Going Back to the Basics

"You've got to learn your instrument. Then you practice, practice, practice..."

- Son of Bebop, Charlie Parker.

You've got to learn your audience. You've got to learn why you create. Learn why you write. Practice, practice, practice, until you no longer compare yourself with the polished, published version. It's hard not to resonate with that fact.

I recall the time when I sat in on one of Joyce Carol Oates' talks to a room full of college students. She cooly stated that she did not believe in writer's block. The dust has finally settled on my own interpretation of that daring statement.

Writer's block does not prevent creativity's outflow. Writer's block is a phenomenon that hinges on our own insecurities as artists. We compare with the classics, the New York Times best selling authors, we compare our work with the poets and writers years younger than us who come up with GOOD work. When we compare, we block our original voice to step up to a microphone that for some reason we keep on mute.

When it comes to practicing the saxophone, it's become habitual that I refuse to learn my saxophone. I go through the motions, wanting to rush through scales, get to play the Blues. I always turn up short and feel dumbstruck when looking at chord changes, the same chord changes I've seen for years.

With the reed clamped to a stern ligrature on my mouthpieces, I shake my head. Nope, no mouthpiece exercises. Not today. Not ever. Sure, the exercises are supposed to improve my embouchure immensely, but the squeak that bellows is frankly too annoying to muster the discipline. This stubbornness feeds the habit.

I cradle the saxophone in my hands and firmly press the keys. The pinky finger rests nonchalantly on the Eb key. Slowly inhaling and drawing in my navel, my first breath is met with flat pitch. The feel is relieving and daunting feeling. It's back to square one, beginning the momentum to practice after months of a hiatus from filling the horn with tentative air.

"That sound in tune to you? Sounds sharp to me. Sounds like I'm playing sharp all the time. My singing teacher told us you should do that. Maybe I got it from her. She said singers when they grow old have a tendency to go flat. So if you sing sharp as a young person, as you get older and go flat, you'll be in tune. In other words, it's never thought good to be flat. It means you can't get to the tone." - Charles Mingus

All quotes courtesy of Jazz-Quotes.com

Starting the practice with scales, my fingers are reintroduced to key progressions. Playing major scales is like making small talk. Talking about weather, work, the family is a warmup to a more stimulating conversation. Playing major scales warms up the body to enjoy playing mixolydian and dorian scales.

Now it comes time to flip over another jazz standard. I break down the all-too-familiar jazz tune is measure by measure. I write the rhythms, clap the beat, make sure the tempo and timing are in sync with the metronome.

It's not. It's not again. I huff. I blow. Then, suddenly, everything comes together, but my improvisation is still the weakest link, which is a blow to an art that breaks rules and expresses soul by improvising.

"If I don't practice for a day, I know it. If I don't practice for two days, the critics know it. And if I don't practice for three days, the public knows it." - Louis Armstrong 

Echoing with Ray Bradbury's piano player in Zen and the Art of Writing (xiii)

Luckily for websites like Jazz-Quotes, these inspirational sayings keep me coming back to my horn.

 "What we play is life...Never play anything the same way twice." - Louis Armstrong 

"Music is your own experience, your thoughts, your wisdom. If you don't live it, it won't come out of your horn. They teach you there's a boundary line to music. But, man, there's no boundary line to art...Don't play the saxophone. Let it play you...If you don't live it, it won't come out of your horn...

"...And then, when you finally get up there on the bandstand, forget all that and just wail."  - Charlie Parker