Improvising: Why You Need To Be Comfortable Taking Risks

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

The answer is:  “it depends”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Second, take care of yourself as you play.

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

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

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

“Is my breathing noisy and forced?” 

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

“Are my knees locked?”

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

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

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

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

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

Choosing The Best Motivational Energy When Practicing (And Playing)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s where things began to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love is expansive. Fear is contractive.

Love accepts and discerns. Fear rejects and judges.

Love breathes easily. Fear gasps and holds its breath.

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

Love is thankful. Fear is ungrateful.

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

Love forgives. Fear holds grudges.

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

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

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

Love asks. Fear demands.

Love reaches out. Fear withdraws.

And so on….

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

Rhythm, Coordination And Technique

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One of the most common misconceptions about gaining technical fluency on a musical instrument is that it is mostly about being able to move quickly. Fast fingers, fast hands, fast tongue, etc. (depending on which instrument you play).

And for sure, when you see a musician displaying stunning technique, you are going to see various body parts moving rapidly.

But technical skill is more than just speed. It’s control. It’s the coordination between intention and execution. And that’s where time and rhythm come into the picture.

When I teach the Alexander Technique to musicians I’m always reminded of this. Without fail, every technical limitation (whether in the moment, or chronic) that my students demonstrate can be traced to a lack of rhythmic clarity. This lack of clarity manifests itself as an uncoordinated technical effort:  unsteady tempo (rushed or dragged notes within a single phrase), missed notes, uneven color, uneven attack, etc.

But here’s where it gets interesting, because often the poor rhythmic clarity is being exacerbated by poor overall coordination. This is mostly a manifestation of habitual, excess muscular tension: stiff necks, shoulders, arms, hands and rib cages; locked knees, noisy breathing and more.

And (as anyone who has ever taken lessons would tell you) this is what the Alexander Technique is especially helpful for. You learn how to recognize and prevent these unhelpful habits.

As I get farther along teaching the Technique (and applying it to myself as a saxophonist) I develop a deeper understanding of this inseparable relationship between rhythm and coordination:

As my sense of time improves so does my technical skill. As I improve my overall coordination, my sense of time and rhythm improve. One hand washes the other.

Alexander Technique teacher and cellist, Pedro de Alcantara, in his excellent, highly practical book, Integrated Practice, speaks at great length about the connection between bodily coordination and rhythm. One of his talking points is that musicians need to aspire to not only play rhythmically, but also, to live rhythmically (i.e., in a well-coordinated way). I couldn’t agree more.

This morning I was giving a lesson to a fine professional guitarist here in Los Angeles. He’s been studying with me for nearly two years, and has considerable skill applying the Alexander principles to playing his instrument.

He was working on a very fast bluegrass style piece in his lesson with me, and was having difficulties on one particular passage. As we took time to workshop the tricky part, I asked him, “What are you noticing here in this part compared to how you’re playing in the rest of the piece?”

As he took time to investigate, he answered, “Well, I notice two things: First, I’m tensing my left shoulder a bit in anticipation of the ‘hard part’. Second, my conception of the time and rhythm is not as clear as it is in the rest of the piece. It’s almost like I loose my imagination of the pulse and the groove that I had going into this part.”

So, he simply reminds himself not to tense his shoulder (and to let his neck be free), then slows down the tempo a little on the piece to clarify and reintegrate his rhythmic conception with his new coordination. He practices it a few times with this new thinking.

When he is confident that he is keeping his tension in check, and that he has a uniform rhythmic clarity throughout the entire piece, he brings it back up to tempo. And…problem solved.

You see, it’s not that my student needed to move his fingers and hands faster to play this fast passage; it’s that he needed use his hands in such a way as to have them serve his rhythmic imagination. In essence, he was lacking evenness in playing the passage. He was lacking coordination.

I teach my students to work with themselves the same way I do as I work on technical challenges. Always aiming to bring my bodily coordination into sync with my rhythmic imagination, and vice versa. I’m pleased with the results.

