It's just a mistake, right?

Let's make a quick comparison between our natural reactions to "mistakes" in a couple different settings.

First, in music. Often, when I am teaching or coaching students, I ask them to, "pretend like you're performing." They should conduct themselves as if it were an audition or an actual, audience-in-the-house performance.

Especially early on in the process of learning how to perform, many students will be just fine until they hit that first inevitable snag. Whether it's a wrong note or rhythm, a missed sticking or whatever, they will simply stop, look up at me, and say something like, "Hey, sorry. I messed up. Can I start again?"

Sometimes the reaction is even more forceful - along with the stop in the music, they pull a face or slump their shoulders or let out a sigh or shout. Many times they will go back and play the same bar/figure over and over again. Almost invariably, the forward motion of the music is completely stopped.

Keep in mind - this is supposed to be a performance.

So, let's examine another setting. Say you're walking down the hall in school (or at work) with somebody that you need to impress, and your shoe catches the edge of a tile and you trip, just a little bit. It's not enough to put you on the floor, but it's obvious your shoe caught.

How should you react? Do you stop walking? Do you back up and walk over that particular tile a few times just to make sure you can do it? Do you point out the place where you tripped and say to your companion, "See? See that right there? THAT'S where I tripped. I really stink at walking right there. Come closer - it's right there. See that? Mind if I try that again?"

Most of us would never react to a simple thing like that. We would just simply keep walking and act like it never happened. Why? Two reasons. First, you don't ever want to magnify a problem when you need to look like there are no problems (as in performance). Second, it's not a big deal, so why make it one?

Yes, I'm taking it overboard, but it always amazes me how much attention we can draw to ourselves when we overreact to a mistake in performing. All musicians make mistakes. All people make mistakes. As young musicians, one of the most important skills we can develop is the ability to keep playing and ignore the mistake as much as possible.

When I was in high school, I was in the drama/theatre program. I wasn't terribly good at it, but I really enjoyed acting. One of the ways that our teacher helped us to develop good performance skills was to deliberately surprise the cast during each performance. Every night, on stage, in front of an audience, something was bound to be wrong, ridiculous or just plain surprising.

I was in the cast of, "Oklahoma," and one of my scenes involved shooting a pistol straight up into the air. In rehearsals, we focused on getting my actions to match with the sound of firing the pistol, which was supplied offstage. Imagine my surprise when, on opening night, I fired the pistol and was promptly hit on the head by a rubber chicken dropping out of the sky!

I remember thinking, "What in the world am I supposed to do with that?!" The firing of the pistol was usually the closing of a scene, so we waited for the lights to go down. When they didn't, one of the other actors picked up the chicken, said, "Good! Now there's something for my extra dinner guests," and walked off stage.

It may or may not have made for good theatre, but it taught all of us would-be actors how to keep our composure and apply the, "the show must go on," mantra of the performing world.

Just to be clear, I'm not saying that there is never a time and place to examine and eliminate our mistakes through scrutiny and practice. There are lots and lots of times and places for that. What I'm trying to get across is that we also need to develop our, "performance mindset," so that we can be effective performers regardless of imperfections.

One of the key ways we humans show our maturity and life experience is by the way we react to unexpected or unfavorable surprises, whether in music or in life. The more a person can take the surprise in stride - even incorporate it into their plans - without missing a beat, the more they can downplay or even obscure the "mistake" from outside observers.

More importantly, we learn to put the focus on what's going right instead of what's going wrong. We let the story be told even if we misspell a word or two. Because at the end of the day, none of us is perfect, and all of us have a story to tell.

Happy drumming!

Pop Drumming 101

I know I've posted before about some of the misconceptions surrounding being a successful rock/pop drummer, but I had another experience this week that I thought I'd add to the canon of scripture for aspiring studio drum-smackers. 

While talking with this guy about studio drummers and why they may or may not be called for a certain project, we started talking about the difference between time-feel and "chops." If you'll allow my paraphrasing, the conversation went something like this.

RT: "Come on. When's the last time you listened to a pop tune and thought, hey, wait - that drum fill wasn't complicated enough?"

