Healthy and Efficient Practice: Aim for Wanting This at the End of Each Session

Skill and Coordination (They’re Not Necessarily the Same Thing)

One of the aims of the Alexander Technique is to improve coordination.

And I would say more specifically for musicians, the aim of the Technique is to improve the quality of overall coordination that you use to implement your music making skills.

A misapprehension that many musicians have is that skill and coordination are one and the same thing.

Though they are certainly closely related, they’re not exactly one and the same.

How so?

Allow me to clarify by offering my working definitions of the two terms.

Your skill is your ability to carry out your desired task (for our purposes, playing music). It is manifested in tangible, sonic results: pitch, time, articulation, tone color, technical control, expression, etc.

Your coordination is what you do with your entire self to carry out your skill. It is manifested in muscular effort, or more specifically, the quality of movement you apply to the task. (This includes balance, posture, breathing….everything you do!)

So it is possible to be a highly skilled musician (and yes, this does mean having highly cultivated fine motor coordination skills), yet have less than optimal overall, gross motor coordination.

You can witness this in many instances, if you take time to notice.

Some musicians make it look easy, don’t they?

Truth be told, for most of these musicians, it is easy. They typically appear effortless because their efforts are so singularly integrated into the skill of their performance. Virtually nothing they do interferes with their artistic intentions, with their desire of self-expression, nor with the acoustic and physiologic components involved in playing.

(I look upon classical pianist Artur Rubinstein as a glowing example: free neck, strong and flexible back and arms, moving easily, fluidly and naturally with the music. It is this beautiful, efficient coordination that is at the service of his skills.)

And I think we’ve all seen/heard virtuosic musicians who look like they’re fighting an imaginary foe as they play music: head compressed into the neck, raised (stiff) shoulders, rigid ribs and back, hard narrowed gaze, noisy breathing.

Yet they still deliver the goods. They still play devastatingly beautiful music. (No, I won’t point my finger at any one musician here, as a gesture of respect. But I so easily could!)

So should these musicians even bother with improving their overall coordination? Should you?

Yes. And for three main reasons:

1. Your overall coordination impacts your skill. When you are working in a less than optimally coordinated way, you are interfering with your brain/body’s ability to carry out your skill in the most efficient manner. In essence, you’re working against your human design, and not in accordance with it. You might be able to do so. But you do so despite of, not because of, your coordination. Improving your overall coordination invites greater skill. Or, as F.M. Alexander (the founder of the Alexander Technque) said, your improved coordination creates “the ideal conditions” for your skill to manifest itself through your bodily mechanism.

2. By improving your overall coordination, you reduce your risk of injury (and fatigue). This is why many musicians seek my help as an Alexander teacher in the first place. I have volumes of stories of very highly skilled musicians I’ve encountered who have career-threatening health issues that are related to the poor coordination they apply to their skill. As their coordination improves, so does their health, comfort, endurance and satisfaction.

3. By improving your overall coordination, you open yourself up to other expressive possibilities. This is the hidden gem of all this. As you improve your overall coordination, you also discover different ways to experience the music you play. You become less stereotyped (less “stuck”) in your interpretive choices, which, believe it or not, are highly conditioned by your bodily reactions. (This is especially true for improvising musicians!)

Our tendency as musicians is to sometimes become overly concerned with the parts that seem most pertinent to playing our instruments at the expense of neglecting the rest of ourselves. (For example, a flutist thinking perhaps too much about the formation of the embouchure at the expense of not noticing neck and shoulder strain.)

If this sounds even remotely familiar to you, consider including the quality of how you “use” your entire self (your overall coordination) into the consciousness of playing your instrument.

Let your head be poised freely atop your spine (and of course, let your jaw be free). Let your shoulders release and widen. Soften your gaze. Let you knees unlock. If you’re standing, let your ankles be free and mobile (feet, too!) as you permit the ground to support you. Let your breathing be elastic, easy, reflexive and expansive.

Think balance, mobility and expansion, instead of position or posture. A nice, lively, upward organization of your whole organism is the wish. Notice how these things impact your skill.

And of course, if you need any help in this area, consider finding a skilled Alexander Technique teacher. Allow your coordination to support your skill, and your expression.

Is Improvisation Really Just “Spontaneous Composition”?

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Yes. (to answer the question in the title)

And no.

