Tag Archives: Practicing Music

Strength, Coordination And Endurance: Avoiding Confusion

Playing cello and chopping wood

Yes, it does take strong shoulder girdle muscles and back muscles to play an instrument like the cello. But it doesn’t take nearly the strength to play the cello as it does to chop a pile of wood.

Yet you might find a cellist who can chop wood all afternoon and not get nearly as exhausted in his neck, back and shoulders as he would practicing cello for an hour. (I actually had one such Alexander Technique student as this.)

If you take into consideration the quote above by Herbert Spencer, the best thing a cellist can do to develop the necessary endurance to play the cello would be to, well… play the cello.

According to Spencer’s principle, it is the activity of playing the cello that builds the kind of muscular endurance specific for the task. (In exercise science, this is the training principle of specificity.)

So why does this cellist, who can chop wood all day, get fatigued so easily playing his instrument?

The answer is simple: He is coordinating himself in a way that is counterproductive to playing cello.

It is a matter of what he is doing with his entire body as he carries out his skill.

In the case of this particular musician, he was over-straightening his spine, while at the same time stiffening his neck, as he held on rigidly to his elevated shoulders.

Because of all this holding on, his arms were not free to move out of his back. His shoulders were doing way too much work, and his upper back muscles (which are very well-designed for such a task) were doing far too little. His shoulders would get painfully exhausted after just 20 or 30 minutes of playing.

You could hear it in his sound, which tended to be small and sometimes brittle.

To make a long story short, as he began to improve his coordination (through his work with the Alexander Technique), he began to improve his endurance. Just that simple.

If you find yourself constantly struggling with endurance as you play or sing, it is likely a problem of coordination. You can take any very fit and strong person, have them carry out a task in a mechanically disadvantageous enough way (poorly coordinated), and they’ll get exhausted in no time at all.

Strength and endurance

Now to be clear, strength most certainly has an impact upon endurance. But let’s also be clear about what strength and endurance are.

From a functional point of view, strength can be defined as the ability to exert force against an external resistance. Whereas, endurance is the ability to maintain low levels of force for extended periods of time.

In a well-coordinated organism, increasing muscular strength can have a marked improvement upon endurance. But for others, if these stronger muscles are not coordinated in an optimum way, there might be little to no improvement in endurance.

I’ve not yet had a musician come to me for help who has needed to “strengthen” anything, directly. They just need to rethink and re-experience kinesthetically, a more efficient coordination. This coordination comes about primarily by subtracting unnecessary, habitual tension, and the lasting changes typically develop gradually, but surely.

What you can do

So again, if you struggle with endurance, or have students who do, here are a few things to keep in mind that might help:

The test of time-If you’ve been working for more than a couple of months on a particular exercise in an attempt to address an endurance issue, and you are noticing little or no improvement, you need to change course. Adaptations in strength and endurance come relatively quickly. If you’re going on for prolonged periods without improvement, either change the exercise, or (more important!) consider that your problem is one of coordination. (This is where a good Alexander teacher can help.)

Think of the whole instead of the parts-As I mentioned above, you are using your entire self, your whole body, to play. Begin to notice where you might be unnecessarily tensing yourself or taking yourself out of balance as you play. See if you can begin to lessen the effort.

Specifity is best-If you think that you actually do need more strength to deal with certain demands of playing your instrument, aim at doing things that are as specific as possible to the task at hand. For example, daily long tone exercises on a wind instrument to strengthen the facial/embouchure muscles are much more effective than a series of “tension” exercises without the instrument (like vigorously pressing and releasing your lips and corners in multiple repetitions). Specific activity leads to optimum functional strength.

Equipment-Sometimes what is making you exhausted is simply poor equipment choices. I recently gave a Skype consultation to a very good tenor saxophonist who was struggling mightily with fatigue. It turned out that one of the biggest factors was his mouthpiece. The lay and tip opening were just not right for his anatomy and his conception of sound. When he changed to a better mouthpiece, his problem was effectively solved. Stay open-minded about your equipment. As your coordination improves, sometimes your equipment needs change (this is always a good thing!)

