More on Saxophone Double-Tonguing

Lately, during the parts of my practice sessions that I devote to double-tonguing, I’ve noticed a change. The technique is becoming smoother, the notes more connected and better sounding. I’m now double-tonguing scales, licks, and patterns in sixteenth notes with increasing comfort and accuracy throughout the full range of my saxophone at a tempo up to 140 mm. While I may not make any great gains in speed anytime soon, I can definitely tell the difference in accuracy and quality of sound since my last post on double-tonguing.

What is making the difference? Several things, I think.

* A responsive reed. I’ve found that having the right reed makes a big difference in how well I’m able to execute double-tonguing. A reed that combines instant responsiveness with just enough resistance to be lively–the kind of crisp, richly resonant reed that is a joy to play–is also the ideal reed for double-tonguing. Reeds that are too hard get balky in double-tonguing, and reeds that are too soft have their intonation issues amplified.

For most playing demands, I can get by with a fairly broad spectrum of reeds, but double-tonguing seems to be a finickier technique in that regard.

* Reversing the double-tongue syllable order. Instead of playing “da-ga-da-ga,” I’ll do some exercises using single tones as well as scales starting with the glottal articulation first, thus: “ga-da-ga-da.” I also practice articulation using my glottis only: “ga-ga-ga-ga.” My aim is to develop the response in the back of my throat.

This approach really helps! Try it yourself. Warm up with a minute or two of these glottal exercises, then shift to the standard double-tonguing pattern, “da-ga-da-ga,” and see whether you don’t notice an improvement.

* As an adjunct to the preceding point, practice all of the above articulations without your horn. See how fast you can do them, and pay attention to any subtle changes you’re making as you build up speed. I use this “dry firing” approach when I’m driving in my car. What better way to put my drive time to good use?

* Practice. That’s right–practice. There’s no magical secret for learning double-tonguing. One simply has to stick with it. As I do so, I’m finding that my embouchure, oral chamber, tongue, and air stream are intuitively making the adjustments they need to make. Also, as I work at connecting double-tonguing with scales and licks, my fingering technique is becoming cleaner. It has to in order to link up precisely with the rapid articulation of double-tonguing.

I’m at a point now where this technique is becoming a functional part of my playing. Not that I use it often, but I am using it more frequently in a variety of applications with increasing success.

An article by the Peabody Institute states that “a fast single tongue can articulate sixteenth notes at quarter note equals 152. Some people can even reach speeds of up to 168 for brief periods. The double tongue can achieve speeds as high as of 232!”

Hmmm…okay. My own single-tonguing is by no means up to to the speed of these racehorses. Of course, I haven’t really worked at it, but according to the article, some saxophonists can single-tongue faster than I can presently double-tongue. That’s fine with me. I’m not out to win any speed contests, just grow as a player. My guess is that most saxophonists who read this article and my other articles on double-tonguing are more daunted by than adept at the technique, so I figured I would share my personal journey as I took on the challenge of learning it.

The Peabody article also says, “The double tonguing technique is a natural technique that is actually simple to learn and master. A few weeks of hard work can produce remarkable results.”

That has not been my experience. Of course, I’m not a Peabody student under the tutelage of a master saxophone professor. I’m a self-didact guided by no instructor other than my own instincts. I will say that at the very beginning, double-tonguing indeed came to me with ridiculous ease, and right out of the gate I was executing sixteenth notes like machine gun fire. Then I put the horn in my mouth, and suddenly it all fell apart. I was left with the realization that the technique was going to take work, patience, and dogged persistence.

Today, not quite a year later, I can tell you that the persistence pays off. Whether I’ll ever be able to double-tongue sixteenth notes at 232 mm, or even 200, only time will tell. What’s certain for now is that this technique which can seem so formidable and frustrating at the beginning is one that a saxophonist can actually acquire and use with increasing mastery. If I can pull it off, so can you. You just have to make up your mind that you’re going to do it–and then follow through with patience and consistency.

October 7, 2010 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , ,

Chromatic Exercises: Descending and Ascending Lines Against Static Tones

chromatic-lines-mscz-1The thumbnail to your cleft contains a couple of patterns I like to practice from time to time to limber up my ability to interpolate chromatic lines with common tones. I’ve also included a third exercise that I just thought of, and since I’ll be incorporating it into my saxophone practice sessions from now on, I figured I’d drop it into your lap as well. Click on the thumbnail to enlarge it.

The repeat signs don’t mean repeat just once; they mean repeat ad infinitum until the pattern is laying easily under your fingers. Then bump it up or down a half step and practice it in the new key. Repeat this process until you own the pattern in all twelve keys throughout the full range of your instrument.

While each pattern begins by outlining an A minor triad, it implies other harmonies as the chromatic line descends or ascends while the remaining tones remain static. I’ll leave it to you to figure out different practical applications.

You’ll find plenty more patterns, exercises, solo transcriptions, and articles of interest to jazz musicians on my jazz page.

July 26, 2010 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Guest Blog: Jazz Pianist Kurt Ellenberger Tells Why He Hates Rhythm Changes

“I’m attracted to sophisticated harmony, interesting voice-leading, rich chords and dense chord voicings, and tone color…None of that is present in rhythm changes, and the ornate weaving through the static changes is just not compelling enough to mitigate what is missing.”–Kurt Ellenberger

Some time back, I wrote a post titled “Why I Love Playing ‘Rhythm’ Changes.” Evidently not every jazz musician feels the same way. Judging from the following post, jazz pianist Kurt Ellenberger may be slightly fonder of rhythm changes than he is of leprosy, but it’s a close contest.

I’d be tempted to whap Kurt for taking a whack at my article, except that Kurt is one of those rare musicians who makes me want to put my saxophone down and just listen to him play. He is a truly amazing, well-rounded pianist and complete musician who, drawing from a huge array of musical influences, can sweep you away on an inventive, marvelously textural journey that will make you forget there’s anything but the music you’re listening to.

Kurt is also a composer, the jazz professor at Grand Valley State University, the creator of Frakathustra’s Blog (aka Also Sprach Frak), and the author of “Materials and Concepts in Jazz Improvisation.”

All of the above to say, Kurt is hugely qualified to express a conflicting opinion. He’s also a great guy with a nutty sense of humor. So I guess I won’t whap him. Instead, I’m featuring him here as a guest blogger, knowing that he has some valuable, thoughtful, and provocative perspectives to share.

Naturally I’ll be writing a rebuttal.* Ain’t no Hatfield crosses a McCoy without there be a return salvo. For now, though, it’s time for Kurt to share his thoughts in an article he calls…

Why I Hate Rhythm Changes

By Kurt Ellenberger

In case the title isn’t clear enough, I’ll say it unequivocally: I don’t like rhythm changes at all, I have no interest in the form, nor any affinity for it whatsoever, and I know I’m not alone. I’ve heard many of my fellow jazz musicians say similar things, but we’ve done it in a sheepish manner, as if uttering some kind of sacrilege against one of the sacraments of the jazz church. Sacrament or not, I think it’s probably the most banal structure in all of jazz.

That’s a provocative statement requiring some explanation, which I’m happy to provide. But first, some context and background.

When I was listening to jazz for the first time as a teenager, there were certain tunes that I never (for the most part) liked very much. As I became more knowledgeable about form and harmony, I found there was a consistent pattern to my dislike: They were tunes based on rhythm changes such as “Moose the Mooch,” “Rhythm-a-ning,” “Shaw Nuff,” “Cottontail,” “Anthropology,” “Dexterity,”and others.  There were few that I liked, a very few.  In fact, I can name them specifically, because there were only two that I can remember being interested in: Bill Evans’ studio version of “Oleo” and some of Miles Davis’ recordings of “The Theme.” That’s not to say I didn’t appreciate the playing and the technical prowess in display in countless other recordings, I just didn’t enjoy listening to the form, regardless of how well it was played, and that hasn’t changed to this day.

As a dutiful jazz student, I worked hard to learn the form.  I transcribed solos, studied them as jazz etudes, extracted licks and learned them in 12 keys, until I could make it through and play it in a reasonably convincing manner.  I say “convincing” because I always felt as if I was acting a part when playing rhythm changes. I had no passion for it and I couldn’t manufacture a musical love affair.  I’m sure that it came across as such, no matter how hard I tried.  I relied on clichés and formulaic licks, especially at faster tempos. I never felt like I was improvising; rather, that I was regurgitating my stable of licks in a form that was completely uninteresting to me in order to be employable as a jazz musician.

