…in all twelve keys, smoothly and evenly, the full range of your instrument(s)?
…with a beautiful sound on each and every note, and each note right in tune?
…with poised, elegant phrasing?
…in eighth notes at quarter = 100? 120? 140? 160? How about eighth-note triplets? Sixteenths?
…all slurred? All tongued? In mixed articulation patterns?
…with a variety of dynamic nuances?
…in pairs of ascending thirds, up and down the scale? Descending thirds? Fourths? Fifths? Sixths? Sevenths? Octaves? (Ninths…) How about ascending and descending diatonic triads? How about adding sevenths (plus ninths…) to the triads?
…using all relevant combinations of alternate fingerings?
…while double- and triple-tonguing? While circular breathing? While standing on your head?
I’m going to go practice for a while. Tune in June, 2018 for a follow-up post, “Now let’s try minor scales.”
For musicians on an academic schedule, summers are often wide open. This can be a great opportunity to get ahead, or a bottomless pit of procrastination and idleness. Here are some ideas for staying motivated to get some summer practicing done.
Here are some mindsets that I find can hold college music majors back from reaching their potential—or can launch them to the next level.
From “This is how I was taught” to “I’m here to explore new ideas.“
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve suggested a better fingering option to a student who resists because they already know a different fingering and would rather not have to remember a new one. But my most successful students are curious to learn new things and try them out. Someday you’ll have the option to choose your own path, but you’ll do so from a place of experience, not habit.
From “I have to practice for hours” to “What can I get done in ten minutes?“
Mastery takes time, but the quality of that time is what really gets results. I’ve had students suffer alone in practice rooms all week with nothing to show for it. But if they can set a few small goals and spend a few minutes pursuing each of them in a focused way, by their next lesson they have measurable progress, the confidence to show it off, and a grade that reflects it.
From “I’m never going to use this” to “I’m building a versatile skill set.”
My students often have very clear ideas about what they will and won’t be doing in their careers. But working in music and/or education can mean wearing a lot of different hats, and broad knowledge and experience can have surprising advantages.
From “My teacher my is judge and executioner” to “My teacher is on this journey with me.”
Rather than playing your assignment for your teacher and nervously waiting for a verdict, let your teacher be a guide and consultant. Be ready to outline and demonstrate your successes and frustrations from the week, and ask for help and advice on what’s holding you back. It’s not you versus your teacher—it’s the two of you versus the technical and musical challenges.
From “I don’t play well enough to perform in front of others” to “I have something to share.”
My students perform frequently for other music majors, for faculty, and for public audiences. It’s pretty normal to feel inadequate to the task or to feel outclassed by others. But our audiences, even when they are our peers or teachers, want us to succeed. If you see your performance as a gift rather than a test, you never know who you might impress, inspire, or uplift.
Which of these mindset shifts feels the most uncomfortable to you? Often the one that scares us the most is the one that offers the biggest breakthrough. Let’s do this!
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Stylistically-appropriate articulation has long been under-taught in jazz education. (Or waved away with a “ya gotta listen”) . But that is changing , with some recent guides and method books starting to find some consensus about best practices. Concepts like which notes to accent, or how long to sustain certain notes, apply to all jazz instrumentalists. But wind-instrument players have the extra complication of which notes to tongue or slur. This distinction is critical to good jazz style.
In classical music, wind players usually perform articulation markings with accuracy. But printed jazz music can take varied approaches to articulation markings.
Some charts for experienced players have sparing articulation markings or none at all. The composer, arranger, and/or editor trust the performers to apply appropriate style:
Others, particularly more recent ones, use markings that reflect the crystallizing best practices:
But may otherwise well-written charts, bafflingly, use markings that are not stylistically appropriate:
Some red flags include long slurs and staccato markings. Experienced jazz players instinctively ignore these bad markings and use better articulation practices. (Long slurs can in some cases be explained away as “phrase” markings. But since they are visually indistinguishable from slurs, it’s better to omit them.)