Health considerations-It is also possible that your issue with muscular fatigue might be of a medical nature. If you’ve tried just about everything (including my suggestions here), believe it’s not an issue of coordination, yet you still have problems and/or, your condition seems to worsen, by all means seek medical consultation. It could be a variety of issues, from neurological, to autoimmune, to orthopedic, or more. Get yourself the help you need.

So it’s fine if you want to do exercises every day to increase/maintain your endurance to play. The reason many accomplished musicians do so is because they get good results from their efforts.

But I can’t help but think about what Eddy Merckx (arguably the best racing bicyclist in the history of the sport) said when asked what the best thing a serious competitive cyclist should do to improve:

“Ride lots.”

And so it should be for us. Play lots. Improve your coordination. Enjoy the results.

New Book: Rhythmic Dissonance

One Of The Most Overlooked Elements Of Effective Sight-Reading

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One of the absolute best sight readers I’ve ever had a chance to play with (a saxophonist by the name of David Hughes) had a saying about reading even the most difficult music at sight:

Sight-reading is as much an attitude as it is a skill.

And it is.

There is a good deal of agreement amongst highly skilled sight-readers that the most important thing to address as you read music for the first time is time and rhythm.

And I agree with this wholeheartedly.

If you play a few wrong notes, but “keep it going” (maintain that forward motion of the time as expressed through rhythm) you’re not only going to help the music along, but also, you’re going to increase your chances of playing the correct pitches.

Learning from a master

I can remember playing with David Hughes, as he would single-handedly hold an entire saxophone section (of good players!) together by his sheer will and his powerful sense of time.

But there was something else that he held in his attitude that made him such an effective and highly musical sight-reader.

It wasn’t so much what he did, as it was what he didn’t do when the rest of the saxophone section was struggling with a beastly new composition:

He didn’t interfere with the flow of his sound energy.

No matter how far he was stepping into unknown territory, no matter how daunting, no matter how complex (and even unfamiliar) the rhythms, no matter how dense the ink on the paper, he simply never lost the intention nor the intensity of his sound.

The rest of us, on the other hand, would sometimes just sort of fumble with our sound, lose the strength of our intentions, lose our presence. We would do this by interfering with the production and flow of our sound as we read the music.

We four saxophonists would shrink (so to speak) while we played, as David Hughes would continue to expand.

Now, don’t misunderstand. It’s not as if the bottom would drop out of our collective dynamic volume. Truth be told, there wouldn’t be that much of a noticeable change in volume.

No, it was more subtle than that. It would be as if the life force of our individual and collective sounds just became slightly imprisoned. As if all of a sudden it had lost its suppleness and color. Our collective sound became somewhat brittle.

It was the sonic manifestation of doubt, this doubt itself being manifested through our bodies.

Of course the sad irony here is that this doubt made the wrong notes and rhythms sound even more…well, “wrong”. Our mistakes became strangely amplified, whereas any mistake David would make became virtually insignificant. A beautiful illusion, of sorts.

How about you?

And that’s how your thinking can impact your functioning in any given moment, during any activity.

Whatever you do in your body as you play music (or do anything else, for that matter), is a result of your thinking. In the case of sight-reading, it’s your response/reaction to the thought of playing the music in front of you.

Learning how to change your response to better serve your wishes is at the heart of the Alexander Technique. A large part of my work when giving Alexander lessons to musicians is to help them notice their habitual reactions from moment to moment as they play.

As they learn to respond with clearer, more constructive choices, they simply play better (and feel better, too!), as they interfere less and less with their own sound energy.

To be clear, when I’m talking about “sound energy” I’m not talking only about “airflow”, as in the case of a wind instrumentalist or singer.

I see instrumentalists of all instruments reacting in ways that interfere with their sound energy as they fall into doubt: violinists who lose their luster; pianists who lose the warmth in their touch; guitarists who lose the color and resonance of their plucked strings.

