Monthly Archives: February 2015

Deepening Improvisation: Freeing Yourself From The Bar Line

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essential_polymeter_main3naThe vast majority of jazz pedagogy materials (books, DVDs, etudes, etc.) place great emphasis on tonality. This is true for beginner through advanced artist level.

If you’re a serious student of improvisation (at any level of proficiency) it is, of course, important to be continuously finding new ways to organize tonality: harmonic extensions/substitutions, auxiliary scales, intervallic patterns, effective voice leading, etc. It is by exploring these materials that you can find seemingly endless ways to create tension and resolution in your improvised lines.

Yet, no matter how much you’re adding to your tonal palette, you’re improvisations are still being driven by one main force: rhythm.

That’s right. As far as your brain is concerned, rhythm is primary.

It is the impulse to move the pitches that brings your improvisations to life. This sub-verbal “movement impulse” is more immediate from your brain to your muscles than the thought (whether aural or intellectual) of how the pitches are organized.

Of course, in a beautifully expressive and fluently improvised solo, there is a seemless connection between the rhythmic impulse and note choices. It may be for this reason that lots of jazz improvisers don’t devote much time specifically developing their rhythmic imaginations.

For some, this leads to a rather hardened, predictable phraseology. Because so many standard songs and classic jazz compositions are composed in 4/4, and are constructed largely of two-bar and four-bar cells, it can be a strong (almost irresistible!) invitation to improvise melodic lines that emphasize the song form at the expense of melodic freedom.

Yet it is precisely this freer phraseology that is at the essence of modern jazz improvisation. If you go back to the great tenor saxophonist Lester Young, you can hear/experience a beautiful “floating” kind of time feel and rhythmic expression that seems to  simultaneously embrace, yet transcend, the form of the composition.

In the simplest sense, Lester Young wasn’t “trapped” by the bar lines. Each phrase had meaning, freedom, and a highly unpredictable spontaneity.

If you listen to some of the earliest recordings, you’ll hear him “turn the time around” fairly regularly throughout his solos. It was that rhythmic freedom that served as one of the foundations of the bebop/modern jazz aesthetic.

Yet as time went by, and harmonic possibilities in modern jazz became more plentiful and complex, rhythmic exploration sometimes took a back seat.

It is for this reason that I decided to write and compose my ebook, Essential Polymeter Studies in 4/4 for the Improvising Musician.

Some years back, after spending huge amounts of practice time increasing my tonal (harmonic/melodic) vocabulary, I realized I was stuck in my phraseology. As I recorded myself practicing (and after listening to several of my recorded performances) I noticed an unwanted predictability in my phrasing.

I soon realized that much of this predictability had to do with meter. Specifically, if I were improvising in 4/4, all the phrases fit a lttle too neatly into that subdivision.

I began exploring with superimposing other metric subdivisions over 4/4. I started with learning to imagine and feel 3/4 over 4/4. After just a few weeks of exploration, my improvising began to really open up.

Not only was I playing freer, more spontaneous sounding and less predictable phrases, but also, the way I organized the pitches began to open up. I began to find surprise and delight in my improvisations.

I was hooked. After 3/4  over 4/4, I began to explore 5/4 over 4/4. To make a very long story short, I went on to explore other subdivisions, all with wonderful results.

I’ve turned my explorations into a methodical approach to understanding, hearing and imagining polymeter as it applies to improvisation. Because the topic can be so vast, my challenge was to limit the field of study to the most essential subdivisions and rhythmic patterns. I think I’ve been able to do that.

In Essential Polymeter Studies in 4/4, I’ve presented nearly 160 pages of notated exercises. Most of the exercises are common rhythmic patterns constructed from the staples of modern jazz tonality (dominant 7th scales, major, melodic minor, diminished, blues, augmented scales, etc.)

Each pattern “moves around” (displaced) the bar line to challenge you to always know where beat one is, and to help you develop an unconscious ability to sense how odd-metered patterns “return” when played over even meter.

Of all the jazz etude books I’ve composed so far, this is the one I’ve put the most time, thought and effort into. I believe there is nothing quite like it available for the serious student of jazz improvisation, and am very happy to have made it available.