KS: "Fair point."

End of conversation.

Now, I know I don't have to draw too much of a conclusion here, but I will, anyway! 

I'm certainly not saying you shouldn't strive for as much technical facility as you can get, but there are three basic things (and two of them are almost the same thing) a drummer must do to get consistent studio work.

1. Play nice with the click.
2. Have a great, "feel." (In other words, play nice with the click.)
3. Sound like a drummer. 

Remember, as a musician, you're a servant to the music. You should always play just what the track/project/piece needs, and nothing more.

Happy drumming!

"Strange Fruit" - Billie Holiday

Today's post is another contribution from guest blogger Emily Sorensen in honor of Jazz Appreciation Month 2013. Please feel free to leave comments below. 

Strange Fruit is an iconic song made famous by Billie Holiday. First recorded in 1939, Billie's version was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1978. In 1999 TIME magazine called it the, "song of the century."

The recording - even the performing - of this piece was an incredibly bold statement long before the mainstreaming of African-American civil rights was in full swing. The atrocities in the South and elsewhere were not talked about (a proverbial elephant in the room, if you will), let alone given the full, unvarnished spotlight by a prominent artist.

The lyrics of Strange Fruit are from a poem  written by Abel Meeropol, an English teacher at Dewitt Clinton (a public high school in New York), as well as a poet and social activist. The poem is titled Bitter Fruit and was published in 1937. Mr. Meeropol put this particular song to music himself (he would often ask others to put his poems to music). It gained certain success as a protest song in and around New York.

The simple melody is as haunting as the lyrics. It lies within a transparent -  almost non-existent - arrangement. The song begins with a disturbingly mournful instrumental introduction, only to lead to an even more disturbing metaphor of the southern lynching. It ends abruptly, without harmonic resolution.

The song has been recorded many times over the years. For example, Herbie Hancock and Marcus Miller did an amazing and haunting instrumental cover of the song with Marcus conjuring the melody with his bass clarinet.

I was first introduced to this song as a college Senior when observing an English 1010 class. I no longer remember the point of the class discussion, but I will never forget when the professor handed out a copy of the poem and then played first a rap version of the song followed by Billie Holiday's seminal rendition. I remember tears trickling down my face and knowing my life would never be the same.

Being an avid student of the Civil War and of civil rights heroes - the likes of W.E.B. Dubois, Martin Luther King, Jr and others who advocated a non-violent approach to civil rights advocacy - I was deeply moved by Billie's ability to use melody and song to evoke a living metaphor from the lyrics.

That day Strange Fruit became one of my favorite works - not because I was necessarily uplifted by the message, but because it was delivered in a way that spoke to all who heard it, whether they were comfortable with the protest or not.

Have a listen for yourself  - and be assured you can never be the same again.

Additional sources:
http://www.billieholiday.com/index.php

http://www.npr.org/2012/09/05/158933012/the-strange-story-of-the-man-behind-strange-fruit

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strange_Fruit

April is Jazz appreciation month - JAM!

Guest blogger Emily Sorensen visits again with an introduction to Jazz Appreciation Month, and 2013's theme.

"The spirit of jazz is the spirit of openness." - Herbie Hancock

Designated in 2001 by John Edward Hasse, PhD of the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History to honor jazz as an original American art form. The 2013 theme is "The Spirit and Rhythms of Jazz".
 April was chosen to celebrate the birthdays of Jazz greats like Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, and others. However, jazz appreciation encompasses more than recognizing the iconic performers, it relies upon educators, libraries, museums, and musicians all through America to teach and cultivate this unique cultural expression.

Many resources are available to increase understanding and appreciation for this great American art form. One of the great works shedding light on the history and growth of jazz music is the 10 part series Jazz: A Ken Burns film; it is a pretty accurate review of the history of Jazz.

Enjoy this fantastic opportunity to embrace this amazing piece of our American culture and history.


Other great resources (which served as resources for this post) are:
National Endowment for the Humantities - Edsitement!
Smithsonian Jazz
Jazz Appreciation Month - Wikipedia

I piloted a helicopter!

Part of my day job is to help facilitate clinician visits to school music programs (I have a good job, I know!). Last week I was able to accompany one of our top clinicians to a remote city in southwestern Utah. As a result of fortunate scheduling and some deep generosity, we were able to travel by helicopter.*

The clinic itself is worth at least a blog post, but for now I'll try to encapsulate what I learned from the flights out and back.

On the flight out, I sat in the back. Surprisingly, it was roomy and comfortable. The weather was beautiful, the pilot was experienced and we had absolutely no problems. I shot pictures and video, enjoyed the chatter - both radio and that of my companions - and just generally enjoyed myself.

The flight back was an entirely different story. I sat in the front and got a much closer look at how helicopters are flown. About fifteen minutes into the return flight, a question I hadn't even considered was shot my way by the pilot.

"Okay, you ready to fly this thing?"

What?! Me, fly?! I have to admit that about 99.9% of my body and soul was screaming, "NO! Of course I don't want to fly! What are you, crazy? We'll all die!" Luckily for me, the 0.1% that wanted to fly had a pretty strong argument - it was such a unique opportunity, I couldn't possibly turn it down. Besides, the pilot was there to keep me from making any serious mistakes. So, I took the stick and started to fly.

I was nervous, to say the least. From the moment I took over the stick, it felt like I couldn't put my eyes in enough places at once. We were only about 3,000 feet off the ground (compared to 25,000 for commercial airline flights), and there were what seemed like 50 gauges, meters, dials and other controls on the dash. It was a lot to handle, and it took 100% of my brain power.

The total duration of my piloting experience was only about 30 minutes, but it was amazing. It was a microcosm of any new experience, I suppose, because I viewed flight, helicopters, pilots and myself very differently at the end of that short time.

What does this all have to do with music? At least three things, and I'll try to briefly explain them below.

First, great musicians have the ability to focus - totally and absolutely. While flying the helicopter, there was nothing else in the world that seemed worth thinking about when compared to staying in the air, safe and on course. Likewise, in music, we need to develop the ability to block out any distractions or factors that aren't going to aid us in our music making. We can develop the ability in both practice and performance to, for a defined period of time, focus on nothing but music.

Second, I was impressed by the ease with which our pilot flew. He told us that over the years flying becomes, "second nature." His instincts, muscle memory and other mental and physical attributes and skills have been honed by hundreds and thousands of hours of flying, meticulous training and practice, and by never, ever allowing himself to be distracted by anything other than flying. As musicians, our course is similar.

Great musicians have honed their skills and musical senses over many, many years. Not only in practice, but in performance, we need to maintain the standard of only playing at our very best, highest levels.

As Aristotle famously opined, "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act, but a habit."

Third, and finally (for this blog post, at least), it couldn't have been more obvious that our pilot loved flying. He seemed free and ultimately happy in the air. As a result of his excellent preparation, trust in his helicopter, and years of experience, he enjoyed - even exulted in - flying. What could be a better example for musicians? The more you have control of yourself, your instrument - your craft - the more you will enjoy music.

At the end of the day both flying and music have many purposes, and both can take people to a higher place (literally and figuratively) in a way that nothing else can.

Make music. Be happy. Fly.

*This is a story in itself, but the short version is that we were flown by a pilot-owner who also happens to be a huge advocate for music education.

"Headroom" Addendum

In an earlier post, I talked about developing headroom. Headroom is the ability to do more than you need to do in a given situation. This post is part confession, part illustration of how I learned about headroom in my own playing.

While a college student, I studied with Jay Lawrence for a while. At a certain point he was putting me through some very complex, difficult exercises every week, and demanding that I play them up to a certain standard. One week, after having practiced particularly hard, but having not gotten up to par on an exercise, I got a little frustrated at the lesson. The conversation went something like this (I'm paraphrasing, but you'll get the point).

Keith: Jay, when would you use something like this in an actual performing or recording situation?

Jay: Oh. You probably wouldn't.

K: WHAT?! Then why are you making me learn it?!

J: (Laughing) Here. Let me show you something. See this groove exercise you were working on a few weeks ago? Was this one pretty hard?

