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My most recent composition will be premiered on Thursday May 3 at the NAU Sounds Concert. This work kicks of the concert at 6:30pm in the Applied Research and Development Building on central campus. This is the first time live music like this will be played in the ARD Building.
I’ve had many ideas marinating in my head over the past few weeks; some of them made it out in half-baked gooey journal entries and some are still ripening in the fridge. Some of the ideas are dead, like this silly food analogy. But this post is real food. Maybe a microwave dinner, but still food.
There’s an old saying that used to annoy me that goes: “Just show up.”
Puh-lease.
So if I just show up in the practice room and do SOMETHING, anything, I’ll be getting somewhere. Which is true, I suppose; I’ll be going nowhere, but still getting somewhere. If I continue to show up and wander through a barren wasteland of unmotivated and unguided, drifting practice routines, eventually I’ll find the holy grail of productivity and success and become the best marimbist, drum set player and orchestral percussionist ever; I’ll save the world with my new musical super powers. (Is the last sentence dripping with enough sarcasm?)
Though, if in survival mode, even wandering through a barren wasteland is more productive than not.
In my last few weeks of living and discovering, I’ve come to believe in the power of “doing.” Three examples that have inspired me to share this point come from Steven Pressfield’s book The War of Art, a quote from Ira Glass, and that youtube video of the kid who just learned to ride his bike. First, my favorite quote from Pressfield:
…the amateur composer will never finish his symphony because he is overly invested in its success and overterrified of its failure.”
Substitute composer for anything and symphony for anything; you get the point.
And another from Ira Glass…
Nobody tells this to people who are beginners. I wish someone had told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase; they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know that it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you finish one piece. It’s only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take a while. It’s normal to take awhile. You just gotta fight your way through.”
Well, crap. And here I was thinking that I was getting close to that hidden holy grail of musical achievement; I think the hip kids say “to making it”. That’s not really what it’s about. At this stage, it’s about continuing to “do;” to accept that my creative output might not be what my taste and ambitions are hoping it will be, but to continue anyway, without being overinvested in success, or overterrified of failure.
This can be a pretty suffocating feeling. In fact it is. It brings on the day dreams of what if I was a postman, or a dolphin trainer, or a whatever. Anything that wasn’t this. Anything where I could get a degree and then be a professional. Cut and dry. (Do they offer degrees in delivering mail or training dolphins?)
So when I become suffocated by the slowly closing walls of the trash compacter on the detention level, I phone up to my metaphoric droidal counterpart and load up this video that my good friend Owen showed me. It’s a bite size motivational speech — I’d encourage you to watch, not only for its cuteness, but for its message. I did. And as a result, I’ve also rediscovered the power of innocence, especially in children, who have a surprising and refreshing ability to share uncanny wisdom.
These three ideas (2 quotes and 1 video) are ingredients to some delicious meal that’s in the oven. But it’s slow cooked; real slow. As long as the oven doesn’t lite my house on fire, I’ll keep cooking. There, if the food analogy wasn’t dead before, it is now.
It seems that nobody talks about this middle stage of growth; we’re either babies or professionals. Are you a baby? A senior citizen? Or somewhere in the middle?
How do these ideas resonate with you? Leave a comment below or here.
Part III — Choosing
Now that we’re committed, comfortable and armed with an arsenal of transcriptions, licks, and a palette of colors, how do we create our own voice? That is, out of all of these possibilities, what determines the “how,” “when,” and “why” of our playing?
“Our doubts are traitors, / and make us lose the good we might oft win / By fearing to attempt.” —Shakespeare
When performing with others, it is important to define roles within the ensemble. The common model of a jazz quartet usually puts the drummer, bassist and pianist in a supportive role while the horn player is in a leading role (though often, the pianist switches roles). When I say lead, I am referring to who is most important for the audience to hear at that moment. As a drummer, it may be helpful to think of the supporting role dualistically: “Am I with the soloist? Or am I against the soloist?” Being “with” generally consists of creating some type of parallel support; this can occur by means of rhythmic repetition or mimicking, dynamic shifts or melodic contour. Playing “with the soloist” usually leads to extremely high energy performance, with exciting opportunities for organic growth and mutual climax. However, this mindset can easily become mundanely predictable. Use it sparingly, like curry.
