Category Archives: Practicing Improvisation

Innovation Or Authenticity?

6 Replies

There seems to be a conflicting theme these days expressed by some veteran jazz musicians (from the widely know to the more obscure) about the current culture of young, “up and coming” artists.

On the one hand, I hear many complaints about the lack of individuality in sound and approach perceived in many of these young musicians: “They sound generic. There’s nothing that identifies them immediately in what they play. When Coltrane, Miles or Monk played,  you could tell it was them in one note.” (I’m paraphrasing here.)

On the other hand, there are complaints about a “culture of innovation” amongst younger artists  that is sometimes perceived as being overly self-conscious: “What they’re playing sounds so forced, so unnatural. It doesn’t have a strong enough connection to the tradition. It comes across as too cerebral. It doesn’t swing.” (Again, I’m paraphrasing.)

I’m not here to agree or disagree with the sentiments expressed above. Rather, I’d like to talk about this conundrum specifically. I’ll start with this rhetorical question: As an artist, is it more important to be innovative or authentic?

Both innovation and authenticity have great value in art. In the world of jazz, some of the greatest, most influential improvisers have been stunningly innovative.

Besides the three I mention above, we have Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Lester Young, Ornette Coleman, and Charlie Christian, Kenny Clarke, to name but a few. All of these artists have radically opened up the possibilities of self-expression in jazz by expanding and redefining the role and/or capabilities of their respective instruments in the act of improvisation (or in the case of Mr. Ellington, compositional and orchestral possibilities).

But we also have a wealth of artists who are less innovative, yet highly influential and highly valuable to the jazz lexicon. For example, Cannonball Adderley, Kenny Dorham and Kenny Barron, though they didn’t “expand” the boundaries of the music to the degree some others have, are strong and vital influences to the music.  (Great artists with distinctive voices on their respective instruments!)

Whether more an “innovator”, or more a “traditionalist”, or “stylist”, all great artists have one thing in common: Clear, immediate authenticity.

As Thelonious Monk said (another powerful innovator in jazz!), “A man’s a genius just for looking like himself.” I think it’s safe to say all the musicians I’ve mentioned above most certainly fall within Mr. Monk’s definition.

Which brings me to my point: Whatever you want to do as a musical artist, place authenticity first.

By allowing for authenticity (yes, allowing), you free yourself from expectations. (You have nobody to answer to but your own muse, your own impulse to make music.) You free yourself from lots of stifling judgements about your music. (It doesn’t matter how “unique” your music is, as long as it flows freely and generously from you.)

In essence, when you express yourself authentically through your music, you are in a constant state of gratitude. You accept the music that comes through you as a gift, and you share it with the world. You are open and welcoming to so much: ideas, sound, connections with other musicians, time, rhythm and more.

I think it’s important to keep in mind that the vast majority of innovators in the history of jazz weren’t trying  to be innovators. They were just working with the materials of music as they found their way to their own need for artistic expression. They were “looking like themselves” as they followed their curiosity and passion.

It’s probably impossible to consciously try to make music that is “innovative”. For music to be deemed innovative, it must, by definition, change the course of the art form, and significantly expand the vocabulary of the expressive language. It must have a measurable, lasting influence on the artists of the present and of the future. That’s huge. You can’t force that happen out of sheer will. It either does or doesn’t.

Just like the greats, all you can do is follow your curiosity and passion. If your music is innovative, it will most likely rise from  a natural and authentic curiosity. Curiosity about the materials of music, curiosity about your instrument, curiosity about yourself. And passion as the fuel for action (practice and study).

Aim for making music that is truly beautiful to you. Don’t second guess it. If it touches you, it will, without doubt, touch others. And that makes what you do so valuable. Don’t let the need for innovation steer you into making music that isn’t beautiful to you. (Likewise, don’t let the fear of unknown artistic territory keep you from surprising yourself with new musical discoveries.)

Allow the possibility that your viewpoint (tastes, ideas, values, perception, etc.) can change and grow. As I get older, my music making seems less conceptual and “cutting-edge” to me, but so much richer, more clearly conceived, more expressive and more beautiful than ever before. (It’s more me than ever before.)

Whether or not your musical expression falls well inside the mainstream, or far from it, if you hear and feel something that lights you up,  go after it. As long as it’s it’s truly yours, you’ll be glad you did.

