Category Archives: Practicing Improvisation

Transcending Your Skills To Improvise More Expressively

Learning to improvise music means learning to respond immediately to the stimuli of the moment (time feel, harmony, song form, other players, etc.) in such a way as to produce cogent, sincerely expressed music. There’s lots of reflexive activity going on here. Stuff seemingly below consciousness.

If you ask many highly gifted and accomplished improvising musicians what they’re thinking as they improvise, you’ll likely be met with something like a blank stare.

Then, “I’m not thinking of anything. I’m just playing.” (this and its variations are what you might often hear.) And though it’s not true that they’re not thinking, it is very likely true that they are not self-conscious in the improvisational process.

More specifically, when an artist is making music spontaneously, there is little conscious thought of the materials of the musical medium: pitch, time, rhythm, harmony, etc.

In truth, the accomplished improviser has transcended these materials when improvising. This only occurs through considerable discipline, reflection and time commitment. It’s as if the improvising artist is practicing mastering these musical materials in order to forget them and just get down to the business of making music.

And I think that that’s the entire aim of practicing diligently: To transcend the self-consciousness of acquired skill.

For sure, the same thing can be said about great interpretive musicians. They, too, have to transcend their skills to get to that high level of personal expression.

But what makes this especially relevant ti the process of improvisation is that to improvise you have to supply the actual “text and flow” of the composition itself (what you actually improvise) in the moment.

You have perhaps even more balls in the air to juggle: Note choices, rhythm, harmonic color, the length and shape of the phrase, the overall “story” of your improvisation, pushing or following…Not to mention the response and connection to those with whom you’re playing.

Whenever I hear a less than satisfying improvisational soloist (particularly in jazz played over harmonic forms), I always notice this one common characteristic: I can always too easily hear what the improviser has been practicing (the patterns, licks, etc.)

I don’t want to hear that. I want to hear music. I want to hear expression. I want to share a journey. I want to be surprised.

In short, I don’t want to hear the musician in the practice room. I want to hear the artist in the moment.

And I’m not alone here. Whenever we hear the practice room musician, we are hearing a disconnected, undeveloped, somewhat shallow form of self expression. That’s not necessarily bad. In fact, it’s probably necessary in the growth cycle of the emerging artist. Passing from ignorance and lack of skill, to self consciousness, and finally (if we’re fortunate) to self actualization and deep expression.

Yet you’re probably never going to go out and buy the latest recording of a jazz musician whose primary focus is on trying to show you all the hip ideas she or he has practiced in the past two or three weeks . The fully realized artist has no interest in showing you this type of sophistication. The aim is much deeper. And musical sophistication is only useful if it serves the bigger goal of personal expression.

So if you wish to aim high, as the great improvising artists have, Aim toward transcending your musical skills and knowledge. Here are a few things to keep in mind to help you:

Aim for deep mastery-Jazz piano genius Kenny Werner addresses this perfectly in his book Effortless Mastery. Rather than continually adding new, only partially internalized material (new scales, new chord shapes, tunes, etc.) to your practice repertoire, consider spending a great deal of time mastering the most basic material. If it’s a set of scales, for example, work on an endless amount of patterns and variations based upon the notes of the scale. You’d be surprised at how exotic and beautiful a major scale can sound if you explore and find the interval combinations. There’s no limit to the beauty of diatonic music.

Don’t keep practicing what you already know-Once you have really mastered a particular pattern (I mean really mastered it) stop practicing it. Trust that it (and more important) its variations will organically reveal themselves in your playing as a part of your true musical gesture.

Allow time-When you practice new material, you must consciously use it as you practice improvising. But on the bandstand, don’t give it a thought. Trust that as time goes by, all the things you’ve worked on will contribute to your improvisations in a natural and beautiful way.

Follow your ears-Make sure you can easily sing any idea, scale, chord or interval shape that you’re practicing. Go back and forth between singing and playing. You strongly internalize your musical materials this way, and take them out of the self conscious realm. You play what you hear, not just what you think.

Practice not knowing-Put yourself into situations where your improvisational skills don’t easily fit in. For example, if you’re primarily a straight ahead jazz player, try improvising with skillful “free jazz” improvisers. Even if you never want to play “free jazz” you’ll have a great chance to see if you can make music without your prefabricated arsenal of musical ideas. (It’ll make you a much more spontaneous, adventurous, powerful jazz improviser, I promise!)

There’s a well-known story about the great jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker: It is said that a young, aspiring saxophonist once approached Mr. Parker and asked him what he (the young musician) needed to do to become a great jazz musician. Parker’s reply (and I’m paraphrasing here):”Well you need to learn all your scales, major, minor and altered, from all degrees, throughout the entire range of your horn. Then you need to learn all the chords, including all the altered extensions, in every inversion. Then you need to learn all the standard songs that are being played in jazz these days in all 12 keys. Then you need to learn how all these scales and chords you’ve learned fit into these songs. Then, you have to forget all that sh*t and just play.”

