Want To Find Your True Voice As An Improviser? Transcribe Yourself

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One of the standard practices in studying jazz music is to transcribe improvised solos played by great performers. From the more “classic” masters such as Louis Armstrong, Lester Young, Charlie Parker and Bill Evans, on up to contemporary artists such as Brad Mehldau, Mark Turner or Dave Douglas.

Transcribing a solo that you really like reaps many rewards. It dramatically improves your ear (in my opinion, this is the greatest benefit), narrowing the gap between impulse and expression.

It helps you to expand your harmonic and melodic conception as an improviser. It presents new technical challenges for you. It inspires you by giving you a firsthand aural and kinesthetic experience of how absolutely beautiful and complete an improvised solo can be (it helps you to raise your own standards).

But transcribing solos can have a down side for some musicians. For some, the main aim of transcription is to find phrases (licks, patterns, fragments, etc.) that can be memorized and later used for material during an improvised solo. An arsenal of pre-formed “ideas”, if you will. Though this is expedient, and will certainly help you play more fluently, it doesn’t really do much to help you to find and cultivate your authentic voice as an improviser.

Now, for sure you need to work on patterns, ideas, etc. This is the “material” of your improvisations. But you need to transcend that material to be able to play freely and personally. As the great improviser and teacher Warne Marsh would tell his students (after he was sure they’d worked hard on a particular pattern or idea, “Very good. Never practice that again. You don’t want your playing to become hard, to become mechanical.”

Now, Warne, like many great jazz musicians, transcribed solos. He could play many Lester Young solos easily by ear. But you never, ever heard those Lester licks in any of Warne’s solos.

In fact you never even hear any Warne Marsh licks in any of Warne’s solos. That’s because Warne didn’t have any licks. He instead relied upon his ability to make music in the moment with his own impulse to create. He wanted only to play what he felt and heard. He wanted to express his true voice.

To find that true voice you need to explore what you really hear and feel as you improvise. What is your voice? What do you hear? What do you feel as you improvise? What would you play if your instrument and technique were never in the equation, only your creative spirit?

A great way to explore those questions is to transcribe yourself as you sing your improvisations. That’s right, sing your improvisations.

There are two main benefits to be gained from this.

First, you’ll get a chance to free yourself from your “isms” You know, “saxisms”, trumpetisms”, “pianoisms”, etc., whatever your instrument is. If you transcribe your sung solo and play it on your instrument, you can find all kinds of ways of moving through melodic material that you’ve never explored before. We often get stuck improvising with what feels kinesthetically familiar, rather than what we hear or would like to express. By playing something outside of your “isms” you develop technique and conception in an integrated, practical way.

The second benefit is you’ll get a chance to see what you actually do hear up to that point, so that you can compare that to what you’re studying and practicing. As much as you might like to have all those advanced harmonic and melodic ideas integrated into your solos, you might find that you just don’t hear them yet. No problem, keep practicing them and start singing them (if you aren’t yet doing so).

So here’s a simple way to get started. Choose a standard song (or chord progression, mode, etc.) that you know well, and that you enjoy. Get some kind of a music-minus-solist type of play-along recording (Band In A Box, Jamie Aebersold, etc.) Play and listen several times in a row to the pre-recorded track. As you listen, hear an improvisation in your head (not yet sung). After a few times repeating the track, start to sing your solo. Do this several times, until you really feel connected to the music.

Now record yourself singing your improvisation with the play-along track.

Listen back to your work. See if you can find a solo that you really like. (If you can’t, just see if you can find a chorus or two.) Transcribe it. It is most important to find the notes on your instrument first, but you also might want to eventually write down your transcription. Analyze it. How would you talk about if you were teaching a class in jazz improvisation? What do you like about it? What do you dislike? What are you hearing?

If you practice this regularly (as I have, and continue to do), you’ll gain great confidence in yourself as an artist for one main reason: You’ll realize that nobody in this world imagines and plays music quite like you. You’re literally one of a kind. In my book, that’s a lot, and nobody can take that away from you.

To quote the great improvising pianist Thelonious Monk, “A man’s a genius just for looking like himself.”

It’s important to remember that the vast majority of great jazz artists “looked” (okay, actually “sounded”) like themselves. And this is why we still cherish them.

What I learned From The Gypsies About Playing Music

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For years I’ve been deeply interested in the music from the Balkan region of southeastern Europe. I’ve traveled to Bulgaria, Greece, Macedonia, Romania and other countries primarily to listen to the folk music there. Early on I discovered the music of the Roma, or as they are more commonly known, the Gypsies. They are ubiquitous in this part of the world, and are well-known for their very distinctive musical stylings and stunning virtuosity.