As time went on, my emotional detachment from rhythm changes made it harder and harder to fake it. I just couldn’t force myself to play those licks as required to maintain the facade.  When someone called a tune based on rhythm changes, I tried to avoid a solo entirely if at all possible.

I examined the form to see if I could figure out what I didn’t like about it, and it wasn’t hard to determine.  Rhythm changes is a 32-bar form (AABA). The ‘A’ section is eight measures in length, the first four of which are (as Bob writes in his post) a simple turnaround repeated. In the second four measures, the bass moves from tonic to dominant, highlighting the subdominant briefly, before moving back to tonic again(there are some minor variations there, but essentially this is what is found). The ‘B’ section attempts to generate some degree of harmonic “surprise” as it moves from tonic to V/vi (chromatic mediant). This transparent and trite interjection fails to surprise as it immediately decays into a string of very predictable secondary dominants leading to the dominant of B-flat, which then sets up the return of the ‘A’ section.   To summarize:

* There are three ‘A’ sections in the piece, comprising 24 of its 32 measures.

*The ‘A’ section is a prolongation of the tonic.

*The ‘B’ section is nothing more than a series of passing chords leading to tonic.

The form is therefore virtually static from a harmonic (granted, Schenkerian) perspective which is problematic for me. In general, I prefer music that has a higher degree of harmonic activity and direction, or, absent that (as in music of a more minimalist nature, much of which I enjoy tremendously), there must be some other complexity in play to retain my interest. These preferences have become more pronounced over the years. As a result, I’ve lost interest in a lot of tunes that are similar in construction.

The primary reason that I pursued jazz was because of my love for the music of Bill Evans, which goes a long way in explaining what motivates and inspires me musically. To be precise, I’m attracted to sophisticated harmony, interesting voice-leading, rich chords and dense chord voicings, and tone color, all of which Evans excels in. None of that is present in rhythm changes, and the ornate weaving through the static changes is just not compelling enough to mitigate what is missing. Yet I really was attracted to Evans’ recording of “Oleo,” going so far as to transcribe it in order to learn what he was doing.** His recording is remarkable in that it eschews the original harmony almost completely, and treats the form in a very free manner, with implied new progressions (especially in the ‘A’ section), prolonged hemiolas and other polyrhythms, and surprisingly chromatic melodic figures; in other words, it’s barely recognizable as rhythm changes, which is probably why I like it.

I write this with enormous respect and admiration for all of the great musicians who have done (and continue to do) remarkable things with rhythm changes. I can appreciate that on many levels, but I simply don’t respond to it emotionally, and without that, what’s the point?

——————-

* ADDENDUM: To read my rebuttal to Kurt’s post, click here.

** It is interesting to note that, as far as I know, Evans recorded rhythm changes only once in a studio album (“Oleo” from “Everybody Digs Bill Evans”). I certainly don’t know the reason, but the fact that he didn’t record it again is notable for a jazz pianist of that era. I’ve wondered about it for many years, especially given my love for Evans’ music and my own dislike for rhythm changes.

June 6, 2010 by
Filed Under: Guest Posts and Interviews, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Sax ‘n Wedge: A Life Goal

This last week I was so preoccupied with chasing storms that I hardly blogged at all. When I did, naturally it was about weather. Jazz, music, and the saxophone have languished in the background, at least blogically speaking.

Not, however, in practice. When I headed out west for some dryline action, my horn went with me. It always does. My chase partners know that when I head for any chase over a day in duration, the sax is as much a part of my travel gear as my suitcase, laptop, and camera. Some folks toss a baseball or football while waiting for storm initiation; I practice my saxophone. Any time is a good time to get in a few licks.

I have several reasons for bringing my horn along on chases, all of them having to do with eventualities. The most likely scenario is, as I’ve just said, that I’ll get a chance to woodshed my instrument. Far less likely–but still, ya never know–is the possibility of winding up in some restaurant where a band is playing, and it’s the kind of band that makes me wish I could sit in for a tune or two. Like I said, unlikely; most Great Plains towns aren’t exactly jazz hotbeds. Still, as I learned back in the Boy Scouts, it pays to be prepared.

My main reason for taking my saxophone with me on storm chases, though, is because of a particular life goal of mine: I want to get a good photo, or maybe some video, or even both, of me jamming on my sax while a monster wedge churns away in the distance. For that matter, I’ll settle for just a nice, photogenic tornado of any shape or size. I just want some kind of visual record that captures the raison d’etre of Stormhorn and the essence of who I am as a storm chaser and jazz saxophonist.

Assuming that a storm is moving slowly enough to make a photo shoot practical, my preparations once towers start muscling up are:

* Rain-X windows

* Remove camera from case and make sure it’s ready for action

* Get tripod out of trunk

* Assemble saxophone

Just a handy checklist. Reasonable enough, wouldn’t you say?

So cross your fingers for me, or better still, pray. This season could be the one where I fulfill an ambition and get some very cool photos to show for it.

I’m a maniac, you say? Of course I am. A maniac is just someone with a different kind of dream.

April 28, 2010 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Life, Saxophone, Storm Chasing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sixth Interval Exercises for Jazz Improvisation

Two posts ago, I talked about the use of the sixth as a sort of sweetening agent in improvised solos. If you haven’t yet done so, I recommend that you read that article before proceeding with the following exercises. It’s always good to understand a little about the whys and wherefores of what you’re doing, particularly when it comes to connecting saxophone technique with jazz improvisation.

One thing I didn’t mention in the previous post, and an important point at that, is the angularity that sixths bring to a musical line. Broad interval that they are, sixths are by definition intensely angular, and as such provide a colorful and interesting way to break up a linear flow.

sixth_interval_exercises
The three exercises on this page are all based on the C major scale. (Click on the image to enlarge it.) The first exercise features basic sixth diads, moving up and then back down an octave.

The second exercise begins on the third of the C major scale (the note E) and moves up a sixth to the tonic C, thereby strongly implying the C major chord and establishing the key center. The exercise moves downward from there, incorporating the added color of passing tones and chromatic lower neighbors.

Exercise three, ascending an octave, approaches each lower note of the diads with a chromatic lower neighbor. While the result is a series of three-note groups, I’ve written the exercise in eighth notes rather than triplets to create a syncopated effect.

Consider each written exercise to be just the abbreviated form of what you actually need to practice. You should take all three exercises up and down through the entire range of your saxophone. You’re smart enough to figure out the missing pieces for yourself, and you should do so.

I suggest that you start by picking one pattern and memorizing it in all twelve keys, beginning with the first exercise. Then proceed to the next pattern and do likewise.

Yes, I know–I’m a drill sergeant and you hate me. But I promise you, all that hard work will pay big dividends with time. One of these days, you’ll thank me. Really. “Thank you, Bob,” you’ll say. Until then, my ego is tough enough to handle the lack of love.

January 25, 2010 by
Filed Under: Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

The Severe Weather Symposium Is Finally Here

The event I’ve been so looking forward to is here at last: College of Du Page’s 2009 Severe Weather Symposium.

Tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. kicks off with Adam Houston speaking on “Principles of Deep Convection.” I’m not sure how much of his material will be an overview of mesoscale basics and how much will introduce new knowledge, but from my perspective, revisiting the essentials can never hurt, particularly since the rest of the first day will all focus on thunderstorm initiation.

Based on my two previous experiences with COD’s severe weather conferences and on the contents of the present agenda, I have high expectations for this conference. It should be an informational gold mine, and I anticipate leaving it Saturday enriched with some extremely useful insights–many of them cutting-edge– that should enhance my forecasting skills during the 2010 storm chasing season.

The goal is, of course, improved targeting, with fewer busts and more tornado intercepts. But deepening one’s knowledge is a reward in itself, and the payoffs can’t always be predicted with pinpoint accuracy any more than the weather can. For now, it’s enough to say that I’m very excited about this conference. The lineup of speakers is impressive, the subject material sounds like everything I could ever hope for, and I look forward to finally connecting with a few people whom I’m familiar with from Stormtrack, but whom I’ve never met in person.

My storm chasing partner, Bill Oosterbaan, will also be attending, naturally–he’s as gonzo about this stuff as I am. We’ll be rooming together. Wish his bro, Tom, could make it as well, and my good friend, Kurt Hulst, but both of them have commitments and financial constraints. Tough break. We’ll miss you guys! And we’ll take good notes–promise.

I might add that I’ll be bringing my saxophone. Since the event is being held at the Double Tree Hotel in the Chicago area, the chance of finding some live jazz in the area isn’t out of the question, maybe even in the hotel restaurant. Should the opportunity arise, it would be fun to sit in with a band, and in any case, I can at least get in a little practice. Wherever I go, I take my saxophone with me. Everywhere, including storm chases. It pays to be prepared.

November 4, 2009 by
Filed Under: Event, Storm Chasing, Weather Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Once There Were Trains

For many years, it has been my habit to practice my saxophone in my car. Living in an apartment and not wishing to bother my neighbors has forced me to find alternatives for my woodshedding, and my vehicle has served me well in that regard. In fact, I like it so well that if I ever do get around to buying a house, I will probably continue to practice in my car.

Since I love trains, my habit has been to park along a railroad track that stretches between Grand Rapids and Lansing. It has always been a fairly active route, and most days I’ve been able to count on seeing at least one train, and usually two or more, go by while I’m playing my horn.

Until recently. What has happened to the trains? Lately I haven’t seen a one. Really. Not in days. I just returned a while ago from one of my practice spots by the railroad crossing near Alto, and I didn’t get so much as a flicker on the semaphore lights.

This economy has hit a lot of folks pretty hard here in Michigan. I’ve got to believe that the collapse of the auto industry has had a dramatic impact on railroad transport. What I can say for sure is, the trains are no longer rolling along my favorite tracks the way they’ve done for so many years. I hope it’s just a temporary lull, and that railroad traffic will pick up again over time. Practice is still good, and I love being out in the countryside by the tracks, working my sax over and watching the sun set over the woods and the fields of alfalfa, corn, and soybean. But something’s missing. It just isn’t the same without the trains.

September 17, 2009 by
Filed Under: Band, Jazz, Life, Music, Outdoors, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

How to Master Circular Breathing on the Saxophone

It has been so many years since I first learned how to circular breathe that I rarely give the matter a thought anymore. It occurs to me, though, that to many sax players, circular breathing remains a technique shrouded in mystery.

There is, after all, something about it that appears almost miraculous. Most saxophonists would be challenged to hold a tone for thirty seconds. So how on earth did saxophonist Vann Burchfield manage to sustain a single note for 47 minutes, 6 seconds, in 2003, beating the previous record set by Kenny G of 45 minutes, 47 seconds? (An even more interesting question is, why did he do it? But the point of this article is to discuss the mechanics behind such a feat, not the psychology.)

Sensationalism aside, circular breathing is a useful technique with practical benefits for those who add it to their tool kit. But how does one go about doing so?

Begin by understanding the basics of how circular breathing works.

The principle is fairly simple (which is not to say, easy to master). You support your tone with air from your lungs in the usual way. However, when your air supply begins to dwindle, you store a quick reservoir of air in your cheeks. Then, closing off the back of your throat, you sustain your tone by contracting your cheeks while simultaneously–and very quickly–replenishing your lungs with air by breathing in through your nose.

This accomplished, you reopen the back of your throat and once again blow from your lungs. Repeat the procedure as often as necessary.

It sounds tricky, and it is at first, but the essentials really aren’t any great secret. Like any discipline, though, circular breathing takes time and persistence to master. Once you’ve got the hang of it, you’ll find that you’re able to continue playing indefinitely, spinning out lines for as long as you please without having to break the flow.

Here’s a simple, step-by-step process to get you started.

1. Get in touch with your air reservoir. How do you do this? Simple: take a breath and then puff out your cheeks. Now continue to puff out your cheeks while breathing in and out through your nose. Note how the back of your throat automatically closes in order for you to accomplish this, sealing off a reservoir of air in your mouth that keeps your cheeks “inflated” while your lungs continue their normal breathing rhythm.

2. Repeat the above procedure. But this time, blow a controlled stream of air through your lips, allowing the reservoir of air in your cheeks to empty itself like a leaky balloon. When you start losing pressure in your cheeks, then–without interrupting the air flow through your lips–breathe in through your nose and then release the air from your lungs into your mouth, replenishing the reservoir of air. Then close off your throat again. Continue doing this till it seems easy (which will probably happen fairly quickly because it is easy, much easier to do than it is to describe!).

The objective is to maintain a steady air stream through your lips while opening and closing your throat to replenish your air reservoir.

3. Till this point, the focus has been on getting a feel for the air reservoir in your mouth/cheeks. The reservoir is key, but in circular breathing, you’ll only use it for the second it takes to fill your lungs with air, after which your throat remains open and you blow in the normal fashion.