“Who are you?” is the question that can best guide you. So take plenty of time to stay on the path of self-discovery as you cultivate your curiosity and expand your possibilities. Enjoy the beauty you create along the way.

The Most Essential Constant In My Improvement

4 Replies

This morning I found myself reflecting upon the many ways my approach to practicing music has changed over the more than 35 years I’ve been playing. Many of the things that I used to believe were absolutely essential to my improvement now lie by the wayside in the realm of tested, yet ultimately unhelpful, ideas and procedures.

When evaluating the cause and effect relationship of improving through practice, time is always a good indicator for what’s working and what’s not. At a certain point (if we’re fortunate and mindful) we realize something just isn’t helping, and we move on.

That’s a natural part of the learning process. It’s not a straight line, but instead, a journey of exploration and discovery. Even with the best teachers, the clearest intentions, it’s still a step into the unknown. Persistence, patience and passion are the fuel for this journey.

And in this journey, we discard those ideas and practices that clearly don’t help us. That’s not to say we’ve wasted time on these things; that’s just the reality of our own learning process. We have to experiment and be open and creative in attempting to solve our problems.

I have thrown away many more ideas, techniques, approaches, attitudes, procedures, and skills than I have kept.

But the one thing that I have kept,  the one skill that has most continually evolved and grown in relation to my improvement as a musician is this: the ability to stop. In particular, knowing when and how to stop.

In my previous posts I’ve written about the value of stopping. Today I’d like to talk more specifically about the ways this “when and how” stopping skill has helped me.

It’s important to keep in mind one of the most important objectives of a constructive practice session: to give yourself the experiences of control over your instrument and the elements of music. This might involve slowing tempos down, analyzing and deciding upon fingerings, directing breathing in a particular way, etc. To achieve these experiences, the pursuit of quality must be put squarely in front of the pursuit of quantity.

Yet it is often this pursuit of quantity that makes a practice session far less productive than it should be.

How often have you practiced something over and over again just to make the same mistake in the same way? Perhaps you practice a particular passage 25 times, and out of 25 times, you played it to your liking maybe twice (not a very encouraging percentage). And how often have you had the experience of practicing something difficult, and actually making it worse as the practice session continues?

In both these cases, the inability to stop has hamstrung your progress. Tension, frustration and dissatisfaction follow when this happens.

Whenever I’m having a less than productive practice session, it is more often than not because I’ve lost touch with my ability to stop and redirect my efforts. Fortunately for me, I can recognize this fairly early into my practice session and change course.

Here are some of the specifics of when and how I stop that help me the most:

  • In the moment-For a large portion of my practice time I give myself permission to stop at any moment and for any reason. It could be because I’m sensing an old habit of tension arising, which I’d like to prevent. It could be because I’m rushing the tempo in the same place in a particular passage. It could be because I just don’t like my sound in a particular passage. I allow myself to stop, investigate, and clarify my perception and intentions. (I also practice a certain amount without allowing myself to stop, which helps me deal with the flow and demands of a real performance.)
  • Between takes-Whenever I’m practicing a particular melodic pattern or exercise, I consciously stop between takes. I do this to use my awareness of how I might be tensing in my body, as well as to redirect my intentions and energy for the next take. This is most challenging when the quality of the take I just played is less than I’d hoped for. My impulse is to jump right back into “trying again”. Yet if I don’t pause, I tend to “try again” with the same misdirected efforts as before (which yields the same results and starts a downward spiral of frustration). By stopping for a moment, I hugely increase the odds that my next take will be even better.
  • Knowing when “enough is enough”-One of the most challenging decisions to make is when to stop working at a particular exercise, pattern, tune, etude, etc. I’ve grown rather cognizant of finding what could be called a “point of diminishing returns” with respect to the amount of time I spend in each practice session on a particular thing. It’s important to stop while I’m still on top (playing each take with the best quality possible), and to be able to peacefully step away from the work. By doing this, not only do I accumulate a large proportion of “correct experiences” (good quality), but also, I finish feeling optimistic and enthusiastic about approaching the work the next day.
  • Making rest an essential part of my practice time-I now make a calculated aim in determining the work/rest ratio of each practice session. I spend no more than about 15 minutes on any one thing without taking at least a 2 or 3 minute pause, maybe to stretch or have some water. For every 50 minutes I practice, I lie down in constructive rest for 5 or 10 minutes. This enables me to spend long hours at practice if I need to, with not only productive results, but also, feeling easy and comfortable. Avoiding anything that even remotely seems like fatigue is crucial to my decision making process with respect to my practice goals for the day. Stopping before I get tired.
  • Letting it go-After trying a particular idea, exercise, concept, approach, etc., for a particular, pre-determined period of time, I stop to assess the situation and make a decision about whether or not I’m helping myself with my choice. If there seems to be no improvement in a reasonable amount of time  (I’m talking weeks or months, here), I just stop practicing it, and instead, re-think/explore other options. I’m still perplexed by the amount of musicians I encounter who are practicing things (often for years!) that clearly are not helping them. Yet they can’t seem to let these things go. That becomes a constant hinderance to their growth.

