Category Archives: Practicing Saxophone

Refresh Your Thinking To Greatly Improve The Efficiency Of Your Practice

The quality of your practice is directly proportionate to the quality of your thinking. Contrary to what many musicians believe, you’re not “training muscles” as you practice, so much as you are directing your thinking so that your brain can readily coordinate the muscular activity necessary to play well.

Mindless, repetitive practice usually yields limited, often disappointing results. Deep practice, where you are cognizant of your specific, in-the-moment goals, as well as what you hear, and sense in yourself as you play, is what leads to consistent improvement.

If you practice when you are distracted (maybe you didn’t get enough sleep, are in an angry mood, worried, about something, really hungry, etc.), you know that you won’t do very well. In fact, you might even finish your practice session with the feeling that you wasted your time.

But what about when you’re fully present and focused for your practice session? Are there ever times when you need to check your thinking? My answer is a resounding yes!

The more efficient I become in my practice routine, the more I realize how important it is to refresh my thinking frequently. This calls upon my willingness to stop what I’m doing. To take the saxophone out of my mouth and regroup, so to speak. Not always an easy thing to to when I’m in practice mode. If I play a particular passage less than ideally, I want to jump right back in and get it “right”, without any thought about what I need to do to “get it right”.

But I’ve learned that stopping to check in with, and redirect my thinking is always a better choice than plunging forward again with another mindless, misdirected effort. It always makes the next attempt so much more efficient and constructive. So I’ve gotten pretty good at stopping.

After I’ve stopped, I usually refresh my thinking by asking myself a few simple questions:

Am I tightening my neck, shoulders and back?
Am I allowing the weight of my body to balance through my feet (when I stand as I practice)?
Am I mostly expanding or contracting (releasing or tensing)?
How is my breathing (effortless and quiet, or tense and noisy)?
Am I really listening to what I’m playing (as opposed to just hearing sounds)?
Am I clear about what my immediate goal is with this particular exercise, passage, etc?

I pause to ask myself these questions dozens and dozens of time as I practice. Then I return to my full stature (my full length and width), finding all the space in my body again, and recharging my senses. I return to the physical and mental conditions that I need to play my best.

I’ve gotten so good at it that I can make these assessments rather quickly, then get right back to playing my instrument. For me it’s almost like I’m pushing a “reset” button for my brain, or refreshing the screen of my computer. Everything seems to flow and fall back into place when I do this.

If you wanted to simplify it all, you could ask yourself, “Am I tending more toward contraction or expansion as I play?” Included in this question (besides noticing your body) is your ability to listen to and hear yourself. Are your senses going inward (contracting), excluding the full experience of your sound, or expanding outward into the room where your sound actually is?

If you ever feel yourself becoming frustrated and/or fatigued as you dig deep into your practice, consider this idea of stopping and refreshing your thinking. Taking time to pause and redirect your thoughts is never a waste of time when you practice. Never. You’ll find (as I and my students have) that by stopping briefly to refresh, you’ll return to the task of practice with greater focus and clarity. You’ll make fewer mistakes (which means you’ll spend less time making unsuccessful “takes” of whatever you’re working on). In short, you’ll get more done in less time. Really.

Plus, you’ll develop a good standard for awareness that you’ll bring into your performances. All good news.

And if you’d like to stop and take a slightly longer moment to refresh your thinking, you might want to think to yourself the Alexander Technique directions:

I allow my neck to be free, so that my head releases upwards on top of my spine, (I don’t tense my neck and jaw, jamming my head downwards into my torso)

so that entire torso can lengthen and widen, (I don’t tense my shoulders, back and ribcage)

so that my knees can release forward and away, (I don’t tighten my pelvis to draw my legs up tightly into my hip joints; I don’t lock my knees.)

so that my heels can release into the ground. (I don’t tense my feet and ankles, so that I allow the weight of my body to go through my feet)

These directions are a good description of what happens as you release tension and expand back to your full stature. If you practice using them consistently, you’ll get consistently good results (both I and my students have).

But whether you use these directions, or ask yourself the kinds of questions that I’ve listed above, or simply remind yourself to pause for a moment to regain your stature and your clarity, make a point of stopping to refresh your thinking.

Make it an aim as you practice, and acknowledge and reward yourself with encouragement when you’ve succeeded in doing so. Ask yourself, “How many times was I able to stop and redirect my efforts in the 15 minutes I’ve spent working on this particular exercise?” Notice that when you do this, you play with much less tension, and greater clarity and consistency. Make this a part of your practice habits, and you’ll be pleased with the results.

