Tag Archives: Practicing Saxophone

The Beginning Jazz Improviser’s Biggest Mistake

Improvisation can seem like a mysterious, almost impenetrable process to those new to studying it. The idea that a musician can generate cogent, beautiful melodies on the spot seems almost superhuman. But in fact, it is one of the most  human characteristics we possess.

We’re actually natural improvisers.  We speak and move spontaneously everyday with no real struggle or wonder about the process. In short, we improvise. Mostly we do this because we practice doing it everyday (it’s called living).

Yet when it comes to musical improvisation, we can sometimes find ourselves in a state of doubt. (This is because we don’t yet have enough specific experiences to strengthen our faith.) For something as seemingly complex as jazz improvisation it is easy to get overwhelmed with where to start and how to proceed. There are so many elements to deal with: tonality, harmony, song forms, time and rhythm to name a few.

I notice that many people who are new to studying jazz make one fundamental mistake: They place far too much emphasis (and study time) on trying to figure out which notes to play as they improvise:

“What should I play over this chord?”

“Which scale ‘works the best’ with that chord?”

“What are the ‘hip’ notes to play on the blues?”

“Is it okay to play F natural over a C major seventh chord?”

Now, for sure, you have to pay attention to note choices, tonal colors, harmony/scale relationships, melodic construction and the like. These are absolutely fundamental to the expression and language of jazz, and studying them requires a huge commitment of time and will.

But studying the tonal aspects alone neglects the most fundamental elements of making jazz sound like jazz: Time, feel (this includes articulation and sound), rhythm, meter and form. You need notes to make music, but you really, really need rhythm. Many things make a jazz artist distinctive, but it’s the artist’s feel, sound, sense of space and form, and rhythmic conception that creates the most immediate, visceral distinction.

Your first goal as a jazz musicians should be on moving  the notes. Again, time, feel, rhythm and form. You might know all the music theory in the world, but if you can’t create clear, intentional movement with it you’re going to end up being one frustrated musician.

These days it can safely be said that jazz is a vast, ever expanding language. There really is no such thing as a series of notes (a lick, phrase, etc.) that by itself sounds like “jazz”. What gives it the jazz  sound is how it is played. What is the rhythmic feel? What is the expressive intention?

You can play an excerpt from a Bach sonata with an intention of making it sound like jazz, and it will. You can also play a Charlie Parker solo with no clue about the jazz language (or with another, specific, “non-jazz” intention) and it won’t sound like jazz at all.

When I first fell in love with jazz, I didn’t think about notes at all. I used to play completely by ear, “faking” my improvisations. I never gave a thought to the notes I was playing, I just let my ear take me places (I learned early on that if a note sounded bad against what the band was playing, all I had to do was move it up or down a half step and I was fine).

I was more interested in sounding like I was a jazz saxophonist, so I mimicked some of the great jazz saxophonists by how they were moving the notes they were playing. By how they made the notes feel.

As my curiosity grew, I began to study rather extensively my chords, scales, harmonic relationships, etc. My playing grew exponentially, because no matter what I learned, I could immediately express it through my feel and intention. I began to understand what I was doing (and hearing!), and I was also finding so many other melodic possibilities. It was like all that “fake” jazz I’d played set up a marvelous foundation to take on all this new “note” information.

So if you’re new to jazz improvisation, by all means study your chords, scales, harmonic relationships, etc. This is the material of improvisation. But make your main focus be time, rhythm, feel and form. (You’ll find that all these elements are related and support each other).

Here’s a few things you can do to start cultivating these skills:

  • Listen, listen, listen-Listen to as much jazz as you can. Find players of your instrument and other instruments and listen very carefully to how they make the music feel. Notice, time, rhythm and articulation.
  • Sing-Find a particular solo that you really like and listen to it over and over until you can accurately sing it note per note. This takes a great deal of time but is so worth it. Not only will it improve how you understand and conceive the feeling of jazz, it will hugely improve your ears for hearing pitch.
  • Work on two-bar phrases-With your metronome set on beats 2 and 4, practice improvising phrases that fit into 2 bars. If you can’t think of any of the top of your head, take time to write some down. Use eighth and quarter notes to make phrases that are easy to hear and internalize. Aim for musical. You want to get to the point where you can feel a two-bar phrase with no thought at all. This will come in very handy as you start improvising over more complex forms (like standard songs, or the blues).
  • Play jazz etudes-There are so many resources on the Web to find good, free, jazz etudes. It is also worth it to buy a nice jazz etude book. Randy Hunter has very nice material for the beginning improviser, as does Greg Fishman. You can also play any transcribed jazz solo that makes you excited. Remember, feel  is the essence.
  • Practice whatever you already know with a jazz feel-Whichever scales, arpeggios, phrases, etc. that you easily know should be played with your new, ever developing jazz feel. Make sure you’re working on something you know so  well, that you can give most of your attention to your time and feel.