So consider the idea of stopping more. It takes wisdom to know when. It takes a clear conviction to know how. (It starts with you simply making a decision that you stay with.)

You can shift your priorities. Don’t just “allow” yourself to stop. Make it a deliberate objective  of your practice. Instead of asking yourself, “How much did I practice today?”, or even, “How well did I play today?”, you can ask, “How successful was I at stopping today?” “How many times did I stop today where I might have not stopped before?”

If you cultivate the wisdom and skill in stopping, you’ll love what happens in your practice.

The Importance Of Finding Satisfaction

7 Replies

One of the potential pitfalls of approaching an art form (such as music) in a deeply dedicated way, is losing perspective between the desire for improvement and a sense of satisfaction. Often, in the pursuit of perfection, it’s easy to not even notice the beauty that we create each moment as we play.

That’s a shame, because to play music is one of the most divinely human, essentially human, blissfully human, experiences of all. There is no culture in the world where music doesn’t play a significant role in the daily lives of its people.

Musicians in “less developed” societies are known for how effortlessly, unselfconsciously and joyfully they play. To them, music is nourishment. It’s essential. To play it is a blessing. It’s as natural as eating, sleeping or expressing affection.

But to many of us who play “seriously”, music can sometime be a yardstick, measuring and exposing our shortcomings. We can sometimes look at music from the point of view of “what I can’t do”, instead of “what I can do.” From “what I’m lacking”, instead of “what I’m blessed with.”

We proceed day to day in relentless pursuit of our weaknesses. And that’s fine (as long as we’re not harming ourselves in the process). That becomes the fuel for growth, which leads to greater possibilities, deeper expression, deeper humanity, even.

But there needs to be a balance between this drive for improvement and a true and always available sense of satisfaction with what we’re doing as musicians. This balance can be found more easily than you might think. It begins with cultivating a clear, sincere and constant sense of gratitude.

For me personally, it’s important to know what satisfies  me as I play, even if things aren’t going as well as I know they can, even if I know I need improvement, even if I know there is so much more for me to learn and express.

As a saxophonist, I always find a particular pleasure in feeling the resonance of the instrument in my hands as I play (yes, even with a bad reed!) There is a tactile thrill in feeling the energy going from my thoughts to my breath, to my sound and into my body.

As an improviser, I find particular pleasure in letting my muse loose. I still surprise myself everyday as I create music spontaneously. It’s as if I’m discovering some hidden gem that has been given to me, and has always been there inside of me.

I also find great pleasure in the entire ritual of practice. Of putting myself into a calm and receptive state of being, of mindfully assembling my instrument, of discovering anew the thrill of creating and hearing sound, of seeing what needs work today and how I’m going to plan and implement this work, of stopping and assessing what I’m doing, of redirecting my energy.

There is the exhilaration of not knowing, but of discovering.

And that is plenty for me. That’s ultimately what fuels my desire to practice. Sure, I wish to improve (work diligently at it!) Sure, I want more. But each day, I finish practice with a strong sense of satisfaction, as if I’ve just had a great meal, or a good night’s sleep, or had an evening out with close friends.

So I encourage you to find your daily satisfaction in your music practice. Find the intrinsic value of playing your instrument.

Make a list, if you like. Maybe it’s simply hearing your sound. Maybe it’s that deeper state of consciousness you get into as your breathing changes. Maybe it’s simply the satisfaction of staring your precoception of perfection squarely in the face as you maintain joy in your heart and persistence in your attitude. Maybe it’s the feeling of being part of something bigger than you.

