar sounding ideas in certain keys or on certain forms, or at certain tempos? Do you find that your rhythmic conception becomes somewhat predictable? Slow improvisation can bring you deeply aware of your stereotyped expressions.
Prevent yourself from hardening your habits-Once you’re aware of your habitual patterns, you can choose to modify them or to even give them up altogether.
Direct yourself into new territory-When you’re free of your habitual choices (“responses” is more like it) when improvising, you’re also free to find all kinds of new ways to play with and explore the elements of music. You’re free to surprise yourself. This openness to surprise translates into a highly consistent fluency when improvising.

I’ve been devoting a healthy amount of my own practice time (20-40% of my practice time) to daily slow improvisation for many years now. The rewards are huge, and the satisfaction always immediate (I never tire of this practice). Here’s what I address as I practice this way:

What I hear– I spend a certain amount of time dedicated to playing each improvisational impulse note-by-note, only changing notes as I hear in my imagination the next note. Besides greatly improving my ear, this also helps me cultivate a deep and fluent connection between my ear and my instrument.
What I think-Some of my time is devoted exclusively to thinking about new ideas and new material. In this case, I might consciously work with a particular harmonic substitution I’ve been practicing, for example, over a standard song or harmonic cycles. This gives me the chance to turn the material I’ve practiced (the new harmonic substitution) into melodic expression. It also helps me in hearing the new material as I play it, so that when I play only by ear (see above) I’m able to call upon this material naturally and sincerely.
What I feel-The rest of my slow improvisation practice time is just playing what I feel. No trying for anything. I don’t think about harmonic ideas or melodic patterns. I don’t worry about what I hear in my imagination (or don’t hear). I don’t judge. I just play, trusting and following my muse. This is how I wish to approach improvisation in real life, on the bandstand with other musicians. This practice puts me into a deep meditative state, and it is where I find my true self expression.

I apply this practice to playing over tunes, improvising modally, with melodic shapes, triad combinations, etc., as well as thematic open-ended improvisation and completely free open-ended improvisation. It works well in any context.

So how slow is “slow”? I usually set the metronome at anywhere from 40 to 75 beats per minute (some days I might go as high as 80 bpm, depending on what I’m working on). At these tempos I’m primarily starting with a “single time” eighth note based rhythmic approach.

Of course, as I go along, I broaden my rhythmic expression, incorporating triplets, sixteenth notes, quintuplets and other polyrhythmic and polymetric elements. But I never add velocity to anything that I can’t control and fully hear, choose and understand. I’m also sometimes aiming to play very lyrically at these slow tempos, almost if I were singing instead of playing saxophone.

I address the time/pulse in one of three ways. Either by:

Playing completely out of time-I do this as I do my “ear only” practice, as well as to connect ideas and work out new concepts (what I “think”).
Playing in time, allowing myself to stop and go out of time-This is sort of the “in between” phase between working on new concepts and material out of time to actually put them in time. I also might stop just because I’m hearing something in my imagination that I just can’t quite find, or if I come up with a new idea about working with the harmonic, melodic or rhythmic materials.
Playing in time slowly with no stopping-I do this to help me to crystalize new concepts, shapes, harmonic material, etc., in real time. I also play this way when I’m just playing what I feel, letting the muse unfold. Here it’s just a matter of committing completely to the creative process. This is always the pinnacle of joy for me, where I find surprise and delight in what I play.

I prefer to use the metronome, but play-along tracks are fine, too. Sometimes I’ll use just a slow bass line, or maybe a drum and bass track (instead of a full rhythm section), or even just a drum loop. Whatever you use, make sure that you stay in the slow tempo range I’ve mentioned above. You can also work with different feels (swing or straight) and different articulations. Explore!

One of the marvelous results over the long run when practicing this way (as counterintuitive as this might sound) is that improvising at very fast tempos becomes easier and easier. It does so because I’m able to stay highly connected to what I feel, think and hear. I still have to practice improvising at fast tempos as well (to give my brain a chance to process things at a higher velocity) but the heavy lifting is definitely done at the slower tempos.

So aim your metronome downward, and give it a go. It will help you to imagine, hear, enjoy and trust what you improvise. If you’re patient and persistent, you’ll be thrilled with the results. I’d love to hear about your own experiences with this practice, or any ideas you might have about it.

Why It’s A Good Idea To Look For Trouble

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“You are not here to do exercises, nor to learn to do something right, but to be able to meet a stimulus that always puts you in the wrong and to learn to deal with it.”

F.M. Alexander, founder of the Alexander Technique

The quote from above represents what I think to be the essential value of studying the Alexander Technique. I came to study this work because, as a saxophonist, I was not able to meet a stimulus that was putting me “in the wrong”. As a result, I had significant dysfunction in my hand s that had stopped me from making music.

Today, thanks to using what I’ve learned from the Technique, I’m playing better than ever (enjoying it more than ever, too!) I’ve also had a complete shift in how I approach the problems of playing music. This is something that has significantly aided me in helping the musicians who come to me for lessons.

