Monthly Archives: August 2011

Artistic Expression And Physical Gesture

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 Beginning Jazz Improviser’s Biggest Mistake

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Improvisation can seem like a mysterious, almost impenetrable process to those new to studying it. The idea that a musician can generate cogent, beautiful melodies on the spot seems almost superhuman. But in fact, it is one of the most human characteristics we possess.

We’re actually natural improvisers. We speak and move spontaneously everyday with no real struggle or wonder about the process. In short, we improvise. Mostly we do this because we practice doing it everyday (it’s called living).

Yet when it comes to musical improvisation, we can sometimes find ourselves in a state of doubt. (This is because we don’t yet have enough specific experiences to strengthen our faith.) For something as seemingly complex as jazz improvisation it is easy to get overwhelmed with where to start and how to proceed. There are so many elements to deal with: tonality, harmony, song forms, time and rhythm to name a few.

I notice that many people who are new to studying jazz make one fundamental mistake: They place far too much emphasis (and study time) on trying to figure out which notes to play as they improvise:

“What should I play over this chord?”

“Which scale ‘works the best’ with that chord?”

“What are the ‘hip’ notes to play on the blues?”

“Is it okay to play F natural over a C major seventh chord?”

Now, for sure, you have to pay attention to note choices, tonal colors, harmony/scale relationships, melodic construction and the like. These are absolutely fundamental to the expression and language of jazz, and studying them requires a huge commitment of time and will.

But studying the tonal aspects alone neglects the most fundamental elements of making jazz sound like jazz: Time, feel (this includes articulation and sound), rhythm, meter and form. You need notes to make music, but you really, really need rhythm. Many things make a jazz artist distinctive, but it’s the artist’s feel, sound, sense of space and form, and rhythmic conception that creates the most immediate, visceral distinction.

Your first goal as a jazz musicians should be on moving the notes. Again, time, feel, rhythm and form. You might know all the music theory in the world, but if you can’t create clear, intentional movement with it you’re going to end up being one frustrated musician.

These days it can safely be said that jazz is a vast, ever expanding language. There really is no such thing as a series of notes (a lick, phrase, etc.) that by itself sounds like “jazz”. What gives it the jazz sound is how it is played. What is the rhythmic feel? What is the expressive intention?

You can play an excerpt from a Bach sonata with an intention of making it sound like jazz, and it will. You can also play a Charlie Parker solo with no clue about the jazz language (or with another, specific, “non-jazz” intention) and it won’t sound like jazz at all.

When I first fell in love with jazz, I didn’t think about notes at all. I used to play completely by ear, “faking” my improvisations. I never gave a thought to the notes I was playing, I just let my ear take me places (I learned early on that if a note sounded bad against what the band was playing, all I had to do was move it up or down a half step and I was fine).

I was more interested in sounding like I was a jazz saxophonist, so I mimicked some of the great jazz saxophonists by how they were moving the notes they were playing. By how they made the notes feel.

As my curiosity grew, I began to study rather extensively my chords, scales, harmonic relationships, etc. My playing grew exponentially, because no matter what I learned, I could immediately express it through my feel and intention. I began to understand what I was doing (and hearing!), and I was also finding so many other melodic possibilities. It was like all that “fake” jazz I’d played set up a marvelous foundation to take on all this new “note” information.

So if you’re new to jazz improvisation, by all means study your chords, scales, harmonic relationships, etc. This is the material of improvisation. But make your main focus be time, rhythm, feel and form. (You’ll find that all these elements are related and support each other).

Here’s a few things you can do to start cultivating these skills:

Listen, listen, listen-Listen to as much jazz as you can. Find players of your instrument and other instruments and listen very carefully to how they make the music feel. Notice, time, rhythm and articulation.

Sing-Find a particular solo that you really like and listen to it over and over until you can accurately sing it note per note. This takes a great deal of time but is so worth it. Not only will it improve how you understand and conceive the feeling of jazz, it will hugely improve your ears for hearing pitch.

