For me it’s an ongoing challenge to start a piece of music at the right tempo. Here are a few tricks I have used:
Practice, a lot, with a metronome, to internalize and habituate the tempo.
If circumstances allow, check a metronome backstage immediately before beginning the piece.
If circumstances allow, have a metronome with you on stage. Most have a “silent” function that you can use to discreetly double-check.
Maybe your piece has a fast or tricky part, and you’re worried that you will go too fast and that part won’t go well. Sing that part in your mind before you start to play, so you can pick a tempo that will work for that part.
Be aware of your tendencies. For example, if the adrenaline of performance makes you tend to rush, you can adjust accordingly.
Find a song that you know really well and have thoroughly internalized, that has a tempo very close to the one you wish to play at. Sing a few bars of the song mentally to find your tempo. For example, here’s a list of songs that have a tempo of about 94 beats per minute—I bet you can find at least a few that you know.
I like to use shoe tying in my teaching, as an example of what regular practicing—even just a few minutes every day—can and should accomplish.
Playing a woodwind instrument involves a number of complex physical actions: coordinated finger movements, a delicately balanced embouchure, well-timed breathing, and more. And musicians mostly need to execute these physical elements without a lot of thought, so that they can mentally focus on things like expression and communication. The way to do this is to practice the physical stuff regularly and consistently, so that it happens automatically.
Like most people, I think, as a small child I found shoe tying to be a complicated proposition. It’s a sophisticated task for little fingers. But once I got the technique worked out, I just did it every day, day in and day out, until I didn’t need to think about it anymore.
It’s tempting sometimes to see my students as either left-brained or right-brained players—either the precise, technically-oriented type or the creative, intuitive type. The reality, of course, is that they are all some of each, but may have greater strengths in one area or the other. And good musicians need both.
Trying to get the more technically-inclined to play with imagination and spontaneity can be frustrating for student and teacher alike. And the more intuitive types sometimes need a little organization to make sure their creativity is focused into a cohesive musical statement. Here is a very simple technique that I use with “both” kinds of students to encourage creative exploration without wandering too far afield.
photo, Bernat Casero
First I select a brief passage and ask the student to imagine that it is part of the soundtrack to a movie, and start feeding them genres to try out: Can you play it like it’s part of a swashbuckling action-adventure movie? a slapstick comedy? a steamy love story? a tense courtroom drama? For the student who is tentative about playing imaginatively, this is a fairly simple, non-threatening way to experiment with some intuitive musical decisions. For a student whose flights of fancy need a little direction, this technique provides just enough discipline without suppressing creativity.
The next step is to ask the student to pick a few favorite genres on their own, or even specific movies, and let them explore the passage within those frameworks. Some students, the more technically-inclined in particular, seem a little embarrassed about sharing even that much of their creative process aloud, so I don’t push them to do so as long as they can use it to create a few interpretations that are convincingly distinct. The important thing is that they are discovering the ability to generate ideas and apply them to the music.
An additional step is to move beyond movie genres to something a little more esoteric. I have had success with having students play different colors (purple? yellow? black? fuchsia?), different moods or emotions (love? hate? joy? paranoia?), or different “instruments” (can you sound like a trumpet? a cello? an operatic soprano? a snare drum?). Sometimes I use this approach myself to tackle particularly tricky interpretive questions, like how to handle repeated sections that I want to sound just different enough on the second time through: maybe the first time royal blue, and the second time more of a navy blue.
Advanced musical interpretation can be much richer and more complex, but starting out with this technique seems to help many of my students get started, by opening up an intuitive path for some students and providing some useful creative boundaries for others.
I’ve been reading the “Dear 1999” blogging project started by the guys over at MusicianWages.com. The project, which launched last month, was to have musician-bloggers answer this question:
If you could go back to 1999 and give yourself one piece of advice, what would it be?
Although I was (*ahem*) not invited to participate, I’ve been thinking about the last ten years of my life and what brought me to where I am now. Over the last few weeks I’ve gotten a number of emails from musicians who are about the age I was ten years ago, who are interested in pursuing graduate school in multiple woodwinds, and so I’ve been in advice-giving mode already.
Since I missed posting at the end of 2009 anyway, I figure I can go ahead and change the format a little, as I think I’ve got more than one piece of advice for 2000 me.
Most of the “Dear 1999” bloggers are pursuing careers as performers, which I consider to be an important part of what I do, but my newly-begun main gig is as a university music professor. I am fortunate to be doing pretty much exactly what I love and what I’ve been aiming for for the past ten years, although sometimes it was hard to tell if I was headed in the right direction.