Before I came to discover the Alexander Technique, I always struggled with consistency in playing the saxophone. If everything was “just right”, then I played very well…freely, expressively, openly, skillfully, joyfully…

But the problem was that often everything wasn’t just right: Not the ideal reed. Not the best acoustic environment. Not hearing my sound the way I’d like to. Not being completely okay with what the drummer was playing. Not liking the dynamics and intonation choices of the trumpet player. Not feeling the thing I think I needed to feel. Not loving every single note I played when I improvised. Not….well, you get the idea. I could find all kinds of things that put me in the wrong.

And when things were less than ideal, I would react differently to playing than when things were better. I’d pull myself into all kinds of distorted positions, amplifying effort, becoming rigid and self-conscoius, thoughts running rapidly through my head like a constant commentary on how I was doing. Lot’s of misdirected energy as I tried “even harder” to play well. Of course, none of this reactive effort did anything but make me play worse.

So to make a long story short, I had to learn to react differently to the thought of playing the saxophone in general, but particularly when conditions seemed less than perfect. And so I have learned to react differently (and am continuing to do so!)

It’s very easy to look outside of yourself and say why you couldn’t perform your best. Unfortunately, you can’t always control what’s outside of yourself. But you can, to a very large degree, learn to control how you respond to what’s outside of yourself.

One of the things I’m often looking for as I teach is how I can “lead my student into temptation.” I want to find the things that put this particular musician in the wrong, then teach her or him how to react differently. How to “deal with it” as Alexander would say.

When my students are doing particularly well during their lessons I jokingly tell them “Okay, that’s going great. Now let’s go look for some trouble.” We always manage to find something. Then my student has a chance to apply the principles that best address whatever the problem is.

Not only does this bring continuous improvement, but equally important, it cultivates confidence in their ability to help themselves. Thats huge. I proceed in the same way in my own musical practice.

So what puts you in the wrong as you play? Here are a few of the things in general that put many musicians in the wrong:

Tempo-whether very fast or challengingly slow.
The acoustic environment-dead, to live, noisy.
Tactile and kinesthetic sensations-things don’t “feel” like your use to them feeling.
Reaction to less than ideal conditions of your equipment.
Challenging registers of the instrument.
Challenging passages in the music.

Make a list of things that put you in the wrong. You can be as specific as you like. Once you’ve made your list, see if you can notice how you react when you encounter these challenging stimuli. Do you:

Stiffen up, particularly in your neck and shoulders? Your jaw? Perhaps your legs and feet as well?
Hold your breath or otherwise interfere with your breathing?
Feel hurried? Are your thoughts unclear and racing? Do you become hyper-critical? Where does your attention go?
Feel like you can’t hear yourself?
Feel angry? Frustrated? If so, how does that impact your breathing and body tension? (See above)

Once you become aware of your reactions, see if you can notice how these reactions negatively impact your ability to play your best. Then modify your thinking a bit to change things, to lesson the tension. If you shift your thought from “how am I doing?” to “what am I doing?” (from judgement to discernment), it can really begin to open some important doors to your self-improvement. This is where a skilled teacher can really be of help, showing you how to become better aware, and able to prevent these habitual reactions.

Playing music can be a joyful experience virtually all the time. Really. So don’t be afraid of trouble. Go looking for it, learn how to deal with it, and rediscover this joy.

Lester Young: Creativity Reflected In Bodily Gesture

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Ah, Lester Young…one of the greatest improvisers in all of jazz. He helped open the door to what we call the “modern jazz” period by virtue of his more linear, spatially melodic approach to improvisation. Jazz saxophonists from Charlie Parker, to Stan Getz, to Lee Konitz, to Jimmy Giuffre, to Joe Henderson, to Mark Turner demonstrate a clear connection to his lineage.

When people describe Lester’s playing, they use words like “relaxed”, “floating”, “spacious”, “lyrical”, “light”. My friend, the poet and jazz writer Mark Weber, calls him “the master of time and space”. I couldn’t agree more.

He never seemed to be in a hurry whenever he played, no matter how fast the tempo. It was like we always waiting patiently for the muse to speak to him, to guide him forth.

So it should come as no surprise that all this was reflected in his physical gesture as he played. Click on this link to watch this performance from 1950:

Lester Young Quintet 1950

Lester is the picture of calm and dynamic stillness. His head is balanced on top of his spine, his shoulders, arms and back are wide and relaxed. He is sitting in easy, upright balance. Even his fingers seem to move ever so softly and lightly. He’s tapping his feet in time, but doing it with no strain. Sort of like dancing with the music.

And of course his solo is lovely. Even though this is from the period in his playing career that jazz critics consider to be outside of his “best years” as a performer, he is still swinging magnificently. Still floating with the time. Still moving lightly. Still waiting for it, instead of pushing it.

I can’t help but make the connection between his aesthetic approach and his bodily gesture.