So put feel, time, rhythm, and form first. Make tonality a very, very close second, and you’ll start to sound like a jazz musician in no time.

The Best Saxophone Lesson I’ve Ever Taken

This probably sounds crazy, but the best saxophone lesson I’ve ever taken was from somebody who didn’t even play the instrument. It was given to me by Frances Marsden, my first Alexander Technique teacher. How is it possible (you might ask) that somebody who knows nothing about playing the saxophone could help me become a better saxophone player?

Ironically enough, it is precisely because Frances knew nothing about playing the saxophone that she was able to help me so much. She did something very simple, but immediately practical: She observed what I was doing as I played, then asked questions about it.

She would ask, for example, “Is it necessary for you to tense and raise your left shoulder as you play?” I would stop for a moment and think, then reply, “No, it’s not at all necessary. It doesn’t help my sound or my fingering technique.” She would continue, “Let’s see what would happen if you don’t do that.” And of course, I found that if I didn’t do that, I would play better.

We went on and on like this. She, rather innocently asking questions and I, stopping to observe and reconsider my technique. You see, Frances didn’t know what was necessary to produce sound or create technique with the saxophone. She was just observing the tension I was creating as I played, and asking me if it was necessary. Sometimes it was, but more often than not it wasn’t.

She became fascinated by the whole process as well. With a childlike curiosity, she would observe and ask based upon a genuine desire to understand what was involved in playing the saxophone. She acted as a sort of a mirror for me: I was able to change many of the habits of unnecessary tension I was bringing into my saxophone playing. 

By the time I’d take this remarkable “saxophone” lesson, I’d already taken about 10 Alexander lessons from Frances. I came to her because of some serious coordination issues I was having at that time that forced me to take time off from professional performance. In the first lessons we didn’t even look at how I was playing the saxophone. Instead we dealt with my general coordination: How I sat, stood, used my arms, maintained balance, breathed, walked, etc.

It was in these first lessons that I gained a much clearer understanding and kinesthetic sense of how my habits of tension were manifesting themselves. This was a good strategy, because had we started right in on the saxophone, I would have been so emotionally tied up into my own playing (and my beliefs about playing!) that I wouldn’t have been able to be truly open to seeing what my habits were.

But after significantly refining my skills of self-observation through my lessons (and making noticeable improvements in my overall coordination and balance), Frances thought it was time we addressed the saxophone directly.

Now, mind you, my saxophone playing was already beginning to improve quite measurably just from improving my overall coordination. I was finding a great deal more ease, consistency, and most important: optimism.

This is no small point. You see, many “saxophone specific” problems are really just problems of balance and coordination. Improve your balance and coordination, and indirectly, you improve your saxophone playing.

Here’s what I learned in that Alexander/saxophone lesson about my saxophone playing habits:

  • I tighten my neck as I jut my face forward (especially when playing altissimo)
  • I tighten across my chest as I lift my left shoulder up towards my ears
  • I pull my right shoulder downward toward the left side of my pelvis, and pull the left side of my pelvis upward toward my right shoulder
  • I hyperextend my right leg, throwing my knee backwards into a “lock”.
  • I throw my head back as I open my mouth, gasping noisily as I inhale
  • I over-extend my left wrist (bending it backwards), especially as I play up in the palm keys.

If you saw me, I probably looked like many saxophone players do. Most of the above habits are so subtle, that many saxophonists and saxophone teachers would never notice them. (Frances couldn’t immediately see some of them , but she could easily feel them with her hands!) Many saxophonists get desensitized to noticing the habitual patterns of unnecessary tension that many (even great) saxophonists have.

For this reason, it’s helpful to have a fresh set of eyes. Somebody who might not know the saxophone, but knows very well the workings of the human organism.