It is commonly held that the Roma originally came from the Rajastan region of India and migrated towards Europe. I’ve had the privilege of witnessing many astonishing performances in the Balkan countries by the local Roma population. I’m always struck by how absolutely easy it looks for them to play music.There is literally no barrier between expression and execution. No nerves, no self-consciousness, no judging, no excess tension. Just joyful, fiery music.

They are also known for their incredible endurance playing music. It’s no problem for them to play all day and all night (as many weddings in Balkan villages require), seeming never to tire.

If you were to ask one of these musicians if playing music was difficult, you would probably be met with an incredulous, bemused look. It would be as if you asked them if it was difficult to taste food. It’s something that comes so naturally to them, that I doubt whether these musicians even ponder the question.

Some years back I saw a marvelous film called Latcho Drom. I guess you could call it a staged documentary about how the Roma have migrated from India, as told through their music. In the film, one particular group stood out to me. They’re called Taraf de Haidouks, and they are from a small village called Clejani, which is situated in the Wallachia region of Romania. I was floored by their passionate, soulful, technically dazzling playing. I immediately became a big fan. About a year after seeing the film I got a chance to see them perform here in Los Angeles at Royce Hall.

It was at that performance that I witnessed a simple, almost unnoticeable thing that completely changed my belief about playing technically challenging music (about playing music in general, really). For the first time in my life I began to notice a sort of reciprocal relationship between technique and tension. With these musicians, specifically, the more technically challenging the music became, the more free and relaxed they seemed to be in body and mind.

At that point in my career I believed the exact opposite. Speed equals tension and contraction.Intensity equals tension and contraction. A big sound equals tension and contraction. (This was before I began to study the Alexander Technique. In fact, it was my experience at this concert that ended up being a stepping stone to my discovery of the Alexander Technique.)

The moment that most sticks out in my mind from this concert was when the leader of the group, Caliu Gheorghe (a virtuoso violinist!), was playing a piece from their repertoire that I was quite familiar with. It was a suite of dances from different regions in Romania. At one point in the piece, there is a break where the band stops playing and Caliu Gheorghe plays a lightning fast unaccompanied solo at a ridiculously fast tempo to introduce the new tempo of the next dance in the suite.

As I anticipated this solo break, I could feel myself beginning to “prepare” (as if I had to play such a solo). I started holding my breath, clenching my neck and jaw, bracing my arms and locking my knees…all as I sat in the audience watching. Essentially I was contracting into myself. That was my reaction to playing fast tempos.

But then I saw this remarkable thing: The split second before the solo break I saw Caliu Gheorghe react in a different way. I witnessed him softening his knees as he sort of let his head float up off the top of his spine. I could also see him releasing his arms away from his body and I think I even saw how easily he was breathing. He was expanding and releasing as he prepared to play instead of contracting. A much different reaction than mine. (Again, this happened in one split second.)

Then he launched into his solo with such joy, presence and utter technical control that I found myself laughing out loud . Besides sounding so good, it looked so easy to do. I was inspired! From that day forward I began thinking about a different way to react as I played music. I’ve been on this path for some years now and the rewards have been huge.

Here is a video clip of Taraf de Haidouks performing Rustem si suite. Notice how free all the musicians are as they play this very intricate and rapid piece. (Caliu Gheorghe is the first violinist to appear at beginning of the performance). Notice the joy, ease and deep emotional expression these musicians bring to the performance. Hope you enjoy!

Prevention As The Key For Improving Your Technique

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Bill Green, who was legendary in Los Angeles as a wise teacher and master of woodwind instruments once said to me: “You know, it’s a shame, but many musicians spend the first half of their lives learning to play, and the last half unlearning the habits that came along with learning to play.” And so it is with most of us, especially with respect to instrumental and vocal pedagogy.

In an ideal world (and what Bill Green was advocating) was to start off well on the learning journey, always developing habits that help us to make music instead of interfering with the process. I couldn’t agree more with this approach.

Unfortunately, not all of us have had the good fortune to have a clear-thinking, vigilant teacher always by our side to help us along the way. Many musicians find ways to improve despite what they’re doing, not because of it. (I’m no exception to that.) And even those musicians who have had brilliant teachers often still find ways of developing habits of misdirected effort that come with making music.

When I teach a class in the Alexander Technique to musicians, I like to go around the class and ask each person which aspect of pedagogy (technique, intonation, etc.) he or she would most like to improve. Practically without fail all the responses I get from the students have one thing in common: the need to stop something habitual from happening while playing music.

I hear things like, “I’d like to be able to play in the upper register without clenching my jaw.”, or, “I’d like to be able to play pianissimo in the bottom octave without stiffening up and going sharp.” In other words, these musicians are hoping to unlearn the habits that are contributing to their playing challenges.