Whatever your reasons, if you find satisfaction each day, you will easily find meaning in your endeavor. And that, my friends, will guarantee your continued growth.

 

 

 

This Simple Shift In Attitude Can Yield Great Rewards

Leave a reply

I gave a lesson the other day to an excellent saxophonist who has been studying with me remotely for many months now. He was very pleased with the recent breakthroughs that he’d made in his playing, and expressed this profound change simply, but quite accurately:

“Before, I was anticipating; now, I’m responding.”

I was filled with joy when I heard him say this, because I knew that he had discovered, through his own experiences, a shift in thinking that was showing him significant gains.

I could easily hear this change in attitude in everything, from the quality of his sound, to his breath control, to his time, to his expression. All freer, more flexible (yet precise), more spontaneous and powerful.

I could also see this change in attitude as it is manifested in his body: calm, expansive, mobile, easy, balanced. In fact, I would say that I heard and saw the same things. Everything integrated into the present moment.

Anticipating versus responding. Let’s look at this with respect to what my student was doing (and what many musicians do) that was causing some of his problems:

  • Anticipating posture-His back arched, chest lifted, eyes fixed, neck stiff, legs rigid.
  • Anticipating  jaw position, embouchure formation-His jaw held rigidly without enough energy being directed toward the reed; his facial muscles around his mouth working more than they need to.
  • Anticipating note voicing-Creating a strain everywhere in his body, as he tried to “place” the air “just right” into the mouthpiece/reed.
  • Anticipating breathing-Never allowing the actual demands of the music to inform his breathing; instead, sort of “holding on” to his breath, never really letting it release to balance itself against the resistance of the mouthpiece/reed.
  • Anticipating sound-Having a somewhat fixed idea of his own sound (not only what he wants to hear, but how it should feel), sometimes to the point of not fully hearing and realizing his sound as it actually is.

As you might imagine, all of these habits of anticipation were inviting strain, loss of coordination and artistic dissatisfaction to my student. With his somewhat rigid ideas of how it should be, he was closing himself off to the possibility of how it could be. Specifically, he was keeping himself from responding to the actual needs (in the moment) of what was necessary to play his instrument.

Through our work together using the Alexander Technique principles, he began to allow himself to explore the possibilities of playing without many of his habitual preconceptions. He began to discover, through direct experience, that there is a natural way to respond to the demands of playing his instrument.

He began to think about balance instead of posture. He realized that he could let his jaw be free to respond to the resistance of the mouthpiece/reed. He learned that (just as we do with our own voices) his internal embouchure (soft palate, tongue position, etc.) will effortlessly and dynamically respond to voice the note clearly and powerfully.

He also discovered that his sound could inform his breathing, integrating both breath and sound into one responsive, dynamic, flexible and controlled, whole entity.

And oh, how his sound changed! It went from generically good,  to highly personal and expressive. Beautiful! This to me was the biggest thrill to experience. It was like I was hearing his true voice for the first time.

All of this largely due to a shift in his attitude. A shift from rigid beliefs about what it takes to play, to trusting his ability to respond constructively.

I should point out here that anticipation itself is a form of response. (In truth, it is the reaction to the thought of playing, rather than the response to the needs of the act itself.) But too often, it is a response that carries lots of misdirected energy. Suffice it to say, that most of your habitual tension and strain as you play your instrument is from this kind of anticipation.

It is easy to get stuck in anticipation mode. Maybe you do so from unconscious habit, advice given to you, anatomical or acoustical misunderstanding…even fear. But whatever the reason, shifting your attitude from expectation to exploration can help you play better, easier, more expressively and joyfully.

Start by noticing your own thinking and the habits that come along with it. What do you do to prepare as you play your first note? What are you doing that is not necessary to produce that note (tension, gesture)? What would it be like if you played without those habits of anticipation?

Give yourself a chance to explore these questions. I think you’ll be surprised by what you discover. And please, let me know.

Keep This Aim In Mind When Practicing Slowly

6 Replies

One of the things that many great musicians and music teachers seem to agree upon is the value of practicing slowly. Whether working on technique or improvisation, it is now almost cliche (yet true!) to say, “If you want to speed it up, you first have to slow it down.”