Occasionally a good jazz composer or arranger will use an articulation marking in a surprising or unusual context. It’s up to the performers to determine whether this is an intentional break from typical jazz style, or an editing error.
In some cases, a composer/arranger might even choose a particularly anti-swing articulation as a kind of joke. This is usually followed by a figure that should be played with exaggerated, correct swing and articulation. This heightens the contrast between “good” and “joke” style:
Jazz players and educators are responsible to know and apply correct articulation, using their best musical judgment to override the written parts when appropriate.
I think many aspiring musicians pass through a phase in their development where they have “learned” fingerings, music reading skills, and other fundamentals at a basic degree of mastery, and turn their attention to developing sufficiently fluent technique (mostly finger technique) to tackle the instrument’s standard literature. Once they acquire that fluency and tackle that repertoire, they will begin to deal with the nuances of interpretation.
Whether this is the best way to do things is a subject for another post (or book), but the reality is that a lot of advancing music students, including many of my university students, are at a point where they are very focused on playing notes in time in tempo, and when they achieve that level with an étude or repertoire piece, sometimes they don’t have a clear idea of what else needs to be done to bring the assignment to a performance level.
If you or your students find yourself in that holding pattern, here are just a few ideas of what to “add” to your technical preparation:
Are you following all the composer’s marked articulations? dynamics? tempo changes?
In the places between the dynamic markings, are you giving the phrases appropriate shaping?
Is each note in tune? Does each note have a characteristic, pleasing, and consistent tone? Does each note respond precisely when and how you intend it to?
Have you familiarized yourself with all of the composer’s textual indications, and translated them if necessary? Are you making them audible?
Are you using vibrato (if applicable) in a purposeful and expressive way?
Are you taking a purposeful approach to performance practice? For example, are you using historically-informed approaches to ornamentation, dynamics, tempo, articulation, etc.? Or, alternatively, have you made a conscious and well-informed decision to break from these?
Have you studied live performances and recordings of this work by the finest musicians, compared their interpretations, and made careful choices about which ideas to incorporate or adapt into your own performance?
Have you thoroughly studied the full score, and do you understand how your part fits into the whole?
Do you have opinions about the formal structure, and are you using those to shape your overall interpretation?
Those are just a few, but probably enough to keep most of us busy for a lifetime of study. Feel free to add some more in the comments.
It’s easy to think of articulation markings as being black and white (and not just literally). But sometimes the instructions aren’t completely clear.
For example, I think most people would see this marking…
…and understand it to mean that the D gets some extra length, perhaps so much that there’s no silence between the D and the following C. And there’s an implication that the other notes shouldn’t be that way, so perhaps they should have a bit more space by comparison.
But how about this? (I ran into this marking in a piece I am working on this week, by an experienced composer.)
The slur seems to preclude any space between the notes, so how does the tenuto work? You can’t reduce the space if it’s already zero, right?
I think most experienced musicians would say that in this case the tenuto gets some other kind of stress, like a little extra volume, or a slight stretching of the beat, or maybe more intensity in the vibrato. But those are substantially different from the first interpretation. And if I do interpret the tenuto as some kind of stress, how is it different from, say, this:
To interpret the markings, you have to take them in context. Musical notation is an expressive language, not a set of precise instructions for note-playing robots.
And sometimes the markings are bad. There might simply be mistakes, or maybe the composer or editor isn’t entirely familiar with how wind players interpret articulations. How about this one?
Wind players tend to think in terms of slurred or not slurred, and map this directly to a technique. When the slurs are doubled up like this, it doesn’t quite compute—I’m already slurring, I can’t make it any more slurred.
So often the go-to explanation is that the larger slur is some kind of phrase marking, to show that those notes belong together, and the smaller one is an actual slur. Or, I guess, maybe another smaller phrase marking? And why do I need a phrase marking anyway—shouldn’t I already be playing phrases? And, if I decide to take out the smaller slur, then does the larger one still remain a “phrase marking,” or does it transform back into a slur?