So what determines the how, when and why? The music that we’re in and our own conscience. Everything has purpose.
Sometimes the choices themselves are as artistic as the sounds they create.
Last spring I took a lesson with a great drum set player named Frank Rosaly*. We talked about developing a drum solo (from four bars to indefinitely extended). He told me that he almost always takes at least two beats of silence to let some type of music come to him. This allows the music and your creative instinct to breathe. He then began to discuss the choices we make as soloists.
In a setting of improvisation, the improviser makes choices (and sacrifices) all the time, consciously and unconsciously. The improviser decides to play something comfortable, or loud, or soft, or out of the box, or a lick, or something new that they’ve never done before. Sometimes the result of the choice fails miserably, sometimes it works wonderfully. Its success or failure doesn’t have to be dependent on its aesthetic appeal to the player/audience, or its ability to teach us something. He said he’s seen some pretty beautiful failures: “it was greatly artistic because of the choices they made, even if they didn’t work.” Since the improviser makes choices all the time, why not make some fearlessly, and with expectancy of the possibility of failure? The music will go on regardless of success or failure (which is too often defined by public’s opinion anyway, as opposed to by your own barometer) because you chose for it to do so.
The third choice we must make, is to try. To accept failure the same as success, and to try again.
Now granted, there’s a pretty thin line between fearlessly trying new things and becoming a reckless drummer on the stage. How, when and why you try new things is greatly determined by the type of gig you’re playing. If you’re playing 40s swing for a ballroom dance class, you probably don’t want to try that sweet 15/16 accent pattern that just popped into your head. If you’re in a coffee house, or jazz club, where you have strong, stable, reliable bandmates and an audience that will remain engaged as you traverse the uncharted waters of your own creativity, then by all means do it. The choices you make are as much a part of the artistic experience as their sonic byproducts.
But how do we know if those choices are any good? We don’t! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To be your own “beholder” I strongly recommend video/audio recording your performances and, after enough time has passed, evaluating your playing. Are you conveying the artistry that you thought you were? Remember not to be too hard on yourself. Even if you didn’t communicate as well as you had hoped, you communicated something to someone. And that’s something for which we can be extraordinarily grateful.
How do these thoughts resonate with you? Leave a comment here.
*Frank’s approach is entirely unique and unlike anything I had ever seen before. Watching him play is to watch a true artist at work. The sounds he gets from his drum set… Well you’ll just need to hear it for yourself. If you’re interested in learning more about his approach to music, check out his featured article from Jazz Times here.
In Part I we discussed what it means to commit to our choices. We recognized that we make choices all the time, consciously and unconsciously. We also discussed what it means to create sound deliberately and that the best way to do this is to become better acquainted with our own technique and with our instruments.
Part II — Know Thy Drums
Knowing your drums is also a choice! Part II explores various methods of building a vocabulary, increasing comfort around the kit, and developing your own voice.
In order to be artistic, we have to be comfortable at our instruments. A friend of mine once exclaimed to a local bass player: “Man, you look totally at home behind your instrument. You look like you could be sitting on the couch with a beer in your own home, but you’re here.” Have you ever seen someone that looks that at ease while they perform? That type of comfort, flexibility, relaxation is certainly what we all strive for, though it is much harder to attain than it looks.
The first step towards becoming completely comfortable around the drum set is to obtain a consistent set up.
To be comfortable in any given improvisatory setting, we have to know our instruments inside and out. Part of this knowledge and comfort comes by ensuring that we set up the same time, every time. For example, when I’m improvising (or sight reading), I want muscle memory to tell me exactly how much to dip my left wrist to achieve a rim shot; I want to know exactly where that 10 inch splash cymbal is; I want to know the exact distance between my hi hats; and I want to know which way the hi hat clutch is facing. It’s important to note, that set ups can and should change depending on the type of music you are playing. For instance, if I’m playing swing, I like my hi hats to be low, pretty close to the snare drum. If I’m playing rock, I like my hi hats up higher so that I have room for a solid back beat. Whatever your preference, a consistent set up is crucial for success.