I get asked every so often whether it’s a good idea for a woodwind doubler to try to have a fairly “complete” set of instruments, or whether it’s better to make do with a few and make substitutions as needed. For example, do you need a B-flat clarinet and an A clarinet, or can you just transpose? Is it worth it to buy an English horn for sporadic use, or can you cover the part on saxophone?
The answers, of course, depend on your goals. It’s hard to predict for sure which instruments will end up being useful or financially worthwhile. And a new instrument isn’t always something you can just hurry and buy when a gig offer demands it.
If your aim is to maximize your income, and some substitutions are acceptable at your gigs, then you should buy as few instruments as you can get away with. Prioritize the ones that are most likely to pay for themselves in terms of new gigs within the shortest time frame.
If it makes you happy to have a larger collection of instruments, and you can afford to make it happen, then there’s nothing wrong with that, either. For many of us music straddles the line between profession and hobby, and being a woodwind doubler isn’t necessarily any more expensive a hobby than boating or fine woodworking or international travel. If you can count the purchase as a business expense as well, then all the better.
Follow the instrument acquisition strategy that best suits your financial situation and personal goals.
One thing I notice about a lot of my younger university students is that they play softly. Sometimes they seem reluctant to play above what I might consider about a mezzo piano.
If I ask, many of them reveal that they spent their formative years in school band programs getting The Hand from their directors. Beginning oboists and saxophonists in particular can make rather pungent and conspicuous noises. And band directors, understandably anxious to produce a well-blended ensemble, give the traffic-cop “stop” sign of the raised palm to hush the worst offenders. Those young musicians learn quickly to play in a restrained, timid way, and that anything louder than a murmur is a faux pas.
I can’t really blame the band directors, who have a set of concerns different from mine. (When I have taught beginners in a private lesson setting, I have encouraged them to play loudly from day one, and treated softer dynamics as an intermediate-level technique.)
But much of college-level music study is about students’ development as soloists. In that context, they need to play with authority, and, well, volume. And they may find that college ensembles have different demands than their high school groups, too.
Fixing the problem usually doesn’t involve teaching much new technique, perhaps a review of proper breath support. The rest is encouragement and example from me.
Over the course of a few weeks or months, I play for them in lessons, showing how I can fill up the room with sound. I ask them to imitate that sound, and urge them on to louder volumes. If I ask them to play their very loudest, and then ask them to top that, they usually can—they are just afraid to, and warn me that if they get any louder it will sound bad. But surprise! It doesn’t.
If you aspire to play at a professional level, or teach students who do, explore the louder part of that dynamic range, and make yourself heard!
Here’s what I teach my first-year music majors as they are preparing for their first public performance of solo or chamber repertoire. Customs may vary in your area.
Dress professionally and comfortably. Formalwear/eveningwear is overkill and a distraction for most music major recital performances. I like to wear a necktie and preferably also a jacket, but something of roughly equivalent dressiness also works (slacks/skirt and a nice top are another example).
Enter the stage by walking swiftly and confidently. Stop just short of the music stand, so that it isn’t between you and the audience (at least not yet).
Before you do anything else, acknowledge your audience with a bow. (If you are on stage with collaborative musicians, wait for them to get into position so you can all bow together. Whoever is standing closest to the front should start the bow as soon as everybody is ready.) To bow: bend at the waist, look at your shoes for a second, then straighten back up. Keep both hands either on your instrument or at your sides. Don’t curtsy. Don’t shrug or roll your eyes or pull faces. (I suggest practicing your bow a little before your performance. Maybe take smartphone video so you can see if you are doing something weird.)
After bowing, make any last-minute arrangements or adjustments: arranging sheet music, checking reeds, etc.
If you are taking a tuning note on stage, turn to whoever is providing the pitch. Mostly listen, then play briefly, adjust, and if needed play one more time (briefly!) to be sure. Don’t play a long tuning note, like you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re right. If you’re uncertain about your ability to tune accurately on stage, you can tune to a tuner or other reference before going on stage, and use the onstage tuning as a chance to just play a note before you begin the performance.
During the performance, don’t make faces or gestures in response to mistakes. It calls unnecessary attention to what probably are barely-noticeable glitches, and takes you and your audience out of the moment.
As you and/or your collaborators play the last note of each movement or piece, freeze in place. Hold your position until the last note finishes reverberating in the performance space, then another second or two.
If you just finished a complete musical work (not just one movement of the larger work you are performing), you can bring your instrument down into a carrying position, look out into the audience, and smile to signal that the piece is complete. They should start to applaud at this point.
Leave the stage quickly. Don’t be caught still on stage when the applause ends. In some situations you can leave your sheet music behind to be retrieved later.
In some cases the audience will continue to applaud enthusiastically after you leave the stage. If you like, you can return to the stage for another bow and then leave quickly again. Sometimes the audience doesn’t bring you back for another bow—don’t take that personally.
