Tag Archives: Practicing Saxophone

The Difference Between A Good Method And A Good Teacher

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Most musicians that come to me for Alexander Technique lessons have a well-developed, highly detailed practice method that they follow. They have chosen this method deliberately, and typically follow it with an almost religious reverence.

And therein lies some of the problems that lead them to seek my help in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all in favor of a logical, purposeful, structured method of pedagogy based upon the principle of cause and effect (as opposed to anecdotal assertions by accomplished players that aren’t based upon repeatably measurable results).

But any method, no matter how sound, has one rather obvious limitation: It can’t respond to you. It can’t modify itself to best suit your needs.

A good teacher, on the other hand, is helpful precisely because he/she responds effectively to you.

It’s all a matter of the teacher’s sensitivity of perception and communication with you, moment to moment, week to week (and longer). How you learn, what’s helping and what’s not, what you are misunderstanding, where you need more practice (where you need less!), etc.

And most important, a good teacher can notice what you’re doing with yourself as you carry out your practice. Are you straining, stiffening, compressing? Are you creating an unnecessary struggle within yourself as you play? (This is where the skill of a well-trained Alexander Technique teacher can be of enormous benefit.)

You see, most of the musicians who come to me for help do so, in part,  because they’ve become inflexible with their method of practice. Inflexible both in the details of the method itself, and in carrying it out on a day by day basis.

At the very least, this leads to a sort of stagnation in progress, a sinking feeling that, “No matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to get past this plateau in my progress.”

At worst, this rigidity with method leads to more serious problem, such as repetitive strain injuries, chronic back/neck/shoulder pain, and even focal dystonias.

I ask my students to ponder the differences between teacher and methodology. And because they are ultimately responsible for the choices they make as they practice and study, I encourage them to ultimately think of themselves as their own teachers.

I’m not telling them to ignore the advice of their teachers. I’m just telling them that it’s easy to turn their teacher’s methods into rigid, inflexible, unresponsive practice habits. It’s up to them to be vigilant, to grow into experts on themselves and their learning process as they practice each day.

To become your own teacher is a lifelong skill. It’s something you strive to get better at. It takes lots of reflection, discipline, honesty, discernment, love, commitment and great attention to detail. (That’s the same, of course, whether you’re teaching yourself, or somebody else.)

But the main thing you need is responsiveness. You need to see which component of your practice method needs modification.

I’m very well-organized in my saxophone practice, and most definitely follow a method of learning that I’ve designed largely myself. I always have a “to do” list of particular exercises and study. Typically, this list is based upon a weekly cycle.

But a day in the week doesn’t go by when I don’t modify something from my weekly plan in my practice session. Alter a tempo, spend more time on one detail of a particular exercise, reduce or eliminate the detail of another,  sometimes throw out an exercise in its entirety. (In fact, by the end of the week, the routine I started with has morphed into something quite different.)

With each component (exercise, or detail of an exercise) of my practice routine on any given day, I’m either regressing (making it simpler and/or easier), progressing (making it more complex and/or challenging), or keeping it the same.

I make my decisions on modifying (or not modifying) the components on my routine by asking myself one simple question: “Is this helping me exactly the way it is?”

If the answer is yes, then I know to keep working on it until it needs to either be modified (progressed), or dropped, from my practice routine.

If the answer is no, then I have to ask myself, “What would I need to modify right now to make this more helpful to me”?

This is where creativity comes in. If it’s too complex and/or difficult, I need to find a constructive way to regress the exercise while still maintaining the pedagogical intention.

Regressing effort is a fundamental part of the art and science that any good teacher utilizes. The better I get with regressing effort for myself, the better I get with helping my students. And the better I get in helping my students, the more efficient (and satisfying!) my own practice continues to become.

Equally important is learning to either progress an exercise or to let it go entirely. I encounter so many musicians who are spending time needlessly on things that just don’t continue to help them improve.

So strive towards being a teacher as you practice each day. Go by principle, and follow a method. Just be observant, curious and flexible. If you do so, you’ll do nothing but improve.

A Technique To Help You Improve Your Odds

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Without a doubt, the greatest tool I possess as a musician is the Alexander Technique.

By applying the Alexander principles, I’ve been able to not only solve a very serious problem that threatened my musical career, but also, continue to find growth, improvement and insights into the challenges that I, and many other musicians encounter.

After years of studying and teaching the Technique, I continue to be amazed at how potent it is.