And so on.

No matter what instrument you play, there is always something that happens, when you lose your sound energy: You begin to stiffen and tense yourself unnecessarily.

Sometimes this stiffening is strong and easily noticeable, but just as often, it is subtle and almost imperceptible.

But all your habits of stiffening, whether mild or violent, have one thing in common: They are some form of you holding on to yourself. Holding onto yourself instead of letting yourself be pliant, balanced, free and constructively responsive.

In holding on to yourself like this, you are also holding on to your sound, not letting it release into the air.

This “holding on” is the essence of what interferes with your sound energy, with your intention, and with your expression as you are reading something at sight.

So what can you do to address this?

Here are a few ideas/tips for you to consider:

Observe yourself-Notice how you respond when you are sight-reading something difficult. In particular, notice what you do with your neck, shoulders and jaw. No matter what instrument you play, if you tense and compress your head into your neck, narrow your shoulders and/or clench your jaw, you’ll interfere with not only your sound, but also, your technical facility. See if you can notice this pattern of tension as it manifests itself through your whole body.

Practice saying “no”-Once you’ve noticed your habits of tension, work on gradually attenuating them. Think to yourself, “As I play, I’m not stiffening my shoulders and neck. I’m allowing myself to be free and present.”

Find your weak spots-What kinds of things make you tense up most when you sight-read? Complex rhythms? Extreme ends of your range? Awkward and/or unfamiliar keys? What are the kinds of reading challenges that invite you to “go wrong” in your reactions? Find out what they are and work systematically to improve. By doing so, you’ll weaken the temptation to react unconstructively.

Work on your sound energy everyday-No matter which instrument you play, conscious work on tone production is essential daily practice. Long tones, slow, melodic phrases, overtones, etc. Your ability to get your most resonant and expressive sound needs to become second nature, without any thought to how it is done mechanically.

Practice sight-reading everyday-As obvious as this sounds, I’m still amazed at the amount of musicians who seek my help with this who do the vast majority of their sight-reading while playing in ensembles. While this experience is excellent, spending time every day reading something new is absolutely essential, not only for your ability to read the notes, but also, so you can direct yourself in such a way as to keep your habitual tension in check. Here are some specific things you can do to improve your sight-reading.

Practice keeping your sound energy front and center as you sight-read-Besides working on long tones, etc., also practice reading simple to moderately difficult music every day as you shift your focus to your sound energy.

By noticing your response, by being intimate with your sound, and by developing strong time and rhythm, you’ll help transform you attitude and your ability as a sight reader. Instead of shrinking when you step into the unknown, you can learn to expand. I’ll leave you with another quote by sight-reader extraordinaire, David Hughes:

When in doubt, shout it out!

Let me know what you think.

Something You Do When You Practice That Is Always A Good Use Of Your Time

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If you practice patience in one moment of anger, you will escape one hundred days of sorrow.

-Chinese Proverb

Serious, daily musical practice is something that is loaded with speculation and second-guessing. Lots of “should’ve, would’ve and could’ve”, as my father would say.

Whenever I’m giving a practice coaching session to a musician, the topic of practice efficiency is always punctuated with concerns of “wasted time”:

“Maybe I should’ve spent more time on this, instead of that.”

“If I would’ve done this, instead of that, I could’ve achieved my goal sooner.”

And so on…

And this is a fair concern to have, for obvious reasons. Aimless, misdirected practice neither satisfies nor improves a dedicated musician.

But practice efficiency is, in of itself, a lifetime quest. It’s not something you master. It’s something you just get better and better at (if you’re dedicated to improving your process).

I would say that I practice with a high degree of efficiency these days: clearly defined goals, with an effective prescription and implementation of work to attain these goals. I can accomplish a good deal in a relatively short time during my practice session.

Yet I still occasionally find myself, if not “wasting my time” on certain things, at the very least, not working as efficiently as I could and would like to.