I don’t disagree at all.

Listening Better By Consciously Ignoring

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Recently I taught an introductory workshop in improvisation to a group of young (mostly high school and college age) musicians. All of the members of my class were primarily interpretive musicians (classically trained) and were already reasonably proficient players. All were quite excited and interested (if not a little nervous) about delving into the act of spontaneous music making.

The aim of this workshop was simply to get them to think about the human process of improvising (and for them to recognize that they already had skills they could use as to improvise).

What I noticed about most of the students in this group was similar to what I notice about many interpretive musicians new to improvisation:

Fear of sounding wrong (making a mistake, playing something completely non-musical (in bad taste, or “stylistically wrong”), or getting brain stuck and not being to play anything at all…etc.)
A hyper-focused attention on what was coming out of their instruments at the expense of not hearing the bigger picture of the ensemble.

Now, for sure, these two things can manifest themselves in many musicians, in many musical situations. But in the world of improvisation these two things literally will hamstring you even more. If you’re interpreting a piece of written music, at least you have the notes on the page, the composition, to carry you through.

But when you improvise, you ARE the composer. So if you’re in a constant state of doubt, and, are effectively ignoring the other musicians with whom you’re playing…well, let’s just say it doesn’t even get off the ground.

To address the fear of “being wrong” I did two things: First, I told them that there is no such thing as “wrong” when you improvise. There are simply choices you make in the moment. Some of those choices are better than others, but you want never to worry about what you just played.

As the great jazz trumpeter Miles Davis said, “If you make a mistake, you might want to play that.” And so it is. It’s a question of responding, moment by moment, to what you hear. My best moments in improvisation are almost always “mistakes”, which lead me to other, uncharted possibilities.

The second thing I did was have the whole group start on a collective improvisation, as opposed to singling each participant out as a soloist with a supporting ensemble, which is more typical in jazz and many other genres of improvisation.

So I set some very easy and clear parameters for them all to follow in order to create a bit of spontaneous music: Simple rhythmic patterns with limited tonal choices. Something they could negotiate with ease without having to be overwhelmed with choices.

I had them all play on their own for a few minutes to master the rhythms and familiarize themselves with the tonality. We did this all together, as if we were “warming up to play” before a rehearsal. Pure cacophony.

After doing this for about ten minutes or so, I could tell that the musicians knew their material well enough to start. I could also sense that they were feeling more playful, bold and unafraid. Great!

Next I asked them all to start playing at the same time under my direction. I told them that the aim of this exercise is for them to listen to the other musicians, to the ensemble as a whole as it made music. Not to think too much about what they were playing.

What came out of this was no surprise to me. It was immediately clear that nobody in that room was listening to, or thinking about, anything other than his or her own process, totally eliminating the rest of the ensemble from consciousness. (I recorded our activity for future reference.)

I let them go on like this for a few moments then had them stop. I began to ask what they noticed about the sound of the ensemble. Silence and blank stares. I asked them more specific questions about the ensemble sound: dynamics, intensity, rhythmic flow, etc. More silence and blank stares.

This was so clearly reflected in what I heard. It was mostly noise, harsh and unyielding, not much different than the earlier warm up. It was apparent that each person was listening, thinking and looking, almost exclusively inward as the music (if you want to call it that) unfolded.

Even though the participants were asked to pay attention to the group as a whole, they became sidetracked by the concern of “what am I playing?”

To quote Pedro de Alcantara, from his book, Integrated Practice, “The desire to do trumps the decision to pay attention.” I was seeing and hearing this first hand.

So I implemented a different tactic. I assigned each person a partner. I told each participant that they could play anything they wanted. They could either play within the parameters of rhythm and tonality that I set, or they could ignore those parameters and play anything they felt like.

There was just one rule: “Whatever you play, it has to sound like it doesn’t fit well with what your partner is playing. It has to sound like you’re completely ignoring your partner. If it’s consonant, you make it dissonant. If it fits rhythmically, you alter your time and/or rhythm. If it sounds dynamically balanced, change your dynamic level to bring it out of balance.”

They began to play, and I immediately experienced something quite different. I actually began to hear music. I heard tension and release, interaction, dynamics, and playfulness. Communication. Connection. (I recorded this too, for the sake of reference.)

After we finished this, I also saw a different group of musicians. They were excited, laughing, even self-satisfied. We listened to both recorded playbacks, and the participants were stunned by the contrast from the first to the second performance.

And they all learned an important lesson about listening: The only way you can “consciously ignore” somebody is by really listening to them.

