Remarkable Day

Yesterday was a remarkable day.  I got a hug from one of my students.  That doesn't happen very often, but when it does it is impossibly surprising and wonderful.

Since it's the end of Summer and everyone seems to be feeling lazy after all the heat, we've been taking it easy in the lessons.  I realized after all the lessons were over that letting go and having fun was having a wonderful and surprising effect.  The kids were actually engaging in the creative process.  I had singers, songwriters, improvisers, composers and even some dancers in my studio yesterday!  It was total magic.

One of the tenets of Music for People has to do with music "they way it should be taught" versus the way we actually teach it.  I come from an Old School form, which I resisted mightily, by the way.  By the time I got to music school in college, I was beginning to lose the thing I have always loved about music-making.  I lost the joy.  It was becoming "a job," rather the calling that made me want to make a career in it.  There's something totally wrong with that.  I've been working--playing, really--with my own creative spark for some time now and I know how damaging it can be to squash creativity in little people.  In fact, some are in the process of losing it already at very young ages.  By tapping into my creativity, I can help guide my students into their own creativity, or maybe help keep them from falling over the creative brink.

Yesterday, I caught a glimpse of how it could be different.  Those four lessons were fast-paced and fun, but also included all the necessary information for the week.  Even my little singer wanted to also play her piano lesson.  Maybe that doesn't seem unusual, but it's often a point of resistance.  So cool that she asked to play her piece and sing along.

Until it actually happens it can be difficult to believe that it works, but making room for the creative muse is an important element of teaching and learning music.  Stepping back and watching for clues to what the students are asking to happen is a huge part of it.  Rather than trying to direct the activity, I allowed the activity to govern my approach.  While some people would disagree that anything productive was occurring, I would strongly disagree.  It didn't look like an old-fashioned piano lesson, but I don't know anyone who ever enjoyed those very much.

Rather, this was a lesson in music using the piano (and anything else we could find) in the service of loving the process of making music.

Nothing of Note

Well, the title says it all.  Nothing of note happened today.  It's been so unbelievably hot that I just had to go someplace cool for the afternoon.  The heat is actually driving me crazy.  It's no fun to practice flute when it keeps sliding down your chin.  And the piano?  Nothing feels worse than fingers sticking to the keys.  I don't even have enough energy to sing the blues.

But . . . I find that my students are also experiencing the same thing right now.  It isn't unusual to have periods of time that look non-productive.  You don't really want it to last too long, but it's pretty normal.  People, especially children, spiral in and out of learning.  It doesn't mean that nothing is happening, it just means that it isn't happening at the instrument.

That's one of the reasons that, this summer, I've included more improvisation in the lessons.  Very often, I find that small bits of the lesson material appear in those improvisations.  Usually, it's something enjoyable or even challenging.  I consider that a very important aspect of the process.  It's something that can make the lesson nearly painless.

When I watch someone working out a problem in an improvisation, I know that they will retain that information and be able to apply it to a written piece of music.  I find it very rewarding to watch the "Aha" moment when the student actually performs a complex move on the instrument.  Spiral out and spiral back.

Relax, Breathe . . . .

I've been thinking about relaxation and breath for the last few days.  Again, drawing from the WSJ article on Yo-Yo Ma.  He says, 

"With every year of playing, you want to relax one more muscle. Why? Because the more tense you are, the less you can hear.  So the more you can collect that energy and be unblocked and be totally present, the more you can say, 'I'm here because I really want to be; there's no other place I'd rather be'. and if you really mean it, that's not bad."

'Relax' and 'breathe' are two words I continually bring into my lessons and my personal practice.  I find that tension, whether mental, emotional or physical, inhibits performance.  Tension occupies the mind with matters of little importance when one is doing something creative. 

This often arises during lessons, for instance, and it can also occur during performance.  For a student, each lesson can feel like a little mini-performance with the additional stress of being asked to change something.  That's when the mind interferes, breathing changes subtly  (or not so subtly) and everything probably falls apart.  The answer is 'breathe and relax.'  Flutists and singers get more in depth training on breath control techniques, but they also experience the same tension as any other student.  Considering they have nothing, or nearly nothing, but the breath and their own structure, tension anywhere can cause problems.