Yes, in that you are most certainly generating musical ideas. And yes, these ideas contain what can be referred to as “compositional elements and principles”. And yes, when you are a skilled improviser, you are often constructing a solo in a cogent, “compositional” manner.

But to describe improvisation as “spontaneous composition” is an incomplete (and sometimes inaccurate) description of the improvisational process.

In the most fundamental sense, the difference between improvisation and composition comes down to a matter of conscious deliberation.

Take human speech, as an example. The vast majority of the time you are speaking (talking with friends, explaining something to someone, etc.), you are actually improvising.

Sure, you might have a “theme” that you’re working with (maybe talking about where you’d like to eat lunch, for example), but you really aren’t planning, word for word, what you’re going to say. You’re simply following the immediate need to communicate. In essence, you’re reacting in real-time.

Now contrast that with writing something, let’s say for example, writing an essay. Writing gives you a chance to choose your words more carefully. You can take your ideas out of “real-time”, and consciously craft them with the kind of nuance that best suits your intentions.

Musical improvisation and composition have a similar relationship. When you improvise, you are reacting, moment to moment (whether you think you are, or not).

Sure, there might be some kind of narrative going on in your mind as you do so, perhaps guiding and shaping what you play. Nonetheless, it’s still a question of reaction.

And of course, musical composition is similar to composing with words, in that it is more calculated, more pondered upon, more deliberate.

In truth, improvisation involves a largely different neurological process than composing. As neuroscientist and amateur jazz pianist Charles Limb discovered in his research, the main parts of the brain that “light up” for a skilled improviser are the parts that have to do with immediate communication.

Think about that for a moment. The skilled improviser is largely in the realm of attempting to communicate something. More specifically, to connect with the other musicians with whom he or she is playing.

Communication involves not only taking into account the ideas that you have an impulse to express, but equally important, that which you are hearing and reacting to.

Listening is at the heart of it all.

The best, most sought after improvising musicians are those that listen deeply, and respond in accordance to what they hear. (The late, great jazz bassist Charlie Haden comes immediately to mind here!)

And of course, listening is a very active thing to do. To listen deeply is to be fully present. And being fully present in this way provides the wind beneath the wings of the improviser.

And it’s not just about listening to the others with whom you’re playing. It’s also about listening deeply to yourself. It’s about not being stuck in the “deliberation” of your musical ideas at the expense of losing your improvisational consciousness and flow.

Even if you’re playing with backing tracks, or a drum loop, or a metronome (i.e., things that don’t respond to what you’re doing), you need to be listening and reacting to what you hear. This is absolutely primary.

We can sometimes hear the novice to intermediate improviser string one “pre-fabricated” idea into the next seemingly unrelated prefabricated idea. This kind of improvising lacks cogency. There is no “story” being told (as many accomplished jazz musicians might complain).

Again, this is largely (but not exclusively) the result of not really listening in a coordinated and constructive way, of not actually getting into that beautiful realm of communicating.

It’s a matter of getting “stuck in your head”, and not being truly available to hear what you just played, and how the rest of the ensemble is reacting to what you just played. It’s much like holding a good conversation. You listen, to yourself and those with whom you’re speaking, and you say something that has a logical connection to the conversation. (It’s also part of the learning curve as an improviser, so if this describes where you are now, that’s fine; it will only get better!)

But I’ve also heard some highly accomplished improvisers try a little too hard to tell their story.

This often gives them what sounds like a “well-crafted” solo, but perhaps not the most spontaneous expression. It can come off as sounding a bit too compositional (and somewhat self-conscious), as the emotional “arch” of the solo builds with more than a small amount of predictability.

Maybe it’s a matter of balance here, but to me, to “plan” an entire solo seems antithetical to the deeper, neurologic process of improvisation. (I realize that I’m talking here about what my values are in improvisation. I don’t wish to challenge or offend those that disagree or hold other values.)

To paraphrase Charlie Parker: “Learn your instrument. Learn the scales and chords. Learn the tunes. Then forget all that shit and just play.”

I think part of the reason why many of us still get excited when we hear these old Parker recordings, is because that is precisely what is happening. We’re not so much hearing a deliberate “composition” (though it is most certainly, cogently compositional!) as much as we are hearing a highly disciplined musician who is spontaneously following his muse, is listening deeply, and is expressing himself freely and personally.

