Tag Archives: Alexander Technique

Why “Feeling Relaxed” Isn’t Always a Good Thing To Aim For When Playing Music

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The word ‘relax’ can be a very dangerous word for some musicians.

–Karl Snider, singer, voice teacher, Alexander Technique teacher

One of the fundamental benefits of studying  the Alexander Technique and applying it to musical performance is in reducing or eliminating misdirected effort.

It is this misdirected effort (manifested through muscular tension) that leads to unnecessary fatigue, compromised coordination and skill (including problems with time/rhythm), and even injury.

My Alexander Technique students learn to play their instruments with far greater ease, efficiency, confidence, consistency and satisfaction than they did before studying the work.

Yet if you asked virtually any of these students (musicians from a large variety of genres) if they are more “relaxed” when they play now, compared to before they started taking Alexander Technique lessons, you might be surprised by their answers:

“I wouldn’t say I’m more ‘relaxed’ when I play now, just that I’m freer to move and respond in a way that is more conducive to playing my instrument the way I want to play it.”

The above is a quote from one of my students, an excellent guitarist here in Los Angeles, who’s been studying and applying the Alexander Technique for a number of years now.

(His response pretty much sums up and concurs with typical responses to this question from just about any of my students.)

If you asked this guitarist if he aims to be “relaxed” when he plays, he’ll answer with a resounding “no.”

Why is that? (you might wonder)

“Because (going again to what my student said) saying I want to be ‘relaxed’ is misleading.”

“First of all, it takes a certain amount of energy and tension to play guitar. Muscles are constantly working when I play. They have to. So it’s impossible to be completely ‘relaxed’ in the way most people think of being relaxed, and certainly in the way that I used to define that state of being.”

“Second, aiming for relaxation can often lead to other problems, like under-energized practice and performance. And before, when I didn’t ‘feel relaxed’ in the way I thought I should, I immediately became anxious, thinking I was doing everything wrong. That would lead me to playing with even less freedom and with more strain.”

As my student discovered, it’s this “feeling wrong” if you don’t think you aren’t as “relaxed as you should be” that often leads to even more misdirected effort.

If we go back to what my student does  want in his playing (what he has gained from studying and applying the Alexander Technique), it is more freedom.

Freedom to move lightly but powerfully. Freedom to respond in a constructive way to musical impulse. Freedom to use time more effectively.

Ultimately, freedom to choose.

If you were to ask this student what qualities he now seeks and enjoys when playing guitar, some of the words would be: balance, mobility, ease (not the same as relaxation), flexibility, efficiency, precision, satisfaction.

Freedom  instead of relaxation.

And this doesn’t even take into account the psycho-physical state of readiness necessary for actual live performance. So many musicians confuse the heightened state of arousal before and during a performance as “fear”, as something to be avoided at all costs.

While there are certainly some musicians who feel “fearful” about performance, the feeling of “excitation” necessary for optimal performance is too often confused with “fear” by many performers.

That’s unfortunate.

Because great performance is  exhilarating. It is  magical. It is  dynamic. It is  alive with energy (and even tension!) It is indeed  special.

But it is a far cry from anything anybody would call “relaxed”. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that it is impossible to be relaxed during an authentically expressive musical performance.

So instead of aiming for “feeling relaxed” during a performance, perhaps you can wish for this instead:

To be free, mobile, supported by the ground, appropriately energized, connected (to the music, to the other performers, to the audience), inspired, curious, generous and loving.

And, perhaps…

You can wish for a light, easy upward and outward dynamic expansion throughout your entire body as you play.

You can wish for freely moving breath.

You can wish for an integrated attention, balancing what you think/feel internally, with what you experience externally.

You can wish for allowing yourself to use time to your advantage, never rushing ahead, instead letting the music unfold into its natural, easy rhythm.

You can wish for buoyant, freely flowing energy throughout your entire self.

You can wish to be graciously receptive of the creative impulses moving through you.

You can wish to be graciously receptive of the presence and energy of the audience and the other performers.

You can wish for economy of effort  instead of relaxation.

You can wish for clarity and freedom in thought and expression…

What else would you  wish for in practice and performance, if you could have anything you want?

Don’t Overlook This Important Element For a Satisfying Musical Life

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Perseverance, discipline, passion, courage and faithfulness are qualities that every serious musician needs in order to achieve any kind of success (both/either commercial and/or artistic).