As an improviser you learn that you ride upon not just your own intrinsic musical energy, but also, the energy of the group. You respond to the whole. (I think this is the same with all music.)

As fundamental as that might seem, it’s easy for an improviser to lose sight of, no matter how far along the path they are.

Want To Clarify Your Musical Thinking? Start Singing

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One of the often overlooked skills that an improvising musician needs to develop is the ability to sing clearly, easily and accurately, any musical musical idea that comes to mind. Whether it’s a scale fragment, melodic sequence or an entire phrase from a transcribed solo, to play with connection to the music, you must be able to hear it first. To imagine it.

Yet you could be so focused on “finding the notes” (or “getting the notes under your fingers”) on your instruments that you might be not actually hearing what it is you’re intending to play. In essence there is a disconnect between aural imagination and physical execution.

When I teach improvisation, I can usually hear this disconnect. It’s as if the music just stopped coming out of the player and was suddenly replaced by mechanical rote. It doesn’t sound terrible; it just sounds, well, uninspired and unintended. Random. Arbitrary.

The great jazz pianist, composer and teacher, Lennie Tristano (who was known for his highly demanding, disciplined approach to improvisation), would insist that his students spent a considerable amount of their practice time singing the improvised solos of great jazz artists. He would have them do this before he would let them use their instruments to transcribe the solo.

As easy as this might sound, it can involve more than meets the eye (or ear, actually). It’s one thing to sing the general “shape” of a Charlie Parker solo, for example. But it is an entirely different discipline to sing each note with pin point accuracy. It takes a considerable time commitment.

Tristano had his students do this for several reasons:

It helped them to improve their ears and aural imaginations.

It helped them to deeply internalize the contours and structure of the solo, giving them insight into the compositional brilliance of the improviser.

It helped them to finally transcribe the solo with amazing ease.

Even with interpretive music this applies. If I find myself struggling over and over with the same phrase when playing an etude, I’ll stop and see how accurately I can sing it. Usually I find that my aural conception of the phrase is a little vague (at best!) I then take some time to really hear and sing the phrase. (I do nothing with my instrument.) Once I’m confident that I can really hear the phrase, with complete accuracy, I resume playing.

Practically without I fail I find that I can play the phrase with ease, and better integrate it within the larger musical context of the etude. I sing it, so I can hear it, so I can play it, so I can express something musical.

Here are some very basic things you can do to develop and apply your singing skills. You can hum, or “la la la”, or “dum dum dum”…whatever suits you:

Sing diatonic scales and arpeggios. These are the basic materials of melodic construction. Practice singing simple scale patterns. For example, thirds, 1-2-3-5 patterns, secondary triads (triads built from each degree of the diatonic scale) and fourths. You don’t have to sing them in each key, but pick a key each day and a pattern in that key and sing it accurately before you play it.

Sing altered and symmetrical scales and arpeggios. Sing simple melodic patterns on the scales that are often used in jazz improvisation: The eight note altered diminished scale (e.g., C, Db, Eb, E, F#, G, A, Bb), whole tone scales, harmonic major (major with the sixth degree lowered a half step), altered pentatonic scales, etc. Anything that sounds appealing, “modern” or otherwise interesting, make a point of being able to sing it. A good practice is to sing the degree of the scale or chord from the pattern which you’re preparing to play, imagine the sound of the pattern from that degee, then immediately play the pattern on your instrument. By doing this you strongly reinforce your tonal imagination, integrating it into your movements.

Sing an improvised solo. Pick something that you really, really like. Listen to it over and over again. Start by singing one phrase at a time. Don’t just sing the notes. Sing the inflection, the phrasing, the feel, the spirit. Go slowly and make sure you are hearing and singing each note accurately. Be patient. With Tristano’s students, this sometime took a matter of weeks. It’s worth the effort!

Sing an etude or piece. If you’re reading something, consider spending an entire week or more practicing singing each phrase accurately. Once you can do that, sing the entire piece. While this might seem easy on the more “diatonic” pieces, it might be a bit harder on a piece by Webern or Berg. But again, well worth the effort.

Sing your improvisation. Pick a play along track of a jazz standard and listen to it several times. Begin your improvisations with just quarter notes and rests (rests of any length). Aim for consonance first. Once you find that you can sing easily in consonance, start seeing if you can sing in and out of dissonance (ah…tension and release… the stuff of great melodic development). If you get good at this start using eighth notes and beyond. But don’t sing beyond what you can easily imagine and hear.

If you make singing a regular part of your musical practice, you’ll probably be amazed at how much clearer, deeper, consistent and authentic your entire musical expression becomes, whether you’re an improviser or not.

Artistic Expression And Physical Gesture

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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: