Tag Archives: Practicing Music

Practicing Music: Paying Attention To “How” Instead Of “What”

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“The experience you want is in the process of getting it. If you have something, give it up. Getting it, not having it, is what you want.”

-F.M. Alexander

On of the great temptations when I practice my saxophone is to try to “memorize” how it feels in my body when I’m playing well. Fortunately for me, I rarely ever yield to this temptation (anymore). If I did, I might find myself losing touch with the most important element of my progress: the thinking process I use when I play my best.

It’s easy to disconnect our consciousness from our activities by aiming directly for a feeling  of the result we’re after. In the language of the Alexander Technique, this is working along the lines of the “end-gaining” principle. When we end-gain, we bring all our attention and effort directly to achieving a desired result, without sufficient consideration to the process of how we can best achieve that result.

When I do this practicing the saxophone (or engaging in just about any activity) the results are usually less than optimal. This is because I’m being guided by an unreliable source: my habit.

For better or for worse, we are typically guided by habit, and our habits have a certain feeling of “rightness” to us even if they aren’t helping us. (F.M. Alexander described this as an unreliable sensory awareness.) Much of my progress in playing the saxophone since I started applying the Alexander principles has involved learning to not be guided by the feeling of my habits to achieve the results I’m after. Instead, I aspire to be guided by my reasoning, by what I can honestly discern.

Alexander said that rather than going after our desired results directly (guided by the less than reliable sensations of our habits) we would be better served by paying attention to the quality of the process we use to achieve those results. He described this as paying attention to the “means-whereby”. In essence, it is a matter of being more “process oriented” than “results oriented”.

And so I’ve found over and over, both as teacher and as performer, that giving the quality of process top priority is the best way to insure desired results. Consistently.

This is not a new idea. If you’ve ever read the Tao Te Ching, studied Zen, or experienced many of the other forms of eastern mindfulness disciplines, you’ll regularly encounter this idea. It seems to be universally true.

Before I discovered this principle, I practiced in quite a different manner than I do nowadays. I really got no sense of satisfaction from my practice session unless I felt certain certain things as I practiced. “Does it feel right?” was becoming more and more of an indicator of success or failure in my practice attempts.

As a result, not only was I not allowing myself to change and grow as much as I could, but also, I was feeling frustrated by the inconsistencies of my efforts. Not to mention that a lot of what I was hoping to feel was actually nothing more than unnecessary, habitual muscular tension. It wasn’t helping me at all!

These day when I practice, I’m giving my thinking process top priority. This often manifests itself into deeply mindful work, as I pay attention to the quality of how I’m using myself as I practice.

This primarily involves two things that were missing from my pre-Alexander practice sessions:

  1. Letting myself stop frequently to prevent habitual tension patterns, and to understand specifically what went wrong (what I’d like to prevent).
  2. Allowing myself to slow things way down to connect my thinking to the activity (particularly when working on technically challenging material).

As I do this, I’m always coming back to discerning the quality of my own use as I play saxophone. Where am I stiffening unnecessarily? How is my balance? Am I mostly contracting or expanding, tightening or releasing? How is my breathing? Am I rushing ahead in my thinking, or staying with myself (and the music!) in the present moment? Am I tense and anticipatory, or am I flexible and yielding?

I’m not using these thoughts to distract me in my practicing process. I’m simply using them as the criteria for discerning if what I’m doing is really what I want to be doing.

When I approach my practice in this manner, I’m staying with (quoting Alexander, above) the “getting it” rather than the “having it”.

You may have heard the saying, “To play faster, you have to practice slower.” Part of the reason this works for so many technically brilliant performers (I’m thinking here of the great clarinetist, Eddie Daniels, as he describes his approach to gaining technical fluency and velocity), is that it gives them a chance to really process what they’re doing.

Add to this paying attention to the quality of how you are using yourself, and you have a surefire recipe for continued, consistent progress.

So next time you’re having a really good day practicing, when everything seems to be going well, take time to notice some things. Notice the quality of muscular tension in your body, specifically through your head, neck, shoulders and back. See if you can understand what your not doing that you normally would do (where are you not working so hard, not tensing so much). Then observe your own thinking process. See if you can connect this kind of thinking to the ease that you have in your body as you play your instrument.

Remember, it’s your thinking process that determines the quality of your playing more than anything else. By shifting your attention from what you are doing, to how you are doing it, is a big step in the right direction to cultivate the kind of thinking that helps you the most.