Practicing relaxation during a lesson and then at home can make it easier to release tension during a performance when the stakes are higher.  If you don't know what relaxation and breath feel like, you probably won't be able to achieve that state when all eyes are on you.  So, the easiest thing to practice with is a simple scale that you know and that won't cause mental interference.  If you've played one so many times that you can do it asleep, that's the one you want.

So, as I've been working on a very simple Music for People technique using chromatic, long tones against a drone, I've made a practice of becoming aware of tension and how it can affect my playing or singing.  Long, slow tones played in a relaxed state can help you become aware of the complexities of your sound against the drone sound.  I've been experimenting with various types of  drone tones from brain and cell frequencies to cello drones.  They all have wonderful overtone qualities.  Sometimes, I am able to create other overtones on top of those depending on how I produce my tone.

The purpose of this practice is two-fold: 1. it is a wonderful ear training exercise; and 2. it is the kind of exercise that allows me to practice relaxation and breathing.  I treat the scale as a piece of music, rather than just a series of notes.  I play the most beautiful tone I can muster and listen with love rather than criticism.  I notice how each note feels to be played against the drone and I notice when it needs to move or change in some way.  The minimal nature of the scale allows me to enjoy playing within the sound and where discover how changes in my tone from hard to barely there whispers create wonderful nuances.

Quite honestly, I've never played scales of any kind with this much interest or beauty.  In school, they were a necessary evil that had to be tolerated because the grade depended on knowing how to play them in a certain way.  And not a very pretty or interesting way, I might add.  This is something different.

Breathe, relax, play, listen, release the tension, do it again until it is effortless. When I do that, I look up and five minutes have been spent on one octave, maybe two, but they were lovely, quality scales.  I feel as though I am inside the sound versus being the source of the sound.  Moreover, I really want to do play them again.  I really want to be here playing this scale, because there is no place I rather be and nothing I'd rather be doing.  And that's not bad.

Thank you, Yo-Yo and Yoko.

I took a field trip to NYC on Friday.


My spur of the moment decision was based on a recent article I read in the Wall Street Journal featuring Yo-Yo Ma in which he discussed the idea of "reinvention" and "change."  The article started me thinking about how it's important for anyone involved in creative endeavors to experience art in new ways. 

I couldn't decide which museum I wanted to see, it's been so long.  Would I go to the Met?  The Gugg? MoMA?  Did I have enough time to get downtown? No.  I finally decided by proximity and time limitations to go MoMA.  I'm glad I did and I have Yoko Ono to thank.

Among other things, I viewed an exhibit of female artists, which I loved.  One stood apart, both physically and conceptually.  Throughout my visit, I kept hearing what sounded like intermittent screams.  I thought it must be some kind of video or audio installation.  Then I found it.  In the six story mezzanine were two speakers and a microphone.  At the microphone was a woman who leaned in and screamed at the top of her lungs.  She encouraged her friend to try.  On each of three attempts, the first woman encouraged her friend to do it again, louder.  

As I looked around, I noticed the words Voice Piece for Soprano with the instructions "Scream. 1. against the wind 2. against a wall 3. against the sky" printed on the wall behind me. I'd heard about this work, but never thought I'd have the opportunity to participate.  I watched people encouraged, dared, prodded by friends and family walk to the mic and follow the instructions.

Frankly, kids had the easiest time, followed by teens and a few adult men (not quite soprano).  I stood there wondering what it would take for someone, me, to walk to the mic and let out a good scream.  Could I do it?  Most people had someone there to hold their hand, so to speak.  I was alone and it would certainly draw attention.  Finally, I circled closer and waited for the mic traffic to clear, took a deep breath, checked my gut and strode to the mic.  The guard  posted in the space walked with me and asked if I needed help raising the mic.  Nope. To get a good solid scream, I know you have to "gut it out" and that takes some leaning!  I took my breath, closed my eyes and gave it my best shot.  The guard shot me an approving grin and nodded.  I think I actually scared a few people.  I even heard what sounded like a disapproving "wow."  From a man.  Mission accomplished! 

I like to think Ms. Ono would be proud of my effort.  I know I am.  Finally, permission to do the impermissible. Permission to call attention.  Permission to intrude, be rude, be honest, be wrong.  Sometimes, a work of art is life changing and I think that is the point. 