So in this exercise, blow a steady stream of air through your lips, allowing the pressure to puff out your cheeks, but support the air stream from your lungs. Keep it going for five or ten seconds, until your lungs begin to empty. Then close off your throat and keep the air stream moving by using the air in your mouth reservoir, as in exercise number two. Simultaneously, inhaling through your nostrils, fill your lungs back up with air. Then open your throat back up and blow from your lungs once again.

4. Once you can comfortably and consistently perform the above exercise, you’ll have gotten your arms around the essentials of circular breathing. At this point, you are in fact performing the technique. Now it’s just a matter of transferring it to your instrument.

When I was first learning to circular breathe, I found it helpful to work with the soprano saxophone. Assuming a conservative reed/mouthpiece combination, the soprano uses less air than the larger horns, making the learning curve easier. If you’ve got a soprano sax, I highly recommend that you practice circular breathing on it before you try it on your alto or tenor.

Start by seeing how long you can sustain a single tone in the middle register of your instrument. The note C on the staff works great. Avoid extremely high and low notes for the time being. Concentrate on making a smooth transition between lung support and reservoir support, striving for minimal pitch wavering, change in volume, and certainly break in tone when closing and reopening the back of your throat.

From here on, gaining proficiency is just a matter of focused, self-analytical practice. However, there are…

A few things to be aware of.

These involve the way you use your mouth reservoir to sustain a tone.

In the above exercises, you’ve had your cheeks puffed out and allowed the air to leak out of them in a controlled stream. Once you start blowing through a mouthpiece, you’ll find that things aren’t quite so easy. The air goes at a faster rate, and you need to contract your cheeks like a bellows in order to provide enough air pressure to sustain a tone on the horn.

Ultimately, of course, you want to dispense with puffing out your cheeks as much as possible. Cheek-puffing is handy as a preliminary learning device, but it’s ruinous on intonation and good breath support. As you spend time refining your circular breathing technique, you’ll find that you can exert air pressure from the back of your throat by lifting your tongue forward. I don’t know how better to describe what I’m getting at, but I’m quite certain that you’ll discover it for yourself if you continue to practice circular breathing.

Once you’re able to sustain a single tone with reasonable control, try playing a scale using circular breathing. From there, try a favorite lick. Circular breathing while playing lines is challenging at first, but once you’ve acquired the ability, you’ll find that moving notes are actually more forgiving than long tones. They tend to mask the unwelcome waver that often attends the shift in air support.

And that, my friends, is that. My job is done. Yours is just beginning. Grab your horn and get started.

September 10, 2009 by
Filed Under: Band, Christian Music, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Music, Saxophone Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Jazz Goatee

Having nothing much to say tonight, I thought, what the heck, maybe you’d like to see a recent photo of me. The goatee is something new. I’ve had one in the past, but I got tired of it and trimmed it off. However, I fancy that I look rather good in a goatee, so I thought I’d take another whack at growing one. After all, a goatee is a pretty jazz musicianly thing.

closeup11

Mine has more salt in it than seems right for a guy who’s only thirty years old and has been for quite a few years. But that’s okay. I’m told it makes me look dignified. I’m far too young to look dignified, but I’ll take that over looking ugly.

Besides, my buddy Dewey assures me that people will treat me with more respect and take me more seriously now that I’m sporting a goatee. Of course, it’s hard for me to take Dewey seriously when he tells me this, since he himself is not wearing a goatee.

No matter. What counts is, my lovely woman Lisa thinks I look good, and she made me look fairly decent in this photo. A bit red-faced, but that comes with blowing a saxophone, something I’ve been doing for over forty years now. I think you’ll have to agree that’s a pretty neat trick for a guy who’s only thirty years old.

August 6, 2009 by
Filed Under: Humor, Jazz, Life, Music Tagged With: , , ,

“Will I Ever Become a Good Jazz Improviser?”

What does it take to become proficient at improvising jazz? Will I ever become a decent player?

Have such thoughts ever nagged at you? Perhaps you’re at the stage where you’ve acquired a decent technique, but you’re uncertain how turn it into flowing, musically cohesive improvisations. Will you ever be able to make the leap between mere good chops and great jazz solos?

Or maybe you’ve been playing the sax for a while and you think you’re making strides. Then you come across a YouTube video of some young firebrand who’s blowing circles around anything you ever dreamed of playing, and your heart sags. At that point, you think one of two things: What am I wasting my time for? or I can be that good too if I work at it.