The Importance Of Not Knowing

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“In the mind of the expert, the possibilities are few. In the mind of the beginner, the possibilities are infinite.” -Ryo Suzuki

It is natural for us to want to know. It’s what fuels our growth, our curiosity and our inspiration. Without knowing certain things, life itself would become quite difficult, if not impossible.

But sometimes we don’t know something when we think we do, and that’s where problems can arise. We anticipate the outcome of certain things based upon our erroneous preconception of what we believe to be true. This often manifests itself in lots of misdirected energy.

I’m speaking specifically here about how you perceive yourself as you play music: how you anticipate, measure and dispense your energies in relation to the music making process.

One of the more interesting things that I notice when I return from vacation (after not playing my saxophones for a week or two) is how different that first day of practicing is. I often find myself being able to do things technically that I couldn’t normally do before. Why is that?

Well in the simplest sense, it’s because I “forgot” that I couldn’t do these things. It’s been a couple of weeks and my preconceived limitations have sort of slipped from my memory.

Many of my music students report a similar phenomena: that first day of practice after a vacation, where anything is possible. As many of these students also report, by the second day, the magic is usually gone, and they’re back to where they were before (or maybe even a bit worse, being “rusty” from missing a couple of weeks of practice).

But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can use this as an opportunity to observe the quality, and amount, of effort you use as you play music, and contrast this to what you do normally (habitually). What I and many of my students find is that we are creating far less muscular effort to play our instruments on that first day after vacation. (Again, probably because we’ve “forgotten” how much effort we need to play.)

Instead of having a knowing mind, we approach our instrument with an inquisitive (unknowing) mind. This is probably helped along by the fact that we are giving ourselves a chance to sound bad. After all, it’s been a couple of weeks, so no big deal if it’s not up to snuff. Often, having this kind of resignation has the effect of letting us let go of misdirected effort.

So when I come back  to practicing after a brief hiatus,  I use this phenomenon of not knowing to set a new benchmark for what is possible in my playing. I use it as an opportunity to observe my thinking. I notice, not so much what I am thinking, as what I’m not thinking.

As an example, I find myself not anticipating rapid passages with any sense of preparation (no unnecessary brain chatter). I’m just letting myself play. Same with playing in the extreme registers of the instrument. In essence, I stop “getting ready to play.” I simply play, and discover as I go along, how much effort, how much tension, how much energy I need.

And I aspire to carry this attitude into my playing each day, maintaining the my beginner’s mind.

Usually what I do at the start of my practice session is to produce a sound on the saxophone with as little effort as possible. This usually means that in the first few minutes I get no sound, other than the air going through the mouthpiece (not vibrating the reed.) As I begin to increase my energy, coupled with my intention, I gradually begin to get the reed to vibrate, and I learn how much effort is necessary in that moment, in that room, with that particular reed, to create a sound.

From there I continue to gradually increase my efforts until I’m getting a sound that pleases me. Just the right amount of effort to express my sound. All because I let myself discover, not knowing until I get there. I approach my technical work the same way. How little effort does it take?

One of the aims of the Alexander Technique is to help you learn how to gauge the appropriate amount of tension for an activity (musical or otherwise),  by observing the relationship of the head, neck and back.

When there is too much effort, the neck usually tenses and shortens, which causes the back to narrow and stiffen, which then interferes with everything else (hands, breathing, mouth…you name it). Alexander called this head/neck/back relationship the primary control, as it is primary in conditioning the coordination of the entire organism. (Both my teaching and playing experience confirm this principle to be true without exception.)

In the Alexander Technique, you learn how to carry out your activities without this tension. As you do, you discover again. You discover over and over that you can do things with even less effort than you thought. It is a life long journey of discovery.

You never really know how little effort it ultimately takes to play your instrument (or do anything else, for that matter). You learn only that you can always do less, and that as you do less, you get so much more.

So whenever you have these instances of seemingly effortless playing, playing that is beyond what your normal limitations are, observe your thinking and your body. Notice how free your body is, how much less tension than normal you are bringing into the music making process. In particular, notice your neck, shoulders and back, see how freely they work together. Notice how easy, mobile and confident your balance is.

Then go back to noticing your thinking. How are your thoughts different than when you normally play. Make a real study of the differences. Keeping a practice log is especially helpful for this. The muscular effort you create in your body is a direct result of your thinking. Improve your thinking, liberate your playing.