So here’s a few things to work with and/or keep in mind to help you with this:

  • Check your tension-Where are you holding? What are you doing that you don’t need to be doing as you play? Check your neck, jaw, and shoulders. Are you stiffening in anticipation. How are you doing in your legs? Are you knees free or locked? Give yourself a moment to consciously let go of some of that unnecessary tension.
  • Clarify your rhythmic imagination-Make sure you’re “pre hearing” the passage you’re going to play as vividly as you can.  Slow it down if you need to. (If you’re improvising, it’s not quite as simple as this, but that’s the subject of another blog article).  Sing the passage.  Using spoken words (for example, “hippopotamus” can be used as a verbal representation of a quintuplet; “wonderful” is a good one for triplets, etc.) is great for helping you strengthen and clarify your conception. (In Indian classical music rhythms are learned and memorized vocally, by using specific syllables.) Make up a list of words that you can use to help yourself.
  • Be clear on the pitches-Is the sequence of notes clear both in your ear and your mind. Take some time to know it well. Again, don’t hesitate to slow the tempo to do so. (Singing the sequence is very helpful here.)
  • Listen to what you’re actually playing-Try not to get caught up into what you think it should feel like to play. Notice where you lose the continuity of your rhythmic conception. Is it in certain range of your instrument? Is it when rhythms shift (e.g., going from triplets to sixteenth notes)?
  • Connect your imagination to the outside-Use a metronome. Listen to the metronome very carefully, especially as it relates to your internal sense of time. This is also a part of listening (see above).
  • Investigate-When you find yourself getting stuck on a particular technical passage (whatever the tempo), take time to make sure that you haven’t lost your rhythmic conception. (This is a good time to use your words.) Also, see that you’re not tensing up again. Keep refreshing the thought (the wish) to remain free and easy. Trust in this process to address your problem.

So if you want to increase your dexterity, velocity and technical control, work on cultivating the connection between what you imagine (rhythm, pitch, time, expression) with what you’re doing in your body. Best wishes!

Jazz Improvisation: To Metronome, Or Not To Metronome?

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There are a variety of opinions out there on the value (and the pitfalls) of using a metronome when you practice jazz improvisation. The great pianist, Paul Bley, for example, thought using the metronome was a bad idea, something that limited the natural ebb and flow of real, human time feel. Whereas the great saxophonist and improviser Warne Marsh used it regularly in practice. (Both were absolute masters of time and rhythm.)

I’d like to offer some of my ideas and experiences in using the metronome for practicing improvisation. Specifically, why, when and how I use it.

Let me start by saying what the metronome is not. It is not your time feel. Your time feel is part of your internal creative process.  Your imagination, if you will.

One of the objections that Paul Bley, Mike Longo and many other musicians (all of whom I deeply respect) have voiced about using the metronome is that it can create a false, rather stiff time feel.

And I would agree that if you’re using the metronome as a time feel source, you’re robbing yourself of the opportunity to develop your internally generated time feel, which is crucial to your free self expression.

One of the more controversial topics with respect to the metronome is how to use it when playing a swing feel in 4/4 time. There are many who recommend setting the metronome at the half note to click on beats 2 and 4 (the “backbeat”). The primary reasoning behind this is that it emulates and strengthens the swing feel.

Then there are those who adamantly oppose setting the metronome on beats 2 and 4 when playing a swing feel. They would say that the great jazz players are not thinking in this “back beat” kind of way, but rather, are thinking more about the time in a different, sometimes broader way.

Some are thinking of beats 1 and 3, so as to always know where the time/form really is. Others like the idea of thinking just about the downbeat of “one” in each measure.

And yet others think even more broadly than that (thinking/feeling multiple bars at a time). This, they claim, gives them more freedom with the time and the feel, as well as better control of their ideas. (Im my experience, I completely agree.)

I don’t like the idea of trying to “cultivate” the swing feeling from the metronome (I doubt that you can, actually). I think the best way to do  that is by listening to the music. A lot. Your swing feel (or any other stylistic feel) is developed internally (again, it’s part of your imagination) largely through listening. Listening to (and possibly emulating) the great masters of jazz will do so much more than a metronome could ever do to teach you to swing.

So what is the metronome? It’s an external time source, one that is (although adjustable) completely unresponsive and unyielding. It simply expresses tempo, measured in “beats per measure”. Nothing more.

Contrast the experience of playing with a metronome to that of playing with other musicians. You still have to listen for (and respond to) an outside time source (the other musicians). But the difference is that it is being created from moment to moment  (and you’re part of it). Everybody you’re playing with is putting their “tempo/feel imagination” out there into the collective sonic whole.

If you’re playing with good musicians, there is a sense of give and take between you (the improviser) and the rhythm section (in both tempo and feel).

And even if you’re playing with bad musicians, you still have to deal with how your perception of tempo and feel lines up with theirs.