Work on two-bar phrases-With your metronome set on beats 2 and 4, practice improvising phrases that fit into 2 bars. If you can’t think of any of the top of your head, take time to write some down. Use eighth and quarter notes to make phrases that are easy to hear and internalize. Aim for musical. You want to get to the point where you can feel a two-bar phrase with no thought at all. This will come in very handy as you start improvising over more complex forms (like standard songs, or the blues).

Play jazz etudes-There are so many resources on the Web to find good, free, jazz etudes. It is also worth it to buy a nice jazz etude book. Randy Hunter has very nice material for the beginning improviser, as does Greg Fishman. You can also play any transcribed jazz solo that makes you excited. Remember, feel is the essence.

Practice whatever you already know with a jazz feel-Whichever scales, arpeggios, phrases, etc. that you easily know should be played with your new, ever developing jazz feel. Make sure you’re working on something you know so well, that you can give most of your attention to your time and feel.

So put feel, time, rhythm, and form first. Make tonality a very, very close second, and you’ll start to sound like a jazz musician in no time.

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.

Speak To Yourself Gently

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When I meet with a student for the first time, I’m observing as much as I possibly can, trying to get as much information about the student as possible. I’m watching movement habits, breathing, balance and posture, amongst other things.

Everything I’m looking at is giving me clues about my student’s thinking. Because I can’t help until I gain at least a cursory glimpse into how my student thinks.

And of course I’m also listening quite mindfully so that I can gain even more insight into my student’s thinking process. One of the first things I often notice with some students is how harshly they speak to themselves.

I hear things like:

“My posture is terrible!”

“I’m a complete hopeless klutz.”

Or if it’s a musician, “My intonation sucks!”, or “My jazz playing is feeble.”

Such harsh words! If I said to students in the first lesson, “You’re a complete hopeless klutz” or, “Your jazz playing is feeble”, I’d probably never see them again. They might walk away thinking, “What a jerk!” And even if they did continue to take lessons from me, they would most likely be in a constant state of fear during their lessons. Not a good environment for learning.

Yet these same people create this negative learning environment for themselves within the realm of their own thoughts.

So part of my job is to get my students to notice how they’re talking to themselves. I tell them that there are two problems with speaking to themselves in such a negative way:

First (as I’ve stated above), this creates a feeling of fear, and fear is not helpful to learn such a subtle thing as music (or the Alexander Technique). Second, this kind of language provides no useful information. Words like good, bad, fantastic, terrible, hopeless or awesome, really don’t give much more than a subjective impression of a situation or a thing. This is the language of judgment.

This is not the same thing as discerning objectively what the situation or thing really is. Discernment provides useful information.

So part of what I teach my students is to differentiate between judgment and discernment.

When I hear something like, “My posture is terrible”, I start asking questions. My first question is, “What is terrible about it?” Often my student replies with more judgment answers. But I just keep on with this line of questioning until my student begins to find tangible, objective information about his or herself.

Eventually, I’ll start hearing things like, “I lock my knees by throwing them backwards.” Or, “I stiffen my neck as pinch my shoulders together.” This language has no immediate qualitative judgment. No “good-bad” type words. It has instead words like “lock” or “stiffen” or “throw backwards” or “pinch” to describe more accurately what the student is actually doing. Now we have useful information. We know specifically what needs to be addressed.

As the lessons progress, I begin to hear a shift in the self talk. As the student learns to discern objectively, he or she starts making lasting improvements. Lasting because there has been a shift in the thinking process.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with judgment. In fact, we need it. Once we discern what something actually is, we can then assign it a quality. We can judge it. If it’s good we can keep it. If it’s bad we can throw it away. But we must first learn what that thing is. We must discern.

I remember reading in one of F.M. Alexander’s books about direction. In Alexander lingo, direction can be thought of as the quality of your thinking as it pertains to and influences your movement and postural habits.

As Alexander discovered, how you think has a huge impact on how you move, maintain balance, breathe, perform, or otherwise react. If your direction is downward, tense or unclear, you’re not going to move very well. If your direction is upward, clear, expansive and easy, you’ll be fine.

When directing, Alexander thought it a good idea to “speak gently” to ourselves, to “ask” for release, ease and expansive movement. No matter what you do, or are endeavoring to do, give yourself respect always, be kind to yourself, and take comfort in this fact: If you can discern, you can improve.