Cursive is like jazz!

When I first started writing with my right hand (I'm lifelong lefty), the biggest challenge was figuring out how to hold the pen, and how to control the basic movements.  The results were totally illegible!  It took some slow and disciplined practice, writing individual letters on a grid.  The hardest work seemed to be making symmetrical curves and decent circles.

Daily practice has really paid off.  In a matter of weeks, my "wrong-handed" handwriting has become neater than my old writing.  It is slower, but slowing down has changed the way I think about writing.  I suspect that it is even changing the creative process.  I was thinking this morning about how different handwriting is from typing on a computer.  The writing itself becomes a creative process . . . an improvisation!  Things go wrong, letters come out unexpectedly, and the ink doesn't always flow the same way.  Lines appear thicker, or thinner.  All this is happening while a different part of the brain is controlling the content of the writing.  I'm starting to wonder if there are differences in that content, depending on which hand is being used.

Cursive capital letters have proved to be the most difficult for me, and I've even had some challenges figuring out what style of letters to use.  Capital F is particularly interesting, and I'm starting to find that the style of letter depends upon the context itself, and that the decision comes intuitively, in the moment.  Cursive is a lot like jazz!

This process has reminded me of two very important points.  First, you can teach yourself to do just about anything, provided that you are willing to put in the time.  The secondary takeaway is more of a reminder that processes that are slow and thoughtful tend to become more personal.  Computers are wonderful at making things fast and easy, but there is value to be found in doing things by hand, and that includes the ancient art of writing.

Learning to Write Right (handed)

I, am not right-handed!  It took around a month of daily practice, but it almost feels normal to write with my right hand.  Slow and steady . . .

Study Versus Practice - The Practice of Being Studious

This YouTube excerpt from Bret Primack's excellent episode of "The Hang" brings to mind an important lesson that I learned from Yusef Lateef.  He would frequently talk about the importance of being studious, and that practice alone was not enough to create an interesting career in music.  The entire episode is worth watching, but this excerpt with Adam Rudolph will give the general idea.

Study is a very important part of the life of a musician, and it can take many forms.  Music theory and history are both vital, but we can learn much from studying the lives of composers and performers.  Philosophy, world history, visual and performing arts, science, and mathematics are all part of music.  Yusef would say that music is just one aspect of culture, and to really grasp it, you should study the whole culture.

Here are some ideas for simple ways to incorporate the practice if being studious into your music life.

• STUDY THE SCORE

Young classical musicians tend to immediately delve into their own part without spending any time studying the full score.  Whether the piece is for soloist with accompaniment, or some kind of collaborative composition, the score holds answers that are unavailable in the part alone.

Whenever I perform a concerto, I request a photocopy of the full score.  I study it carefully, looking for anything that will help my performance, or interpretation.  I mark it up with a highlighter.  I make notes in the solo part, such as "unison with the trumpet," or "listen for tympani."  Just because you have a solo part, you don't always have the melody.  I will bracket parts that are accompaniment to the melody, if it is not in my own part.

When meeting with the conductor, or the collaborative musician/s, bring the score along.  Talk about your decisions.  I like to tell the conductor, "I'd like to slow down here," or "Please give me a strong cue at this spot."  This kind of work makes everything go more smoothly, saving time (time = money).

• RESEARCH THE REPERTOIRE

Music usually has a story.  Was it written for someone in particular?  Is it from some larger work?  Was it originally written in the form that you are performing, or is it transcribed from a different version?  Is it programmatic, or activist in nature?  There are many questions that, if answerable, will give you greater depth of understanding.

If the piece was written for a particular soloist, find a recording of that person performing it.  Make notes, especially if the performance differs from the score.  A good example for saxophonists are the errors in the published version of Tableaux de Provence, by Paule Maurice.  An attentive listening to Marcel Mule's famous recording will immediately illuminate some incorrect articulations in the first movement of the score/part, among other issues.

• EXPLORE THE TIME PERIOD

Was the piece written during a particular period, and is it in-line with what one might expect, or is it different?  The music of Darius Milhaud is a great example of work that was influence by jazz, but not in a heavy-handed way.  La Création du Monde is inseparable from 1920s Parisian culture, and the influence of Le Hot.  An authentic performance of this work requires a broader understanding of what was happening in Paris, in New York, and in the world.

• ASK "WHY"

When you cannot play that note quietly, ask "Why?"  When you cannot get that note in-tune, ask "Why?"  If a note sounds strange with the accompaniment, ask "Why?"  Never simply accept that something is difficult.  That is just being lazy, or at least complacent.

Searching for the answers will require lessons with experts.  It will require reading books.  You will talk to your peers, read articles in journals, listen to recordings, and search the internet for clues.  Improvement begins with asking "Why?"

• MAKE TIME FOR STUDY

Study is not practice, but it should be a part of your overall routine.  Make time to read books, to watch documentaries, and to hang out with experts.  Buy someone lunch in exchange for picking their brains on a subject that they have mastered.  Schedule your time to study scores, and set aside time to analyze repertoire that you are working on.

Studiousness is a characteristic of master artists.  They are often experts on subjects beyond the ones that they are known for.  The act of studying tends to leak into other areas of one's life, resulting in painters that are also excellent chefs, musicians that are painters, and painters that are wine experts.  Study in your discipline will also influence your hobbies, and that will make you a more unique and interesting individual.

Practice, and study well!

Part of the Search: My Lessons with Yusef Lateef

Yusef Lateef passed away on December 23, 2013.  He was a master musician, an accomplished composer, a Grammy award winner, and an NEA Jazz Master.  He earned a Ph. D. in Education (not an honorary degree), he made over 100 recordings as a leader, he wrote poetry and fiction, and he was a painter.  His career as a performing artist spanned seven decades, and he was a visiting professor at the University of Massachusetts (and the Five Colleges Consortium).    Twenty years ago, I had the good fortune to study with him at UMASS.  In the years that followed, his music became a focus of my research.  For a period of time, we exchanged many letters, all now carefully preserved.

(at the Black Sheep, 2000)

I would visit him whenever I returned to Amherst, sometimes at his teaching studio, and other times at his favorite café, the Black Sheep.  He was always generous and kind, and he was a great supporter of the academic endeavors that led to my own professorship at James Madison University.  I gave a recital at the Kennedy Center on his 91st birthday and we performed two of his better known compositions in tribute (The Plum Blossom and Morning) .  We last exchanged letters about a year ago, and this turned out to be my last chance to express my gratitude to him.

Brother Yusef was a mentor to me in ways that I would not understand until I had many years to process our relationship.  When I first entered his studio, I was a very young man.  I was more concerned with earning his approval than with what he could teach me, and he saw through this immediately.  He was more interested in talking about the emotional content of music and sound than what notes to play.  He would say again and again that one's sound is the most important thing that they have, and that the sound should be nurtured like a child.  He turned me on to Lester Young, but he discouraged transcribing, as he felt this interfered with the process of finding one's own voice.

When we did talk about generating pitches, he was a master teacher.  I remember lessons where I would enter the room and he was already playing a chord on the piano.  He would say nothing, playing the chord over and over, and I would improvise.  When something struck him, he would nod, or laugh a little.  After awhile, he would say "What was that thing that you played with the perfect fourths?" or whatever had caught our ears.  He taught me to hone in on the things that tugged at my intuition. He once wrote to me in a letter, "I believe that intuitions speaks, and that we should listen."  Many times, he helped me to pull apart something that was interesting, and then to put it back together.  He challenged me to figure out what made that musical idea interesting to me, and how to build other ideas like it, based on the concept.  It was a constant cycle of listening, reverse-engineering, and building from scratch.  This is the way to develop unique vocabulary.  It is the long road, and I'm still walking it.

Brother Yusef came from an era when there were relatively few recordings (compared to now, for sure), and the most important aspect to gaining a reputation was having a unique sound.  He shunned labels, avoided styles, and valued observation and reflection over everything else.  I never saw him when he didn't recommend a book or two, and they were only sometimes about music.  He taught me to believe in myself, to follow my heart, and to seek answers from within.  He was soft-spoken, articulate, and gentle – but firm in his convictions.  I'm still studying from my little notebook that I kept for our lessons, working to integrate the atonal sequences, and the hybrid methodologies.  I am still listening to his recordings, and learning from the way that he was always listening.  Even as he was speaking, he was listening.  He had a sense of space and time about him that was undeniable.

"Seek knowledge, from the cradle to the grave."  He practiced what he preached.  He wasn't perfect, and he did not pretend to be.  He was humble, and he was open about his quest to keep learning and growing.  He was a pilgrim, traveling through this world.  He was a part of my search, and I will always be inspired by him, as an artist, and as a man.  Dr. Lateef's earthly journey has ended, but as long as there are ears to listen, eyes to see, and hearts to feel, his voice will ring on forever.

peace brother peace.

(inside cover to "The Man with the Big Front Yard")

For recommended recordings, follow me on twitter @PracticeMonster

Be careful when you fight the monsters . . .

Nietzsche warned in Beyond Good and Evil, "He who fights with monsters should be careful, lest he thereby become a monster."  I had to look that up, because I'm not that well-read.  I'm working on it.

This famous quote is a terrific reminder of the meaning of Practice Monster.  Everyone gets a good laugh out of the greenish photo, and the SMASH mantra, but my intension is not to say that I am a Practice Monster, or that you should become one.  Rather, the monster represents the dark side of creative work.  Those bits inside each of us that are motivated by competition, frustration, anger, and fear – that is what forms the monster.  He lurks in dark corners, trying to rob us of the long-term satisfaction and happiness that results from patiently cultivating mastery.  He is a hungry ghost.

Practice Monster wants to be the biggest, the baddest, and the best.  He wants to destroy his competitors.  The more we feed him, the more he hungers.  He can consume the artist (or athlete, or whatever), until the original motivation is lost entirely.  He is obsessed with all the wrong aspects of the art, and worse still, he spends most of his time looking over his shoulder, terrified that a bigger, badder monster is on his heels.  His fears are justified.

This blog is about using the energy of the monster to power a higher pursuit.  A little competitiveness goes a long way, but life-long happiness can never come from a lucky win or two.  There is permanent pleasure in calmly growing a little bit each day, with temporary disregard for subjective outcomes.  Practice Monster serves a great purpose, but we must be careful to keep him on the leash.  He requires a lot of energy, and left unchecked, he will run us into the ground.

Remember that our pursuits are exactly that . . . , pursuits.  We spend most of our time preparing, and ultimately, the preparation is where the real contentment can be found.  If we place our self-worth on the performance alone, we are left severely out of balance.  Nietzsche also warned that if we stare too long into an abyss, the abyss will stare back at us.  So it is with Practice Monster.

Mastery is a moving target; every success requires countless failures.  Remember that the joy is in the process itself, and from a sheer numbers game, the process is almost the whole enchilada.  Practice well!

Saxophone Today is now available!

If you enjoy my blog, and you happen to also be a saxophonist, please consider subscribing to the all new, completely digital publication, "Saxophone Today."

I am happy to share my thoughts with you in this blog, but there is no substitute for a truly professional publication.  If you subscribed to the recently retired Saxophone Journal, you will find that ST provides a similar experience, but as a digital flip book, enhanced with live hotlinks to the web and YouTube.

I have already tested it out on my computer and my iPad, and it works beautifully in both formats.  I look forward to a long relationship with Saxophone Today, but that can only happen if people subscribe.  A high quality digital magazine with a cast of experienced, professional writers, interesting interviews, and reviews of the latest products and publications is expensive, especially if it is to be seamlessly delivered and integrated into the modern digital mediascape.

I think that you will find that the subscription rate to be very reasonable.  Find out more by clicking the link below:

saxophonetoday.com

On general education and the liberal arts

*originally published on my website, at popesax.com*

This letter is in response to an opinion column in the JMU student newspaper entitled,

“General Education Classes Waste Time and Effort”

Read the original article here: http://www.breezejmu.org/opinion/columns/article_8156690e-3f5f-11e3-9f20-0019bb30f31a.html

October 28, 2013

Dear Ms. Williams:

After reading your recent column in The Breeze, I am strongly compelled to offer a response to your thoughts regarding the value of JMU’s curriculum in general education.  While I disagree with your assertions, I should start by expressing an understanding of where you are coming from.  I attended a large, comprehensive university, similar to JMU.  I remember not being thrilled about my GenEd requirements.  Many of the classes were frustrating and some of them felt pointless at the time.  Many years later, I can honestly say that I am deeply grateful for my strong background in general education.  Some of those classes had an unexpected impact on my life.  I owe much of who I have become to a broad education in the liberal arts.

You make some assertions that I find surprising.  For example, you use "cashier" as a sample career because it is supposedly the second most common job in the United States.  Is this the second most common career for someone with a bachelor’s degree from a comprehensive university?  Is that what you are training for?  I doubt that anyone has come to JMU, or any similar institution for that matter, to prepare for a future as a cashier.  Furthermore, to say that there is no point in training to be a Renaissance man (or woman) is a failure to grasp what a university is.  You write that "College is supposed to be a place where students can study what they want to."  That is simply not true.  University is not summer camp.  You could study "what you want" by taking private lessons from a teacher, or attending a trade school.  The very word university infers "whole," as in universal or universe.  If you want to simply study whatever you want, and to work on your resume, you have come to the wrong place.  Our country was founded by Renaissance men like Thomas Jefferson and yes, our beloved James Madison.  You accuse JMU of aiming too high, but I fear that you are setting the bar far too low.

My required studies in math and science were sometimes tedious, and certainly not a priority while I was primarily studying music, but I have come to use math and physics to better understand the way that my saxophone works, and the way that sound travels.  My students will surely tell you that this has made me a more effective teacher.  Furthermore, I have used algebra to calculate the proper capacitor values for loudspeaker crossovers, and geometry to know if my piano will fit around the corner in the hallway. (It won’t, which is nice to know without breaking my back and getting the piano stuck in the door.  Hooray, math!)  I even use numbers, and good old Pythagoras, to explain to my students how to play in-tune.

I was recently reminded of the richness of my liberal arts training while preparing for a concert at JMU, given through a conference of the Africana Studies program.  The presentation was called “Freedom in the Air,” and it combined images relating to the civil rights movement with jazz improvisation.  As I was mentally preparing, I remembered a short story that I had read in my creative writing class as an undergraduate.  I pulled my old anthology down from the bookshelf and found what I was looking for: “Going to Meet the Man,” by James Baldwin.  This is a devastatingly brutal story about a racist sheriff, and a gruesome depiction of a lynching.  As a young musician, I had no interest in reading something like this, and I was basically annoyed that my creative writing course required so much reading.  Reading that story changed me.  Reading it again, as an adult with twenty additional years of life experiences under my belt, I was glad that I have been carting that book around for twenty years.  It is important to me, and it has shaped my thoughts about music, race, and the power of great writing.  It added to the emotional power of my musical performance that evening, and I want to emphasize that I would have never read that story if I had not been required to do so.  I wouldn’t even know who James Baldwin is, or why I should care.  It’s only a few pages long, but it shaped who I am.  It was not a waste of time, effort, or money.  It was a part of my liberal arts education.  It was the best money that I have ever spent.  Ever.

I am sorry that you have such a negative feeling about your GenEd requirements, but I assure you that not all of your peers agree with you.  I read your column aloud to a group of my students, and they recoiled in horror.  They quickly started to talk about all the GenEd classes that they have valued, and the ones that they look forward to taking.  They named GenEd professors that they admire, and subjects that have struck up new interests for them.  I have wonderful students, but they are not unusual, at least not in my experience.  They are hungry for knowledge, eager to be pointed in new directions, and grateful for the opportunity to be at a place like JMU.  They don’t expect to love every single class, but they see value in the curriculum overall.

You write about JMU’s mission to create “productive citizens,” but that isn’t quite correct.  We are not aiming to make “worker bees.”  We are preparing students to be educated and enlightened citizens who live productive and meaningful lives.  That mission statement gives my career purpose, and frankly, it gives me goose bumps.  I am a benefactor of such an education, and I live a life that is rich with meaning.  Yes, I am valued by my university for my somewhat deep and narrow expertise, but my performance skills would be empty if I didn’t have something to say – something worth saying.  I owe the depth of my intellect to a comprehensive education in the liberal arts.  I didn’t fully appreciate the totality of my education when I was a young man.  Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.  In fact, I am grateful to find myself teaching at a public, comprehensive university, completing the poetic circuit that I began so many years ago.  I strive to be a model for my students, and to demonstrate what it means to be an educated and enlightened citizen who leads a productive and meaningful life.  I hope that you will reconsider your thoughts about your GenEd requirements.  If you happen to find yourself stuck in a narrow hallway with a sofa that you never should have tried to get around that corner, I hope that you will remember Pythagoras, James Madison, and me.  I wish you a productive and meaningful life.

Sincerely,

David Pope

Professor of Saxophone (and aspiring Renaissance man)

James Madison University