Having said that, there is one thing I do in every practice session that is always a good use of my time. I do this many, many times during any given practice session, yet I still don’t do it often enough.

What is it I do?

I stop.

Yes, I simply stop. I pause.

I practice (as the Chinese Proverb above states) being patient.

Now, to be clear, I don’t hesitate. I pause. There’s a difference.

Hesitation is not a choice. Pausing is. Hesitation is usually accompanied by doubt, tension and restriction. Pausing is accompanied by clarity, release and freedom.

What do I do when I pause? Mostly, I redirect my thinking. This redirection can take shape in a variety of ways.

Sometimes, I just need to take the saxophone out of my mouth, and to put my entire self back into neutral for a moment.

I do this when either:

I sense myself accumulating more tension than I’d like to have as I practice a particular thing. Or, when I’ve lost the clarity of purpose, the clarity of thinking, that I know is necessary for me to gain something useful from whatever I’m practicing.

Just letting go of the instrument, letting my arms fall lightly to my sides and asking for my shoulders and neck to release back into length. Very simple.

It’s absolutely amazing how easily I can get back on track, and get right back to constructive, mindful effort during my practice segment by taking time to do this.

So how long to I stop for? However long it takes. Usually it’s a matter of just a few seconds.

But whenever I choose to stop, I always keep the promise I made to give myself time. To not jump right back in without redirecting myself. To bring myself back to choice, instead of reaction.

I’m not talking about taking breaks here in your practice routine. You know, 20 or 30 minutes of practice, punctuated by 5 or 10 minutes of rest. That’s all good, too. And that is a big part of my practice strategy/process.

What I’m talking about is the ability to pause many, many times during, let’s say, a 20-minute practice segment.

As an Alexander Technique teacher, learning to stop and choose is a fundamental skill that I encourage and teach to all my students. It’s essential for change.

I too often observe musicians making a mistake (or another unwanted response) as they are practicing something, and then jump right into again without any change in thinking. When this happens, they tend to just do the same thing they did before that led to the unwanted result.

Einstein’s definition of insanity comes to mind here:

Doing the same thing over and over again, the same way, but expecting a different result.

As you can discern, that’s not exactly the most efficient use of time and effort.

Whenever you pause to release unnecessary tension, to refresh your thinking, to reaffirm your intention, you are cultivating the conditions in yourself that are most ideal to learn and to play music. You are moving back into the heart of practice efficiency.

I’ve never gotten to the end of a practice session and said to myself, “I shouldn’t have stopped so much.”

But I do sometimes get to the end of a practice session and say to myself, “I probably should’ve stopped more.”

Often when I stop, I realize, too, that I’ve done enough work for the day on the particular thing I’m practicing, and that it’s time to move on. It’s safe to say that as I get better at stopping, I make fewer and fewer repetitions of any particular exercise. I wouldn’t be able to realize this without giving myself the choice to pause and check in with myself.

And it’s not unusual for me to observe a new client practice for the first time and see all the unnecessary, mindless repetitions that are being made.

Rather than 20 or 30 unclear tries at an exercise in order to develop the elusive (and often misleading) idea of “muscle memory”, replace 30 inefficient, mindless tries with 5 clear and well-directed tries. Not only will you save time, but also, you’ll optimize your efforts.

But a big bonus for me is that all the work I’ve done in getting better at stopping has significantly impacted how I improvise.

Just knowing somewhere in the background of my consciousness that I can stop at any moment if I wish, fundamentally changes my phrasing, as well as my note choices. I discover the music as it flows through me, instead of trying to force it to go somewhere. This always allows me to find surprise and delight as I improvise. A beautiful thing, indeed.

So give yourself a chance to pause more. Work on it consciously. Make it a skill that you dedicate yourself to developing. It’s always time well spent. Let me know what you think!

The Invisible Obstacles To Self Improvement

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“The things that don’t exist are the most difficult to get rid of.”

-F.M. Alexander, founder of the Alexander Technique

Serious musicians are typically filled with very strong beliefs. Beliefs about their pedagogy, beliefs about their equipment, and beliefs about themselves.