Listening Beyond Your Instrument To Open Up Your Musical Imagination

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“Some of my favorite saxophonists don’t play saxophone.” I remember saying that once, some years back, when I was being interviewed on a radio show. The host asked me a simple question, “Who are some of your favorite saxophonists?” This is a logical question to ask a saxophonist (me). But truth be told, at that point in my life, I wasn’t much influenced by other saxophonists. (My answer was quite spontaneous and sincere.)

I was more interested in listening to guitar players. I was crazy about a wide spectrum of improvisational guitar playing: Jimi Hendrix, Ralph Towner, Nels Cline, Wes Montgomery, Django Reinhardt, Jim Hall, Mike Stern, Derek Bailey, Charlie Christian, John Abercrombie, and many, many more. ( I still love this music!)

At that time I was listening to a large variety of music, and certainly a fair amount of that music involved the saxophone. But I continually gravitated toward the guitarists. You might be wondering why I just didn’t switch from playing saxophone to guitar. But truth be told, I wasn’t interested at all in playing guitar.

I was drawn to many of these guitarists because they played their instruments in such a way as to inspire me to think differently about playing the saxophone (my true love!) The first time I heard Mike Stern play, for example (with Miles Davis), I thought, “Now that’s how I want to play the saxophone!” The way Stern was thinking about his sound, organizing his melodic ideas, and using space and density was markedly different than any saxophonist I’d ever heard.

It was easy for me to imagine that coming out of a saxophone, spelling out a whole new musical language for the instrument.

Fortunately for me, I didn’t scrutinize and imitate his music. This is always a great temptation. We hear somebody who has really “solved” the musical problems we’ve been considering, with great clarity, originality and stunning self-expression. Why not just do what they did?

Well, I won’t digress here as to why that’s not a good idea. Suffice it to say that the whole point of this creative process is to solve the problems in your own way. That’s where the beautiful music comes from.

It’s not hard to understand why guitarists think differently than saxophonists: They play a different instrument. They have different challenges, limitations, possibilities, physical requirements, etc. They think and function within the world of the guitar. No matter what, part of what influences their creative thinking is the nature of their instrument.

And so it is for all instrumentalists. Because of this you have saxophonists listening to a disproportionate amount of saxophonists, as do you have guitarists listening to a disproportionate amount of guitarists, and so on with all instrumentalists.

There’s nothing wrong with that, for the most part. After all, you learn what your instrument can do. You learn about sound, articulation and other aspects of technique. You learn the history of the improvisational language as told through your instrument. All of this is good. It creates a context through which to explore and grow.

But if you really want to start thinking about your instrument in a different way, in a more expansive way, you might consider carefully listening to and studying musicians who play (or sing) an instrument other than  your own.

I remember once talking to the great tenor saxophonist, Bennie Wallace, about his influences. He was sort of amused that many critics compared his playing to Eric Dolphy’s, because Bennie’s improvisational language involved the use of “wider than usual” intervals (as did Dolphy’s).

But Bennie never really listened to Dolphy (although he greatly respected him). Instead, Bennie became highly inspired in his saxophone playing because of the way Thelonious Monk played piano. Bennie didn’t copy Monk, but he was led to think and imagine (through careful observation of Monk’s music) of an entirely different way of playing the saxophone.

Interestingly enough, Bennie was influenced by the sound that Monk could get on the piano (which was due in a large part to Monk’s more “vertical” conception of tonal organization throughout his instrument).

When I think of the greatest tenor saxophone sound I aspire towards, it’s the sound of Johnny Hartman’s singing voice. (Yes, I know he’s a baritone, not a tenor). Listening to him sing has influenced my thinking about the sound of the saxophone more than any saxophonist ever has. Again, I don’t try to imitate him. It’s just that I imagine that concept through the tenor saxophone. Flutist James Newton also has a sound that has deeply opened up my own conception of the tenor saxophone sound, as has the sound of Elvin Jones’ drumming and Bill Evan’s piano playing.

Sometimes it’s a good idea to think far outside of the world of your instrument. Let go of the “trumpet-isms”, “piano-isms”, “guitar-isms”, or whatever kind of “isms” you might hold on to.

Becoming inspired by another instrument can help you to imagine the “impossible” on your instrument, and make it possible. (Sometimes the “impossible” is nothing more than a limited imagination and the unwillingness to carry out a new idea to fruition.)

So see if you can find an instrumentalist or singer that really inspires you. Listen…frequently, mindfully, openly, joyfully. Try to imagine their sound, their conception, coming through your instrument. At the very least, you’ll deepen your listening skills and imagination.  You might even open up your creative world in a huge and unexpected way.