Either way, you’re in a constant state of balancing the internal (your impulse/imagination) with the external (the collective tempo and feel of the ensemble).

To do this well you must be able to listen and respond effortlessly. That’s where the metronome comes in handy as a practicing tool. The metronome is constantly challenging you to deal with what you generate in your imagination with the reality of its clicks. It doesn’t much matter that the time is rigid. It’s just time. It’s not your swing feel.

Of course, If you don’t like to use a metronome, you can instead use backing tracks (which are very affordable, practical and decent sounding these days).

I do use backing tracks from time to time, but I find myself doing the bulk of my improvisational practice with just the metronome. Why? Because the metronome also challenges me to use my tonal and harmonic imagination that much more.

For example, if I’m improvising over a standard song form, I must imagine and feel the form of the tune, the harmonic colors and contrasts,  voice leading, the melody and more. By using the just the external stimulus of the metronome’s click (no chordal instruments, no bass), I’m having to bring these other thing to life internally. By doing so my imagination becomes richer and freer.

I tend to use the backing tracks after I’ve spent lots of time  on a particular tune with only the metronome. I’m always pleased with how clearly and vividly I can imagine and hear what I’m playing in relationship to the the rest of the “band”. This establishes a kind of confidence that encourages me to play with much more risk and adventure when I play with other musicians.

I use the metronome in a variety of ways, often changing where the click is in relation to the time and form. Here are some of my favorite settings for improvising over standards and other chord based forms:

  • On the first beat of each measure-I probably use this the most. I’ll do this in 4/4 and in odd times as well. It’s a great way to feel time in a broader sense. This is especially helpful at fast tempos (it makes them feel much slower, calmer and clearer).
  • On the first and third beat of each measure-I do this most particularly on tunes or chord changes with which I’m not very familiar. It helps to really solidify the time/harmonic form.
  • On the second, third or fourth beat-I’ll intentionally displace the click in order to challenge my sense of the harmonic form. (I do this after I’m very familiar with a tune or set of changes.)
  • On the upbeats-I think of the click as being not the downbeat, but the upbeat (usually I think of it as the up beat of 1 or the upbeat of 3). This strengthens and clarifies my sense of the downbeat. (Again, this is something I do when I’m very familiar with the form).
  • On the second and fourth beat-Yes, I enjoy the playing with the “hi hat”, too. It’s fun. Plus, practicing way this at very fast tempos insures that I won’t “turn the time around” when playing with a rhythm section (no matter how fast the tempo may be).
  • Playing intentionally in front of or behind the click on any of the above mentioned metronome settings-This isn’t easy to do, but it sure frees up my time feel and rhythmic imagination, as well a clarifying my internal time sense.
  • Without the metronome-And of course, it’s great to play without an external time source. I’ll either play in time (my own perception of time), or rubato. Both are essential to developing my skills as an improviser.

The most fundamental information I want with respect to using the metronome is to always know where the downbeat of beat one is. If I know and can anticipate that clearly, both my time and my feel are solid.

Also, as a rule, the fewer clicks the better. For example, if you can easily improvise over a tune at half note equals 80 (whether clicking beats 2 and 4 or 1 and 3), change the setting to whole note equals 40. And so on. Doing so helps broaden and strengthen your time perception. (I virtually never set the metronome to click on each beat, no matter how slow the tempo is.)

So how much do you (or should you) use your metronome when you’re practicing improvisation? If you find that you struggle to improvise with good, clear time when playing with other musicians, you probably need to spend more time with the metronome.

On the other hand, if you regularly use a metronome (or other time source, like a backing track) when you practice improvisation, see how you do without it. If you find it difficult to play with the same freedom of expression and confidence, then you might consider spending less time with it.

Whichever the case may be, keep in mind what the metronome is, and how you can best use it.

Warming Up: Integrating The Internal With The External

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Playing music is largely an internal process. Tonal conception, rhythmic conception, pitch and expression are all things that begin inside your imagination as you play (if you’re improvising, perhaps even more internal impulses and decisions are at work).

Yet ultimately these internal stimuli manifest themselves in the external environment in order to make the music that you and the rest of the world can hear. From conception to physical expression. From internal to external.

And of course, you’re getting feedback from this external world, which constantly informs ands conditions your internal world as you play. You hear your sound, pitch, tempo, dynamics…as well as any of the other musicians with whom you’re playing. All this information is going back to you to affect your internal world.