Want To Increase The Duration And Intensity Of Your Practice? Think Like An Athlete

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So you’re inspired to take your practice to a new level of commitment. You’re ready to spend the time and the energy. Ready to become more focused and disciplined. That’s great! Riding that wave of enthusiasm is going to take you into a deeper realm of self-expression (and satisfaction).

I’d like to offer an idea that might help you make that transition in your practice time more effective: Think like an athlete. After all, athletes and musicians have something in common. Both spend lots of time practicing precise, repetitive movements.

Many years ago I became deeply involved in endurance sports (cycling and triathlon, in particular). Any wise endurance athlete knows that training has to be done in cycles. You simply can’t train hard all year long (potentially injurious and counterproductive). You need a program that includes carefully planned work at different levels of intensity and duration, as well as plenty of strategically applied rest.

Competitive endurance athletes often plan their training in yearly cycles (including several shorter cycles nested within the year), with specific goals about when to be in peak condition for particular events. At the end of every competitive season comes the “off-season”, which is essentially a carefully prescribed period of rest.

This rest season is absolutely essential to the continued success of the athlete. It promotes mental and physical recovery, as well as providing an important period of reflection about the effectiveness of the training efforts of the previous season.

After this rest period, the athlete begins to train again. And the smart athletes realize that they need to scale back their efforts considerably from where they were at the end of the previous season.

They can’t just start hitting it hard, no matter how enthusiastic they are. (This is true even if the athlete has maintained a reasonable amount of fitness throughout the off season by means of less intense, yet regular physical exercise and activity.)

And the same is true for musicians. Even if you’ve been practicing regularly (let’s say, for example, an hour a day) and you want to significantly increase your practice time, you’re best off by doing it gradually.

One of the best pieces of advice given to me by an excellent cycling coach some years back, has also helped me in my practice as a musician. He said to attain the optimum results when increasing my training efforts, I should always aim for “teasing myself” into better condition.

In other words, each training session should leave me feeling like I want to do a bit more, go a little further. And then the next day, I dig a little deeper, but still “teasing” myself into condition. Still hungry and curious for more.

As you might guess by now, this approach to physical fitness training has helped me significantly as I apply it to increasing my musical practice efforts.

Many of the musicians that come to me for Alexander Technique lessons do so because of chronic pain and/or injury they’re experiencing as they play music. There are several causes of their pain: excessive tension, misdirected muscular energy, distorted posture, to name but a few. Often these problems are exacerbated by practicing “too hard”.

So besides teaching these musicians how to play with far less effort and tension, part of my job is to teach them how to safely build their practice intensity back up. I show them how to “tease themselves” into better condition.

Here are some things you can do to help you safely and effectively increase the intensity and duration of your practice:

Stop before you get tired. Don’t bring yourself to exhaustion during any point in your practice session. Even though you’re working hard, aim for feeling energized as you finish. A “good kind of tired”, instead of a complete wreck.

Improve your awareness as you practice to notice where and how you might be working too hard. In particular, notice your neck, shoulders, back and legs. Think release and mobility instead of tension and holding.

Notice your mental states. Are you able to bring 100% of your attention to the act of practicing? Are you thinking clearly each time you start a new phrase (or attack a note)? Do you feel “foggy” or fatigued during any point of your practice session?

Recognize intensity. Not all practice is equal. One hour of long tones in the upper register of a brass instrument is far more taxing than 2 hours of easy, melodic etudes in the lower and middle register. So don’t just think practice time, weigh in intensity as well. Be willing to make a shorter session if it has more intense work in it.

Become disciplined about time. Work in pre-specified amounts of time. Avoid going from practicing one hour a day to 3 hours in one session. Spend a few weeks building up to this duration.

Become disciplined about stopping. I rarely practice anything for more than 15-20 minutes without putting my saxophone down and walking away from my practice area, even if just for a couple of minutes. If you get in the habit of doing this, you’ll avoid a significant amount of accumulated fatigue (both physical and mental). Also, give yourself permission to stop at any moment you feel like you’re straining or misdirecting your efforts. Mastering the art of stopping is essential to your safety and your improvement.

Become disciplined about resting. This goes hand in hand with stopping. Rest many times during a practice session, turning a one hour period into 4 short practice periods with a few minutes of rest between each. Then give yourself a good 5-10 minute rest at the end of the hour. Lying in constructive rest is a great way to recharge your batteries at the end of each practice hour. Take a day off each week from practicing.

Think in training cycles. Just like the endurance athlete, modulate your training efforts. Have some easier days, some more intense days. Also consider easier weeks, and more intense weeks.

Make your aim to finish each session wanting more. This brings us full circle to my first bulleted point above. Put your instrument away with a sense of curiosity, a sense of longing to explore more, to go deeper. At first this might seem unsatisfying (or even frustrating), but as you gain control over your ability to stop, your ability to rest, your ability to manage your time effectively, you’ll find a deep sense of accomplishment and confidence in your practice efforts (not to mention you’ll really improve your playing!)

The similarities between the musician and the athlete are many, and I’m certainly not the first to have drawn these comparisons. By thinking more like an athlete, you’ll change your practice in a positive, progressive and sustainable way.

Advice For Improving The Speed And Accuracy Of Your Fingers

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In my experience teaching the Alexander Technique to pianists, string and woodwinds players, I often encounter a similar kind of counterproductive thinking concerning the hands and fingers. Specifically, too much attention is placed upon what the hands and fingers are doing.

Not only does this divide the musician’s attention, often cutting off the awareness of what’s going on in his/her body as the music is being played, but also, it interferes with hearing pitch, timbre, and perceiving time clearly.

And sadly, all this attention on the fingers doesn’t even make them work better. Quite the contrary.

Here are a few examples of the kinds of problems with hyper-awareness of the fingers that I’ve come across with my students:

A saxophonist who is consciously trying to keep his fingers very close to the keys (in an effort to not “waste” movement and play more “efficiently”). In doing so, he makes his entire body stiff and his fingers sometimes can’t move in response to the demands of the music. He’s stuck.
A pianist who stares constantly down at her hands as she plays, making sure her fingering is “correct” as she plays an unusually high percentage of wrong notes on a piece that she knows quite well.
A violinist who can’t keep his eyes off his fingers for fear of playing out of tune. (Ironically, as soon as he takes his eyes off his hands, his pitch improves dramatically.)

The simple truth is that if you want to improve how your hands work as you play, you have to leave them alone, so they can do the right thing without interference. To do this you have change your thinking. You have to replace the thought of your fingers “doing the right thing” with a broader kind of thinking.

First, start with the aim of being free in your body as you play. In particular, ask yourself for freedom in your neck, shoulders and back. This alone will not only change the quality and quantity of muscular tension as you play, but also, will calm and center your mind and improve your breathing.

Make this a top priority as you practice. The freer you are in your head, neck and back, the freer your fingers are to move and create the stability necessary to play your instrument. This is something you’ll need to practice as you practice (yes, I meant to say that). Here’s a previous article I’ve written about practicing paying attention to help you with this.

Next, rather than trying to feel how (or what) you think your fingers need to feel, think instead of where your fingers need to go as you play from one note the next.

By taking your attention from what you feel to where you are going, you increase your spatial awareness (and improve your sense of time, as well). Your brain organizes the music making task in a fundamentally different way, allowing your fingers to move freely, easily and quickly. In the simplest sense, you get out of the way of your brain’s ability to organize and control complex movement, so it can do what it needs to do unimpeded.

This is something that can be practiced gradually, using simple visualization:

For example, if you’re a saxophonist, practice a very easy, familiar pattern (arpeggio, scale, intervals, etc.) at a slow tempo as you think, not of what your fingers are doing, but what keys need to be pressed and/or released as you go from note to note. Think ever so slightly ahead to the next note to be played as you land on each note. If you practice this regularly, you’ll learn that you can play rapid passages that you couldn’t play before with stunning ease and clarity. (Same general idea if you play piano, strings, etc. Think where on your instrument you want your fingers to land, not what your fingers have to do.)

Finally, replace the thought of fingers with tonal imagination. Practice singing passages or patterns that you find difficult on your instrument. First, sing the passage slowly and very precisely, making sure the sequence of pitches and the rhythms are crystal clear in your mind. Once you’ve accomplished that, play the passage by following your ear. Really hear the passage clearly in your mind, and don’t worry about what your fingers have to do.

Most of the chronic technical difficulties musicians struggle with are a result of tense anticipation. Hyper-awareness of the fingers is akin to driving a car on the highway at top speed with your eyes planted downward on the road in front of you. Scary and stiff. Same thing on your instrument.

So change how you think about your fingers. Practice consistently shifting your attention from your fingers to your broader senses, and you’ll be surprised how limber and accurate your technique becomes.

The Most Essential Constant In My Improvement

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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

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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.