And so many other great improvisers have expressed similar sentiments. (Sonny Rollins talks about aiming to access the “subconscious” when he improvises.)

So study and think like a composer. Aim to master solid compositional principles. Work with the materials of music constantly, as you find new ways to move musically, and to express your ideas.

But when it’s actually time to improvise, just remember to be open, to listen and react without second guessing yourself. Let your voice emerge and manifest its unique, beautiful truth.

Two Main Reasons Inefficient Practice Advice Gets Perpetuated

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One of the things I usually discover early on when teaching the Alexander Technique to musicians, is that part of the problem that led them to seek my help has to do with counterproductive pedagogy.

With a wind instrumentalist, for example, I might observe what appears to be a forced, tense, noisy, unnatural-looking inhalation before playing a note or phrase.

When I ask about this breathing habit, as often as not, I learn that it’s something that has been deliberately cultivated. In other words, it is something that they do consciously as they play.

When I ask, “So why do you do it that way?”, the answer is usually something like, “Because that’s the way ‘so and so’ (insert name of highly respected musician here) says it should be done.”

Then I ask a second question: “Why do you think he/she does it that way?”

The answer that follows usually falls into one of two categories:

Either:

They don’t know why this great musician does it that why, but it obviously works best for them.

Or:

They “know” why this great musician does it that way, but the explanation they provide isn’t in accordance with the acoustical principles of the instrument and/or with the design of the human mechanism.

And so yet more misinformation by well-meaning experts gets perpetuated. Some of it benignly inefficient, some of it downright harmful (and everything in between).

So why/how do these “myths” get perpetuated?

Two reasons:

Trusting without testing.
It works (to a certain degree).

Let’s look at this first one, trusting without testing:

No matter what we might think about how our bodies work, or about how our instruments work, there are certain solid, measurable, scientific realities about how they really work.

As a serious musician, it is your responsibility to continually improve and broaden your understanding of these things.

The more clearly you understand the real “hows and whys” of your organism (including how your thinking impacts this organism!), the better your sense of cause and effect becomes when being introduced to any new pedagogic principle and/or procedure.

If you comprehend the science behind playing your instrument, you’ll see that “some musicians do well (in part), not because of what they do, but despite what they do.” (All of my students, and some of my readers, will recognize this as one of the recurring themes in my teaching.)

It is not enough to trust and expert. You must also build a solid faith in the efficacy of a particular pedagogic element because it stands the test of actual, measurable fact. Cause and effect.

The second reason these inefficient practice ideas get perpetuated sounds contradictory to the point I’m trying to make here:

They work (to a certain degree).

It’s the “certain degree” part that opens the door to trouble. The reason for this is actually fairly simple.

Let’s go back to my earlier example about inhaling when playing a wind instrument. If you believe that you need to noisily suck in air as you try to force the air down into your abdominal region, in order for you to get a sufficient breath, you are simply working against nature.

You can’t put air “down into your gut”, because you have no lungs there. (And don’t talk about pushing the diaphragm outward to “make space for the air”; it doesn’t work like that, either.)

Yet the noisy, gasping, overly energetic breathing often accomplishes one thing: It creates a more “active” inhalation that engages more muscles (not necessarily in the most efficient way, mind you!), and that does seem to draw in more air than when you inhale in a more passive, unintentional way.

But there is some unwanted baggage attached to this way of breathing.

To begin with, all this effort creates undue strain in your jaw, glottis and facial muscles. Not to mention the strain it puts on the rest of your body. I’ve had musicians come to me for help with chronic neck and back pain that is clearly related to these poor breathing habits.

Equally important, you lose touch with what it is like to have a free, naturally reflexive inhalation.

It’s the free movement of the ribs, the diaphragm, the pelvic floor, and other muscles in the body that creates the kind of necessary expansion to draw in a deep breath. Combine this with the intention of the musical phrase and expression, and you’re good to go.

Yet, as long as you need to “feel” this forced inhalation as a “complete and full breath”, you will continue to work in this inefficient way.

And unfortunately, you’ll likely pass this advice onto your students. In Alexander Technique slang, we sometimes say that this is a case of “specifically focusing on a part, while neglecting the whole”.

So stay clear about these two things as you practice, explore and expose yourself to new ideas about playing your instrument. You’ll be better off (and so will your students!)

I’ll leave you with a quote from F.M Alexander, the founder and developer of the Alexander Technique:

If I went to a man to take singing lessons, it wouldn’t matter what he taught me, he couldn’t injure me.

Rethinking Long Tones

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One of the staples of practicing a wind instrument or a string instrument is holding sustained tones. The initial aim of practicing “long tones” is to improve sound, intonation and (for some musicians) endurance.

Yet I’m still taken aback at the amount of musicians I encounter who view long tone practice as a mindless activity that “builds strength”. A necessary evil, of sorts, that is part of the obligatory price of admission to the more interesting parts of the practice session.

It’s not unusual for me, when coaching brass instrumentalists, for example, to find out that they often regularly practices long tones while watching television, or engaging in some other kind distracting activity.

I find that unfortunate.

This kind of mindless practice, at the very best, helps these musicians maintain a certain amount of endurance (and so-called “muscle memory), but not much else.

At the worst it acts as a breeding ground for cultivating unnecessary and unwanted habits of tension. In my teaching experience, a good amount of repetitive strain injuries for wind instrumentalists can attributed, in no small part, to this kind of practice.

But even if no physical problems arise from practicing this way, there is so much that musicians are missing out on by not taking a more conscious approach to this tried and true practice activity.

The ultimate value of practicing long tones is in giving you a chance to develop a more intimate experience with the most intimate, personal component of your musical expression: Your sound.

One of my Alexander Technique students, himself an excellent Horn player, describes his long tone work as sound meditation.

I like that description a lot. It resonates with the way I approach long tones. (I actually look forward to this part of my daily routine with great relish!)

Sound meditation. What that means is that each time you practice a long tone there are at least two things in place before the note even starts:

A crystal clear and detailed aural conception of how you want the note to sound.
Attention to how you can best use yourself to get the sound you want.

Allow me to elaborate on these two things.

First, your conception. Your sound starts “between your ears”, in your imagination. When you are clear about the details of how you want something to sound, your brain has the best chance of carrying out your wishes. In holding long tones, some of the details of your sound are: attack, color, pitch, dynamic, spread (and center), vibrato, shading, release, etc.

Lots of details.

If you spend time being conscious of these details, they will show up more readily (and more naturally) when you actually play music. They become a seamless extension of your self-expression as a musician.

Now you’ll of course notice that various components of your own playing mechanism (e.g., your lips, soft palate, tongue, jaw, respiratory muscles, etc.) have to come into play a certain way to get the sound qualities you want.

One of the aims of long tones should be for you be conscious of how these mechanical components work together, but not to get stuck putting too much of your attention on them. Once you get what you want by “directing your mechanism”, bring your attention to the sound itself and allow the mechanism to follow your wishes. Let your imagination lead your coordination.

In other words, wish for a “round, dark sound”, not for your “jaw to come forward” as you go after that sound. As you practice this way, you also learn to more vividly “feel” your sound inside the instrument as you hear it outside in the room.

Now let’s look at your use. When I’m talking about your use, I’m not just talking about the mechanism that is mostly responsible for producing your sound. I’m talking about what you are doing with your entire self as you produce your sound.

As you start your sound:

Do you stiffen your neck, maybe compressing your head down onto your spine? Do you arch your back? Pull your shoulders down? Lock your knees? Pull your feet off the floor? Stiffen your arms (and hands)? Knit your brow tightly? Gasp in loudly to take a breath?

(I could go on naming these unnecessary habits of tense reaction…)

Part of your long tone practice should be about improving not only how you are using yourself, but also about developing and improving upon your ability to constructively pay attention to yourself as you play.

Again, if you work towards this kind of inclusive attention, it becomes a natural part of your technique and expression as a musician.

So start by making a decision to make your long tone practice a real sound meditation. Turn off the television. Rid yourself of distractions. Discover more and more details and subtleties about your sound. Find intimacy with your sound. Discover pleasure in doing so.

It doesn’t matter if you’re playing dynamically static single sustained tones, or if you’re working with crescendo and diminuendo, or if you’re playing slowly moving melodies with an expressive vibrato.

As long as you bring consciousness and clearer intention to what you do, you’ll not only play with less effort, but with greater depth of expression and enjoyment.