In my experience teaching the Alexander Technique to musicians,  I often find either an imbalance, or a disconnect between the internal and external. This is the source of many difficulties for these musicians.

Everything from excess strain, to chronic injury, to focal dystonia, can be caused by (or exacerbated by) this disintegration. (The condition of focal dystonia in particular can usually be traced to an over-emphasis of the internal.)

I see the greatest amount of evidence of this problem with my students as I observe (and ask questions) about what they do to warm up. I’ve found that it is this “warm up” habit that sort of sets the stage for many of their other problems.

These musicians see the warm up as an almost exclusively “physical” activity:

“I’m getting the muscles loose and the blood flowing.”

“I’m waking up my fingers.”

“I’m opening up my breathing.”

“I’m setting my up embouchure .” And so on. (You’ll notice that  these things are mostly internally experienced.)

Now, to be clear, certainly part of the warmup is about something physical (blood flow, muscles, etc.)  A good warm up can help you avoid injury, and can also help create the conditions for you to play with greater efficiency and less strain.

But the warm up is not just a physical activity. As F.M. Alexander (the founder of the Alexander Technique) might say, warming up is a psycho-physical activity. It involves the whole self: thought and movement integrated together.

The students I encounter that are struggling with their playing tend to focus too much attention on one aspect of the internal. This mostly involves trying very hard to re-capture the feeling (or the memory of that feeling) of what it is like to play well. Their energy is going inward almost exclusively. Often they’re not hearing themselves nearly as well as they could.

And of course, because they’re not hearing themselves as well as they could, the troubles begin. Pitch, tone color, projection, time, breath control…Coordination in general begins to suffer. They can sense and even hear that things aren’t quite right, yet they continue to go inward to try to feel the right thing. (This creates a downward spiral of frustration for many musicians.) The more disconnected they become from the external, the more deeply internal they go.

This over-focus on one aspect of the internal also cuts them off from other crucial information in their internal environment. Specifically, the attempt to recapture the feeling of playing well tends to create lots of excess physical tension, especially in the neck, jaw, shoulders, ribcage and legs (not to mention hands and fingers!)

Often this excessive tension is below the consciousness of these musicians. It simply becomes part of the “memory” (distorted as it my be) of playing well. Yet this tension is making it even that much more impossible to play well (to play at an optimum level).

So what to do? First, change your perception of what you’re trying to accomplish in your warmup.

In my own practice as a saxophonist, I’ve radically re-designed my warmup. I’ve shifted my aim from merely “warming up the muscles” to “integrating the internal with the external.”

Here’s what I do:

I start my practice session by lying down for a few minutes in constructive rest.  This gives me a chance to quiet myself and bring a gentle awareness of what’s going on inside my body as I stay connected to my external world.

Next, I pick up my instrument, and sort of freely improvise for a moment or two as I begin to wake up my senses. I notice the resistance of the reed and mouthpiece, the movement of my breath and fingers (my internal world).

As I’m doing this, I’m also hearing my sound by actively listening to the walls resonate in my practice room (my external world). That is, I’m not trying to feel what my sound is (or even hear it come out the bell of the instrument), but to actually hear it.

From there, I begin to do some slow work with the metronome (playing very simple melodic patterns that I know very well). I do this because it brings my attention to an external time source, and is a way to integrate my internal perception of time with the external reality of the metronome.

As I’m paying attention to the clicks of the metronome, I’m beginning to expand my attention. I start to notice and direct the release of my neck and shoulders. I sense the easy, elastic expansion of my torso as I breathe. I become aware of the vibrations in my face as I play, and more.

All of this as I am actively listening to my sound in the room and the clicks on the metronome. (Sometimes I’ll rhythmically displace the melodic pattern with the metronome clicks so that I must listen even more actively.)

After a few moments, I begin to increase the tempo of the metronome, all the while paying attention to the other things I’ve mentioned above. It is so easy to do this, and within minutes I’m fully ready to play anything. Psycho-physcially ready. My muscles are warm, my mind is calm and alert, and I’ve now easily integrated the internal with the external to create one thing: my consciousness in playing music.

In essence, cultivating this skill (of integrating and balancing the internal and external)  has been the very thing that has saved my career as a saxophonist. My playing continues to improve and grow.

So how is your warmup? Are you expanding or narrowing your attention? If you practice expanding your attention, you’ll effortlessly play with a nice balance between the internal and external. And that’s where you’ll find the great music that’s already inside of you.