But the Alexander Technique isn’t a fail-proof guarantee that you’ll play better, or that you’ll solve all your musical performance problems. Instead, it’s simply a skill you can learn that significantly increases the likelihood that you’ll play better. It improves your odds, so to speak.

In essence, the Alexander Technique teaches you how to become aware of, and address, harmful and inefficient movement and postural habits. You learn to uncover many of the subconscious habits of tension that interfere with your natural coordination. You learn to replace strain with ease and efficiency.

These unconscious habits are a manifestation of how you react. The way you react, even as you start thinking about playing your instrument (or doing anything, for that matter), begins to condition the coordination involved in the playing itself.

If you react by compressing yourself in tense anticipation of playing your instrument, you’re simultaneously decreasing your odds of a successful outcome.

And yes, you still might be successful in your attempt, despite doing this (many musicians are!) But to increase your chance of a satisfactory outcome, you need to improve how you respond. This is the key to conistency for many musicians.

There are two distinct disadvantages that an overly tense habitual response brings to your music making. Both are inextricably related:

1. Mechanical disavantages-By unnecessarily stiffening muscles, compressing joints, and holding yourself perpetually out of balance as you play has a very real impact on your coordination. Often, you’re creating effort in your body that you need to overcome to do the work that is actually necessary to play your instrument.

2. Cognitive disatvantages-When you respond in a overly tense manner, you’re also bringing a kind  of  “fear/urgency” response into your efforts that interferes with your ability to think as clearly as you could. I call this the “deer in the headlights” response. Your thinking becomes muddled, hurried, rigid, and ultimately disconnected to your intentions.

These two disadvantages are so closely linked that you can often see how they go hand in hand. Watch somebody truly struggle with the fast tempo of a particular piece, and you see not only a tight neck, compressed shoulders, stiff arms and hands, but also, a knitted brow and narrowly fixed eyes that seem to broadcast desperation and strain. (Not to mention the breath holding that comes along with all this!)

None of this helps you play any better. (Am I being too obvious here?)

With the Alexander Technique you learn how to play your instrument with less effort (and with fewer counterproductive movement habits) because you learn to better control how you react as you play your instrument.

You learn to replace compression and urgency with expansion and calm alertness. You gain a clearer understanding of how you function naturally (in accordance to the design of your body), so you can say “no” to stressful, counterproductive reactions, and say “yes” to the possibility of ease, control and confidence.

You learn to better stay in the present moment with your thinking, responding effectively to whatever comes your way, instead of tensely anticipating the unknown. You increase your ability to choose your responses, and in doing so, improve your odds.

If you’d like to find out more about the Alexander Technique, visit the world’s most comprehensive website on the topic. If you live in the U.S. and would like to find a teacher in your area certified by the American Society for the Alexander Technique, take a look here. If you want to contact me personall

And maybe like me, the Alexander Technique just might become your most useful tool as a musician, too.

Growing Your Ears: Processing And Feeding

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I once heard the following exchange between two jazz musicians talking about one of their colleagues:

“He has great ears. He can play anything he hears”, asserts the first musician.

“Yes, that’s true. Unfortunately, he just doesn’t hear that much”, responds the second.

Ultimately, all artistic expression through music involves playing by ear. This is true whether you’re an improviser or an interpretive musician.

If you’re an interpretive musician, you’re vividly imagining (internally hearing) the details and quality of each phrase as you play. This is, in large part, what your practice process has been about.

If you’re improvising, you’re creating music instantaneously, trusting your muse as you follow your ear and intuition. Much of your practice has been about helping you to immediately access what you hear (imagine) as you improvise.

Part of this “hearing” most likely includes connecting a cognitive understanding (harmony, form, structure, etc.) with the aural impressions that these particular musical elements produce.

We’ve all heard improvising that sounds  a bit too much like “thinking” and not enough like “hearing” (perhaps we’ve all been there, too, from time to time; I know I have). And it’s no mystery that the greatest improvisers also have (or had) wonderfully developed ears.

Tenor Saxophonist Joe Henderson is an example of somebody whose ears were so highly developed, that he could immediately play back virtually anything he heard (including his own inner musical voice!)

You won’t find a single teacher of jazz pedagogy who doesn’t emphasize the importance of continuously cultivating aural skills. It’s simply essential to improvising effectively, expressively and authentically.