In this rapidly changing world, where the perceived value of artistic efforts in general is in a constant state of flux, I find it remarkable that there are so many marvelously talented, inspired, skilled and driven musicians.

With the advent of the internet and digital recording technology, along with the ever-changing cultures at music schools and in professional ensembles, the skill standards in musical performance seem dauntingly high.

No question in my mind that musicians are working as hard as ever pursuing excellence in their art and craft. In many genres of music, the precision  with which many musicians play these days is at its peak.

And there are loads of great, highly useful resources (teachers/mentors, articles, DVDs, books, online subscriptions, etc.) available these days to help the serious musician improve and grow in order to meet the demands of today’s professional musical standards.

But there is one essential element that is rarely mentioned for succeeding in this fast-paced musical world we live in:

Sustainability.

Put simply, sustainability is having the capacity to continue doing what you love (playing music!), in a healthful and ultimately satisfying way.

Many of the musicians who seek my help as an Alexander Technique teacher do so, in large part, because of a particular issue of sustainability. Specifically, playing music for them has become uncomfortable, painful and in some cases, even injurious.

They might already be playing quite well (several of my clients are top-shelf performers in either classical, commercial or jazz music), but realize that they need to change something in themselves if they are to sustain the careers they so love.

Helping them to discover how to play with less strain, with less misdirected effort, with greater ease, balance and flexibility, is one of my deepest satisfactions.

But it is not uncommon for my clients, during the course of their work with me, to confront other aspects of sustainability.

For example, I have worked with professional symphonic musicians who’ve become so stressed out by the demands for “absolute precision” in their performances, that, even if they can deliver such “precision” (and many can!), they begin to lose the joy of what brought them to play music in the first place.

Their work experience is one of considerable worry, and even fear. This not only negatively impacts their musical performance experiences, but also deeply affects the quality of their lives in general.

Some time back, I gave Alexander Technique lessons to a highly accomplished brass player (principal player in a world-class orchestra) who related to me how stressful the entire day  would be of whichever concert that he was playing.

He would sometimes have to “disconnect” from his family, isolating himself the entire day so that he could “focus” completely on the task at hand. (And keep in mind that he was playing hundreds of concerts per year!)

His “performance day” stories made me feel deeply sad. Though I envied his skill and accomplishments, I certainly did not envy the lifestyle of his “success”.

He also told me that his case was not at all unusual, and had loads of stories of his colleague’s “rituals” and “phobias” before concerts. He mentioned how their entire lives were in constant subjugation of their careers.

In essence, that kind of lifestyle was becoming more and more unsatisfactory, and ultimately, unsustainable for him and many of his colleagues. Lots of burn out, injuries, divorces, career changes and worse, for some of these folks, unfortunately.

And there are other issues of sustainability that musicians of varying levels of skill and success face.

Many serious amateur musicians, for example, are in a constant state of dissatisfaction with their practice efforts.

Either they’re frustrated because a lack of sufficient practice time keeps them too far from realizing their desires and potential, or that even when they do get enough practice, they keep running into the same, seemingly impossible hurdles in improving their skills.

A good amount musicians that have sought my help have done so because no matter how “hard” they practice, they can’t seem to improve. This becomes an unsustainable situation. Unless these musicians can learn to change what they do, to redirect their strategy and effort in a more constructive way, they will eventually stop playing.

As human beings, we are built to deal with adversity and disappointment, as long as there is meaning in this adversity and disappointment. But when we try, try, try, and get no discernible improvement, we begin to lose meaning.

And when we lose meaning, we eventually stop trying.

So it’s not enough just to practice that much “harder” (or longer), or even to find the best and latest exercises and techniques to keep you improving and meeting the demands of your profession and/or avocation. To stay in it for the long haul, your efforts, your passion…must be sustainable.