This was the first video footage of Lester Young I’d ever seen. As he plays, he looks much like I’d imagined he would. No strain. No pulling himself out of balance. No jerky “expressive” gestures. Nothing unnecessary. He never wasted a single note when he improvised. He doesn’t seem to waste an ounce of energy as he plays. No big surprise that his time feel is always so wonderful.

Have you ever seen a performance where you get distracted (or even annoyed) by all the tense and unnecessary flailing that the performers bring to the music? So have I. It makes me wonder: Are they doing all this because they are freely expressing themselves as they play, or are they actually imprisoning themselves by their own habits of tension?

I know in my own experience that the more I “wait for it” the way Lester Young seems to, the more expansive and even surprising (to me, anyhow!) my creative expression becomes. My sense of time and rhythm deepens. My melodic instincts come to life. Stillness in gesture. Openness to the muse. No matter the tempo, dynamics, or complexity.

Much of this “waiting for it” is expressed in my own bodily gesture. I allow myself to stay free and balanced, calmly alert. I avoid tensing my neck and shoulder. I don’t push my pelvis forward. I don’t lock my knees. I don’t gasp in air loudly. Everything stays easy.

So notice yourself as you play. Do you have a completely different set of gestures as you perform compared to when you practice? Do you strain and flail as you pull yourself out of easy balance? Do you feel like you can’t find intensity without first creating tension in yourself?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, I invite you to see what it’s like when you leave yourself alone as you play. Much like Lester Young, you might find that intensity and excitement can be created and maintained with so little effort.

Want To Really Hear Your Sound? Include Your Other Senses

Advice For Improvisers: Stop Approximating

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One of the ways I seem to be able to help myself as a musician (as well as my students!) is to take time to clarify the details involved in playing music. Sometimes a problem remains unsolved simply because the musician in question hasn’t addressed one small element sufficiently.

Though of course this is an issue that can hold back musicians in any genre, I’m thinking here specifically about how this affects the improvising musician.

In the last couple of years I find myself going back to deeply examine and practice what might seem to be very basic musical material.

For example, I’m getting an even deeper intimacy with my diatonic scales, practicing all kinds of different melodic patterns and their variations. No passing tones, no chromatic outlining, just simple diatonic music in major and minor.

It’s been wonderful for me to discover how much music can be made from just using these materials.

In turn, when I improvise on any type of music, whether harmonically based (chord changes), thematic, modal or even completely open-ended and free music, I have found a wealth of beauty and surprise.

Just to be clear, I did spend a good amount of time in the past “mastering” my scales and arpeggios (the diatonic material), but I never went as deep as I could have.

And as the years progressed I worked less on these diatonic materials and more upon chromaticism, symmetrical tonalities, intervalic based (non-diatonic) melodies, and so forth.

And that was great! It opened up my thinking and playing to help me find my voice as an improviser (After all, these, too, are essential musical materials).

But as time passed I began to experience some dissatisfaction in my improvising.

Through reflection and careful observation, I came to realize that my melodic language was lacking in a certain kind of possibility of colors and melodic shape. For me to address this, I realized I had to go deep into the diatonic language again.

As I began to explore this, I realized that I didn’t have the conception/ear/execution mastery of this material that I really needed. So I started to listen to (and study) great diatonic melodies (lots of Bach, lots of beautiful folk melodies from around the world!) and worked on getting some of this material inside of me.

I would find a particular melodic passage that really moved me, then put that passage into all twelve keys. I would also make variations on these melodic ideas, and spend a good amount of time improvising slowly in order to crystalize these new ideas.

I also took time to work on singing and playing ideas that I imagined myself, in order to connect my muse to my instrument. I’m still working on this diatonic material nowadays, but with more complexity (e.g., rhythmic displacement and variation, complex meter, etc.)

The long and short of it is that I’ve gained a certain kind of precision and clarity with this material that I just didn’t have before.

In essence, I stopped approximating. Because of this my entire improvisational language has been significantly expanded and enriched.

So, this post isn’t really about the value of doing all this diatonic work. It’s about going deeply into the musical material to gain control over your medium. For me that meant revisiting and deepening my control over diatonic material. I had to stop approximating.

Where do you approximate when you improvise?

Is your control of time strong and clear? How about your articulation?

Is your sound meaningful and beautiful on each note that you play?

Is your rhythmic imagination rich, or is it still mostly the language of endless eight notes?

Is your phrasing free and spontaneous, or are you stuck in two-bar symmetry as you improvise?

Do you take full advantage of the range and color palette of your instrument? How broad is your harmonic knowledge?

To go deeper into the music, you must gain precision. This means really being able to control the materials of music. Ask yourself where you are approximating when you improvise, then make a practice plan to bring you into the rich and beautiful world of precision and clarity.

I actually borrowed this “stop approximating” slogan from the great pianist, Bill Evans. Mr. Evans had a remarkable tone, clarity and conception in his playing that always sounded immediate, spontaneous, beautiful, thoughtful and passionate. This was reflected in his approach to practice.

Here’s the video below of him elaborating on this topic. Enjoy: