Category Archives: Practicing Improvisation

Tempo, Perception And Tension

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Some months ago I wrote an article about how coordination was inextricably linked to the perception of time and rhythm. But just recently, I realized another aspect of this connection while giving an Alexander Technique lesson to a bassist.

This student could not seem to play a particular technical passage beyond a specific tempo without the entire passage falling completely apart. I began to suspect that he was thinking about the tempo in such a way as to create problems for himself as he played.

As it turned out, his self-imposed obstacle wasn’t a lack of clarity of tempo (he wasn’t dragging or slowing), nor of rhythmic conception (he demonstrated to me that he could sing the rhythms of this passage quite accurately).

Instead, it was his subjective reaction to what he defined as a “fast” tempo.

I discovered this after asking him a few things about how he was thinking:

“Why does it always seem to fall apart there?”, I asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s actually quite easy to play at a slower tempo. It just seems to get tricky when I try to play it at a fast tempo.”, he replied.

“What is a fast tempo?” I further enquired.

“When I’m practicing at home, it seems like it gets fast at about quarter note equals 138.”, he responded.

So I broke out the metronome. And sure enough, he was fine until that “breaking point” of 138. Then I had him play it at 132 and everything was fine: accurate, beautiful, lively, clear.  I asked him his perception.

“No problems. Like I said, it’s not difficult to play at slower tempos. And I thought to myself, “132 isn’t that much slower than 138.” But what I observed as he played at this slightly slower tempo helped shed light on the real problem.

The most significant thing I noticed as he played it at this “easier” tempo was how differently he was using himself as he played. His eyes looked calm, yet lively. His neck and shoulders looked more spacious and elastic. He looked more mobile and fluid, less “planted” and rigid. In Alexander Techique slang, we’d say that he was using his primary control (head/neck/back) in a more constructive, helpful way.

I had him notice how free and easy he was as he played. (Being a good Alexander student, he could notice this quite readily.)

Then we brought the tempo back up to 138. And everything changed.

His eyes became fixed, almost fierce looking as he knitted his brow. His shoulders began to narrow as his neck stiffened slightly. I asked him to notice this. (Again, being the good Alexander student that he was, he could do so readily.)

“Why do you think you change how you’re using yourself so noticeably?”, I asked.

His reply: “Because now I think I’m playing fast. And the thought of playing fast seems to tempt me to do certain things.” He just solved the mystery.

So we began to work toward getting him to react differently to the thought of playing “fast” in this particular passage.

The first thing he did was to redirect his thinking as he played in such a way as to prevent himself from physically responding in his “fast tempo” habitual way (no tense neck and shoulders; no glaring eyes and knitted brow).

In the Alexander Technique, we call this ability to consciously prevent unwanted tension  inhibition. It is a skill that is cultivated over time by studying and applying the Technique, and this particular student has developed his ability to “inhibit” quite well.

This redirected thinking made a noticeable difference in the outcome. Much less tension, better precision in execution of the passage.

But then we did something else. We started playing some games with the metronome to “trick” him about his perception of the tempo.

For example, I had him play the passage (continous sixteenth notes in 4/4 meter) as if they were eight note triplets. We started at quarter note equals 130 and gradually moved the metronome tempo upwards. The passage felt to him very easy and clear when approached as triplets. Before long he was playing the passage at quarter note equals 180 with considerable accuracy.

He didn’t have time to do the math to realize that he was actually moving the notes faster than he was able to do before.

I immediately had him go to quarter note equals 138 and play the passage as it was originally (in sixteenth notes). He was able to play easily and consistently at this tempo. Laughing, he said, “The tempo feels slow now. If feels like I have time to think.”  (He laughed because he realized that he just tricked himself in a good way).

This change in his perception of the tempo helped him to get out of his habitual thinking, and helped support his wish to keep the excess tension in check as he played.

In truth, there is no “fast” or “slow” when it comes to tempo. “Fast” is just an opinion (an adjective of judgement, if you will), as is “slow”. There is no absolute measurement for either. All there is is the objective measurement of beats per minute. There is just relativity between tempos.

So when you’re practicing or performing, don’t think, “Here comes the fast part.” All you’ll probably do is tense up unnecissarily and create unhelpful conditions in yourself to play the passage.

Think instead, “I have time.” That will help (if even a little bit) to keep you from going into tense anticipation of the music. It’s this tense anticipation that not only creates mechanical disadvantages in your body as you play, but also, puts your brain into an unclear state of a mild “panic”.

Let go of the idea of “fast” or “slow” and replace it with the more objective and measureable “clicks per minute” on the metronome (or whatever source you’re using to establish tempo).

And by all means, start using the metronome in such a way as to keep you thinking differently in how you perceive tempo and rhythm every day. Using your body well as you play and being flexible in your perception will reward you with measurable benefits.

The Positive Power Of Saying “No”

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The word “no” often gets a bad rap, especially in the realm of self-improvement. Saying “yes” opens and expands the possibilities goes the conventional wisdom, whereas saying “no” closes or limits them.

I’d say that’s mostly true.

Except sometimes saying saying “no” opens up unexpectedly wonderful possibilities.

As a teacher of the Alexander Technique (and as a musician who applies the Technique to my practice and performance) the ability to effectively say “no” is the most powerful tool I  know of to make profound and lasting changes.

How could that be?

Let’s start with what it is I’m saying “no” to.  With saxophone in hand, the moment I think about playing a single note, my brain readies me for the task. It does so by “pre-firing” the muscles involved in playing the saxophone. I’ll call that my habitual response. (And yes, we do need habit to play music or to do just about anything else, for that matter.)

In the past my habitual response would be to tighten my neck, pull down into myself, stiffen my shoulders and suck air in noisily to inhale. I would also narrow my focus and shift my attitude into an almost warrior-like fashion, cutting myself of completely from anything except the thought of playing.

Much of that “pre-fired” pattern of muscular response was not only unnecessary to playing my instrument, but also, inefficient and harmful. 

What also came along with this habitual response was trouble. Besides the neck, shoulder and back pain I was getting, I was also developing some serious coordination issues that threatened my playing career.

Then I discovered the Alexander Technique. I immediately realized that for me to change these now debilitating habits, I had to learn to effectively say “no” to my habitual response to playing the saxophone. To make a very long story short, I have learned, and my playing has not only dramatically improved, but I continue to be edified and continue to cultivate my artistic expression by going deeper into the power of no.

You see, when you say “no” to your habit, you say “yes” to the possibility that something different will happen. You actually expand the possibilities.

When I learned to say “no” to all the tension and struggle I was bringing upon myself, I became free to play more in accordance with my imagination and intentions (and I continue to cultivate this freedom).

I teach classes in the Alexander Technique at the American Musical and Dramatic Academy in Los Angeles (part of a BFA and conservatory program for singers, actors and dancers). In one of the first class sessions, I have the students explore the power of no by playing a simple children’s game, called Simon Says.

As you probably know, Simon Says is a game in which “Simon” (in this case, me) gives various commands that you must carry out (like raising a hand, for example). But you can only carry out Simon’s command if he precedes it by saying “Simon Says”. If you carry out the command without Simon saying “Simon Says” you lose.

I’ve become very good at being Simon, and can usually stump an entire class of 12 students in no time. Then we talk about why the lost and we begin again. After playing two or three more times, I can’t stump anybody. They’ve all mastered the winning principle of the game.

And this winning principle is to stay in a constant state of saying “no” to oneself until the time is right, until Simon says. (In Alexander Technique jargon, we call this  conscious state of “no” inhibition.)

The most interesting thing to me as I play this game is how the students appear differently from start to finish. In the first round, their eyes are focused and narrow. Their shoulders and necks are tense. Lots of breath holding, too. They’re all in what I call a “hyper-reactive” frame of mind.

By the time we get to the third round (mind you, I stop between each round and give them some guidance) they look completely different. Soft faces, calm eyes, easy breathing, freer necks and shoulders. They look poised.

I tell them, “Now you are in a state of true readiness. You’re calm but alert. This is a great state to be in when you perform.” For many of them that’s a revelation. Performance mode has always been a hectic, tense scramble. Now it is anything but.

I usually have one or two of them perform right after this. The results are often stunningly different. Easy, powerful, authentic performances. This becomes the door that we use to explore performance for the rest of the semester. Saying “no” begins to have a powerfully positive meaning to these students.

As a jazz artist, I can usually hear (and see, if it’s a live performance) when an improviser is in this “no” state of mind. Certainly Miles Davis was in this state most of the time when he played, as was Lester Young.

To be clear, it’s not a dead and passive state of mind. It is an active state of mind that allows you to say “yes” to good things that might happen. Yes to joyful surprise. And that’s good for both artist and listener.

I’d say that when I’m in finding good flow as I’m playing (when I’m in the zone) that I’m in a perpetual state of no. It’s as if I’m waiting patiently for the music to come through me. It’s a beautiful thing.

So notice how you react as you go to play your instrument. Do you prepare to play that first note by tensing up and narrowing your focus? What happens to your shoulders and neck? Do you stiffen your legs? Your arms? Does your attention narrow or expand? What happens to your breathing?

If you find that your starting with too much tension, practice saying “no” to yourself as you begin again. See if you can reduce that tense response even a little bit. If you’re persistent in this endeavor, you’ll be delighted in how you can improve.

Bringing Things Within Reach

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“A journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step.”

-Lao Tsu

My conception of what makes effective musical practice continues to evolve. I keep the ideas and principles that help me, and shed those that don’t. The one principle that I never lose sight of (because it always helps!) can be stated in the form of a question:

What is the main aim of my practice?

The answer:

I want to give myself constructive experiences as I play my instrument.

Yes, for me, it’s as simple as that. I want to give myself constructive experiences...

The more I adhere to this principle, the more skill I gain as a musician (and the greater my sense of self efficacy becomes).

So what are “constructive” experiences?  They’re when I’m practicing with clear intention, and not doing these two things:

1. I’m not creating unnecessary tension/misdirected effort in myself as I play (in the most basic sense, not stiffening my body or letting my mind race ahead).

2. I’m not playing something that is too far outside of my reach (I’ll clarify what I mean by this this in a bit).

Now, both of these things are clearly related: As I play with less misdirected effort I’m able to bring more things within my reach. As I bring things within my reach, I’m able to play with less misdirected effort, and with a clearer, quieter mind (a more constructive quality of attention).

When I’m using myself well (that’s an Alexander Technique term meaning I’m working most efficiently in my body and with my attention, relative to the task at hand), and I keep what I’m working on within reach, I’m having a constructive experience, and very productive practice session.

And that’s how I continue to improve.

Let me clarify  here what I mean by “bringing things within reach”. To improve my playing skills I have to reach beyond what I can already do. (That’s obvious.)

But I must be very mindful about how far I reach. If I don’t reach far enough (or at all) I’m just maintaining the status quo. Not much chance for growth (nor for real satisfaction).

On the other hand, if I reach too far, I actually minimize my learning because I’m not able to give myself the necessary affirming psycho-physical experiences that can produce positive change.

If I keep doing things the “wrong” (unwanted, unhelpful) way, I just strengthen this pattern of “wrong” in my brain and body. This can lead to frustration (and is why a considerable percentage of my clients seek my help).

So in a practical sense, I could also say that the aim of my practice is to bring the “unreachable” gradually into my reach. To do this, I convert all the things I work on into bite-sized pieces of things I can handle. (And I suggest you do, too.) Here’s how:

  • Learn how to stop- Get comfortable with not trying to push past (over and over and over…) what you can’t do. Not only is it okay to stop, it’s fundamental to your growth. Stopping is a gift, not an obstacle.
  • Notice yourself-Are you unnecessarily tensing up as you try to push past what you can do? Check your neck, shoulders and back. Check your legs and feet. Notice your breathing (or breath holding, as the case may be). Ask yourself to let go of some of that misdirected effort.
  • Assess just how far out of reach the task is in the moment-Is the tempo way too fast (or slow)? Is the range impossibly difficult? Is the key (7 flats!) seem like an impenetrable jungle? To all these (and more), ask yourself, “How much so?” “What would I need to do to make this playable right now?”
  • Learn the art of regression. (This is necessary in order to address the two questions above.) Go to specifics: Tempo change? Stopping more frequently? Turn off the metronome? Easier key? Singing (or speaking) the passage instead of playing it? Strive to be creative in helping yourself.
  • Bring the challenge down. Way down-For example, if the tempo is impossibly fast, cut it drastically, far slower than you think you need to. Let yourself have a few successful experiences with the material. Cultivate the desire to increase tempo based upon your growing self-confidence, not on your sense of obligation. (“I feel like I can play this faster” instead of, “I should be able to play this faster”.)
  • Move it to the outer edge of your reach-Gradually. Make sure you’re keeping the aim in mind of creating good experiences as you practice. This is where learning how to stop is crucial (see above).
  • Bring it back within your reach-When you step too far, gently step back. Reaffirm your skills.

By bringing things within your reach (as you reach beyond what you can do), you’ll continue to improve.  I”ll leave you with this cautionary definition of “insanity”, often attributed to Albert Einstein:

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.”

I would modify that definition to say that, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again in the same way expecting a different result“. And to do things differently you have to start by thinking differently.

Improvising: Why You Need To Be Comfortable Taking Risks

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The phrase, “comfortable taking risks”, sounds a bit like an oxymoron. After all, if you feel comfortable doing something, are you actually taking risks?

The answer is:  “it depends”.

One the one hand, I think of my dearest friend, Mark, who for many years risked life and limb (literally!) as a lineman for an electrical power company. He was quite used to this work, and felt reasonably comfortable doing it, in even the most precarious conditions.

On the other hand, there are folks who do things that seem quite risky (not necessarily physically dangerous) to the uninitiated, when in reality they are taking almost no risks in carrying out the activity. Improvising music can fall into that category.

Ask most classical musicians about the process of improvising, and 9 out of 10 will probably tell you how scary the concept seems. Without a doubt these folks would be uncomfortable attempting to make music without the “script” of notation. Too risky.

Yet the world is full of improvising musicians who have consciously worked toward minimizing the risk of stepping into the unknown. They predominantly strive to “sound right” in a consistent way.

They manage this risk through particular techniques in practice coupled with a certain attitude in performance.  To me, these improvisers sound polished, clean, and to be honest… somewhat lifeless and uninteresting.

Lot’s of packaged ideas (licks, patterns, inflections, etc.) that fit neatly together, forged through lots of practice.

Yet the greatest jazz improvisers (the ones that the above mentioned folks admire most) were (and are) all about taking risks.

In jazz, if you listen to Lester Young, to Miles Davis, to Sonny Rollins, to Thelonious Monk, to Jim Hall, to Sal Mosca, to Ethan Iverson, to Chris Potter, to Mark Turner, to….you’re hearing musicians who are comfortable with risk. You are hearing musicians who gave (give) self-expression higher priority than a polished sounding performance. Their music is full of life and (to me) consistently exciting.

Yes, even a “polished” sounding improviser like Jim Hall was risking it all the time. Why do I think this? Well, it’s because he was always finding new, unchartered territory in his solos. Endless development of beautiful, melodic ideas. You can’t simply fall back on a bunch of heavily practiced licks and improvise like Jim Hall.

And Sonny Rollins is always on the verge of getting into trouble as he plays. The other night I was listening to his classic recording, The Bridge, and I could here that tightrope-walking edge in his creativity.

But I would venture to guess that Mr. Rollins was as comfortable as could be playing that music. He sure sounds like it. His time, tone, melodic sense, rhythmic imagination….all there, all the time. And all being delivered with discovery, spontaneity and surprise (to both the artist and the listener).

I would say that the great improvisers all have this in common: They trust that their muse will take them where they need to go, and they don’t need to know where that is, moment to moment.

Like a cat, the greats always know they’ll land on their feet. And they always do.