I've come away from that experience changed.  Screaming in public with such permission is liberating; like overcoming the ultimate stage fright.  It really is not much different from the first time someone invites you to play music by improvising.  It's liberating.  You just want to do it over and over because it feels so good.

Living with Failure

Today I wrote, what I thought was a very nice piece. Took me a long time to write, too.  Then Disaster!

Learning curves come to mind.  We all have learning curves to overcome.  My teacher and mentor, David Darling always reminds us that there is no "good" or "bad" only levels of experience.  So, after spending an hour on my post, my level of blogging experience killed it.  I am a new blogger the same way my students are new musicians.  I struggle with this, they struggle with reading a jumble of lines and spaces that are supposed to mean something to them.  Just as I wish I had hit the [SAVE] button, or had not included crazy formatting, they wish they could play what they hear inside themselves.

That is one of the reasons why I give them opportunities to play improvisations.  Improvisation is one way for them to "mess around" with sounds and harmonies.  All judgment is suspended;everything is accepted.  It gives them the confidence to deal with learning abstract ideas like what written notation has to do with sound, strengthening and controlling young fingers and ear training.  It gives them experience to reach their goals.  Most of them don't realize they have goals only because they find it difficult to articulate what they want.

I've been working with chromatic scales today.  I found a wonderful drone (now lost to me) on YouTube against which I practiced playing flute.  I found a new level of sound quality and relaxation through that simple exercise.  So, I'm going to post this and try to relocate that wonderful drone.  Tomorrow is another day!

Every Day a New Day

I've been away from my blog for quite a while now.  Two dead computers in as many weeks didn't help.  Anyway . . .

Writing, for me, has always been a difficult process.  There is skill involved in formulating ideas and then verbalizing them so that others can understand the meaning.  I never considered myself a writer until I was encouraged by my NYU professors.  After years of putting off the inevitable, I'm here putting thoughts and words together, trying to express something coherent about that which I love:  Music--an art so abstract that very often words lose all meaning.  Every day I look at that fancy diploma from NYU and ask myself what I'm going to do about it.  I worked hard to achieve my goals at NYU and every day my diploma looks down at me and asks, "have you done anything worthwhile today?  Have you lived up to the goals and dreams you had then?"  I will admit that each day that I have nothing written here feels like a disappointment.  Whom do I disappoint?  Myself.  

I often feel the same ambivalence about playing music.  I put it off and then feel disproportionately guilty for failing to create something daily.  It's time to stop the nonsense and sit down and make something every day (with maybe weekends off for R&R).  With that in mind, I hope you will indulge my use of this space in the service of my Art, as well as my continuing development as a musician, teacher and facilitator.  I'm not one for keeping journals anymore, but this may act as a record of my process.  After all, once the core curriculum is understood, every art is a process.   

In the ephemeral world of music, we're often left without evidence that anything actually occurred except perhaps snippets of a memory or a feeling.  The artist's hospitality allows us to ride the wave of their creativity into and out of that experience.  Receiving the experience is different from that of expressing and giving life to music, yet the two are joined and become greater through the sharing.  Participating in creating spontaneous music with others is an altogether different type of experience and process requiring openness and acceptance of the participants.  Here, I find that two ideas are important regardless of the experience, the first is non-judgment, the second is the release of expectation.

Judgment and expectation impede any artistic experience.  I know this from personal experience.  I know this, because these are the two evil characters that stop my creativity in its tracks.  I know this, because, lacking openness to new experiences, builds rigid mental constructs.  Once that happens, creativity idles, dies, or at the very least becomes so walled up that nothing new can develop.  As a teacher and facilitator, I am sometimes shocked by the young age at which these two attitudes sometimes develop.

Creativity, like life, requires light, air, nourishment.  It can grow wonderfully wild, or it can be trained gently into classical beauty.  Either way, it becomes something that lives and breathes itself forward.  So, in the end, perhaps I'm writing to inspire myself and you all are welcome to come along.

Would You Rather Practice or Rehearse?

I'm still toying with the concept of "practice" and why there is so much resistance to the idea.  When I think about practicing, I get that dread feeling that there will be something painful attached to the action.  I don't know where that comes from, but I'm sure a number of my students suffer from the same effect.  From years of lessons, I equate practice with work, difficulty, things I don't want to experience.  It feels heavy, the word "practice."  "Practice makes perfect."  "How do you get to Carnegie Hall?"  You know--"practice" times three.  I'll bet you can think of many more slogans like that.  If you ask, I'm sure many people would consider "practice" to be drudgery.  Why would anyone want to do anything that felt like drudgery? 