Even the musicians who don’t directly use the “without doing” language still want something that calls primarily upon prevention of habit.

For example, “I’m awkward with my arpeggios. I’d like to increase my speed and fluency.” As I begin to work with the student he or she comes to realize that to do this involves stopping the habitual pattern of misdirected tension that interferes with the speed and fluidity of playing arpeggios. Again, prevention.

This preventative approach involves unlearning habitual response patterns. Once the student gets into the frame of mind to unlearn instead of learn, the true road to improvement is opened.

I call this subtractive practice.

Rather than adding some new thing to do in order to improve technique, the aim here is to subtract (prevent) something old (your habit) from happening as you play music to help you improve.

This has become a fundamental principle of how I practice everyday, whether it is something specific to saxophone technique or an improvisational concept. From this I’ve been able to find consistent growth, satisfaction and surprise along the way.

F.M. Alexander (the founder of the Alexander Technique) said, “If you can stop doing the wrong thing, the right thing will do itself.” With respect to instrumental or vocal pedagogy for so-called “advanced” or “artist level” musicians, this is true in many cases. (You already know how to play. It’s just a matter of attenuating a few habits to help you play even better.)

I encourage you to consider this idea as you approach your practice. Ask yourself: Are my habits interfering with my progress? If the answer is yes, I want you to know that you can begin to change that any time you wish. Here are a few things to keep in mind to help you:

Make a list of what you wish to change-Write down the 3 or 4 things (or maybe just one thing or 10!) you’d like to change to improve the technical aspects of your playing. It could be anything from cleaner articulation, to better intonation, to a more speed and fluency, to….

Reframe these changes from a point of view of prevention-With respect to each area of improvement you wish to make, see if you can notice if you have a habit of tension associated with it. For example, if you wish for faster and cleaner single tonguing articulation, see if you notice yourself tensing up as you “try” to play faster. Notice particularly what you do with your head (including your jaw and lips), neck, and shoulders. If you find yourself tensing up unnecessarily, see if you can understand how this tension not only doesn’t help, but might actually be interfering with your progress. If it is, then you know specifically what you need to prevent to improve. Almost without fail, sloppy technique goes hand in hand with misdirected muscular energy (too much tension here, not enough there). Make your desired aim be, “I’d like to stop tightening my jaw (for example) as I increase the speed of my articulation.” Reframe your other desired changes from your list in a similar way.

Allow yourself dedicated time each day to consciously work to subtract or lessen your habits-Don’t spend each moment of your practice time doing nothing but trying to stop your habits. Besides making you a little crazy, it can get boring and frustrating very quickly (I’m probably stating the obvious here). Just dedicate a certain amount of easily invested and manageable time each day to working specifically against each habit.You can say, for example, “For the next 10 minutes I’m going to practice making a conscious decision to prevent my jaw from tensing up as I gradually increase the speed of my articulation. That will be the aim of my practice. I’ll go no faster than I can go without tightening my jaw.” Over time your old habits of tension will become weaker and weaker, and your playing will improve. It’s that simple.

Allow yourself to stop-There’s nothing to be gained from doing your habit over and over if it is not helping you. Learn to stop at the very moment you notice yourself going into an unwantd playing habit. Every time you stop, you weaken the pattern. And you improve.

Allow yourself to sound worse-Anytime you change how you play your instrument, you run the risk of sounding worse. Now, keep in mind that this doesn’t always happen. Very often you’ll sound immediately better if you play with less tension. In fact, that’s the norm. But sometimes just changing one little thing you do habitually can throw you off for a minute or two. Don’t let that discourage you. Look upon this as an experiment. Give yourself a chance to adjust to the changes. See if you can understand specifically what your doing that might be making things worse. Are you trying too hard? Thinking too much about one thing? Tensing something else in your body unnecessarily as you play. You have another learning opportunity right there if you can do this.

I’ll talk more in future posts about bringing prevention into the aesthetic aspects of playing, particularly as they relate to improvisation. In the meantime, see if you can make a shift in your thinking from doing to prevention. You’ll be surprised by how much you can grow.

Juilliard Music Students Talk About The Alexander Technique

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One of my greatest satisfactions in life is being able to use the Alexander Technique as a tool help musicians. If you’re a musician, the Technique is useful for everything from teaching you how to avoid injuries and play with less pain and strain, to improving your coordination and skill, to helping you hear and respond more effectively to the music around you, to giving you a way of finding and developing your authentic expressive voice as a performer. It has helped me to improve as a musician more than anything else that I’ve yet discovered in my life.