Here are some of the qualities of a sustainable musical life:

  • Physical efficiency and ease. Yes ease. If every day that you practice feels like running a marathon, you’re likely to encounter chronic pain and possibly even injury. Learn to cultivate “effortless effort” (a good Alexander Technique teacher can really help a lot with this!) Staying healthy (physically and emotionally) is of prime importance!
  • Artistic satisfaction. Yes, it’s okay to always want more, but learn to enjoy what is already there, what you already have. It’s okay to be happy with your efforts. Plus, you should be playing the kind of music that brings you  satisfaction. It doesn’t have to be your dream gig, but you have to find pleasure in doing it, if you’re to continue.
  • A balanced family/social life. Remember that you are a human being first. It is deeply wired into your brain and body to connect with those you love. Don’t let your musical life threaten your life as a human being. If you’re spending all  your time practicing…well, you know that’s less than ideal, to say the least.
  • A reasonably comfortable lifestyle. None of us are in it for the money. But if your professional life as a musician is keeping you in oppressive poverty, you might want to rethink a few things. You don’t have to be rich, but having a comfortable and safe home, with access to good food and health care, is essential for sustaining your efforts.
  • Self-esteem. Knowing that you are being kind to yourself, that you are working on your music from a place of love (instead of fear), that you can accept the ups and downs of  your artistic, professional and personal lives, and that you truly do love yourself, is probably the quality that will help you find the other for items mentioned above.

So continue to work hard, continue to strive, but always find meaning in what you do. Keep cultivating hope. Keep on keepin’ on!

Want to Improve Your Sense of Time? Connect Meaning to Movement

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One of my emerging specialities as a musician who teaches the Alexander Technique is helping other musicians improve their sense of time.

In truth, many problems that musicians have with their skill and coordination are fundamentally problems of time perception and rhythmic conception (rhythmic imagination, feel, etc.)

Often musicians don’t recognize this truth so readily, sometimes thinking that their problems with technique and articulation are simply “finger dexterity” issues, or “strength issues”, etc. In short, purely “physical ” issues. (And sometimes they are for sure, but not nearly as much as you might think.)

Part of my job with these musicians is to help them (through direct experience) discover on their own the connection between their technical struggles and their problems with time perception.

But when a musician comes to me knowing full well that they have issues in with time and rhythm, I too often find that their strategies to remedy their problems on their own have one thing in common that is fundamentally interfering with their progress.

In essence, they are thinking about time “accuracy” in an entirely abstract  manner.

As I ask them questions, I often find they are also spending lots of hours trying to improve their time perception by practicing exercises that have little or no actual musical meaning.

Some of these exercise aim for what I call “pulse memorization”.

An example of this might be to count out loud in 4/4 with the metronome clicking quarter notes until the tempo seems firmly established in your mind. Then turn the metronome off and clap, count or play the quarter notes for a minute or so, then turn the metronome back on to see how accurate you were in your “memory” of the original pulse.

Another example might be the classic “canceling the click” exercise with the metronome. If you don’t know this one, it’s where you clap with each click of the metronome, attempting to “cancel” (you can’t hear) the click because you’re right in the “center” of the beat.

To be clear, I don’t think either one of these exercises is a bad thing to do, nor a waste of time (no pun intended!)

I simply think that they have limited value.

You see, both of these exercises are lacking in any kind of musical context. 

When I coach a musician who is struggling with time, I might have them work on exercises like this in a sort of remedial way in the beginning to help them begin to recognize certain habitual tendencies in perceiving time.

But what I attempt to establish from the beginning with the musicians that I’m coaching, is to let them discover that they already have a strong sense of time. It’s really a matter of teaching them to access it more readily by changing how they think  about time.

This is where meaning  comes into play.

You see, even the most “time challenged” (or “rhythmically challenged”, if you prefer) person has one thing they do all the time that has rhythmic pulse and regularity: They speak.

Yes, words not only have meaning, but also a rhythmic component that is conditioned by the structure of the language itself, and any kind of accent attached to the spoken langauge. Linguists refer to the this as “prosody”, or the natural “music” within any language. (When the musicians I coach discover this truth, their confidence and skill expand exponentially!)

So rather than having a musician start remedial work on improving time with an “abstract” activity, like cancelling metronome clicks, I might have them notice rhythmic patterns in how they speak, both in individual words, and in phrases/sentences. This creates a “context” for their rhythmic expression.

A simple exercise to discover this would be to speak words of various syllable lengths with the metronome click, noticing how “regular” and rhythmic the words are, how they line up so easily and naturally with the metronome click.

It is virtually impossible to speak in any kind of understandable way without the element of rhythm.

You think it’s difficult to “feel” and conceive of a quintuplet?

As far as your brain is concerned, it actually isn’t.

If you repeat the word the five-syllable word, “fundamentally” over and over, back to back, you’ll find that quintuplets are quite easy.

