Developing an Improvisational Language

This article originally appeared in Saxophone Journal, May/June 2013.  Volume 37, No. 5

 

            Jazz might be the music of poets and lovers, but it also attracts plenty of jocks and tough guys.  Individual style speaks to the way that we see the world, and how we relate to our environment.  Improvisation is usually interactive, and therefore a social activity, but it can sometimes be quite the opposite.  In the moment, we can channel the quiet, internal world of the mind, or aggressively charge forth, all blood and guts.  The language of each improviser is a unique and personal spectrum of expression, and the cult of jazz personality is sustained by heart-on-sleeve performances, even if the heart is one of cool, detached intellectualism, or even a heart of darkness.  At a certain level of artistry, when the need for proving and posturing is over, we can fully become who we already were.

 

I recently played a short stint in Colorado with some truly fine musicians that I was meeting for the first time.  On one of the breaks, a band member was asking me about some of the things that I had played in the previous set.  He described the things that he had heard in a way that I hadn’t really thought of before, but he was articulating, in his own way, some of the deeper processes of improvisation.  It was very interesting to get the perspective of a stranger with a highly developed ear, after carefully listening (and interacting in a supremely artistic manner, I should add!).  This caused me to reflect on all the different ways that I think about improvising, and how I slowly accrued those methodologies, one by one, over many years of hard practice.

 

There is no single “correct” method for learning how to improvise.  I know great players that used play-alongs and chord/scale theory, while others relied mostly on transcribing.  Some shun transcribing altogether, for fear of sounding too much like somebody else.  Furthermore, the nomenclature can very widely among a group of well-matched musicians, making it more challenging to talk about the music.  Sometimes, a student can be totally hung up by a method of deriving information because it just doesn’t make sense to them.  For example, when I was a student, I learned about something called the super locrianscale.  It was explained to me as a major scale with the root raised by half-step.  This made my brain hurt.  Another student explained it to me as a locrian scale with a lowered fourth.  This made the left hemisphere of my brain slowly melt out of my ear!  I struggled for a long time, never really mastering that part of the language until the day that someone showed me that you could go up a half-step from the root and play the ascending form of melodic minor.  For some reason, that explanation made very clear sense to me, and to this very day, I continue to think about altered dominants in this way.  All roads lead to the same place, but we usually need to find the path that best suits our individual needs.  Now and then, it is necessary to learn something a few different ways before the concept finally sinks in.  There are no shortcuts in the learning business.

 

Jazz culture places soloists above all, and this leads to egoism. There is a strong tendency to act cool and aloof, even when we don’t know what the heck is going on.  Especially when we don’t know what’s going on.  The long-term damage of the shuck-and-jive routine can literally set you back by years.  By admitting that you don’t understand something, you can keep trying to find a new way to comprehend a given concept.  If you ask ten teachers to explain something, you are likely to get as many as ten different accounts of the truth.  This can be confusing, but only until you find the way that makes the most sense to you.  Never give up, and never be afraid to say, “I still don’t understand.”

 

As a teacher, my philosophy is that the best way to solve problems is to distill each challenge into a clear statement.  A problem should be expressed in a single sentence, in plain language.  For instance, “I don’t know what to play on half-diminished chords.”  If the problem is too complex to state in one sentence, try to break it down into a set of smaller, simpler problems.  Once the problem is clearly established, the answers (and there usually are multiple solutions) can be laid out in the same, matter-of-fact language.  One path for our sample problem might be something like, “Play a melodic minor scale on the third,” or, “Play a major seven sharp-five chord on the tritone.”  Simplicity is about minimizing the number of steps necessary to solve the puzzle.  Life on the bandstand is fast and furious.  A moment of hesitation is all it takes to get lost.  Get to the important stuff as quickly as possible, not by cutting corners, but by identifying the straightest path.

 

The issue of multiple solutions has a lot to do that expanding bag of tricks.  Once we understand a particular way of negotiating a chord type, or a progression, we should master that method and then search for alternatives.  If we only have one way of getting out of trouble, we will only use that way, and once your audience can easily anticipate your next move, they will be bored with you and they will stop listening.  Much in the way that great writers constantly seek new metaphors and expressive devices, the improviser must expand his/her language.  New sounds and melodic structures will keep solos sounding fresh, and provide a greater capacity for choice.  The single most potent element of improvisation is the ability of the musician to make choices, on the fly, and in the moment.

 

Long-time readers of my column know that I tend towards a wide variety of techniques.  I have written about chord/scale theory, upper structures, modal approaches, voice-leading techniques, triad pairs, and even atonal systems and tone rows.  An over-reliance on any one way of thinking will lead to predictability, and then monotony (for the listener and for the player).  My training has given me flexibility to quickly adapt to different musical environments.  I enjoy playing all kinds of music, and I can equally enjoy burning an up-tempo swinger or laying back on an atmospheric ballad.  In retrospect, it is easy to see how I amassed the different techniques that ultimately formed my voice.  Here are a few key points that have worked for me.

 

1.     Never immediately discount anything, ever.  Give it a chance, or put it away for future exploration.

2.     Study with a master teacher for an extended period of time.  Then find a new master.  Repeat as necessary.

3.     Transcribe one artist until you gain deep insight into his style.  Then find a new artist.  Repeat as necessary.

4.     Respect the tradition, study history, and get the oldest musician in town to tell you her stories.

5.     Don’t lie to yourself, and don’t quit.

6.     Have a notebook.  Fill it.  Get a new notebook.

7.     Be confident, but always assume that there is a better player in the band, and an even better player in the audience.

8.     Be generous on stage and share the spotlight.

9.     Regularly read all sorts of books, magazines, and newspapers.

10.    Teach!  You will nurture the future of music by helping young artists, and by building new audiences.  (You will also learn unexpected things from your students.)