The second step is understanding exactly how your drums and cymbals will respond to your touch.
In order to be completely at home behind your kit, it’s important to know your drums (and drum heads) well enough to anticipate what type of sound and stick response you will get from them for a variety of strokes.Do you get a lot of rebound from your snare drum? Do your toms produce less rebound then your snare drum? Once you’ve realized these differences, you can begin to realize the different strokes you’ll need to put into the drums to get your ideal sound out of the drums.
There’s a provocative saying: “the fewer the cymbals, the better the drummer.” I tend to have more respect for a drummer with a four piece kit and 2 cymbals then for a drummer that plays a jungle gym. I’m more interested in doing a lot with a little than the other way around. There are an infinite amount of sounds we can pull out of just one cymbal (as long as it’s a good one)! Why not explore them all? Knowing the sweet spots on each cymbal in your arsenal is important — but so is knowing every spot on that cymbal. Too often the cymbal becomes a one-hit-wonder; a resource that is never fully tapped.
Do as many methods/technique builders and transcriptions as you can handle. There are countless technique and method books available, in a variety of styles, that allow the studying drummer to gain facility on his instruments. The more grooves (and timing exercises) you’ve learned and the more independence studies you’ve worked on, the more flexibility and comfort you’ll have behind the kit. If you’re a beginning or intermediate drummer (or playing in a school jazz band for the first time) and looking for some place to start, here are a few books I’d recommend: The Art of Bop Drumming (by John Riley), The Funky Beat (by David Garibaldi), The New Breed (by Gary Chester).
Transcriptions are double whammies. Not only do you continue to become acquainted with your kit and the way you move around it, you get to glimpse into the creative genius of the great jazz drummers from the past. Seeing how they develop, or quote, or groove is one of the best ways to build your own vocabulary. Once you can sound a little bit like Mel, a little like Philly Jo, a little like Jimmy, you can take what you want from each of those players and develop your own voice. For instance, out of these three players, I strive for the ride cymbal flexibility of Mel Lewis, the soloing genius (and brush playing…good grief!) of Philly Jo Jones and the discretion and groove of Jimmy Cobb.
Once you have found a set up that works for you, learned a substantial amount of vocabulary from the greats, and put the tools of interdependence, facility, and groove into your belt, you’re ready to start creating. Having this type of facility is necessary for you to access and utilize your own creative genius to its fullest potential.
How do these thoughts resonate with you? What are some of your favorite method/technique books? What are some of your secrets to being comfortable behind your drum set? What performers have you seen that seem completely at ease with their instruments? Leave a comment here.
Stay tuned for Part III later this week:
Part III — Choosing
Now that we’re committed, comfortable and armed with an arsenal of transcriptions, licks and a palette of colors, how do we create our own voice? That is, out of all of these possibilities, what determines the “how,” “when,” and “why” of our playing?
Part I
The decision to sit down behind the kit is a choice. The decision to play the hi-hat on beats two and four of every measure is a choice. The decision to play two inches from the edge of the ride cymbal is a choice. Everything done at the drum set is a choice; make them consciously and artistically. To quote a lyric from RUSH’s tune Freewill, “if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.”
The first choice we must make, is to begin making choices consciously.
I am amazed, as a percussion instructor, at how much of my teaching consists of asking students to explain why they are playing where they are playing. With a drum set, I think many young students have a “big target = ready, fire” mindset (as opposed to the ready, aim, ready, aim, aim, “do I have to?” aim again, mindset of most beginning percussionists behind a keyboard instrument). Relatively speaking, the drums are quite large, so striking one anywhere is to have struck it successfully, right? Ha!
Most students go into panic mode when they’re asked to do so many things at the same time; they focus on the independence, or interdependence being required of them to such an extent, that they’ll hit the drums anywhere so long as they can pat their head and rub their tummy at the same time. Unfortunately, these ill-informed playing spots easily age into nasty habits. However, these habits are easily eradicated when one makes a conscious choice to find correct playing zones. Prioritizing coordination over quality of sound is a choice.
The second choice we must make as drum set craftsmen is to create sound deliberately.