Slow practice really can prove quite beneficial. Here’s a few reasons why:

  • It gives your brain a chance to process information more precisely and lucidly.
  • It gives you a chance to become more conscious of any habits you might have that interfere with your ability play (so you can prevent them).
  • It strengthens your emotional connection to the music (even if you’re “just playing scales”) so that your ability to express yourself becomes second nature.
  • It allows you time to make aesthetic decisions that you might otherwise overlook at fast tempos (this is especially true in improvisation).
  • It increases your rhythmic precision.
  • It deepens your kinesthetic experience of making music.

All good stuff. Here’s a really nice video by clarinet virtuoso Eddie Daniels talking about how he uses slow practice to increase  the precision of his technique at fast tempos:

But as an Alexander Technique teacher specializing in working with musicians, I sometimes encounter students who actually make their technique worse rather than better by practicing slowly. They do so because they lose sight of the main aim of slow practice: to learn how to move from note to note through release and balance.

When I encounter such a student, I see lots of tension and holding as the tempo slows down. Often, I see more strain and imbalance at the slower tempos than at the faster ones.

This is usually because the student’s aim of self-awareness (a good thing) has morphed into self-consciousness (not such a good thing). Self-awareness is about discernment (observing objective information), whereas self-concsiousness is more about judgment (going straight to assigning value to what you’re doing).

With self-consciousness comes a sense of needing to do things “absolutely right”. With this attitude comes fear. And with fear comes tension and holding (an unwillingness to explore, move, or take chances).

What I typically notice in these cases is that the students are dividing their attention in such a way as bring far too much awareness to one part (the fingers, for example) at the expense of excluding the rest of themselves. Lot’s of “forcing” the fingers into control. Too much expectation, not enough exploration.

Part of my job with these students is to help them redirect their thinking as they practice slowly (or at any tempo, for that matter).  They learn to notice themselves in a broader light, expanding their awareness of themselves, and clarifying the conception of how their entire body (including their senses) is integrated and involved in the music making process.

With this expanded awareness (along with a diminishing self-consciousness) comes a complete shift in the aim of slow practice. The old aim being to “control” the fingers. The new aim being (as I mentioned above) to move from note to note through release as they maintain an easy, upright balance.

When this shift of intention occurs, marvelous things begin to happen: Technique becomes cleaner. Velocity increases with ease. Rhythmic accuracy improves. Self expression deepens. Confidence increases.

So if you devote some of your practice time to slow, mindful work (or would like to start), here are a few things to aim for to help you optimize your endeavor:

  • Start in balance-Notice how you’re maintaining balance. Are you stiffening and holding, or releasing and returning to an expansive, elastic,  natural poise? Let your neck and shoulders stay free and easy as your head balances on top of your spine. Allow your hips, knees and ankles to be free. Let your weight pass into your feet. Breathe easily, quietly and naturally.
  • Move by releasing-Going from note to note means releasing muscles first. Think about where you can release as you change notes. When raising your fingers, think about them as releasing away from the keys as you play, as opposed to “lifting” your fingers by creating tension. When attacking a note, think about releasing your neck and your breath.
  • Broaden your awareness-Don’t get stuck putting all your attention onto one part (e.g. don’t place all your attention on your fingers). Let your awareness expand to the rest of your body, and your environment. Notice how your entire self is involved in playing the music.
  • Give yourself a chance to deepen your kinesthetic experience-Take plenty of time to stop and sense what’s going on as you play. Really embrace the experience of starting from release. Let yourself know deeply, where and how you “land” on the notes (see the video, above).
  • Listen to the clarity of attack, tone and time-There is always a temptation to rush the tempo when playing slowly. Avoid this trap by really listening and waiting. Use a metronome and let the time carry you forward easily and precisely. Be still but mobile  and fluid as you wait for the click of the metronome. Let the clarity and consistency of your attack and tone be your guide.
  • Keep unnecessary effort in check-Return frequently to the question of effort and tension. “Am I beginning to stiffen myself as I go from one note to the next? Am I pulling myself out of  easy balance? Am I letting my breath flow freely? Am I waiting for the metronome?”, etc.
Practicing slowly has been a staple of my routine for some time now. The benefits are tangible and ongoing. I highly recommend it. If you aim for release, ease and balance as you practice this way, you’ll also significantly change how you perform. You’ll learn to deal with fast passages and tempos with grace, confidence, and even joy.