 

There are no shortcuts to becoming a master.  You will make choices that relate to your values, musical and otherwise.  You will face dark hours of intense doubt.  There will be spectacular successes, and punishing humiliations.  It takes a long time, and patience isn’t exactly cultivated in contemporary society.  If you can muscle it out, endure the tough times, and keep your nose to the wheel, you will eventually get there.  It is only a question of how badly you want it, and how much you are willing to sacrifice to get there.  Everyone is unique, but nobody is born a master.  It is a process of becoming.  Practice well!  §

Should I take a gap year?

Some interesting debates online about "should you change majors, "should you take a gap," etc. Here is my honest take - the same thing that I share with my students and my own children:

1. A gap year only makes sense if you have something better lined up than being a f/t student. If your plan is to live with your parents and drive food delivery or bag groceries, I don't think that is going to do much for your mental health. Worse still, you might end up living at home, sleeping all day and playing video games at night with no job at all. You'd be better off at least taking some classes online.

2. A college degree is a degree. How many of us do something that is different from, or tangential to, our actual majors. I am primarily a classical saxophone professor, but my degrees are in jazz studies and jazz arranging. Closely related? Sure! But I took on the extra study and teaching outside of my required curricula, which took extra time and money.

3. A degree will get you through the screening process of jobs that *require* a degree, but only YOU can develop the skills necessary to win a job. You are the architect of your future.

4. Don't make a one semester plan. Make a 5-year plan. Allow for contingencies, of course. Have an optimistic top tier and a last ditch version, if nothing else works out. After my masters degree, I ended up at the bottom rung of my plan, but 3 years later, I was back on top.

5. You certainly don't *have* to go to college. It is expensive, and we are all worried about having to go back online while the pandemic continues to wreak havoc. With that said, think carefully about how you spend, borrow, and invest. I still believe that education is an incredibly valuable investment.

6. How you spend the hours is how you spend your life. It is over quickly. Be smart, be realistic, but don't give up just because things look bleak. This is temporary, and we are all sharing in the suffering.

Hang in there! If you are a college student, don't let anyone pressure you into doing anything. You have big decisions to make and they are YOUR decisions. The people that love you will support your decisions as well as they can.

What Makes a Great Performance?

    World Saxophone Quartet was the first sax quartet that I really listened to.  30+ years later, I am still listening.  On the edge of my seat.  Heart pounding.  Arms up.  I am still listening.

However, there is a problem.  I strive to play with perfect pitch.  I preach to my students to play with magical blend.  We strive for control:  control of the sound, control of the articulation, play perfectly together.  We reach for perfection, but World Saxophone Quartet was anything except perfection (I'm writing about the classic 1980s lineup).  They were rough, raw, and often, OUT OF CONTROL.  I'm a saxophone professor, sitting in my basement with a collection of recordings that allow me to hear just about anything that I want, and I am listening to what moves me:  perfect imperfection.

Looking at this paradox, I reflect on what I consider to be my best performances.

1.  Performing John Mackey's Concerto at the Virginia Music Educators Association conference, around 10 years ago.  I had the opportunity to play it on a little tour with the JMU Wind Symphony leading up to VMEA, and I started experimenting with improvisation on the cadenza.  It was high pressure, a packed hall, but I had just had a revelation through my studies with Michael Colgrass.  I flung myself at the audience.  It was not recorded, but the crowd seemed to like it.  After it was over, I sat on the floor backstage and wept.  Hard.

2.  Performing Gil Evans' "Meaning of the Blues" with the JMU Jazz Ensemble, supervised by visiting scholar Ryan Truesdell.  This was the dress rehearsal, so again, it wasn't recorded.  George Adams is one of my great heroes of the tenor saxophone and I was so honored to have a chance to play this arrangement with my students and my dear colleague Chuck Dotas conducting.  The actual concert wasn't nearly as good, but in the dress rehearsal, I sort of left my body and watched a river pour through it from above.  It was like the room went black and I levitated for a couple of minutes.  I shook when it was over.  I was unable to recreate the experience on the actual concert.

3.  Recently, on JMU's George West Jazz Festival, I finally played Bob Brookmeyer's arrangement of "Skylark," which is probably my favorite big band arrangement ever, conducted by my friend and colleague David Stringham.  It was after a long day of listening to high school bands and giving clinics.  I was tired.  I was actually too tired to really think.  As I finished the cadenza, I quietly burst into tears on stage, thinking about Bob Brookmeyer.  There were audible gasps in the audience.

I've had plenty of great performances, but these really stand out in my mind.  They were not perfect.  I've given performances that were technically much better, at least as far as I can remember, being that only "Skylark" was recorded (I posted that one on YouTube), I was reckless and free of fear.  I trusted the integrity of my preparation implicitly.

I think that what makes a truly great performance is the ability to let go.  That freedom might come from being comfortable, or being uncomfortable.  In each of these instances, I was very inspired.  I felt great meaning in the moment.  We need to teach THAT to our students.  Strive to play perfectly and with control, but when the downbeat hits, let it go and remember WHY you are performing.  Tell your story in your words.  That's what World Saxophone Quartet does for me, and it is why I can't wait to take the stage again.

Practice well.

Jazz Education and Transcription: Should You Transcribe Solos?

This topic has been rattling around in my brain for decades. Especially in higher education, there appears to be a consensus that transcribing the improvised solos of the masters is an important part of learning to be a jazz musician.  I have a confession.  I am not so sure.

Let me begin by saying that I have transcribed many solos over the years.  It is a practice that strengthens connections between the ears and the musical mind.  It is part of the process of learning the language of jazz.  When I taught undergraduate jazz improvisation, I always gave transcription assignments.  I have even made calligraphy scores of a few of my favorite transcriptions.  My thoughts here are more about the long-term strategies for advanced students and professional musicians.

My undergraduate experience was filled with contrasts.  At the same time that I was taking improvisation classes that required transcription projects that were both written down and performed, I was studying with Yusef Lateef.  Yusef was very against transcribing.  He felt that the practice only made you sound like someone else, and that the whole point of being a musician was to be unique.  He saw transcribing as a way to move backwards as an artist.