There are no wrong answers when it comes to jazz, drumset, improvisation,or music in general for that matter. Of course, there are options that are perhaps more appropriate in given scenarios than in others. But as a creator, there are no wrong decisions, just weak ones. As a performer, you can “sell” just about anything you do if it’s done with commitment, obvious intent and purpose.
Is it wrong to play the snare drum three inches off center? No.
Is it wrong to play the ride cymbal just underneath the bell? No.
Is it wrong to make a bass drum beater out of cotton candy? No.
As long as these choices are made deliberately, they can’t be wrong. If the ring and thinness you get from your snare drum when played three inches off center is what the music needs, then by all means do it! If riding on a less washy part of the cymbal is what the character of the tune needs for the pianist’s solo, then do it! If that sticky, fluffy, sweet sound of cotton candy is the sound that you want, then do it! Every time we touch our instruments, it’s imperative that we commit, to whatever we’re about to do. Every movement is deliberate. Every gesture has intent. Every sound has a purpose.
When we commit to something, that choice becomes as important as the sound that it creates. That is to say, perhaps the act of choosing and committing with meaningful intent, is as artistic as whatever music you’re making. But how do you choose? How do we decide which sounds fit where? What dictates the way our inspiration orchestrates itself around the drum kit? First, we have to know our own abilities, and know our drums.
The third choice we must make, is to commit to building our own personal technique and to become comfortable behind our instruments.
Ways to build technique and become acquainted with our instruments will be discussed in Part II — Know Thy Drums.
In the mean time, how do these thoughts resonate with you? Have you witnessed any performers that captivate audiences by the sheer intent they show? Have you ever played in an ensemble with folks that have a lower level of intent in their music than you do? A higher level? How does this affect your collaboration? Leave a comment here.
I’m very excited to announce a short blog series on Jazz Drum Set Improvisation. Because Improvisation is perhaps more subjective than any other area of the musical arts, this is not presented as a doctrine of any sort, but simply an explanation of my own personal approach. I hope that this topic engages some discussion among the drumming community; I would love to hear about your experiences with improvisation. The series will be presented in three parts over the course of the next week. Part I will be released on Monday. Here’s a brief outline of the series:
Part I — Commit to Your Choices
The decision to sit down behind the kit is a choice. The decision to play the hi-hat on beats two and four of every measure is a choice. The decision to play two inches from the edge of the ride cymbal is a choice. Everything done at the drum set is a choice; make them consciously and artistically.
Part II — Know Thy Drums
Getting to know your drums is also a choice. Part II explores various methods of building a vocabulary, increasing comfort around the kit, and developing your own voice.
Part III — Choosing
Now that we’re committed, comfortable and armed with an arsenal of transcriptions, licks and a palette of colors, how do we create our own voice? That is, out of all of these possibilities, what determines the “how,” “when,” and “why” of our playing?
The first book I decided to tackle this summer was Stephen Chbosky’s novel, the perks of being a wallflower. Written in 1999, the book is a quick read (comprised of 213 short pages); it could be read in a dedicated day, though I did it in two.
“It is the story of what it’s like to grow up in high school. More intimate than a diary, Charlie’s letters are singular and unique, hilarious and devastating. We may not know where he lives. We may not know to whom he is writing. All we know is the world he shares. Caught between trying to live his life and trying to run from it puts him on a strange course through uncharted territory. The world of first dates, family dramas, and new friends. The world of sex, drugs, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show, where all you need is that perfect song on that perfect drive to feel infinite. Through Charlie, Chbosky has created a deeply affecting novel that will spirit you back to those wild and poignant roller coaster days known as growing up.”
“Deeply affected” would be an understatement.
The novel is formatted as a series of letters that Charlie is writing to an unknown reader. Though most of his letters express the naivety and difficulty of growing up (when you’re different), small nuggets of profundity are speckled into many of his letters. All the more warming, Charlie has no idea he is wise beyond his years. This book is truly a beautiful story and a pleasant refresher from the hectic lives we pursue. I strongly recommend it. In closing, here are a few quotes that I found memorable:
“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
“Sometimes people use thought to not participate in life.”