Part of my job as an Alexander Technique teacher is to gently and respectfully question the validity of some of these beliefs.

The easy part of this is calling into question things they happen to believe that are contrary to the physical principles of nature, such as what their diaphragm actually does, or about various acoustical elements involved in producing a sound.

Once I explain and demonstrate the science, they become clearer and usually discard their misconceptions.

But the more insidious type of belief that my students carry isn’t so easily discarded: what they believe about themselves.

For the musician, it usually manifests itself in three closely related components:

1. Physical necessity (“I need to do this to play well.”)

2. Learning style (“This is the best way for me to learn/practice to play well.”)

3. Potential (“This is what I’m ultimately capable of doing.”)

I say they’re closely related, because number one will have a significant impact on number two, which will then impact number three.

Now, to be clear, I think it’s wonderful when musicians have a good understanding of themselves, their own learning styles, and their potential. (In fact, its’ something that I aim to help my students improve through the work with the Alexander Technique.)

It’s just that if a musician goes on thinking something about him or herself that just isn’t true, it’s very difficult to change things for the better.

Let’s take for example the, “I need to do this to play well.” Even after I demonstrate the physical reality of erroneously conceived ideas about anatomy/physiology as it applies to pedagogy (as mentioned above), musicians sometimes respond with a bit of a disconnect.

It’s as if they’re thinking, “Yeah, I can see that it works that way in nature, but it doesn’t necessarily apply to me.” Unless I can bridge that disconnect (and I usually can) they will continue to play with much more strain and effort than they think they need.

But it’s the learning style component that can be more difficult to penetrate.

Thinking things like, “I need to practice it exactly this way to get the best result” can turn into a prison of sorts for some musicians.

On the one hand, it comes with an element of truth: You do, to a certain degree (perhaps a large degree), have a good understanding of how you learn and practice best. This understanding has helped you produce some good results.

But you are not yet an authority. Nobody is (including me!)

“Learning how you learn” is a lifelong, ever unfolding, dynamic process. I don’t know exactly how I learn best. Instead, I’m always consciously aspiring to become a better learner.

And I can say with confidence that I’m a better learner today than I was two years ago (but not as good a learner as I will be two years from now).

This involves the underlying assumption on my part that there is always a better way for me to learn something, and hence, a more effective way to practice. I just need to stay curious, inquisitive, discerning (as objective as possible), organized and vigilant.

My false learning beliefs manifest themselves into lots of misdirected practice energy. Far too much time spent on the wrong things, not enough time on the right things.

When this is the case, my desire to improve is not optimally supported by my practice efforts. Simple as that.

Every time I let go of a false belief about how I learn, I move closer to my potential as a musician.

And that brings me to the belief about potential. To be truthful, I don’t know what mine is. I have a good sense of my strengths and weaknesses, my desires and discipline, but this gives me lots of room for possibility.

However, I do have an ever-increasing faith in my potential to to continue to learn, grow, and more clearly express myself musically.

As I let go of previously held misconceptions about my body, about acoustical principles, about what (and how) I need to practice to optimize my efforts, I move ever closer toward whatever my potential may be.

I describe these false beliefs about myself as invisible obstacles, carrying with them a self-fulfilling prophecy that limits my growth. My work with myself is to question them, to bring them into the light.

How about you? What are your invisible obstacles? Until you can bring them into the light, you will continue to be powerfully shaped by them.

Start by questioning things that you perhaps accept as the absolute truth.

Strive to more clearly understand yourself and your bodily structure and human design. Study some basic anatomy as it applies to playing your instrument.

Take an Alexander Technique lesson in order to learn how to use your body in such a way as to optimize your practice efforts.

Study the acoustics of your instrument. Understand your physical role in relationship to these acoustical principles.

But most of all, be ever flexible, curious, open-minded and humble about how you learn. You really have no idea of how far you can go. And that’s a good thing.