And therein lies the conundrum: to improvise authentically, deeply and creatively, you have to take lots of risks; yet you’ll not be inclined to take risks if you’re not comfortable doing so.

If you’re not willing to risk, you’re not letting yourself fully emerge as an artist (as a creative human being). And then you do risk (no pun intended) sounding polished and clear, yet lifeless.

So how do you get comfortable taking risks as you improvise?

First, change your perception of risk by changing your aim.

If your main goal when you improvise is to “sound good” (whatever that might mean) you’re probably not going to be too inclined to stray too far from what you already know all too well. (There’s nothing wrong with wanting to sound good, by the way. It’s just that over-emphasizing this wish can put you into a fearful frame of being, and rob you of the opportunity to make some wonderful discoveries.)

But if you change your aim from, “I want to be right”, to, “let’s see what happens”, you open yourself up to possibility and playfulness (the quality of playfulness is of HUGE importance, no matter how serious you may be about your music; just listen to Sonny Rollins!) You’ll be less inclined to judge yourself harshly, and will even be more open to moving the music to places you never imagined.

Second, take care of yourself as you play.

As a teacher of the Alexander Technique, much of what I help my students understand is how thought affects bodily tension, and how this bodily tension in turn influences thought. It’s like a loop:

To play freely you need to be free in your body. To be free in your body you need to address the various kinds of unconscious habits of tension you have as you play (this is where the Alexander Technique is so helpful). Here are a few questions to ask yourself in order to check your own unnecessary tension:

“Is my neck free? Or am I scrunching my head downward into my spine as I play?”

“Is my breathing noisy and forced?” 

“Are my shoulders free? Or am I stiffening and narrowing them?” (Remember that your hands are connected to your arms and your arms are very much conditioned by how your using your neck and shoulders.)

“Are my knees locked?”

“Are my feet taking the weight of my body as I play? Or am I stiffening my feet ankles and toes, perhaps rolling my feet to the sides?” (If your sitting as you play, make sure you’re sitting in balance, with your head lightly poised at the top of your spine and directly over your pelvis.)

In particular, notice how you react when playing or practicing as you step into the unknown (unfamiliar key, sight reading, new chord changes, etc.) Do you react by tensing in the areas I mentioned above? If you notice you do, you can work toward consciously preventing that (again, this is where an Alexander Technique teacher can really help).

So as you explore your improvisational art, I encourage you not only to take risks, but also, to smile and release tension as you do so. Welcome and enjoy. If you practice this concept, you’ll be happy with what you discover.

I’ll leave you with this thought (paraphrased here) by the great pianist, Lennie Tritano: “When you’re improvising, the music is already there inside of you. You just need to listen for it and allow it to come through your hands.”

The music really is already there inside of you. And that’s ultimately why taking risks is really not risky at all.

Choosing The Best Motivational Energy When Practicing (And Playing)

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Love and Fear. These two emotions (and all their manifestations) are polar opposites in quality. When it comes to playing music, many people are motivated by both of these energies (in varied proportions).

But one is always superior to the other. Love ultimately triumphs over fear. Fear may have great urgency and intensity, but love has endurance and strength. (And yes, it has its fair share of urgency and intensity, too.)

I’ve known this on a cognitive level for many years, but it wasn’t until I began to study (and to teach) the Alexander Technique that I became so acutely aware of this truth. And most recently, the experiences I’ve been having with one client in particular have really brought this truth to the fore. So here’s what happened.

Some months back I began to give Alexander lessons to a well-known, highly respected brass instrumentalist here in the Los Angeles area. (Because of the nature of his condition, and his professional reputation, I won’t reveal his identity).

This student came to me because he was diagnosed with a neurological condition known as focal dystonia.

In essence, “task specific musician’s dystonia” is a condition in which the primary muscles involved in playing a particular instrument (in the case of my student, it is his “embouchure” muscles) tense in unpredictable (and hence, uncontrollable) ways only while playing the instrument.

This diagnosis of this condition has been viewed as a career ender for many musicians, as there is no known “cure”.

But that is beginning to change, as more and more musicians are finding their ways back from focal dystonia to performing well again (including me.)