I have never been great at transcribing.  I can do it, of course, but I'm slow and I don't enjoy getting all the details perfectly written down.  I'm always second guessing how much detail to include.  Articulations?  Fingerings?  Time feel?  I find more value in playing along with the recording, at least when it comes to getting the details right, but I dread writing down things like "lay back," or "straight-ish swing eighth notes."  Ugh.  But I also find tremendous value in writing things down for later analysis, and for documenting the work.

In the twenty years that I have been a professor, I haven't transcribed many entire solos, except for a book that I wrote for Hal Leonard that was more of a project that I took on for professional development than passion for the subject.  I have tended instead towards targeting portions of solos that I am particularly drawn to.  From there, I try to reverse engineer the essence of the passage so that I can learn what made it stand out to me.  I do the same thing with passages from classical music.  For example, I have a page in my notebook of patterns from Astor Piazzolla's etudes that I have expanded into different keys and transpositions. 

This falls inline with a practice from my lessons with Yusef.  We would improvise (although he never used the word, preferring his autophysiopsychic terminology) and then go back and revisit ideas that struck us as interesting.  He would point out if you happened to play something more than once, or if you developed a certain idea.  He would encourage you to uncover the essence of the idea and expand upon it.  It was a bit like transcribing yourself as a way of accessing your own musical subconscious.  In this way, you could develop your own internal voice into a unique form of music expression.

I think that an initial period of transcribing entire solos is probably important, as it gives a tangible framework for building a set of vital skills for the improviser.  Once those skills are in place, I think that it should be up to the musician.  How many solos are enough?  I guess it depends on the individual.  I have had students that labor for weeks on one solo, and others that can pop them off in a few days, or even hours. 

More importantly, if you enjoy transcribing, go at it!  I enjoy hearing all the amazing work that people post on social media.  I also find it very interesting to analyze written transcriptions that I might not have had the time or inclination to do on my own.  For some people, transcribing is an important and rewarding part of the overall work on being a jazz musician.

My personal practice has sharpened into exploring how things work, and how I can rebuild them in my own way to make them distinctive.  It's the same for me when I play Bach or Paganini.  I'm not interested in being stylistic perfect or correct.  I'm trying to find a unique way of performing material that is meaningful to me, knowing that if it is unique enough, I might build an audience that will recognize that they can only get that particular music by listening to me.

So, if you are a young student, definitely transcribe.  Just try to see the big picture and to find a way to be true to yourself as you explore other languages and styles.  Practice well!

Integrity and the Creative Life

(This article originally appeared in Saxophone Today, May/June 2017.)

            I was blessed with some of the best mentors in the business.  Although they are mostly retired now, and some are no longer among us, they live within me every day and their words unfailingly guide me through my career.  One of these great mentors gave me a piece of wisdom that is with me always:  “You must trust the integrity of your preparation.”  This is no piece of refrigerator magnet wisdom; there is a depth to this advice that goes way beyond a catchy turn of phrase.  You can believe in yourself until the cows come home, but this does you no good if you haven’t already *invested* in yourself.  I keep a [handmade] sign outside my teaching studio that says “THE INTEGRITY OF PREPARATION.”  

I live by this motto, but lately I have been thinking about how little we do to teach integrity in the arts.  We teach craft, and we hold our students up to certain standards, but where exactly does integrity come into the picture?  In this issue, I reflect on my own experiences trying to keep integrity at the center of my work.

Say “Yes”

When I was a young man and an aspiring artist, I recognized that I had a long path ahead of me.  I had a bit of chops and a general lack of fear on the stage, but I knew that I had major gaps in my musicianship.  I learned early on that the young musician has to say yes to as many things as possible.  I went to jam sessions, I played for cheap, and I said yes.  A lot.  I played musicals.  I bought my first clarinet because I said yes to a gig that required clarinet.  I bought it along with some reeds and a fingering chart.  I showed up early, wearing the right clothes and a big smile.  I practiced hard, and I tried even harder on the bandstand.  I was never too good for a gig.  I wish I knew how many weddings that I have played, but my best guess is well over a hundred.  I played with blues bands, rock bands, pop bands, big bands, smooth jazz groups, jazz combos, classical saxophone quartets, and more.  I played bar mitzvahs, wine fests, house concerts, and high school festivals.  I said yes because I knew that I needed experience to develop craftsmanship.  I needed to crash and burn (and boy, did I!) to identify the gaps that needed to be filled.  I said yes.

Identify Your Values

You can’t be true to your values if you haven’t articulated them.  Once I started building a resume, I imagined what I really wanted to do with my life.  I knew that I didn’t want to play gigs forever.  I wanted to play concerts, and to say something with music.  I wanted to be an artist.  When I was a student, I had the luxury of playing gigs outside of school while my academic life provided me with opportunities to perform more serious music.  After I completed my masters degree, I took a year off and taught private lessons and gigged.  It became very clear to me, and in very short order, that certain gigs were no longer of interest to me.  In fact, they pulled me away from the time that I needed to invest in the music that I truly loved.  Worse still, all those short rock solos were leaking into my jazz playing - you are what you eat, after all.  I reevaluated my strengths and weaknesses, and I made a five year plan that moved me away from gigs and into a career that would feed my passions for teaching and creativity.  In my case, that meant a focus on art music (of all styles), so that I could move towards a professorship.

Say “No”

I got into a doctoral program and my wife and I packed up and moved from upstate New York to Miami.  I made up my mind that it was time to say no to anything that didn’t directly move me towards my goals.  I said no to weddings.  I said no to gigs with synth backing and click tracks.  I said no to a teaching gig that would have taken up too much time without adding anything uniquely meaningful to my resume.  I sharpened up and dug in.  Musicians are not good at saying no.  We are taught to always say yes.  We are also taught to always be on the defensive.  This is good advice for a young person, but if you find yourself in a position of no longer needing the money, perhaps it is time to reconsider the value of your time.  Be gracious, be humble, but don’t be afraid to say no to something that isn’t worth your time.

Say “Maybe”

Not everything is as simple as a wedding gig versus a concerto or a commission.  Sometimes it becomes very important to think it over.  For example, in my early twenties I was offered a chance to write and record my music for multiphonic saxophone and jazz combo.  I said yes, because I knew that it was a one-time opportunity and it was the chance of a lifetime.  It was also a project that meshed perfectly with my long-term goals.  Later on, I was offered that chance to do a project that was even larger in scope, but out of my wheelhouse.  I ultimately declined on that one, even though it felt crazy to pass on such a great opportunity.  In retrospect, I made a good decision.  I didn’t have the broad skills necessary to knock that project out of the park, and with a little time to reflect, I knew that I would have had a hard time doing a really good job.

More than twenty-five years into my professional life, I have slowly but steadily become a saxophone soloist.  I don’t even play clarinet anymore.  I have the luxury of focussing on the instruments that I love, and the music that ignites my passions.  I am still open to performing in a variety of situations, but only when there is a compelling reason to say yes.  I might play a wedding for a person that I love, or with musicians that I admire.  I know when to say “maybe,” and how to use my set of established values to think it over and to ultimately make the best decision for my career.

Look to Your Heroes

You have heroes.  They are your heroes for a reason.  They probably have, or had an incredible amount of integrity over their careers, which is how they became artists that you admire.  Emulate your heroes.  They obviously did some things right.  Analyze their work carefully, and examine the path that they traveled.  If you love an artist, figure out how and why you love them.  Reverse engineer their successes, and incorporate their work into your own.  Your preferences will illuminate your values, so pay attention to what you like, and to whom you love.

Be a Hero

Many of my heroes are gone - some died before I was even born.  As I enjoy what I gratefully call “mid-career,” I keep in mind that the younger generation is looking up to me.  Like the story of Coltrane being mortified when Coleman Hawkins walked in on him “walking the bar,” I think about the message that my current work sends to my peers and to my students.  I choose work that I am proud to hold up to the light.  I do my best to emulate my heroes, and to use my artistic values as a compass.  I hope to forge a path that will inspire the rising artists of the next generation.  As my heroes melt away into history, I owe them a debt that can only be repaid by stepping up to take the torch.  I will obviously never be Coltrane, or Yusef Lateef, but I will aspire to be the best version of myself, and to prepare with an intensity that will allow me to put full faith in the integrity of that preparation.

Don’t Leave

Another of my great heroes, and a model of artistic integrity in the saxophone world, is Ellery Eskelin.  When Ellery reflected on his decades of work in NYC, he gave an incredibly potent piece of advice:  If you want to make it in New York, don’t leave.  It seems obvious, but I know so many cats that saved up, moved to New York, ran out of bread, and moved home to save up for another attempt.  Ellery has it right.  Find a way to stay, and don’t leave.  For me, a professorship was the equivalent of making it in NYC.  I worked hard, kept at it, and refused to quit.  Obviously, there will be times to retreat and regroup, especially when physical or mental health are on the line, but one must always consider the long-term cost of stepping back.  It is normal to be frustrated, but do your very best to keep working.

Know Yourself

Part of becoming an artist is knowing who you are.  It is vital to build craft, but those skills are only building blocks for your life’s work.  You must clearly identify your long-term goals, and devise a pathway for success.  This will involve serious practice, discipline, devotion, and a huge amount of risk.  You will never know that you are an artist until it becomes the consensus of your peers, and that takes many years.  At some point, you will stand alone with only your courage and the integrity of your preparation.  Prepare well!  §

Curiosity, Creativity, and Kitchen Fires

(This article originally appeared in Saxophone Today, March/April 2017.)

I’ve been teaching at the university level for a long time.  I’m in my forties now, and tenure and promotion to full professor are years behind me.  All those boxes have been ticked, the hoops have been jumped through, and I find myself contemplating “what’s next?”  To find the way forward, it can be helpful to look back, to assess what worked, and what didn’t.  Were there dreams and goals brushed aside as a matter of practicality?  It might be possible to remove old obstacles, or perhaps some of those hurdles disappeared without notice while we were working on other things.  When I reflect on my humble successes, they can all be distilled down to a single defining characteristic that instigated it all:  curiosity.  

Even when I was a child, I had a searing passion for understanding the world around me.  One of my experiments gone awry involved testing the flame in the gas stove with a tissue, to see if it behaved like other forms of fire.  So at five years old, I set the kitchen on fire (no one was harmed but the linoleum and my dad’s feet as he stomped out the flames).  I built working fuses out of foil and I shorted out my model train transformer - again resulting in a small fire.  I liked to take things apart, and sometimes they wouldn’t go back together, but at least I learned something along the way.  My parents were very patient with me, and when they couldn’t answer my questions, they would take me to the library.  My research slowly shifted away from disassembling telephones and creating small electrical fires when I discovered the saxophone.  The mysteries that unveiled themselves on spinning black vinyl, and later on shiny aluminum discs became my new obsessions.  I practiced like I was conducting experiments, trying to decode the secrets that my keyed brass megaphone held like a vessel with a tiny opening, only trickling out the answers as I slaved away in the practice room.  It was curiosity that took me down the path to mastering multiphonics, eventually launching my career.

When I was a junior in high school, I finally made my all-district concert band, and then the Massachusetts All State band.  That year, our conductor was the great John Paynter, the legendary director of bands at Northwestern University.  One of the pieces on the program was Fred Fennell’s transcription of Wagner’s Elsa’s Procession to the Cathedral.  This was the first time that I remember being utterly consumed by emotion while performing; tears streaming down my cheeks, I just tried to keep playing.   The experience changed everything for me, because my curious nature left me totally preoccupied with the why:  why did that experience overwhelm me?  Was it something inherent in the music itself?  Was it the quality of the conductor or the performers?  Was it the fact that I was exhausted from rehearsing for two long days?  As a young musician, I desperately wanted to have that experience again, and as many times as possible!  It was the difference between craft and art.  I knew that from that moment forward, I wanted to be an artist, and to surround myself with art.

That tearful performance was the first of many, and it was the beginning of my heart opening up to a new way of experiencing art, in a variety of media.  I have spent time beyond measure contemplating the art that I love, and the specific elements that bring that rush of emotion.  It can be as simple as the strain of a flatted-sixth, yearning to resolve downward, or as complex as a tone row that I can’t manage to sing back.  The first time that I saw Water Lillies, I was swept up by the unexpected size of the work (I had no idea how huge it is).  I have tried to learn from every experience, whether it was a Buddhist sand mandala or Bach played on a great organ in a huge cathedral.  It’s not that I analyze in the moment, but that I use contemplation as a mental exercise to scrutinize after-the-fact, so that I might be able to reverse-engineer the event.  My curious nature drives me to understand.  Even in the kitchen, I like to use a recipe once, figure out what makes it tick, and then improvise my own version.  This approach occasionally spoils a meal or two, but my favorite recipes are my own creative experiments, and they are always works in progress.

 In our modern society, curiosity is becoming an endangered quality of character.  It isn’t our fault.  When I was a little kid, setting fires and getting electric shocks in the late 1970s, a computer was a novelty to the average human.  The answers to our questions took effort to discover, often searching through large and heavy books with hundreds of pages.  Today, most of us carry super-computers in our pockets, and we can find the answers to many questions by saying, “Hey, Siri!”  When I consider how many phone numbers and addresses I used to have memorized, I can only shake my head at how lazy I have become.  With the mega-brain of the internet at our voice command, we have little reason to memorize how many ounces are in a cup.  I wonder how many young people today can even read a map, and why should they care?  The GPS in their cell phone can get them anywhere that they need to go without knowing the name of a single street.  If this is the age of the death of curiosity, we are all in trouble.  Curiosity seems to be necessary for progress, and if our curiosity becomes limited to “how can I make more money,” we will be trading our prophets for profits, and losing our souls in the process.  In recent generations of university students, I see a huge decline in natural curiosity, and even worse, a willingness to accept information without any need for fact checking or research.  This has given rise to what I call the plagiarism of carelessness, not to mention “fake news.”

When I consider the path forward for the second half of my career, I find myself returning to the satisfaction that I have always found in taking things apart.  I want to break my saxophone and find a way to make it play in a new way.  I want new sounds that I haven’t even imagined yet.  I want to find a compelling reason to add a new key to my horn, so that it will do something that I have never done before.  I want to work with visual artists and research scientists, I want to be moved to tears by a piece of math, and to make friends with people that I might never have met without my raging hunger to experience more.  I want to be more, so that I can feel more, and say more.  I want more.  This seems to be a time when people are thinking more about isolationism, but I want to go beyond boundaries, and to grow in ways that I haven’t even considered.  I feel lucky to have chosen an instrument that has given me fascinating friends from around the world.  We saxophonists tend to be a curious bunch, creative to the core, and for that, I am grateful.  §

Preparing for Auditions

(This article originally appeared in Saxophone Today, November/December 2016.)

            I have officially been in this business long enough to have a son that just auditioned for all state jazz band.  It has been many years since I took an audition, but being with my son in the warm up room really brought back the memories.  Hearing all those musicians shedding the same excerpts, not to mention the cats showing off with their flashiest licks . . . I felt like a teenager again, and not in a good way!  In this issue, I am happy to share some strategies to have a good audition experience.

You Cannot Cram

These days, audition requirements are almost always listed online.  Get the music as early as possible, and start preparing right away.  The details are important, so don’t miss the specifics about things like scale requirements, tempo markings, articulations, etc.  Around all state season, I always see a spike in private lesson requests.  No, I cannot teach you how to make district band when the audition is in two weeks and you haven’t learned the etude and can’t tongue your chromatic scale at the required tempo!  When you do this, you are wasting everyone’s time, including your own. Make sure that you have adequate time to prepare.  You cannot cram for an audition.  

Long-term Private Study

Rather than desperately trying to fix all your problems right before an audition, take regular private lessons over a long period of time.  That way, you will have a foundation of skills that you build slowly.  When a student comes to me asking for help with an audition excerpt, I often find that they really need help with basics like tone production, articulation, and good technique.  These things require sustained, disciplined practice.  If you can’t tongue a chromatic scale in sixteenth notes at 100 BPM, there is nothing I can do to get you to 120 in a few weeks.  I don’t have a magic wand, and if I did, I would charge a lot of money and retire as soon as possible!

Did I Mention Details?

When you are performing an audition excerpt or etude, be sure to extract every bit of information from the score.  Things like articulations and dynamics are not mere suggestions.  Chances are, the judges will be using a rubric to score your audition.  Be extremely clear with your interpretation.  Exaggerate the dynamics, demonstrate all the articulations, and execute the rhythms with precision.  Translate every foreign language term in the score, and know how to interpret accordingly.  (I recently had a student try to play a stringendo  by dramatically slowing down . . . wrong guess!) Play with your most beautiful tone, and be true to the style.  For example, a Duke Ellington part would have very different vibrato and overall style when compared to something more contemporary.  Show that you know something more than just what is on the printed page.  For a classical audition, don’t show up with your Otto Link 9* and a Vandoren Java reed!  You will be judged immediately on your tone, then on your style, and finally according to how well you nail the material.  Experienced judges can tell the difference between a little slip and a general lack of preparation.

Warm Up Room Etiquette

The warm up room is a terrible place.  I got a rush of anxiety just dropping my son off in that noisy band room!  Be respectful of others and give your fellow auditionees their own space.  This is not the time to play altissimo exercises and try to play ten clicks faster than the in the other corner of the room.  Try to relax and play some long tones and scales.  Make sure that your G# and C# keys are sticking, and that your reed is working well.  Have extra reeds, just in case something goes wrong, and bring a screwdriver in your case – screws have a way of backing out right before auditions and performances!  If you have a lot of time to kill, don’t blow your chops out in the warm up area.  Bring a book and a light snack, and definitely bring a water bottle!  The water will keep you hydrated, but can also be used to wet your reed, in case it dries out.  Be friendly to the other folks auditioning and remember that they are just as nervous as you, and they want to pass the audition just as much as you do.  Don’t be overly chatty, but don’t be afraid to say hello and to introduce yourself.  It is worth mentioning here that attire should be appropriate for the audition.  For example, something like khakis and a polo shirt might be ok for a district band audition, but a college audition calls for a tie, or business attire for ladies.  Dress comfortably, but never risk being embarrassed by being under-dressed.