Here are some things I try to keep in mind as I try to interpret articulation markings:
If the composer put it on the page, she or he wants to hear it. How can I make the marking audible? What is the composer’s likely intention?
Why did the composer pick that particular marking? If there is ambiguity, is it intentional, or at least knowing?
Do similar markings appear elsewhere in the piece, or even in the composer’s other works? Does that shed any light? For example, if the composer uses both tenuto marks under slurs and accents under slurs, the composer probably wants them to sound different from each other.
Is there a tradition surrounding this piece? Sometimes frequently-performed pieces begin to develop a sort of standard practice for how certain markings are interpreted. Sometimes these are reasonably reliable, such as if a recording was made with the composer’s input, but sometimes they are just popular guesses. If you have a better guess, you can use it, but it would be wise at least to know what the tradition suggests.
We are used to thinking of music itself as an expressive thing, that hopefully causes our audience to respond in some way. But the art of music notation is also expressive—the composer/editor/copyist is trying to get some kind of response from the musician. (Which in turn gets the response from the audience.)
If you have been reading articulations like a robot—or ignoring them—return to the score again and listen to what the composer is telling you.
Sometimes my beginner students will play something for me, then ask, “Was that right?” What they generally seem to mean is something like, “Did I use the correct fingerings in the correct order?” A student who is slightly more advanced might ask the same question, but also wonder whether the rhythms were “correct.” A student farther along than that might take into consideration things like accurate observance of marked articulations and dynamics.
Setting aside creative concerns and looking only at technical matters, when is a student’s playing “right?”
I try to impress upon my advancing students that execution of musical passages isn’t really about “right” or “wrong,” but rather about degrees of rightness. To borrow an idea from manufacturing or engineering, we might think in terms of tolerances.
In other words, for a beginner, a half-note rhythm might be “right” if the half notes are roughly twice the length of quarter notes, and a pitch of “D” might be “right” if it is closer to D than it is to D-flat or D-sharp. For a somewhat more advanced student, it might not be “right” until the rhythms can be played without wandering too far afield of a metronome and the pitches trigger the “in tune” light on a cheap electric tuner. For an even more advanced student, those tolerances wouldn’t be fine enough—we might expect the rhythmic ratios to be accurate to within a few percent, and the pitches to be accurate within so many cents.
At the highest levels of musical technique, we question what tolerances are accurate enough for our audiences, or for someone with even more finely-tuned ears—a conductor, perhaps, or an audition panel, or collaborating musicians, or a record producer. Are my rhythms “right” when they are within a tolerance of a hundredth of a second? A thousandth? A ten-thousandth? Who will hear the difference if my pitches are within a tolerance of ten cents? Five cents? The more I think about it, the more I’m certain I can never really be satisfied, because as my execution gets more accurate, my ears get less tolerant.
If your ears are currently “tolerating” your level of accuracy when you play, it may be time to listen more closely and critically. Don’t be satisfied with “right”—go for more right.
This sounds exactly like a conversation I had with Kirk Macdonald (http://www.kirkmacdonald.com/) the first time I met him.
I attended an audition prep workshop that took place 6 weeks before auditions to Humber the first time I auditioned… in that workshop we got a 30 minute lesson with a prof from the school. The first thing he asked me is if I knew my major scales … I said yes … BIG mistake! HAHA … He went through that whole spiel you just listed.
The crazy thing is … he CAN do all of that stuff and more on all his major scales (minor, bebop … you name it etc.)
This sounds exactly like a conversation I had with Kirk Macdonald (http://www.kirkmacdonald.com/) the first time I met him.
I attended an audition prep workshop that took place 6 weeks before auditions to Humber the first time I auditioned… in that workshop we got a 30 minute lesson with a prof from the school. The first thing he asked me is if I knew my major scales … I said yes … BIG mistake! HAHA … He went through that whole spiel you just listed.
The crazy thing is … he CAN do all of that stuff and more on all his major scales (minor, bebop … you name it etc.)
Guess it’s back to the practice module for me!