Learning To Improvise
Finding your own unique voice in an ensemble of soloists
I’ve been a professional musician for nearly two decades now, yet I can probably count on one hand the number of times that I’ve been asked to sight-read a piece of sheet music. This is good news for all involved, because I am likely the world’s worst sight-reader. How bad, you might ask? Well, back in college I had a job teaching beginner’s piano lessons at a local music school that involved a fair amount of live demonstration, so that the students could hear how the easy piano pieces they were assigned were meant to sound. This was my least favorite part of the job. Those easy pieces rapidly deteriorated into atonal train wrecks once I attempted to sight-read them, which once prompted a particularly smart-assed student to remark, “I bet you don’t play in any bands.” At the time, this brutal assessment was mostly correct. Since then, things have turned around a bit for me, but my sight-reading hasn’t gotten any better.
I’m a terrible sight-reader, but I’ve been able to work around that limitation by learning how to improvise — which means to spontaneously create when it’s done well, and to BS prolifically when it’s not. As an improviser, I no longer need to sight-read a piece of sheet music to play a song, because it is far easier (and far more enjoyable) for me to make up my own arrangement of it on the spot. Improvisation is a defining feature of jazz, but it can readily be found in other genres of music, as well; Louis Armstrong, Jimi Hendrix, and Eminem are all examples of great improvisers. At the highest level, a great improviser spontaneously creates a complex composition, and then leaves it in the moment, never to be done the same way again. Improvisation is an ephemeral art. It’s also a very individualist one.
Growing up, improvising always suited my personality quite well — even if it was a bit at odds with the public educational system. School is not always kind to improvisers, and my talent for prolifically BS’ing complete term papers after habitually waiting to the very last minute to start them was never as well-received as I would have hoped. In general, school was a special kind of drudgery to me; the constant emphasis on the importance of teamwork through harmonious group projects clashed with my desire to be seen solely as an individual — and a relentless devil’s advocate, at that. Indeed; improvisers tend to thrive in chaos, and the purpose of an educational system is to input unruly children and export good citizens that can work together alongside one another to build the future, together. By the time that I graduated high school — with a subpar GPA, naturally — I fully understood the incompatibility of my chaotic, improvisational nature with the careful planning and teamwork that typified a successful society, but true to form as a teenager, I told myself that such conflict was merely part of my own hero’s journey. I wasn’t concerned about what any of this might mean for my future, either; true to form as an improviser, I figured that I’d manage to spontaneously create a career path for myself out of thin air.
Of course, teenage solipsism and poor grades need not be a prerequisite to learning how to improvise. In fact, improvisation plays an important role in all of our lives already. We improvise when our plans suddenly change and we have to make it to the train station by noon. We improvise when it’s snowing outside and we have to make a meal for ourselves out of whatever is left in the fridge. We improvise when we are forced into having difficult conversations with loved ones, long before we are ready. If careful planning is the bedrock of a happy, successful life, quick-witted improvisation is the crazy glue that holds things together in a pinch. We all have our tube of improvisation, ready to go for when our plans fail and things fall apart.
So, how do we learn to improvise — as a musician, or otherwise? It’s a bit like learning to talk. We’re not born as very efficient communicators; as babies, we start out by making sounds and utterances that are solely meant to point us in the direction that we are trying to go. As the months go by, we learn how to shape these utterances into words that are recognizable to others; it’s more of a neat party trick at this point, but it gets the job done when we need a blankey or whatever. From there, we start to pick up the most basic rules of syntax, and learn to string individual words together; this is where things start to get interesting. As time goes by, we start to collect new words and phrases and build our vocabulary, and soon learn that there are way more words and phrases out there than we could ever have imagined. It’s fun to put some of them together in absurdist ways, but it’s also extremely useful to grab the ones we need to communicate just what we’re thinking. At this point, we’re already competent improvisers. We can walk into a room and hold a spontaneous conversation with someone else, with no preparation needed. As we grow older, we start to sharpen our skills, based largely on the culture around us and our own individual wants. We pick up quotes from movies and television. We use slang and share memes. Some of us try our hand at creative writing. Others spend hours arguing with strangers on social media.