There are two inextricably related ingredients necessary for “growing” your ears. I label them as follows:

1. Processing 

2. Feeding

Processing

Processing is identifying what you can already imagine (which interval, scale, chord quality, melodic pattern, etc.) It has an active component and a passive one:

The passive component is your ability to recognize and label what you hear after hearing it (perfect 5th, C melodic minor scale, 1, 3, 5, 6 pattern, etc.)

The active component is your ability to reproduce what you hear, through your voice and/or through your instrument.

Singing is at the heart of this skill. If you can’t sing something, you’re not quite hearing it completely and clearly, and you’ll have a difficult time finding it on your instrument.

On the other hand, if you are able to sing something with pinpoint accuracy, you can find it on your instrument rather quickly and easily.

In a sense, the ultimate aim of this skill is to place intuition in front of intellect. Specifically, you can find and reproduce the  pitches you’re hearing even before you can cognitively determine what pitches they are (no time to do this when you’re actually improvising).

Both the active and the passive components of processing are crucial to a well-developed ear.

Having said that, there is often a tendency in ear training study to put more of an emphasis on identification than on reproduction.

I’ve encountered students of improvisation who can easily identify intervals, modes, chord qualities and tensions, yet can’t even sing a simple diminished scale pattern over a dominant 7th chord. This student clearly needs more work with active processing.

Or the student may be able to find sounds (key centers, chord qualities, licks, etc.) fairly easily with the help of his/her instrument, but can’t sing them back readily. More singing and less playing is needed in the practice room to improve in this area.

Until you can sing something back, you don’t have it fully internalized. It never becomes deeply ingrained your aural imagination. (It never becomes fully processed.)

And even if you still can use it in improvising, it comes more from thinking than from intuition, thus lessening and interferring with some of your subconscious spontaneity.

On the flip side, you might be able to sing and play back whatever you hear fairly easily, but can’t cognitively identify it. There have been several jazz greats who had no knowledge of the theoretical aspects of harmony (the great trumpeter, Chet Baker is an example).

I, for one,  certainly believe you can be a very effective improviser without being cognizant of the structural (theoretical) elements involved in improvisation. (Just listen to Chet Baker!)

Yet improving your theoretical knowledge/understanding and tying that into your ears can open up lots of other possibilities. This brings us to the other ingredient for growing your ears:

Feeding

Feeding is the act of giving yourself more to imagine. In large part it involves using your intellect to challenge and expand  (to feed) what you are currently capable of hearing, imagining and recognizing…going beyond the conventional and familiar, towards the novel.

This means finding new ways to approach and organize the materials of music: new harmonic concepts/relationships, unconventional intervallic movements/patterns, polymeter (and other kinds asymmetrical phrasing), etc.

In essence, you have to actively search for things to feed your ears. Where? Here are five good places to start:

1. Transcribing-Just about anytime you transcribe a great improvised solo, you’re not only improving your processing skills, but you’re also feeding your ears. If you’ve transcribed a lot, aim for players that are far from the mainstream (or far from what you’re familiar with), and who have a very personal, unique and appealing improvisational language.

2. Improvisational etudes-Either writing them yourself, or playing and studying from some of the many great resources available these days can really open up your ears and your thinking. I’ve written my own etude books with the specific purpose of feeding my ears.

3. Improvisers from other genres-If you’re a jazz player, find a great improviser from another genre, and spend lots of time listening, singing, analyzing (and perhaps even transcribing).

4. Non-improvised music-I learned so much about my own improvisational language from listening to and studying the music of Béla Bartók. Any kind of “strange and compelling” music (how I first identified Bartók) can be used to feed your ears.

5. Reflection-Ultimately, you sit with the materials of music and use your intellect and curiosity (“What would it sound like if….?” ) to think of new ways to create melodic movement. Finding new ways to make harmonic relationships over familiar forms, new ways to organize melodies and shapes, new ways to conceive of time, rhythm and form, can be a lifelong endeavor. It is one that will continuously reward you, enabling you to establish and grow your own personal improvisational language.

And of course, all this feeding involves processing. When all is said and done, you’re still figuring out, internalizing, and reproducing what you are hearing.

So if you want to improvise more intuitively, personally, consistently and expressively, stay vigilant about growing your ears:  identify, understand, sing, think, challenge, imagine, and above all, listen.

 

 

 

The Power Of Deciding

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One of the things that has become clearer to me since studying and teaching the Alexander Technique is what it really means to make a decision.

To decide is not the same thing as to plan. Many people make plans about improving something in their lives (sometimes with elaborate details) that they will never carry out.