The Sum Total Value Of Non-Doing

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Some years back, after I’d been studying the[ for a couple of years, a friend of mine, George McMullen (a highly accomplished trombonist), came to hear me play saxophone at a concert in West Los Angeles. He hadn’t heard me play in quite a while (since before I started studying the Alexander Technique).

After the concert ended, George came to talk to me and said, “You’re sounding great, but very different from the last time I heard you play. What are you doing differently?”

I remember answering him, spontaneously and without hesitation, “The real difference in my playing is not because of what I’m doing. It’s because of what I’m not doing.”

And that’s about as truthful as I could be. You see, what I wasn’t doing anymore was playing with all my old habits of tension: I wasn’t tightening my neck as I pulled my head back and down into my shoulders. I wasn’t tightening my left shoulder as I pulled my arms in toward my rib cage. I wasn’t thrusting my pelvis forward. I wasn’t locking my knees. I wasn’t clenching my jaw to produce my sound.

I was playing well, playing better than before, because of the sum total of what I wasn’t doing. F.M. Alexander (the founder of the Alexander Technique) said, “If you can stop doing the wrong thing, the right thing will do itself.” This turns out to be especially true in the act of playing music.

By playing my saxophone without my habits of tension, I become free to play in such a way that is in concert with my human design. I Become free to direct my energies most efficiently toward the act of producing a sound, and otherwise playing my instrument. And the results, as my friend could hear, are palpable.

And as I continue to teach the Alexander Technique I’m rewarded with seeing remarkable improvements in musicians as they learn the art of non-doing. Practically any musician, on any instrument (including voice) can improve how they perform by following this principle.

An example that comes to mind most recently is my experience teaching a young violist who plays in the local youth symphony. He came to me (as do an alarmingly growing number of young musicians) because of chronic tension and pain. His condition was worsening to the point that he couldn’t practice more than a few minutes without experiencing rather significant pain and muscular exhaustion.

As I observed his playing in our first lesson, I could see the manifestations of the tension that was causing his problems: stiff neck with his head pulled forcefully downward onto his instrument; left shoulder being pulled tightly upward and inward (impinging the muscles at the shoulder joint); breath being held; torso being twisted and held rigidly too far back; knees locked as his legs stiffened.

Though these are different things to observe, they’re all really part of one entire pattern of tension that is brought about by my student’s reaction to the thought of playing his instrument.

So I proceeded to help him the same way I helped myself (through the principles of the Alexander Technique). I helped him to become aware of all the unnecessary “doing” he was bringing into his playing (tension!), then I taught him how to change his thinking so he could stop doing so much (playing without so much tension and misdirected effort).

This is a process that takes persistence and time to make lasting changes. (But lasting changes are made!) He has to keep coming back to his tendency to go into his habit of tension, then make a conscious decision to not indulge in his habit as he proceeds to play his instrument. Simple in principle, but not always immediately easy to carry out. Again, persistence and time.

It’s been a few months since I started working with this student, and already things are much better for him. No more shoulder pain. No more neck pain. No more exhaustion. And what makes it all even better, is that his sound, intonation, technique and even his artistic expression have all noticeably improved.

So at our last lesson, in which my student was playing particularly well (easily, expressively, joyfully), I asked him if he could tell me what is different about how he was playing now in contrast to how he played before taking lessons with me. He, too, without hesitation answered with a list of things he wasn’t doing anymore: “I’m not scrunching my neck; I’m not pinching my left shoulder; I’m not twisting my body downward; I’m not locking my knees…” And so on.

He (like I was/am in my Alexander learning process), was very clear about why he improved, and that improvement had a great deal to do with non-doing. When he stops doing the wrong thing, beautiful, expressive, easy music is free to come forth.

And that’s the way it always is with musicians (and non-musicians) who study the Alexander Technique. They become very clear at why they are improving, at what they’re not doing anymore.

So if you notice yourself playing with great effort, notice yourself stiffening up as you play, feel blocked expressively, feel unstable as you make music, or lack confidence in your playing, consider the idea of non-doing. Notice what kinds of tension you begin to create in yourself as you go to play, and simply ask yourself if it helps you play better, or interferes with your playing.

Understand that all the the necessary skills to play your instrument well are already there, waiting latently. All you have to do is stop doing the things that interfere with this skill.

Of course, you can be greatly helped with this by a skilled Alexander Technique teacher. Consider taking a series of lessons from a qualified teacher. Allow yourself to discover the value of non-doing, and experience the possibility of positive change.

