Reduce what you do to it’s simplest form. Break problems down reductively.
In trying to play something complex, it’s always tempting to ‘brute force’ your way through a piece. You might pick 8 bars at a time, and just stoically repeat those 8 over and over, intending to ‘shed’ your way to playing the 8 flawlessly. There might be one stumbling block or several, but (to take the metaphor further) you will continue to run along the path, stumble on the blocks, but eventually count on muscle memory to take over.
This reliance on muscle memory is cool to a point, because you do want to train to the point where you can play from ‘that place’, but there is more work to do to avoid stumbling. Being present in each step of the piece is the approach I take.
In the above example, I think there is a stumbling block at x. I would start by playing x, play x-1 then x, x-2, x-1, then x.
Observe what’s happening – what is the block? Is it a shift in position? No, this section is entirely in one position.
Is it a challenging fingering or other LH issue? Are you sure the fingering you’ve chose is the best? That might be it – try different fingerings, and notate the solution that works best for you. Here, I suggest second finger on the 6th string, using 1st, 3rd and 4th fingers as they naturally fall.
What about the RH – is there something challenging there? Definitely – that’s why it’s called ‘Skips’.
Now, create an exercise from the smallest fragment you can play, using the prompting questions above as a guide to find trouble spots. You might consider pulling these from what we looked at:
Look at your watch: give each exercise 3 minutes, then revisit your passage. What’s changed? Observe how you feel playing it. Can you observe your RH’s motion better during the 8? Is the shift now ingrained in your muscle memory?
Many of my pieces are born out of repetition and focus.
I start my practice sessions connecting with my inner calm, and approach my practice sessions from a place of beginner’s minded discovery. What was the first time you played anything? I was so free. I want to get back there every time I make sound.
Start playing and notice where your hands go, without controlling them. Observe what happens. My muscle memory takes over, and I make something that sounds somewhere between spaghetti western, recitative, koto and space. Rhythm free. It takes me 5-10 minutes to warm up this way, then I can focus on some trance-inducing exercises.
I begin by playing through modes of the major scale, and really kind of wander around them, looking for patterns to percolate up that have the slightest inkling of musical value to my ears. I always give myself a small challenge to keep things fresh – lately, I work through the circle of 5ths in one position, so I might start on Bb ionian:
..then move to F in the same position
And so on. When I started out, I was shown to cycle through intervals and sequences in groups of 3 and 4, but I grew to apply that thinking with groups of 1 and 2 (great aid to learning where notes are on the neck), as well as 5 and 6 and on up. Here are some verbose examples with this F scale:
Notes per string:
You get the idea – there are multiple approaches to playing with scale material which I permute with groupings of 1-6 (I usually stop there, but you need not). You will find something worthy of repeating and permuting with time spent. I will quickly find something deserves technical attention and needs to be played slower and with more presence of mind. In slowing it down, I will hone in on something to repeat, which leads to permutations, and ultimately to something resembling a piece of music.
I’ve writing a bunch of music this way, which I’ll be diving into here. For me, these scale fragments permute into something engaging for the ear and hand.
So: the takeaways for practice time:
Start by sitting and observing what you naturally do.
Begin to add structure with simple scale exercises.
Look for interesting things to focus on and repeat, then evolve these to new exercises.
Any of this, of course, can be fodder for new music.
The first half of 2017 was a busy time for me as I delved deeper into composing for a group of electric guitars, culminating in Mandalas being performed as part of the UW’s Alumni Alchemy (we are all alchemists now – very validating). What did I learn?
Have a goal lined up, or interest dwindles (duh).
Tab everything out
The more the merrier in the case of this piece/anything where Ebows are concerned.
Those last two months leading into May were awesome, and after taking the summer off (mostly) we’re working on a new round of music, and I’ll be writing and sharing here as we continue. For now, check out two of the recordings we’ve got posted on my soundcloud page:
This is the original demo I cobbled together from home recordings:
Here we are at the Meany Theater at UW:
…and at the Chapel later that month:
and, finally, a shot of the group after our Chapel show.
I’m writing to you today to tell you about a group I’m forming. I’m hoping it’s something you, or someone you know, might be interested in: an ensemble of electric guitars, couched somewhere between:
Rhys Chatham’s A Secret Rose:
Glenn Branca’s Symphony 1:
Robert Fripp’s League / Orchestra of Crafty Guitarists:
and most of all Fred Frith’s Guitar Quartet:
If you’re someone who’s wanted to do some deep listening with other guitarists, if you’ve wanted to delve into the range of this instrument in a group setting, if you’ve wanted to play a different role in a group than you have before – this is your group.
I’ve been writing pieces for this ensemble over the last ten years, knowing I’d get it together when the time felt right. The first set of pieces we’ll dig into is a set of fairly minimal works I call Mandalas. They all start at a center, expand out to the edges, and retract back to a center. 4 movements of the larger work are demoed here:
You’ll notice some Ebow (http://www.ebow.com) work as well as some work (4th movement above) with a similar device created by Portland inventor Paul Vo, the Wond (http://www.paulvo.com/). I’ll be supplying Ebows to those who do not have them, and will work with each of you on technique if need be. I’m working on Mr. Vo to see if we can’t secure some of his experimental devices as well.
I have one performance scheduled either May 25 and 26 at Good Shepherd Chapel in Seattle, and will be scheduling others once I know the size of my group and availability. I’m looking for at least 7 of you, and hoping for twice that.
Leading into May, I’m looking to rehearse twice a month, beginning the week of Feb 2/21. If you are interested, please respond – I look forward to hearing from you. I have a small space in Fremont which should accommodate us, but have access to bigger rehearsal space if need be.
All parts will include tablature, so the majority of the reading will be around rhythm, dynamics and technical notes. Some of the pieces are challenging and we’ll want to be tight and practice on our own outside of rehearsals, but you won’t need to read any crazy busy passages without tab to help.
I remember hearing Ionisation for the first time in 10th grade. Zappa had crowed about Varèse and I must’ve picked that up somewhere.
I was baffled.
I bought the Robert Craft recording with the awesome Miro knockoff on the cover, all scratched to hell. There was a punk-rockness I felt that was way more powerful than anything I felt from Black Flag, fIREHOSE or Minor Threat (huge groups for me). This was ME, MINE, a sound only I knew. It was so noisy and disorganized to me initially, I was overloaded. I wish I could re-experience it now.
“By brute force, I will understand this,” I thought echoing in my mind Varèse’s call to arms: “the present day composer refuses to die.” I spun it another time, maybe 4 complete listens before I caved and put on something else. I tried repeatedly to penetrate the fog, only to identify favorite moments, the overall structure still elusive. Call in the big guns.
Meg Dezell, powerful shaman whose father toured with Brubeck, heard my plea for guidance. My orchestra teacher raised her eyebrows and chuckled, “that’s pretty difficult stuff. Not my thing at all, but there’s a score in the Norton Anthology.” She produced the tome I’d buy 3 years later for Music 101 at Shoreline Community College. “Try to count the beats in the bars as you listen.”
That’s all I needed to hear.
When you hear a young person’s curious questions, hang out and answer them simply. This advice from my teacher was pivotal for me, a key unlocking every score I’d tried to follow. Varese had a beat, the rhythm was his blanket. Listen for the rhythm, identifying the layers, and you’re halfway there. The next step’s all about witnessing the counterpoints played by these layers (objects) and identifying how they make you feel, what they have you see.
There’s something freeing in enforcing limitation. I’ve done a bunch of pieces where I restrict myself to a single loop or brief sample (https://listenfastermusic.bandcamp.com/track/anxious), and I guess I’ve always thought ‘remix’ was the wrong word. When I hear Reich take a fragment of an idea and expand, contract, vary, blend, mold and turn it inside out, it feels divorced and devoid from the original material. Here, bringing up the original material changes your frame of reference, adding a subliminal color to the listening experience. I could listen to Funhausen raw, power through the soundscape makeup and come out the other side fresh, not knowing the source. Listening to it on the way in, I’m standing on the original, hearing the difference in the tin bag guitar sound of the original and pulling a picture together that’s made up of what I hear on this disc, and what my ear memory supplies. Anyways, cool little EP.
I’ve been getting together infrequently with my Wizard Prison bandmate John Vallier to do some jams. He works solo as Archival Records, and we’re scheming to start a film + scoring project this winter in the spirit of Robert Hughes Shock of the New. Here’s some of John’s work, followed by bits from our last few sessions:
I’ve spun this thing so many times. There’s something deeply poetic about these songs, their sequence. The whole is a sum of the parts, and these parts are strong.
Back in 90, Watt surprised everyone I knew by signing to Columbia. SST had been going so strong for so long, it was hard to swallow an end to SST glory days, but Sonic Youth, Meat Puppets, everyone SST was seeking greener pastures. f had released 2 killers back to back (Ragin + If’n), but fROMOHIO was weak to these ears. Felt slapped together. This was a return to form, a 2×4 to the head.
I always heard this album in 3 acts. Listen along and see if you hear it too:
Act I: Rock tunes: Down w/the bass, Up Finnegan’s Ladder, Can’t Believe, including the singles. Is this classic A&R ‘start with the hits up front’ thinkin? Good tunes, then the mood swings.
Act II: Road tunes. If act one is getting out of bed and hitting the coffee, act two is hitting the road, crystallizing beautifully in ‘Too long’.
Act III: Angular tunes: the last third is more Minutemen to my ears than anything they’d done at that point, ‘cept bits of Ragin. Maybe it’s just the energy in Ed we hadn’t heard before. In my sequence, I cap Act 2 with Toolin, making Act 3 hold together a little more, but that’s just me.
Fans of Xenakis’s Pithoprakta need to listen to Gerard Grisey’s Le noir de l’etoile. In the late 50s, architect/composer Xenakis expressed what he heard and felt during his time in the Greek resistance, using deep math to generate his pieces, evoking (for me) rainfall, rocks caught in a strong current, bullets flying by ears and choirs of shouting voices.
This piece of Grisey’s, inspired by the discovery of pulsars, comes from similar sound world to my ears. Natural phenomena made flesh through notation, though I can’t say exaclty what phenomena yet. Beautiful piece – I can’t stop spinning it this week. The Boston Globe wrote a great intro to this piece here.