After having that remarkable lesson, I was able to develop a wonderfully useful strategy for improvement: Simply stop carrying out some of these habits. To be honest, that takes a considerable conviction, persistence and strategy, not to mention the investment of time. (But the rewards are so consistent, that it is easily worth it.)

To make a very long story short, I’ve since been able to rid myself of theses problems and am not only playing professionally again, but I’m also playing better than ever before. It all begins with changing your beliefs about what it takes to play, and then cultivating an ability to observe and to ask  the right questions. That’s where the help of a good teacher comes into play.

Paying Attention As You Practice: Think Globally Instead Of Locally

One of the first things I ask a musician who comes to me to study the Alexander Technique is, “What are you thinking about as you’re playing music?” I get a variety of answers, bust most of the answers have one thing in common: Continue reading

Imagination Plus Clear Direction Equals Good Intonation

I had a wonderful moment of revelation this morning as I practiced my saxophone. It was one of those experiences that helps me to better see how interconnected thought is to result when it comes to playing music (or doing anything else, for that matter). I was working on my intonation by playing long tones with a tuning CD (recorded tracks of drones consisting of fourths and fifths).

It is very challenging to play the saxophone in tune with this recording because of the nature of the saxophone overtone series. I have to play each note with a very particular internal embouchure (i.e., how I shape the inside of my mouth and throat) to stay in tune. It’s like walking on a razor’s edge. For that reason it’s great practice. It really improves my ears, and makes staying in tune with other musicians (who possess reasonable intonation capabilities) a snap.

But what I noticed today is that I would typically attack each note ever so out of tune, then within a millisecond I’d correct it. It was almost indiscernible, but it made me realize something: I’m not really imagining the pitch before I’m playing, so much as I’m reacting to the pitch I’m hearing, then correcting it.

Now, I thought I was imagining the pitch. But if I was, why was I slightly off in that first part of my  attack? I thought it was time to investigate this question.

What I started doing was observing my thinking as I was playing. As I readied myself to play along with the drone, I asked myself if I was really hearing the pitch. I was sure I was, so I played. Same thing, slightly off (sharp), going immediately into tune.

How could this be? I explored this a few more times and found out something interesting about myself: I was imagining the pitch, to be sure, but I was not at all paying attention to what I was doing with myself as I did so. 

So I gave it another go with the only intention being to notice what I was doing with myself as I prepared to play. What I discovered was that I was sort of “holding” my embouchure in a habitual way that wasn’t allowing me to attack the note with the kind of intonation that I was imagining. It dawned on me that I was dividing what I was imagining (the pitch) from what was going on inside my body (my embouchure as well as my head/neck/back relationship).

As I continued with this exploration, I realized that my “habitual” embouchure preparation involved tensing my neck ever so slightly, usually making me a bit sharp (flat on certain notes). I also noticed that I released this tension the moment I came in tune. (Actually, better to say the opposite: I came back in tune when I released this tension.)

In short I was reacting as opposed to directing myself with a clear intention.

Once I became aware of this, I simply gave myself a chance to integrate the two things into one whole: My imagination and my direction could be one inseparable thing. Immediately I found that I could make my attack with beautiful intonation. Consistently and easily. I was actually embodying my imagination.

I’m always so thankful for these experiences. Such great lessons that I seem to learn over and over again.

Saxophone Virtuosity

I wanted to share this video I came across of the great Dutch saxophonist, Raaf Hekkema. The first time I saw it I was so impressed that I immediately had to find out more about him. After visiting his Website I was even more impressed with him. He has an insatiable desire to continually find deeper ways to express himself through his music.

Besides expanding his so-called “extended technique” (in this video performance you can hear spectacular altissimo control, multiphonics, slap tonguing, vocalization and other surprises) he is also interested in altering the mechanics of his instruments to better support his vision and imagination.

One of the great things about all this innovation is that it is all in the service of the music. There is no grandstanding (though some might think there is by sheer virtue of his stunning abilities). He is a reminder to me of how we are often only limited by our imagination and our reluctance when it comes to growing as artists.

Here he is playing Paganini’s Caprice No. 24 on alto saxophone. Besides loving what he plays, I also love how he gives himself time between each variation to redirect his energy and thinking. A true virtuoso. Hope you enjoy!