Why? Because they didn’t take the most crucial first step before making the plan: deciding.

Decision is a matter of commitment. It’s “closing the deal” without any way to turn back. As my older brother would say, after making a tough decision, “The ball has already been thrown; nothing to do now but wait and see where it lands”.

Though this can seem scary, it’s also empowering. If you can rely upon your ability to make a decision, and stick with it, you become your most trusted ally and advocate.

There are two types of decisions: The decision to do; and the decision not to do.

When I think of the decision to do, I think of a friend and colleague of mine here in Los Angeles, Vinny Golia.

Vinny is an internationally recognized multi-woodwind improviser, composer and teacher (CalArts). He is extraordinarily prolific, having put out dozens and dozens of recordings, many of them very ambitious in their scope (large ensembles, improbable instrumentations, multi-media collaborations, etc).

Once when I was on tour with Vinny, I asked him how he manages to plunge into these seemingly impossible projects (funding them, composing all the music, organizing the musicians, recording, promoting, etc.).

His reply:

I just make a decision to do whatever it is I want to do, whatever inspires me. I never wonder if I can or can’t. I always decide first, then figure out how afterwards.

Again, decision precedes planning to make the seemingly impossible  possible. In a sense, this is the very definition of ambitiousness.

But whenever I think of the decision not to do, I always think of the Alexander Technique. 

Sticking with the decision to not do something as I carry out an activity is the cornerstone of the Alexander Technique. This has been the skill that I’ve cultivated to help me solve some rather serious problems I was facing as a saxophonist.

Whenever I give an Alexander lesson to a musician, we always come face to face with the need (and the difficulty) of  sticking to the decision of not doing.

For example, I recently started giving lessons to a violinist who begins her sound (draws her bow across the strings) by stiffening her neck, shoulders and arms, thereby noticeably interfering with her technique, tone color and intonation.

My aim with this student is to get her to play without this habitual excess tension. As you might guess, it’s not as easy (at first, anyhow) as it sounds.

Too often it turns into a bit of an internally waged war, in which the student is trying hard to stop the habitual response of tensing up, only to create a different, yet equally tense response.

 F.M. Alexander (the developer of the Alexander Technique) sums it up accurately:

When you are asked not to do something, instead of making the decision not to do it, you try to prevent yourself from doing it. But this only means that you decide to do it, and then use muscle tension to prevent yourself from doing it.

And so it was in the beginning with my violinist. Her problem, too, was that she never really made a decision to play without her habitual pattern.

Why not? Well, first, producing her sound was so tied up into the excess muscular tension that she really had no idea what it might be like to play without all that extra effort. (Part of my job is to work with my hands to guide her into a different kind of coordination as she plays.)

Second, she (like most musicians) has a very strong aversion to sounding bad, and/or being wrong. Holding on to the tension was an unconscious security blanket that made her believe that she could get her sound, no matter the physical consequences.

She’s already (after about seven lessons) doing noticeably better with all this, as she gradually changes her practice process.

Specifically, she aims at giving herself permission to draw the bow only if she doesn’t tighten her neck and shoulders first. If she feels herself  preparing to play a particular passage with her habitual tension, she simply stops.

That’s right. She doesn’t start to play. She decides to proceed into playing only when she feels confident that she has started without all the extra junk.

It’s a decision she’s made and a commitment she stays true to. Now, to be clear, this is something she works on as she practices. It’s obviously not something she has the luxury of bringing into rehearsals and performances.

But the more she does this, the weaker (and more manageable) the old pattern becomes. By giving herself permission to stop, she no longer replaces tension with tension. Instead, she replaces excessive “doing” with an easy “non-doing”. Things will only get better for her. All because of her growing skills of deciding not to do as she plays here instrument.

So if you’d like to change, to really improve the quality of your practice, you can apply this same, highly effective principle. No matter whether you’re deciding to do, or not to do, staying with a decision is an important part of your continued growth and improvement.

Improving Technique: Aiming Toward The Expressive Instead Of The Mechanical

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A potential obstacle in improving technique for many musicians is the notion of “muscle memory”. Technically speaking, there is no such thing. Muscles don’t have the capacity to remember anything. But your brain does.

The thing most people call “muscle memory” is really about how the brain learns to communicates with the muscles, via the nerves, in a more efficient way.

When you practice a fine motor skill (like playing music) mindfully and diligently, the amount of conscious thought necessary for you to carry it out becomes significantly less.