I never wanted to be perfect, I just wanted to do something I loved:  PLAY music.  Key word, play.  I never cared about Carnegie Hall, or any other venue.  I cared about making sound, beautiful sounds, ugly sounds, imitating sound.  I loved being captivated by a musical idea and trying to get it right.  Yes, that's right, I loved practicing.  But I never wanted to hear that word, even now.

I recently read a wonderful description of the process of practice, but the word never appeared.  Instead, the word "rehearse" appeared.  Now, as a student of all the performing arts, I can tell you that no matter how difficult it might be, rehearsals are exhilarating.  Dance me into the ground, make me repeat a scene until I dream it, ask me to play a phrase until I'm dizzy, I'll do it because I love the rehearsal.  It's a word that implies participation in a process with an end result you can be proud of. 

"Rehearse" is a word that will get me to sit down and "work it out."  It feels positive and hopeful, as if you are going on a journey.  It implies movement toward a goal, an end point.  You can have fun on a journey.  You can have fun with a process and Art is nothing but process.  Learning the "art" of music is a process.  There are techniques to be embodied which lend themselves to greater artistic competence, but at any level, I am convinced that we desire to make art because we love the process.  "Play" means many different things to many different people.  However, we love to "play" at certain activities.  Play is wonderful.  Play is process in action.  It can have a point or it might be pointless, either way it's certainly fun.

"Play" is where we begin.  "Play" is where, as musicians, we want to live.   One of the definitions of play is, "to pretend to be; mimic the activities of."  I love that.  Some might express it as "fake it till you make it."  The more you "fake it" the better you get at the activity.  You gain experience.  It is that experience that creates improvements, which hopefully leads to more curiosity and more experience.  That's where you want to be as a musician.  It's the land children live in and grown-ups have forgotten. 

Every child who sings their heart out, or picks up an instrument is already a musician.  They need to be guided carefully so as not to lose that curiosity and excitement.  They need to be encouraged in the process and not made to feel fearful of their abilities.  And by that, I mean that every attempt is a gain in experience and we can help them enjoy those gains, or kill the spark with negative judgments (not very playful).  The process of repetition can be fun if it is approached in a playful manner. 

The most heartbreaking moment I've had was being told by a young boy with a beautiful voice, "I can't sing."  I'm sure that information came from an adult who was told that once upon a time.  I encouraged him not to listen to anyone who told him he couldn't sing, because his ability to sing on pitch only needed experience and his voice was wonderful.  His whole demeanor changed when he realized that someone actually believed in his abilities.  I hope it sticks!

Practice makes . . . what?

I'm about to play with a double-edged sword here!

I've been toying with the idea of "Practice" vs. "Play" in the world of music-making.  My question involves more than semantics.  I want to know if it makes a difference in how we practice if we change the approach from one that seems like work (work inferred by the use of "practice") to one that feels like play.  Here's the danger zone:  repetition is necessary in order to gain physical, mental and emotional facility on an instrument, but does it have to feel like work to get there?

Our culture values the work ethic with the "nose to the grindstone."  Even the image hurts to think about!  There are plenty of books out there on that, so I'll just continue . . . . Do we desire to make music because it hurts?  Big fat NO.  We want to play, because that's what it is:  PLAY.  So, how do we bridge the gap between what we picture doing and our ability to reach that vision?

Now that I have you on the edge of your seats . . . . Have you Played today?

. . . if you have something to say

Music has been a constant in my life since before I was born.  (My mother was a singer and still sings.)  maybe it's trite, but, to me, life without music would be like living in black and white.  Rhythm and sound are all around us:  heart beats, footsteps, language, laughter.  The sound of frosty leaves falling in the early morning.  The rumble of traffic and machinery.  Drum beats.  Doggie feet.  Bird wings fluttering.  A breath, a cry, a whine, a sigh.  It's all in there, all the colors of life.


So, I'm beginning this blog as a means to sharpening my observations of musical creativity.  A way to share my personal observations and create a diary of ideas to be shared, because creativity never happens in a vacuum.

Sholem Asch said, "Writing comes more easily if you have something to say." I'm about to find out!