Practice Sight Reading

Sight reading is often a part of any audition.  You must practice sight reading.  For more on this subject, check out my blog post at the following link:

How To Practice Sight Reading

For a jazz audition, regularly read sample jazz band charts and etudes; the Greg Fishman series is highly recommended!  Good sight readers are familiar with lots of rhythmic clichés.  Practice with a metronome and record yourself, so you can go back and analyze your mistakes.  Sight read with your best tone and try to be true to the rhythms, even if you can’t catch all the right notes.  Practice counting, and whatever you do, don’t stop and start, and especially refrain from groaning (yes, I have heard auditionees mutter “oh crap” after making a mistake – this is certain death!).

For classical auditions, be familiar with a variety of styles.  Saxophonists should be ready to play marches (marches are HARD to play well) and well-known excerpts, such as pieces by Percy Grainger, and famous orchestral parts like Bolero and Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet.  There are a number of good excerpt books out there, and you can always ask your band director if you can look at sax parts from the school or university library.  The more music you know, the less you will worry about sight reading.

The Day Before

Leading up to an audition, take it easy on your chops.  Play a normal amount, but no more.  You don’t want a sore lip or a swollen wrist on audition day.  Something as simple as being adequately rested can make the difference that pushes you over the top.  Eat healthy, nutritious meals the day before an audition, and try to eat lightly before the audition.  You can always celebrate afterwards with a heavy meal, but you don’t want a belly full of pizza on the big day!  Likewise, don’t make yourself shaky with caffeine and sugar, and for you college students, steer clear of alcohol.  You want to feel comfortable, strong, and in control.  Did I mention sleep?  Nobody plays well when exhausted.

Practice Like Every Day is an Audition Day

Far and away, the best approach to being prepared is to always be prepared.  Any serious classical saxophonist should have Ibert, Glazunov, Creston, and the last movement of Tableaux de Provence in decent shape at all times.  Check out the audition requirements for military band auditions (these are always posted online when there is a vacancy). Preparation is a state of being.  Cultivate a culture of preparation and you will never have to work too hard to get ready, as you will be accustomed to working hard as a normal mode of operation.

Perspective

Remember that anyone that is judging your audition has probably been on your side of the room many times.  I never even made district band until I was a junior in high school, and I didn’t make district or all state jazz band until my senior year.  I was rejected by Busch Gardens and Disney.  It felt terrible at the time, but I turned that disappointment into fuel.  By my junior year in college, I won the DownBeat award for Best Collegiate Instrumental Soloist.  I never gave up, and I won a professorship when I was only 27 years old.  I was focused on the long game, I practiced and studied like crazy, and I never lost focus on the importance of fundamentals.  Practice, and audition well!  §

The Temporal World of the Creative Mind

(This article originally appeared in Saxophone Today, July/August 2016.)

In this column [Beyond Boundaries: 2014-2017], I have often written about creativity in very practical terms.  Creativity requires practice, and once developed, creativity becomes a habit.  Of course, even the most productive artists will experience the dreaded blockage.  Sometimes, the muse refuses to show up to work, leaving us with nothing but frustration.  Here are some thoughts about ways to get through a stubborn patch.

Timelines

If you are working on a specific project, don’t just have a deadline - have a timeline.  Start working early, and set mini-deadlines along the way that will help to keep you on track.  Never, ever make your personal deadline the *actual* deadline!  Try to set up a schedule that has you doing a set amount of work each day, with the hope of completing things a full month ahead of the true deadline.  In the best-case scenario, you will have that extra month to polish things up, do some editing, or start on the next project.  A little “cushion” can also be a lifesaver for times when you will inevitably fall behind.

Time for Reflection

Creativity is not just about the act of making stuff.  It is absolutely vital to spend time thinking about what you are going to create.  This time should be completely focused on reflection.  I like to sit in a quiet place with no distractions and imagine the finished product.  For example, if I am working on a new composition, I try to imagine what the score will look like.  What will it sound like?  I imagine the premiere performance, and how it will be received.  I do this in as much detail as possible.  This time must be spent with great discipline.  Disconnect from the Internet, put your phone in another room, and concentrate completely on your goals for the work.  When you have a detailed image in your mind, it will be easier to get down to business.  Having a clear vision of the finished product can provide guidance in the process, and even allow you to mentally work backwards and fill in the blanks.

Give Yourself a Break

Creativity burns a lot of fuel, mentally and physically.  When the spirit moves you, be prepared to work as hard as you can for as long as possible, but don’t run yourself into the ground.  It is important to eat well and to get enough sleep.  I do most of my writing by hand at a large table, but I try to get up and move around at least once an hour.  I like to schedule my time in blocks and I make my best effort to honor the schedule as much as possible.  We all have bad days, so setting a somewhat conservative schedule will also allow you to occasionally take a break when things just aren’t happening.

Actively Seek Inspiration

Inspiration usually doesn’t just fall into your lap.  You have to go hunting.  Read books, watch movies, attend concerts, go for long walks, and PAY ATTENTION TO EVERYTHING.  Seek inspiration outside of your discipline.  Go to art galleries and museums.  You never know what is going to stoke your artistic fire.  The muse sometimes communicates through a series of coincidents, or synchronicities.  We could argue whether perceived meaning in these linked events is real or imagined, but the effect is the same.  For example, I was trying to decide if I was going to write some music based on the poetry of William Blake.  In a period of weeks, a friend gave me an anthology that was sitting on her desk and I recognized uncredited Blake quotations on the radio and at a choral concert.  It felt like the universe was sending me a message to push onward, and I had renewed energy to complete my project.