Artistic Growth: Looking Inward, Looking Outward

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For serious musicians, artistic growth comes in many forms, from many sources and from a variety of motivations. As I observe and ponder some of my favorite musicians, I notice that they tend to aim their growth primarily in one direction or the other. They either expand upon what they do by looking ever outward, or expand what they do by looking ever inward. I’ll explain what I mean.

My friend, multi-woodwinds virtuoso Vinny Golia, is a classic example of a musician who is constantly motivated to grow by looking outward. Vinny already plays a vast array of woodwind instruments: all the saxophones (and I mean all the saxophones), clarinets, flutes, some double reed instruments and a ton of so called “ethnic” wind instruments from around the world, like the Bulgarian kaval (end-blown flute) for example.

Vinny can make compelling music on any of these instruments in a large variety of improvisational music settings, from modern jazz to chamber. He is also one of the most musically literate people I’ve ever met. He’s listened to (and continues to listen to) every kind of music imaginable. If you mention a seemingly obscure artist or recording to him, he’ll go on for 10 minutes with insights and knowledge (and his love) about the music as if he were getting ready to write a book about it.

Besides having the privilege of performing and recording in some of his ensembles, I also had the pleasure of spending about 4 weeks with him out on the road many years back while touring with the Michael Vlatkovich Group. We roomed together quite a bit on that tour and talked every night about  music.

At the time, I was transitioning from being somewhat of a doubler (only playing 4 or 5 different saxes and flutes) to playing the tenor sax exclusively. To Vinny, this seemed curious to say the least, almost like I was moving backward instead of forward. Not only that, I was narrowing my scope of study and even my scope of musical interest. Again, why?

We talked long about this, and about our own personal paths and musical curiosities. For me, I had lost any expressive passion or interest in my woodwind doubles. I simply wasn’t feeling or hearing it any longer.

By contrast, my interest in going deep into the sound possibilities of the tenor saxophone was nothing short of an obsession. Also, I was singularly interested in developing a specific type of tonal language based upon wider intervals that supported the kinds of tone colors I was exploring.

Because of this, I was practicing in a more narrow way than ever before. I was no longer interested in developing my harmonic capabilities, no longer interested in adding repertoire, no longer interested in exploring new styles of playing.

In essence, I was looking inward. I was looking toward ever increasing depth, exploration and expressive possibilities with fewer and fewer elements and influences.

Vinny on the other hand, was adding more instruments, listening to and studying more musical genres, studying more compositional disciplines, pushing more boundaries. He was looking outward for his musical growth and expression.

We talked further about this and came up with the terms  “macro-growth”, and “micro-growth”. Macro meaning to look outward, globally as it were, at a bigger, ever expanding  picture with increasing elements. Micro meaning to look inward at ever increasing details, possibilities and meanings from the elements already at hand (micro-growth, too, is an ever expanding picture, just expanding inward).

Vinny is a macro-growth kind of artist. At the time, I was squarely from the micro-growth school. Prior to that, I had been a macro-growth artist, too. I was listening to and studying as wide an array of jazz and other improvised music genres as I could. For a while, I was even playing around with some ethnic instruments and was studying contemporary chamber music. Then, as I mention above, it all changed.

Since that time, I’ve flowed back and forth from the micro to the macro, spending a lot of time, for example, studying Balkan folk music, and 20th century American classical music (I especially love Charles Ives!)

Now I’m again looking deeply inward, at developing a very particular type of rhythmic control and imagination that requires  a very narrow, focused discipline. I find myself practicing a lot over a handful of jazz standards applying what I’ve been studying, with no real intention of ever performing these tunes. They’re just templates for inward exploration.

The point is, you can grow either way. I think of artists like Warne Marsh and Thelonious Monk, who, toward the end of their playing careers, seemed to play fewer and fewer pieces. They just looked further into the expressive possibilities of what they had know for most of their creative lives. Deep knowledge.

In one of my earlier blog posts, I mention a story about Monk playing one tune (Rhythm-n-ing) four times in a single performance. Each version of the piece more amazing than the previous. This can only happen through that kind of inward exploration, finding more and more possibilities. In one song exists an entire universe, if you’re open to seeing and hearing it.

I listened to a recent live concert recording of Lee Konitz playing Too Marvelous For Words, a song he’s been playing for probably 60 years or more. I was astounded at his brilliance and endlessly playful imagination. Each chorus was a matter of him looking more and more inward to discover yet un-played musical treasures.

So how do you grow as an artist? Are you adding more elements, or eliminating elements and looking at the possibility of doing more with less? Maybe you’re doing a little of both. Either direction is a valid path toward growth.