Here’s a very nice video made by Lori Schiff, who teaches the Alexander Technique at Juilliard and at the Aspen Music Festival. She doesn’t try to describe the Technique so much as she just let’s the students (she also has a few working professional musicians speaking as well) tell about how they’ve been helped by the work. If you have experience with the Alexander Technique, you’ll likely appreciate (and relate to) what the various musicians are saying about the work. If you haven’t experienced the Technique, I hope this at leasts piques your curiosity. Enjoy!

Want To Improve Your Time? Call Upon Your Imagination

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To me the most fundamental skill for an improvisor to have is good time. Specifically, being able to perceive and control tempo. It’s probably impossible to create rhythmic interest and thematic development without first having a strong internal clock as a point of reference. (You never hear a beautifully improvised solo where the player’s time is unsure and squirming all over the place, do you?) Even when you’re playing with some kind of outside time keeping source (whether a rhythm section, conductor or metronome, or?) you have to be able to internalize and respond to the time.

Good time in music is always flexible of course. If you’ve ever played with a rigid, metronomic drummer, you’ve probably found the time to be less than inspiring, and even somewhat suffocating. The tempo needs to be clear, but it needs to be able to breathe, too. That said, the good time keepers have a tremendous internal sense of the default tempo of the piece they’re playing and don’t stray too far from it, always seeming to come back to it. Doing so helps maintain the integrity of the music.

For the improvisor, one of the fundamental skills is to seamlessly integrate melodic thinking and construction (pitch choices) with the perceived (internalized) tempo. Of course, playing with other musicians means being able to be primarily responsive to the collective tempo by the group. This, too, demands the ability to hear and imagine the collective push and pull of the time.

If you listen to Thelonious Monk, you can often hear the rhythm section pushing against his very strong sense of tempo. Monk was a master of finding the tempos in the “cracks” (you know, those tempos that are either a metronome setting too fast or two slow to stay at comfortably). Whereas most players would default up or down with the tempo to get out of the cracks and back into the “comfortable” (familiar is more like it) tempo, Monk would just sit there in the middle of it. This is what often created such excitement in his music and often characterized the piece he was playing.

To develop this kind of strong internal sense of tempo you have to be able to clearly perceive time as it passes inside your body and mind. That is a matter of imagination. Imagining how the time passes is what it really means to “internalize” the beat. I’d like to offer three exercises (games, really) to help you to imagine the time more vividly (and accurately). They involve working with a metronome, with and without your instrument. I’ve presented them in a sequence, the idea being that you build one skill solidly before you proceed to the next. Here they are:

Canceling the click-Set your metronome to about 80 beats per minute. Listen for at least a minute to the clicks. In your mind, really try to hear each oncoming click before it actually arrives. Now clap your hands on each click. If you can hear the click, you’re either early or late. If you hear nothing but your hands clapping, you’ve landed precisely in the middle of the beat, thus “canceling” out the sound of the metronome. See if you can clap for at least 30 seconds without hearing the click. If you can make it to 30 seconds, slow the metronome down to about 76 and try the same thing. Each time you’re able to cancel the click for at least 30 seconds, lower the tempo setting more. See if you can make it all the way down to 30 beats per minute (this might take weeks to master). If you can imagine the time at this slow tempo, you will have really strengthened your internal clock, and your sense of time will become noticeably better.
Finding the cracks-Take a standard song that you know well, or choose a mode or theme to improvise over. Start at the most comfortable tempo and play a chorus or two (or if it’s an open ended form, just play for a minute or two). Next, move the tempo down one metronome setting and play a chorus. Notice if it’s any less comfortable to play at this tempo. If it is, then stay at this tempo and improvise for a while until you find comfort. Then keep moving the tempo down in increments until you find the tempos that are difficult to internalize. Make a note of these metronome settings. You can do the same as you increase the tempo. Obviously as you increase the tempo upward you’ll run into other challenges with technique and with improvising good quality material. The aim here isn’t to see how fast you can play. You’re just trying to see if it’s (for example) more difficult to improvise over Confirmation at 182 beats per minute as compared to 186 beats per minute.
Fading the click-Find one of those “in the crack” tempos that is challenging to internalize. Set your metronome to click on beats 2 and 4 (in 4/4 time) in that tempo. Improvise for about 4 or 5 minutes in that tempo. Then, turn the metronome off as you continue to improvise in real time, not missing a beat. Improvise for about a minute or so, then turn the metronome back on to see how close you are to the original tempo. If you can stay fairly close to the metronome tempo for a minute, work on increasing your time away from the metronome. The more vivid your imagination of the tempo becomes, the longer you’ll be able to improvise with a solid sense of the original tempo.

These are just a few basic ways to get started in improving your time. In my experience both as performer and teacher I’ve found these to be the most fundamentally effective. I’ve since devised many other games to play with the metronome to expand upon this. I’ll be sharing those in future posts. Enjoy the exploration!