Tag Archives: Practicing Music

The Value Of Having (But Not Always Following) A Daily Practice Plan

“If you make a mistake, you might want to play that…”

-Miles Davis

I’ve been teaching the Alexander Technique since 2009 at AMDA College of the Performing Arts in Los Angeles.

For every class that I teach, I always arrive with a fairly well detailed lesson plan. In my 10 years of teaching I’ve never once stuck to my plan.

Yet I still continue to formulate a plan and bring it with me to every single class.

And every day for the past many years (too many for me to remember), I start each of my daily saxophone practice sessions with a fairly well detailed practice plan. In all these years of practicing, I’ve never once stuck to my plan.

Yet I still continue to formulate a plan and bring it with me into the practice room.

Why (you might ask) would I do this? Why would I expend time on something that, ultimately, I won’t use?

Well, the truth of the matter is that I always use my plans.

Just because I don’t stick to them doesn’t mean they’re not of great value to me, both in teaching and in learning.

So let’s go to the more fundamental questions here:

1. Why make a plan in the first place?

2. Why don’t I adhere to my plan?

Why make a plan in the first place?

Because making a plan clarifies and details my intentions. These intentions are drawn from what it is that I’d like to accomplish/address. This is always based upon my experiences from the pervious session (whether in the classroom or practice room).

So I begin each session without ambiguity, without hesitation. I immediately start my work efficiently and purposefully. Minimal “wasted” time/energy, optimal engagement/presence.

All good, yes? So then…

Why don’t I adhere to my plan?

In a word: flexibility. As important as my intentions are, I must remain ever vigilant to what is actually needed in the present moment. And that requires an ability to be open to the possibilities of altering my previously intended course of action.

This, to be sure, involves balancing on a fine line. It means staying committed to doing the thing that is most helpful, whether this falls inside or outside of my plan.

It means staying always mindful of my plan (my experience-based intentions), but being willing to let go of some (or all!) of it, too. It means, sometimes, that I come up with an entirely new course of action right there in the moment.

If you’re an improvising musician, you probably already see this attitude as being analogous to improvising music. There is form, perhaps even some kind of a planned sequence of events.

But often, the real magic happens when we deviate from the plan.

Yet this deviation could never occur without a plan in the first place. (I actually think the reason jazz musicians enjoy improvising over standard songs, in part, is to have a “plan to push against”.)

So when you practice do you have a plan? If so, what is it based upon? Are you flexible with it? If not, why not?

And if you don’t have a daily plan when you practice, consider changing that habit. You can always alter (or even abandon) the plan. But you will start each practice session with clarity, curiosity and accountability. You will work toward your goals in a conscious and onstructive manner, always building collectively from previous experience.

Work toward making your plan as detailed as is most optimal for you. Too much detail (or too many tasks)? Simplify. Prioritize and let the things go that seem least essential. What seems to work? What doesn’t?

Not enough detail? Start filling in some blanks. Add more tasks. Ask more questions:

“What do I want? What do I need to work on to get that? What is standing in my way right now?” What can I let go of?”

Take time to formulate and write out tomorrow’s plan at the end of today’s practice session.

Get to know yourself and your music ever more intimately. And enjoy the process!

When Practicing Is More Than Just “Practicing”

“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.

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

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!

Time and Rhythm: Discovering the Magic Between the Beats

“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!

The Power of the Pause

Freedom is the capacity to pause in the face of stimuli from many directions at once and, in this pause, to throw one’s weight (put one’s intentions) toward ‘this’ response rather than ‘that’ one.

-Rollo May, existential psychologist, from his book ‘Freedom and Destiny’

One thing that virtually every musician has to do in order to improve is to change what they are currently doing. This might mean changing your practice regime, changing your understanding of your instrument and pedagogy, changing your perception of sound, changing your quality of attention, etc.

It might also mean that you have to change the postural and movement habits you bring to playing your instrument.

Habits of breathing, standing and/or sitting, how you use your arms and hands, how you balance (or not), how you use your other senses, etc. It’s entirely possible (and even highly likely) that you are sometimes misdirecting your efforts in these areas as you play.