In fact, it seems like you can do it with practically no thought at all, as if the muscles themselves are doing all the “thinking” for you (hence the term “muscle memory”). Kinesiologists sometimes call this “automaticity.”

But what has really happened as you learn a new skill is that the connections between the synapses (the little gaps between nerves that carry electrical impulses to send messages from the brain to the muscles) fire more readily.

The “synaptic chains” from  brain to muscles have become (as a neuroscientist might describe it) more “highly potentiated”. There is an actual physical change in the groups of neurons that work together to produce the movement, specifically, they become wrapped up together in a fatty, insulating material known as myelin.

This is part of a biological process known in neuroscience as “plasticity”. As the saying goes, “Neurons that fire together, wire together.”

And it is crucial that this higher potentiation takes place, so that the necessity of  conscious thought becomes lessened. You’d never be able to actually get very far in the music making process if all your conscious thought had to be spent on the motor/mechanical aspects of playing.

You’ve no doubt experienced how much more freely, expressively, skillfully and joyfully you play a particular piece of music, scale pattern, form, etc. (whether interpreted or improvised) when you don’t have to “think” too much to play it.

Yet there can be a downside to taking this “playing without thinking” idea too far into your practice process and routine.

Specifically, you can be tempted to reduce difficult technical movements to mindless mechanical repetition, as if you really were simply “training” your muscles. If this happens, there are three potential pitfalls:

1. You risk becoming less aware and mindful of what you are doing with your whole self as you play, inviting harmful, inefficient habits of movement to creep into your playing.

2. You hyper focus on the part of your body (e.g., your fingers) that is doing the work, which actually can interfere with your coordination as you play.

3. You put your musical/aural/expressive self in the back seat of the music making process.

All three of these things are interconnected, but I’d like to bring to your attention the particular connection between points 2 and 3.

When you over focus on the purely biomechanical process of “moving your fingers correctly”, for example, you are using your brain in a particular way that is not conducive to the holistic process of making music. Why? Because the aural/expressive component has been mostly removed.

When this aural/expressive context is absent, your brain coordinates the mechanical movement in a way that really has nothing to do with playing music.

It’s sort of like faking a smile. It seems like the same muscles are doing the same work in the same way, but your brain is organizing the movement (the smile) in a manner that has nothing to do with the natural responses that would elicit the smile (joy, pleasure, etc.) If you’ve ever had to “fake” a smile, you’ll probably remember that it feels forced, unnatural and full of excess effort.

Now, for sure, there is a time and a reason to take a challenging technical passage out of context, out of time, and into mechanical consideration. It gives you a chance to slow things down and observe. It can also give you chance to make better decisions (about fingering, breathing, articulation, etc.)

But once you’ve spent a bit of time in that analytic/mechanical mode, it’s time to put it back into the context of sincere musical expression.

It’s probably no mystery that many of the great classical virtuosi claimed not to have practiced mechanical, “un-musical” exercises (like running scales up and down their instruments for hours at a time). They instead, worked on practicing music.

This is perhaps one of the greatest values of playing an etude. Good technical etudes tend to turn mechanical challenges into meaningful music. They help to integrate the aural/expressive and the motor/mechanical seamlessly together in the brain.

Unfortunately, the “mindless motor repetition” practice can help to a certain degree, and that’s why (too) many musicians spend a good deal of time working this way. All this experience of repeated movement patterns can certainly help “potentiate” the movement itself more readily.

But it comes at a price:

Wasted time (there is definitely a point of diminishing returns here!)

Inconsistent performance (the good performances are always aural/expressive by nature)

Focal dystonias and other coordination issues (arguably caused, in part, from consciously attempting to micro-managing the motor activity in playing your instrument)

So take those few moments to deal with the mechanical. Then put it all promptly back into the context of making music. If you’re  working on a difficult passage from a particular piece, bring it back into the context of the entire piece as soon as possible, even if it isn’t as clean as you’d like it to be.

If you’re an improvising musician working on a particularly difficult technical movement, find a way to turn it into meaningful music, rather than just repeating it over and over as a sort of calisthenic.

And of course, any time you struggle to play a particular thing, make sure you sing it. This will help you crystalize the sound in your imagination, and will aid your brain in organizing the coordination necessary to play it.

Strive towards making even the most challenging passages part of your self-expression. Your technique will improve, and you’ll make your most authentic music.