K: Yeah, I hated that one. Super hard. 

J: Well, I want you to play it.

K: Wha..? Now? I haven't practiced it for like three weeks!

J: Just give it a try.

I then proceeded to play the earlier exercise. Not only was it much easier than I remembered, but it was immediately cleaner and clearer, and much more musical. Jay had made his point.

By constantly challenging me to play increasingly complex patterns and exercises, he was building my musical muscles, so to speak. What used to be hard became easier, and what seemed impossible at first became realistic.

Again, the whole point of headroom is to be able to do more than you have to, so that you can do what's required of you comfortably and with style. Then, instead of being at the edge of your abilities by default, you can choose when and how to push your own envelope while being more musical, engaging and sensitive.

Drumming - and all music - should be fun. And the better you are at it, the more fun it will be.

Happy drumming!

What is "headroom?"

For one year in high school I drove an old Dodge pickup truck. I loved having a pickup but hated having to drive it anywhere. It had a worn-out engine and a pathetic transmission. Its top speed was 60 miles per hour, no matter what. You could have dropped that thing off a cliff and it wouldn't have gone any faster!

So when I had to drive two miles on the freeway (where the speed limit was 75) on my way to school every morning, it was torturous, to say the least. The truck would shake and scream, and generally threaten to come apart at every possible point. My friends would pass me in their nicer cars, and I would try not to make eye contact. It was stressful and embarrassing. Honestly, it was all I could do to keep that thing on the road. Needless to say, driving wasn't very fun, and I didn't feel very good at it.

Early one morning I was on my way to school and wrecked the truck. It had snowed the night before, then cleared, so there was black ice on the road. The accident totaled my truck, and probably should have taken my life. It was one of the scariest moments of my life.

When I got back to driving, I (luckily) was able to borrow my mom's car, a late model sports sedan. To give you some idea of the capabilities of this car, let me make one comparison to the truck. My old truck's speedometer went to a maximum of 85, and that was wishful thinking. Mom's car? Its top mark read 140, and in all the time I drove it I never came close to challenging that mark, or had reason to doubt that the car could reach it.

That car totally changed me as a driver. I no longer had to fight the vehicle or worry that I was going to destroy it just by driving it on the freeway. My driving "style" became much more consistent and relaxed. I wasn't worried about driving anywhere - the freeway, on a hill, etc. Driving became fun.

Among all the differences between the car and truck, the fundamental one was headroom. What is headroom? In a nutshell, it's the difference between what you must do and what you can do.*

Here are a few examples of how the term headroom is used various settings.

• If I have the strength to lift 100 pounds, but only have to lift 50, I have headroom. 
• If a DJ has a sound system with 5000 watts of power, but only needs 1000 watts to play in a certain space, s/he has headroom. 
• If you need to drive 75 MPH on the freeway but the car can go 140, you have headroom.

How does this relate to music and to drumming? 

Essentially, we're all trying to develop headroom in our playing as we continue to practice and learn as much as we can. Think of it like the car. If the band you're playing in is asking your "engine" - your skill set - to go 80 miles an hour, and you can only go 80, then every time you play you're maxing yourself out. This is usually neither comfortable nor fun.

But if they're asking you to go 80 and you have the ability to do 120, then you can do what you need to do with style, and have bursts of "speed" when they're appropriate. More than that, you have the strength and "chops" to play what you hear in your head. And that, my friends, is fun. 

I'm not saying that you should never push your limits or live on the edge a little bit. But think of it another way: If we're talking about athletes, you need a basic ability to keep up with your competition, but headroom is what allows you to make the extra play or effort to win the game. 

In another post I'll give you a direct example from my own drumming career, but for now, think about headroom. How much do you have, and what are you doing to increase it? 

One last thought. At a certain point, you'll have an "engine" that is capable of getting off the streets and getting into the big leagues. 

Yeah. Let's do THAT.

*It's actually a construction term that refers to the height of a doorway or the ceiling over stairs. It literally means the distance between the average person's head and the point where they would hit said head. This is why, when the average American stands under six feet, the ceiling is generally at least eight feet high.