Depression or determination. I’ve felt both emotions at different times. When I was 26 years old, I took a year of music at Wayne State University in Detroit. During my time there, living on campus, I made arrangements to practice after hours in the music building, where I normally woodshedded from 9:00 p.m. to as late as 3:00 in the morning. I worked hard, doing scale exercises, running patterns, and memorizing solos from the famous Charlie Parker Omnibook.

One evening I walked into the building early and heard sounds of music drifting from the auditorium, where one of Detroit’s high school jazz bands was playing a concert. I listened for a bit. They sounded pretty good! But I had work to do, so I broke away and headed for one of the empty classrooms, which I preferred over the smaller practice rooms. Then I assembled my horn and began to work on one of the Omnibook transcriptions I was memorizing.

A few minutes later, several of the high school band members walked into the room. The concert had ended, and they had heard me playing down the hall and decided to get an earful. Cool. I didn’t mind if they hung out and listened. I chatted with them a bit, and then the bass player said, “Hey, we gotta get James.” The other guys agreed that James definitely needed to be gotten, and one of them left to look for him.

I continued to work on my Bird transcription. Pretty soon, in walked a fourteen-year-old kid with a tenor sax tucked under his arm. He listened to me for a minute, then said, “Oh, ‘Ornithology.'” He put his horn to his mouth and started to rip through the Parker solo from memory as flawlessly as if his genetic makeup included an ‘Ornithology’ chromosome. Then, having demonstrated his mastery of a solo that I was only beginning to get my arms around, the kid proceeded to double-tongue a chromatic scale up into his horn’s altissimo register, high enough to sterilize the flies in the room.

I wanted to slap him.

The kid went on to tell me how he planned to master not just the saxophone, but all of the woodwind instruments. Whether he has entirely fulfilled that lofty ambition in the years since, I can’t say, but I do know that today, jazz virtuoso James Carter plays a large number of the woodwind family in addition to the tenor sax.

Fellow saxophonist Tom Stansell, whose family owns and operates the celebrated Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp in Muskegon, where Carter spent a summer as a student years ago, once commented, “No one ever told the kid that it’s hard to play fast.”

As for me, I just kept plugging away at my saxophone. My journey as a musician hasn’t taken me to New York at age 21 or on international tours. Rather, it has placed me in Caledonia playing for cows in the pasture at the west edge of town and taking gigs as they come, which they seem to be doing more and more of lately.

And they should be. Because while I’m no James Carter, I’m a good sax player. I’ve been told on different occasions that I don’t realize how good I really am, and maybe that’s true. I hope so. Coming from capable musicians, compliments like that certainly encourage me, because I’ve worked hard to bring together all the technical stuff–the scales, arpeggios, patterns, solo transcriptions, and everything else I’ve labored at over many years–into something that sounds interesting, original, personal, passionate, and…well, musical.

I hadn’t initially planned to share the above anecdote, but there’s a point to it: discouragement and inspiration often come from the same source, and they’re just a matter of how you look at things. Maybe you’re not playing the way you wish you could play today. But if you stick with it, one day you’ll look back and realize how far you’ve come. The technique that you’re presently unsure what to do with will have become your servant, the building material of ideas which you spin with confidence and ease out of your horn. You may not be the next Michael Brecker–or maybe you will be–but that’s not what it’s about. Do what you do for the love of what you do, and everything else will follow in its time.

Not all of us have the same advantages. Not all of us grew up in musical families or were steeped in jazz at an early age. Not all of us have the same natural aptitude, the same educational opportunities, or the same life circumstances that permit us to practice as much as we’d like. But all of us have the ability to choose whether to persevere or give up. So…

“Will I ever become a good jazz improviser?”

If you quit, the answer is no.

If you keep at it, studying the music, listening to great players, and practicing diligently and consistently, the answer is yes.

Don’t rob yourself of the joy of playing music worth hearing. Don’t deprive the world around you of the pleasure of hearing you. And don’t belittle the talent God gave you, because into that talent is woven a purpose that is higher than you may imagine.

Stay with it. You’ll be glad you did.

August 5, 2009 by
Filed Under: Band, Entertainment, Jazz, Jazz Improvisation and Technique, Life, Music, Nature, Saxophone, Tornadoes, Weather Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
« Previous Page
Next Page »