That’s because this word has a meaning (in this case, the adverb form of the word “fundamental”, meaning “essential”) that is inextricably linked to it’s sonic/rhythmic expression. Sound, rhythm and meaning work together, in an immediately integrated manner.

It’s simply wired into your brain that way. And though it has less meaning out of context here (repeating it over and over) than it would in the context of a sentence, it has more meaning to you than trying to “imagine” the subdivisions of the quintuplet.

You see, whether you’re playing your instrument, or speaking, you’re always doing one fundamental (there’s that word again!) thing: You are connecting meaning  to movement.

The meaning is to be found in the intention, and the movement is the manifestation of that intention. 

When you speak you move (your vocal mechanisms certainly do, at least). When you play music you move. It’s impossible to have either of these without coordinated  movement.

I’ll say it again: Movement is the manifestation of intention.

Even a cursory understanding of how the brain is involved in making music makes it easy to understand why dance is so inextricably connected to music in virtually all cultures. Dance is the psycho-phyisical whole musical impulse and expression. Context provides meaning, which turns into movement.

Another way to turn the abstract idea of “pulse memory” into something meaningful is to always imagine tempo and rhythm within a more specific musical context.

I remember once taking a class to become certified in CPR (cardio-pulmonary resuscitation), where we had to learn to give chest compressions with our hands at the tempo of 100 beats per minute.

The teacher told everybody in the room to sing or “imagine” the disco classic by the Bee Gees called, “Staying Alive”.  (All the class participants were easily old enough to know this song.) Sure enough, the whole room is creating chest compressions with considerable rhythmic evenness and unison.

Meaning informs movement.

So if you’re working to improve your time, or are helping other musicians how to do so, bring the abstract into meaning as much as possible. Use your imagination.

You don’t have to use just the metronome for a time source when practicing, you know. Using backing tracks, drum loops…anything the establishes context and broadens meaning.

And instead of focusing exclusively on the “clicks” whenever using the metronome as you practice, imagine how you would like to express each phrase relative to the clicks. Let each phrase come vividly to life in your mind before you start to play. It is the music between the clicks that is the most meaningful, and the most beautiful.

The Serendipitous Gifts of Studying the Alexander Technique

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The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

                  –Serendipity  (as defined by the Oxford Dictionary of the English Language)

It was my frightening and frustrating struggle as a saxophonist with focal dystonia (a neurologically based movement disorder that impairs coordination) that brought me to the Alexander Technique.

As I began to do more research on my condition, it became evident to me that, even though my focal dystonia symptoms were experienced through my muscles, they only ever surfaced whenever I began to prepare to play saxophone (more precisely, the moment I began to think  about playing).

In the simplest sense, it was my reaction to the thought of playing saxophone  that was triggering my focal dystonia symptoms.

After doing a good amount of research about the Alexander Technique as it applied to musical performance (and considerable amount of reading about the neuroscience of learning and unlearning), one key truth stood out to me that prompted me to seek out a certified Alexander teacher: Thought precedes and conditions reaction.

“So”, I said to myself, “if I can learn to think and react in a different, more constructive way when I play saxophone, I’ll have the best chance at improving my focal dystonia symptoms.”

I’m happy to say that this has proven to be true.

Resoundingly so.

And in the process of applying the Alexander Technique in addressing my focal dystonia symptoms, I became absolutely intrigued by the efficacy and possibilities of the work.

So much so that I decided to commit to the 3-year training program to become certified to teach this work.

The Alexander Technique continues to be my most effective tool in helping both my clients (mostly professional and serious student musicians) and myself as a musician.

If you’re not familiar with the Alexander Technique, it’s a practical set of principles you use to become aware of the (often) unconscious habits of misdirected effort (things that take you out of your optimal coordination) that you bring into your activities (like playing music!). By studying and applying the Technique, you learn to prevent or lessen these unwanted habits by changing your thinking, bringing  yourself back to your natural, optimal coordination.

It’s about learning to respond  to things in a more conscious and constructive way, instead of reacting  habitually (and sometimes harmfully).

Lots of  musicians who regularly take Alexander lessons rave about how the Technique makes playing feel easier, more natural, and with far less tension/effort than they’ve ever experienced before.

It’s helpful for decreasing/eliminating chronic back, neck, shoulder, jaw and wrist pain, as well as improving breathing, and balance (obviously helpful for any instrumentalist or singer!)

And even though I myself  wasn’t motivated to seek out and Alexander teacher because of the maladies mentioned above, I did indeed suffer from most of them (especially back and shoulder pain!)

I was usually in some sort of state of discomfort  when playing my instrument, just chalking it all up to “working hard”. I accepted pain as part and parcel of what a serious musician struggles with.

No, my motivation was simply about restoring (or at least improving) my coordination  when playing saxophone. Period.

But as I began to take lessons, it wasn’t long at all that my back began to feel better (not just when playing, but all the time!), my shoulders began to widen and become freer, my jaw became flexible and responsive, and my breathing became more full, easy and supportive of my saxophone sound.

All great things, for sure!

I began to describe these other changes I was experiencing to my friends and colleagues as “serendipitous gifts”, meaning I was blessed in finding such positive things I wasn’t even looking for.

(And as you might have wondered/guessed by now, my focal dystonia symptoms were inextricably connected to the misdirected muscular effort that was causing these pains I’d been experiencing for so many years.)

Yet the most cherished, most profoundly life-changing serendipitous gift I found in studying the Alexander Technique was more simple, more basic, more essential to my personal well-being and growth as a musician:

I learned to treat myself with kindness.

This kindness includes how I treat myself when practicing and performing:

How I changed my previously harsh and rather loud “self-talk voice” to one of soft inquiry and assurance;

How I allow myself to be wrong in order to discover new ideas and techniques;

How I give myself permission to pause when practicing in order to redirect my efforts;

How I allow myself to rest optimally;

How I listen to myself (and the other musicians) with a more detailed presence;

How I allow myself to peacefully walk away from an exercise (or even a practice session) if it isn’t going just right and I can’t seem to put myself back on track;

How I accept and trust my efforts, sound and intentions when performing.

And so much more…

One of the biggest changes in how I treat myself is that, even when I’m doing something “wrong” when practicing or performing, that I don’t interpret that to mean that there is something wrong with me.

That’s huge for me, as it places me squarely in a place of gratitude, with an almost child-like curiosity when I practice. And feeling grateful, is perhaps, the most beautiful of all states of being.

As I’ve mentioned in some of my other blog posts, practice for me is now a form of meditation. It’s nourishing and ever so pleasurable.

And as a bonus, my saxophone practice has become more dynamic, more efficient, more directly helpful to me than it ever was.

All this because of the gift of kindness I give myself.

You see, when applying the Alexander Technique to any activity, you are learning to redirect your thinking in the most helpful way you can.

To do this, you must ask  things of yourself, rather than demand  them. (You can’t bully yourself into reacting constructively!)

I “ask” for my optimal coordination. I do so with kindness and deference. With sincere respect and love.

That makes all the difference.

I feel compelled to talk about all of this in my first blog post of the year because of my experience over these past years teaching the Alexander Technique to musicians.

I’ve had the honor and pleasure to share this work with (quite literally) some world-class performers.

And one thing I continue to notice is how harsh many of these wonderful artists can be with themselves as they approach practice and performance.

Of course they seek excellence! Of course they are disciplined! Of course they have high standards! Of course they’re willing to sacrifice!

But what they learn when studying with me is that it is often their fierce self-talk that is taking them out of their optimal coordination, taking them away from getting precisely what they want.

As their coordination improves, it does so by going hand in hand with their self-directed kindness. They ask instead of demand and marvel at the results. It’s about as “win-win” as you can get.  A beautiful thing.

So I’ll continue to enjoy and cultivate my serendipitous gifts, and graciously share them with my students, living a musical life of gratitude, exploration, growth and satisfaction.

Teaching and Learning Music: Being Mindful of Metaphors

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Whenever I give a first Alexander Technique lesson to a musician, it is not uncommon that certain misconceptions about playing music come to light.

It is ofttimes  an anatomic and/or physiologic misconception specific to the physical demands of playing the particular instrument.

It can also be a misconception about the acoustical principles involved with the instrument itself.

In both cases, these misconceptions invite lots of misdirected energy, preventing the musician from effectively growing toward his/her optimum potential.

There are many reasons these misconceptions arise and develop  (as I have sometimes written about in previous blog posts).