The Alexander Technique is a practical method of helping you to change your postural and movement habits for the better. And one of the most essential tools of the Technique is known as “conscious inhibition” (most students and teachers of the Alexander Technique just refer to it as “inhibition”).

In the simplest sense, inhibition is your ability to consciously prevent yourself from reacting in an habitual, unwanted way. Unwanted tension in your neck. Unwanted rushing of the tempo. Unwanted stiffening in your shoulders, Unwanted gasping as you breathe, etc.

By keeping the unwanted things “in check”, you are free to pursue what you do  want in a way that is more in accordance to your human design. You increase your odds for success.

From a neurobiological point of view, all skilled motor activity requires a balance between “volition” (muscles going into the desired, or helpful action) and inhibition (muscles refraining from undesired, or unhelpful action). Most inhibition in skilled activities takes place naturally and unconsciously (as it should).

But sometimes you need to use inhibition in a more constructively conscious  way in order to improve things.

Unfortunately, there can sometimes be a misconception about using inhibition consciously. To many people, conscious inhibition means “trying” to stop something from happening. It is exactly this “trying” part that can too often create a whole other set of problems when setting out to change movement and postural habits.

“Trying” sometimes means that you are struggling to stop yourself from doing what you habitually do. As if you have little or no control over it. Here’s something F.M. Alexander (the founder of the Alexander Technique) said about it:

When you are asked not to do something, instead of making the decision not to do it, you try to prevent yourself from doing it. But this only means that you decide to do it, and then use muscle tension to prevent yourself from doing it.

But that’s not at all the way inhibition is used in the Alexander Technique. Rather than “trying to stop” something, you learn to simply decide not to do it.

I know, I know…more easily said than done, especially when you have a deeply ingrained habit attached to playing your instrument. But still absolutely doable. That’s the skill you develop by studying and applying the Technique.

The first step in learning to use inhibition in a constructive way, is to embrace the pause.

It is within this brief instant before taking action that you can choose to redirect your attention and clarify your intention and effort. In that moment you come face to face with your habitual reaction, and can give yourself a chance to say “no” to it.

You can decide  not to do what you habitually do. And that’s where the magic lies.

Because if you decide not to react habitually you leave yourself free to find other ways to react. You move from habit  into the realm of choice.

It is the discovery, exploration and embracing of the pause that has given me tremendously powerful tools in managing (which I do quite well!) the focal dystonia in my left hand.

Without using the pause as tool for change, I wouldn’t be able to play saxophone at all any more with any kind of reasonable skill and control. Nowadays, I’m playing better than I ever have, thanks to the power of pausing and redirecting my attention. That simple.

But I gained so much more from the using the pause than improving the functioning of my left hand. Using the pause has helped me to practice everything I practice in a much more constructive, efficient and clearly intentional way.

And as an improvising musician, learning that I can pause, that don’t have to fill every second of my solos with sound, is liberating, and (at the risk of sounding dramatic) has been life changing for me.

I listen at a much deeper level when I play with others than I ever have before. I play with greater empathy, confidence, authenticity, passion, creativity and satisfaction.

All thanks to becoming more and more skilled at pausing.

And to be clear, “pausing” is not the same as “hesitating”. Pausing invites calm, reassured choice, where hesitation invites conflict, misdirected effort and a lack of confidence and clarity.

I use the pause countless times every day that I practice, and I bring it with me to rehearsals and to the bandstand.

When I’m practicing, sometimes I pause between iterations of something challenging that I’m practicing. Just a split second to stop and redirect my efforts makes all the difference.

And even in the middle of a performance, the “imagination” of the pause is always there, reminding me that I have more choice than I might have perviously thought.

So I encourage you to explore the pause. Before jumping right in to “fix” what you didn’t like about what you just played in your practice session (by starting over with the same misdirected effort that led to your dissatisfaction), give yourself a chance to stop, find ease and balance in your body, clarify what it is you want and don’t want, and begin again.

As I’ve said in some of my other blog articles, you’ll never waste time when you give yourself a chance to stop and consciously redirect your efforts. Embrace the quiet power of choosing to pause. Respond rather than react, and reclaim your freedom.