“Then I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.”
“It’s just that he always looks distracted. It’s like he would take a photograph of Sam, and the photograph would be beautiful. And he would think that the reason the photograph was beautiful was because of how he took it. If I took it, I would know that the only reason it’s beautiful is because of Sam.”
I always like to make a healthy list for summer reading. Here is my 2011 summer reading list:
The Savvy Musician — David Cutler
The Rest is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century — Alex Ross
The Inner Game of Tennis** — W. Timothy Gallwey
The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles** — Steven Pressfield
The Percussionist’s Art: Same Bed, Different Dreams** — Steven Schick
The Last Lecture — Randy Pausch
The Perks of Being a Wallflower — Stephen Chbosky
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What have you read in the last year that you would recommend? What are you reading this summer?
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**These books are also part of DrumChattr’s recently announced Summer Book Club: BookChattr. I think it’s such a great idea to have some online discussion about these books; if you haven’t checked out their site, please do!
I will be streaming my senior percussion recital live today at 2 pm MST. I hope you can check it out, your feedback on the technology (video, sound quality, etc.) would be much appreciated!
Works by:
Cage, Sejourne, Xenakis, Dave Pietro, Miles Davis and Victor Feldman.
Featuring:
Nathan Davis, Thomas Edelbrock, Chris Vennel — percussion
Helen van Beek — piano
The Trax Jazz Quartet — Dustin Yoes (as), Chris del Favero (g) and Shane Crowl (b)
This semester, I’ve begun taking formal composition lessons. Right now, I’m working on a minimalist piece for piano, alto saxophone, and soprano voice. My two main influences for this composition are Steve Reich and Arvo Part. Reich’s dedication to a process and the ingenuity of that process, have always fascinated me; Part’s meticulously careful selection of every sound he chooses to include creates a powerful and meaningful aesthetic in all of his works. In short, I’m hoping to combine the process of Steve Reich and the aesthetic of Arvo Part.
Of course, my composition professor assigned me a wide array of listening. One composer, Frederic Rzewski has stood out in particular. There are two pieces that are certainly worth your time if you like minimalism (Coming Together and ATTICA). Actually, even if you don’t like minimalism… you should still listen. The piece I’ve been most intrigued by is called Coming Together. What makes this music powerful is its text. But first, a bit of background:
In September 1971 inmates of the state prison at Attica in the state of New York, unable to endure further the intolerable conditions existing there, mutinied and succeeded in capturing a part of the institution, as well as a number of guards, whom they held as hostages. Foremost among their demands during the ensuing negotiations was the recognition of their right “to be treated as human beings.” After several days of inconclusive bargaining, Governor Rockefeller ordered state troopers in to retake the prison by force, justifying his action on the grounds that the lives of the hostages were in danger. In the slaughter that followed, forty-three persons lost their lives, including several of the hostages. One of these was Sam Melville, a political prisoner already known of his leadership in the Columbia riots and one of the leaders in the mutiny at Attica. According to some accounts, Sam was only slightly wounded in the assault. The exact cause of his death remains a mystery. The text for Coming Together is taken from a letter that Sam wrote from Attica in the spring of 1971:
“I think the combination of age and a greater coming together is responsible for the speed of the passing time. It’s six months now, and I can tell you truthfully, few periods in my life have passed so quickly. I am in excellenct physical and emotional health. There are doubtless subtle surprises ahead, but I feel secure and ready. As lovers will contrast their emotions in times of crisis so am I dealing with my environment. In the indifferent brutality, the incessant noise, the experimental chemistry of food, the ravings of lost hysterical men, I can act with clarity and meaning. I am deliberate, sometimes even calculating, seldom employing histrionics except as a test of the reactions of others. I read much, exercise, talk to guards and inmates, feeling for the inevitable direction of my live.”
—Program notes from the CD: Group 180, Hungaroton Classic LTD, 1995
This piece has definitely inspired me to attempt setting music to text — which has (so far) been a fun challenge! To the composers out there… Do you write music with sung or spoken text? Do you set music to text, or text to music? What challenges do you find in this process? What are some works that are meaningful to you that include text?