So if you’d like to find new ways to expand your improvisational language, please consider my book. And let me know what you think. (On the landing page you’ll find a downloadable sample from the book). Thanks!

Rethinking A Well-Meaning Saying About Practicing

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Don’t practice until you get it right. Practice it until you can’t get it wrong.

This saying is common among athletes as well as performing artists.

In essence, this sounds like a good reminder of how committed you must be, how faithfully and tenaciously you must practice something to do it consistently well. I’ve heard many accomplished musicians express some version of this sentiment when giving advice about practicing.

But in my experience as an Alexander Technique teacher, I’ve also seen a downside attached to this sentiment.

Let’s start with the upside.

Practicing with this kind of commitment can bring you deeply into the music. Spending long periods of time as you aim towards mastery, gives your brain a chance to more fully process the aural and motor components necessary to execute the music more readily.

Plus, holding yourself to higher standards is fundamental to improvement. It can fuel your path toward continued growth.

All good.

So where is the downside?

Well, let’s start with the fact that it is an impossibility.

No matter how much you practice any fine motor skill, there is no guarantee that you will never make a mistake carrying it out. Go to any concert of even the most virtuosic musicians, and, if you’re listening for it, you’ll hear what I sometimes euphemistically refer to as “unintended events” (more commonly referred to as “flaws”).

Besides, no matter how diligently you’ve prepared, no matter how hard you practice, there are things that are beyond your control: everything from weather conditions affecting your pitch, to unwanted physiologic responses, to mechanical issues with your instrument, to the unpredictability of other musicians. (I’m speaking mostly about performance as opposed to practice here.)

Perfection is a human construct. It is an ideal, not a universally quantifiable reality.

Unfortunately, the pursuit of absolute perfection tends to make many musicians frustrated, perpetually unsatisfied, and even somewhat resentful and fearful about practicing and performing.

Some of the students who seek my help are hamstrung by their impossible pursuit of perfection. They are nearly paralyzed as they play, holding themselves stiffly, their eyes intense and glaring, their breathing noisy and forced. They more closely resemble warriors than artists.

Their music-making lives are nearly devoid of any kind of love or joy. It is mostly about fear, demand and unreasonable expectation.

As they relentlessly practice the same thing over and over, day after day, they often lose touch with what they are actually doing with themselves as they pursue this tense kind of perfection.

This, unfortunately, leads to a variety of problems: chronic pain, injury, coordination issues, anxiety and more.

Another pitfall for some is that this “practice until I can’t get it wrong” work ethic can morph into a sort of mindlessness about performance and practice. It can tempt you to rely upon a mechanical and unconscious “auto pilot” to take care of everything.

This not only deprives you of the thrill of being in the moment as you play, but also, it can invite and cultivate habits of unnecessary tension (which can cause chronic pain and some of the other problems I mentioned above.)

It needn’t be this way.

A more practical and constructive saying might be something like:

Don’t practice until you get it right. Practice until you know it intimately.

(Yes, I know it’s not as catchy as the original, but it’s more doable. And it’s certainly more healthy.)

Knowing something intimately doesn’t mean you’re beyond making errors. It means that you can always find your way back if and when you do. You can self-correct. You can stay present. You can stay connected with your muse, your desire and the overall meaning of the music. You become responsive, inspired. In the moment.

How do you know when you know the music intimately?

It starts with your ear. Can you sing it with reasonably detailed accuracy? If you can sing it, it’s deeply wired in your brain (your ear, your imagination). If you get off track, it’s easy to quickly find your way back.

Second, make sure you are crystal clear about any technical choices that best support the music: Fingerings, voicing, articulations, breathing, dynamics. Take time and be mindful with these choices. As you sing the music, review in your mind these details of technique. Merge technique and imagination seamlessly together, and let your desires be clear and lucid in detail.

Finally (as I’ve mentioned above, as well as in several of my other articles) create your music from a place of love and desire. Love cultivates the best kind of intimacy. Aim high, remain flexible, be present and enjoy the unknown mystery and magic of playing music.