I won’t go here into what these new treatment options are, but I can tell you one thing for certain: Every musician that is able to rid him or herself of focal dystonia (or at the very least, effectively manage it) does so because he or she fundamentally changes the attentional process involved in playing music. (That’s where the Alexander Technique can be helpful.)

Besides working with me, the student I mentioned above is also working with a wonderful brass pedagogy coach who is experienced in helping musicians with  embouchure dystonia.

Both she and I ask our client lots of questions, so as to best understand his thinking. (After all, it is his thinking, in particular, his quality of attention while playing his instrument, that is possibly one of the causes of focal dystonia, and at the very least is most likely exacerbating his problems with the condition.)

In the case of my client, there was a period  early in his career when he was playing music primarily from a place of love: Love of the sound of his instrument. Love of sharing his interpretation and expression through music. Love of his musical imagination. Love of the brilliance and beauty of great musical compositions, and the feeling of being a part of helping these compositions come to life.

During this period he practiced diligently, and achieved a good amount of professional success. But he was not quite where he wanted to be in his career, so he decided to go back to music school (graduate program at a highly respected institution) and intensify the study of his instrument.

That’s where things began to change.

In grad school the emphasis began to shift in regard to playing his instrument. It went from the joy, love  and musicality mentioned above, to an almost purely athletic (physical) pursuit in order to gain consistency in brass playing.

A major aim of his post graduate training was to be made aware of all the potential “trouble spots” in various repertoire for his instrument, and to learn how to avoid them through specific training and “physical” brass pedagogy exercises.

On the surface this seems good. It certainly seems reasonable. But something came along with this kind of approach that was not anticipated nor wanted: Fear began to slowly obscure love in his music making process.

At first this new training seemed to serve him well. He cultivated a level of consistency that he needed to land him bigger, more challenging and prestigious jobs.

Unfortunately,  that success came with a price, with some unintended consequences.

He began to develop certain beliefs about what was necessary for consistency on his instrument (many of them involved creating lots of excess muscular tension and effort). These beliefs put him into a very rigid place with his attitude about playing his instrument, and with his quality of attention as he played.

As time passed, his motivation to play gradually morphed from, “I love to play”, into, “I’m going to do what I need to do to avoid mistakes”. He moved from a love based music making energy,  to a fear based music making energy.

To make a long story short, this is when the focal dystonia began to rear its ugly head. It was a gradual deterioration that eventually caused serious trouble for him.

But the good new is, things are improving dramatically for him these days. Between the excellent work he is doing with his brass pedagogy coach, and the skills he is cultivating through the Alexander Technique, he is finding an entirely new, constructive way to think about playing his instrument.

His brass pedagogy coach and I have one principle in common when interacting with him: shifting the emphasis from fear based playing to love based playing. It is a thrill for me to experience the joy and hear the beautiful expression of his love based playing.

He is rediscovering the very things that motivated him to begin playing music in the first place. He’s also rediscovering how effortless it can be to play music beautifully and expressively. (This is one area in particular the Alexander Technique helps with.)

But the bottom line is that he is reconnecting to the love, and leaving the fear behind. If he stays with the motivation of love, things will continue to get better. No doubt in my mind.

You need muscles to play music, and love speaks to your muscles in a fundamentally different way than fear:

Love is expansive. Fear is contractive.

Love accepts and discerns. Fear rejects and judges.

Love breathes easily. Fear gasps and holds its breath.

Love is curious and playful. Fear is narrow-minded and deadly serious.

Love is thankful. Fear is ungrateful.

Love finds possibilities. Fear places its concern on what is not possible.

Love forgives. Fear holds grudges.

Love looks at the unknown as an adventure. Fear looks at the unknown as a threat.

Love is flexible and yielding. Fear is stiff and rigid. 

Love welcomes opportunities to serve. Fear sees service solely as an obligation.

Love asks. Fear demands.

Love reaches out. Fear withdraws.

And so on….

So what motivates you primarily when you practice and play music? It’s a good idea to remember what thrills you about playing. Stay with that. You have the power to choose. Choose love.