But today I’d like to address this specific one: confusing metaphor  with physical reality.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary’s definition of metaphor  is:

A figure of speech in which a word or phrase literally denoting one kind of object or idea is used in place of another to suggest a likeness or analogy between them.

The definition goes on to use the metaphor, “drowning in money”, as an example. (The operative phrase from the definition being “figure of speech”.)

Metaphors can be very effective in both creating visual (concrete) images about abstract things, as well as broadening one’s perception of a particular concept or object.

Sometimes a powerful metaphor can be the exact thing that fuels those “aha!” moments we all cherish (teacher and student, alike).

Yet, in learning and teaching music, metaphors can sometimes  be a “double-edged sword” (speaking of metaphors!), creating as many problems as they solve.

When a metaphor helps you convert an abstract idea into a palpable and positive psycho-physical experience, then yes, metaphors are wonderful.

But when a metaphor obscures the actual physical reality  of what is happening, then it can have limited usefulness (at best), and can even interfere with your progress (at worst!)

So many metaphors for playing musical instruments…

“Your fingers ‘dancing’ on the keys”…

“Your sound ‘bouncing’ of the walls”…

“Your arms ‘floating’ out of your back…”

Below are a couple of examples of some fairly common metaphor’s I’ve encountered in my teaching/learning experience as a wind instrumentalist that have produce mixed results, at best. The first involves anatomy/physiology, the second involves acoustics. Let’s examine them:

1. “Breathing from your belly.” (or the “belly as lungs”  metaphor, as I call it). First off, there is no air to be put in your belly, because your lungs aren’t located there. This metaphor is often given as an encouragement to engage more of the muscles in your abdominal region, as well as to prevent “shallow”, clavicular compression in the upper part of the torso.

So what’s the problem?

When so much emphasis is put upon getting the air “down there”, it invites you to misuse your entire head/neck/back mechanism to do so. This will usually get you to compress and distort your spine,  limiting the free, elastic and expansive movements of the thoracic cavity that are necessary to efficient breathing.

Whenever I work with a student on breathing, I demonstrate and explain to them (through images and videos) the actual coordinated movements involved in respiration, as well as giving them some hands-on help to have an experience of this natural and efficient coordination.

Rather than getting them to “breathe into their bellies”, I encourage them to invite the three-dimensional expansion and contraction of their torso that more accurately describes the reality of their physical mechanism. (I encourage you to do the same.)

2. “Your tongue is a valve that starts the sound”. Again, this is not indicative of what is actually happening acoustically. No matter which wind instrument you play, your tongue doesn’t start the sound. Ever. Your focused airstream  starts the sound. This “valve” metaphor is often used to call upon a more precise use of the tongue in articulation.

So what’s the problem?

Now to be sure, your tongue can be used to great effect to give precision to how your airstream is being used to start and stop your sound. But it doesn’t do that which only your airstream can do. If you think of your tongue as the “valve” that begins tone production, it can invite you to get too internally focused in producing your sound.

This can lead to lots of embouchure “micromanaging”, which can manifest itself into excessive jaw tension and misdirected “preparation” when attacking a note at the beginning of a phrase. In turn, it can also keep you from fully realizing and relying upon the voicing mechanisms as they need to work in relation to releasing air into your instrument.

Rather than getting my students to think of their tongues as “valves”, I encourage them to think of articulation as part of their sound.  And sound production on a wind instrument involves conception (imagination) and the movement of air (amongst other things).

So instead of thinking so specifically about your “tongue-valve” when articulating, try to imagine more vividly and precisely the sound  of your desired articulation (your expression!) If it’s clear enough, your brain will efficiently coordinate your physical mechanisms to realize your expression. That’s what you learn through practice.

So I’m not here to tell you to get rid of the metaphors. I use metaphor to positive ends in both my teaching and in my learning. I’m just suggesting to be mindful when using them (in both teaching and learning).

A metaphor (like any other thought) gets us to react in a specific way. If you (or your students) react in a constructive, flexible and exploratory way that invites better coordination, better understanding and better music, then great! By all means use it!

But even then, make sure you’re clear on the reality of what is actually happening. (In short, make sure you know that the metaphor is a metaphor!) Take the time to understand and learn the anatomy/physiology and/or acoustics that pertain specifically to what you do when you play your instrument.

Understanding the distinction between metaphor and physical reality can help you and your students continue to grow, improve and remain curious. All good things.