Have a Mentor

In the arts, private instruction is a vital part of the process.  Once in a while, a special teacher will enter your life.  That teacher will be more than just a communicator of a trade.  If you are fortunate, you will forge friendships with masters of your discipline that go deeper.  A mentor will invest in you as a person, and will be a person that you can go to for advice, support, or even just a friendly ear.  When you find that special mentor, keep in touch and foster the relationship over the years.  (Also, remember to *be* a mentor, when the time comes.)

The Gravitational Force of the Deadline

As many of us know from experience, sometimes we are unable to get anything done, and we procrastinate. (One of my former students had a tee-shirt that said “Procrastinators Unite . . . tomorrow.”)  There is an undeniable bit of magic that can happen right at the last minute.  The pressure kicks in and the brain submits to “it’s now or never.”  When faced with the stark choice of completion or failure, we usually get that boost of survival energy to get the job done.  Cranking it out at the last minute can be very stressful, and for mental health reasons, I don’t recommend relying on this method on a regular basis, but coming up to the deadline can pack a particular creative punch.  There is also a theory, with good merit, that all that time procrastinating has the effect of reflection, soul-searching, and stumbling into inspiration in unexpected places.

The Creative Life

I don’t know very many people that are occasionally creative.  Creativity is a philosophy, a way of seeing the world, and most importantly, a lifestyle.  Creative people have a unique way of approaching things, and it seems to seep into even the most mundane aspects of their daily lives.  So get out there and live the creative life!  §

Teacher vs. Mentor

(This article originally appeared in Saxophone Today, May/June 2016.)

            Music, along with arts and humanities, is one of the last disciplines to rely heavily on the master-apprentice system.  When a music student chooses a school, the teacher should be at least equal in priority to the institution itself. There are, of course, complex equations where one must weigh out the value of a “brand name” school where one will study with a secondary teacher or graduate student versus a lesser-known school with a fabulous primary teacher.  I advise students to plan on attending several different schools, and perhaps saving the big school for a graduate degree, to save money and to have a better shot of studying with the main teacher.  I am biased in that this was my own path, but it had great influence on my goal of becoming a saxophone professor at a large, comprehensive, public university.  Sometimes, things work out just right!  In this article, I address what I see as the difference between teaching and mentorship.

First of all, let’s get one thing out of the way before we begin: the best teachers are also the best artists.  Period.  You cannot be a great music teacher without also being a great musician.  Different people will possess the two skillsets in varying proportions, but a great teacher didn’t fall back on a second career.  With that said, being a great performer is no guarantee of being a great teacher, so don’t be fooled by someone’s resume or recordings without actually getting a lesson.  You are investing in your future, so make certain that your choose a master artist-teacher.

What is teaching anyway?

Teaching at its most basic form is simply the transmission of knowledge from the master to the apprentice.  Teaching takes many forms, and a great teacher will be able to adapt teaching style to different students.  At the foundation of my own teaching philosophy is the belief that we cannot solve a problem without first stating the problem itself, ideally in a short sentence and without fancy words.  Clarity is a natural product of simplicity, and we should always strive for both.

For example, a beginning student needs to be taught the various fingerings for b-flat.  That should begin with one fingering (I start with side).  When that is firmly in place, we can begin to introduce other fingerings.  It helps to introduce a new fingering with a passage that illustrates its usefulness.  Using an excellent example as a vehicle for the initial learning is very valuable.  A master teacher will sense when the student is ready to start problem solving independently and he/she will provide situations where the student must discern the best fingering from the context. (Ferling etudes are brilliant for this!)  At every step, a great teacher will explain thoroughly in as simple terms as possible.  It is my hope that a student will leave a great lesson with a thorough understanding of “why,” even if the concept isn’t solidly learned.  I never want to have to say, “do it this way because I say so!”

“But I’m a visual learner . . .”

Stop.  Please.  There is no research that shows that anyone learns differently.  Learning is a result of disciplined repetition.  Before you start the hate emails, please keep reading.  We all have preferred ways of conceptualizing things, and that might be through visual imagery, reading about it in book, or stumbling through trial and error.  Once that door of understanding swings open, the hard work of practicing begins, but there is a difference between understanding the problem and actually learning.  “Getting it,” isn’t the same as mastery of a technique.  Think visually all you want, but when it comes to learning, find a teacher that shows you how and what to practice, and then go put in the work.

The Teaching Environment:  “Vibe”

A great teacher understands that the environment and the mood has a tremendous effect on the process.  There needs to be a balance of elements to facilitate a positive experience for the student.  For example, a teacher that is constantly late or irregular in managing the teaching schedule will create a feeling of not caring much about their students.  Students at every level thrive on a regular schedule.  It helps them to be accountable for their work, building trust and shared responsibility.  

Every teacher will find a balance between formality and informality.  Some teachers will insist on being called by their title (“Professor,” “Doctor,” etc.) while others are happy going on a first-name basis.  There is a danger in being too informal, but excessive formality can also leave a student feeling too uncomfortable to do their best work.  Whether the studio vibe is strict or loose, there should always be a feeling of safety.  Students need to feel safe to confide in the teacher, to ask dumb questions, and to fail without being shamed.  Accountability for preparation and outcomes is clearly vital, but not at the expense of trust and respect.

Student-centered

In my opinion, a master teacher is always focused on the student.  Artists and egos tend to go hand-in-hand, but a good teacher will never put their own ego ahead of the welfare and learning of their students.  Any good teaching philosophy is student-centered.  If a teacher says things like, “but I’ve invested so much you,” or “How can you do this to me?” run away and never look back.  A master knows that the apprentice can, and must fail, and sometimes fail spectacularly.  A great teacher is secure enough to allow a student to crash without obsessing on how it reflects on them.  

Shine the Light

A master teacher will do all the things that I have written here, but mentorship requires a deeper relationship.  I’ve often said that a teacher provides information, but a mentor shines a light down paths of possibility.  No one can do the work for you, but a great mentor will lead by example and illuminate various routes to success, tailored to the individual student.  Long-term goals are the culmination of careful planning, thoughtful decision-making, and hard work.  A mentor will show you what is possible and facilitate the work by lighting the way.

Finding the Match

Every student is unique, and the same holds true for teachers.  If a student requires a lot of nurturing and patience, a very formal and strict teacher might not be the best match.  Take the time to visit different schools, and take sample lessons before you make any commitments.  Look for a teacher that makes you feel safe, but also pushes you to improve.  Insist on clarity with assignments and explanations.  Most of all, try to find a teacher that makes you want to practice.  If you have a clear sense of the work and an illuminated path before you, you are sure to succeed.  Practice well!  §

Practice Techniques for Stress Free Technique

(This article originally appeared in Saxophone Today, March/April 2016.)

In a recent saxophone quartet coaching session, I had a group sight read a string quartet transcription that had a somewhat challenging little passage that passed around the group.  Each time a new voice had to play the stream of articulated sixteenth notes, I took note of something that was consistent across all the players.  As soon as the lick started, the saxophonist leaned forward, the shoulders came up, everything tensed, and, as one might predict, it did not go well.  This stress posture is seemingly universal.  Where does it come from, and why do take on this physical position that makes playing the saxophone even more difficult?

When I was a younger man, I had terrible headaches.  I eventually ended up doing biofeedback therapy, which proved to be incredibly helpful.  The doctor connected sensors to my forehead that measured electrical activity in the muscles, translating into muscular contraction, ergo, stress.  The electrodes fed a tone generator that produced a pitch that went down when the muscles relaxed.  I practiced progressive muscle relaxation, and sure enough, even relaxing in my feet and legs produced a measurable (and audible) lowering of tension in the forehead.  It’s no wonder that we get headaches from any sort of excess tension. 

Another helpful treatment involved a fingertip thermometer.  The doctor explained that humans have evolved to protect the core organs from perceived threats.  Imagine, if a wild animal attacks a person, that person could potentially survive the loss of a limb, but a bite to the torso could easily be fatal.  In reaction to stress, the body sends a rush of blood to the internal organs, and this can easily be measured as a drop in temperature in the extremities.  Nerves can give us cold hands, enough to be measured with a thermometer.  The doctor gave me mental exercises to warm the hands.  Much to my amazement, deep breathing and imagining a warm fireplace was very effective at raising the temperature of my fingertips.  From a headache perspective, the rushing of blood to the core causes sudden changes in the blood vessels of the head and can cause migraines.

It occurred to me that the raising of the shoulders, the collapsing of the chest, and the leaning forward are all related to this stress-induced need to protect the thorax and abdomen.  Every day, I see students tense up under pressure and assume this stress posture.  If a bear was attacking, this position would probably be wise, but it certainly doesn’t help one to execute a complicated musical passage.  In fact, this physical reaction chokes off the air, constricts voicing and resonance, and interrupts the smooth motion of the fingers.  Therefore, we need to actually unlearn this reaction that is deeply embedded in our DNA.  We need to relax, and we need to relax the most when it is the least natural thing to do. It is possible to overcome this natural tendency, but it requires disciplined practice.

It should go without saying that we must first learn to relax in a controlled environment.  For many of us, this is hard enough!  The modern world does not really encourage us to be quiet and concentrate on being relaxed.  For starters, try sitting upright in a comfortable chair.  Start by tensing your toes, and then relaxing them.  Work through every muscle group that you can identify – first tensing, then releasing.  Go through the muscles of your legs, your hips, your belly, and your chest.  Squeeze your hands into fists and let them go.  Raise your shoulders and drop your arms at your sides.  Tense and release your neck, your throat, you tongue.  Scrunch up your face and then release.  As you do this, remember to take deep inhalations and long, slow exhalations.  When you have gone through all your muscles, reassess the way you feel and look for any unresolved stress in your body.  Take a few minutes to really experience the relaxation, and try to burn it in to your memory.  With practice, you will get better, and quicker at achieving this feeling of centered calm and physical ease.

Once you can achieve this feeling of relaxed stillness, start your saxophone practice with a quick session of progressive relaxation.  Once you are there, play some long tones, and then move on to scales and technical passages.  As you practice, continually assess your level of physical stress.  Strive for good posture and loose muscles.  I find it helpful to think about soft hands, heavy and warm.  Never play with cold hands or any tightness!  Work your way from easy and familiar things to more challenging technical exercises and faster tempos and articulations.  I like to do this with the “mechanism” exercises from Larry Teal’s The Saxophonist’s Workbook.  Make the purpose of your practice to stay relaxed.  Bring the saxophone into your world of good posture and calm relaxation.  Never lean into the horn, squeeze keys, or let the shoulders rise.  This is easier said than done, which is where the disciplined practice comes in.

It isn’t always easy to just “fake” a stressful situation.  This can require some creativity.  I used to practice reading tone rows (“tropes”) from Yusef Lateef’s Repository of Scales and Melodic Patterns with the metronome, gradually increasing the tempo.  As the notes come faster and faster, I would focus on keeping relaxed and allowing wrong notes to slip out, rather than to clench up and fall out of time.  These days, I do a scale practice that my students coined “The Super Fly,” where I gradually work from eighth notes to triplets, sixteenths, and groupings of five, six, seven, etc.  As the notes go faster and faster, I focus on keeping totally relaxed, to the point of barely closing the pads.  It helps to think about finger technique as lifting, rather than pressing down.

I have recently become a serious student of calligraphy, for music, handwriting, and art.  I read a quote from an 19^thcentury master of Spencerian handwriting that said something like, “Remember to breathe as you write.”  I chuckled when I caught myself trying to draw a long flourish, only to blow it because I was tensed up and, you guessed it, holding my breath!  To live is to breathe, and relaxed and natural breathing is the soul of good technique, whether one is playing the saxophone, driving a racecar, or painting at the canvas.  A concerted effort in learning to easily access that place of centered tranquility will undoubtedly result in a better chance of maintaining that calm when the difficult passage comes at you.  In a future issue, I will refer to some significant research being conducted by my current students on performance-related stress and measurements of the stress hormone cortisol.  For now, practice well, and don’t forget to breathe!  §