Learning to improvise musically is the exact same process but with music, instead of words. No matter the age at which we begin learning an instrument, we must first endure the trials and tribulations of being a baby that is unable to speak in full sentences once more; this is also why it’s often such an embarrassing, ego-crushing exercise for us to attempt to learn new skills as an adult. However, if we persevere a bit, we begin to get the hang of it, and with great concentration, we’re able to play very simple melodies (“Hot Cross Buns” — the quintessential 3-note song for beginners of every instrument — comes to mind here). At this point, we can technically say that we can play a musical instrument a little bit, but we aren’t ready to jump into a collective jam session of musicians just yet (lest we resort to spamming “Hot Cross Buns” over everything). Before we can play with others, we must first build our musical vocabulary. We learn to play scales and popular riffs (the music version of “memes”), steadily practicing them until they can be accessed quickly, without too much concentration or forethought. From there, we also start to take note of the underlying mechanics of music, by learning the rules of musical syntax and grammar. We learn the basics about playing over different chords, and in different keys and time signatures. We start to notice that every distinct genre seems to have its own set of unspoken stylistic rules — don’t play the blues scale over that polka song, or use a maj7 chord with that punk rock band — and most importantly, make sure that you are playing in the same key as the rest of the band. We keep on building our musical vocabulary, but in much more granular detail now. Some of us transcribe solos from our favorite artists to get a look under the hood at their own musical vocabularies, in much of the same manner that we might analyze a Shakespeare sonnet in English class. All this analysis pays off; we start to become very good mimics, although we may have few original ideas of our own. At this point, we are clearly competent enough to play with other musicians. We may not be inspiring anyone else to pick up a guitar or microphone and change their life or anything, but we can contribute musically to a jam session without any preparation, and receive a bit appreciation, in return. We feel accomplished. . .for a little while.
Before long, it becomes clear that competency is not a destination but a starting point, in and of itself. Brazilian jiu-jitsu — a martial art and combat sport that happens to be heavily improvisational in nature — has its own useful name for this particular state of competence: a blue belt. Earning the rank of blue belt in jiu-jitsu typically takes a couple of years of regular training, and marks the point when a practitioner can execute all the fundamental movements and skills with a level of competency and understanding far greater than that of an untrained martial artist. On the mats, a blue belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu can easily handle an untrained opponent, even one that is larger and heavier. It is here, however, that the long, arduous journey from competent to great truly begins. The gap between blue belt and black belt — the highest commonly-found rank — looms very large, as each belt in the ranking system represents an exponentially greater amount of knowledge and skill. However, even if the black belts outclass the blues by several orders of magnitude, the two still train together and learn from one another. The black belt will use the opportunity to sharpen their offensive skills and experiment with new techniques, while the blue belt will work on shoring up their defense to survive against a more skilled opponent. It is a solo sport, but training with a team is of the utmost importance, as every rank plays its own role in the training ecosystem.
In Brazilian jiu-jitsu, most practitioners quit at a blue belt level of competency, and it’s no different in music. Once we’re good enough to get on stage at the local watering hole’s blues jam, we usually feel some degree of contentment. After all, we’re better than nearly all of the wannabe musicians out there, and can often fool non-musicians into thinking that we’re top flight. The era of quick gains and rapid improvement are also over, which saps our motivation to continue learning a bit. From here on out, any progress we make as an improviser will be non-linear, slow, and often quite frustrating to achieve. Just as with learning any other skill, the diminishing returns that we receive from this point on easily explain why there are tons of good improvisers in music, but few great ones.
However, to quit once mere competency is reached is to deny oneself from experiencing all that an art form has to offer. In the case of music, if you stick with the learning process — mimicking others, learning more theory, experimenting putting different things together, and yes, even learning new musical memes — you’ll find that a unique voice effortlessly emerges in time. While your influences may be evident — no musician exists in a vacuum, after all — you’ll nonetheless develop a sound that is all your own, with your own unique set of musical fingerprints that manage to embed themselves into every phrase you sing or play. At this point, you are no longer a tourist in the esoteric, ephemeral world of live, improvised music — you are an active participant, able to contribute to the great artistic conversation and exert your own singular brand of individuality on its development.
The ability to improvise at a very high level is a bit of a superpower, but like all superpowers, it is one that is best employed judiciously. Outside of the jazz club, individual-led improvisations generally take a backseat to team-driven planning — and not for nothing. Going rogue and shooting from the hip have their drawbacks, and without careful, exhaustive planning by groups of people working together, most of our most impressive human achievements simply couldn’t be done. Imagine eyeballing a river and building a suspension bridge out of instinct, or prolifically BS’ing an entire transmission network to power a major city. Despite what superhero movies would have us believe, even the most skilled improviser is no match for a group of highly trained, highly organized individuals, working together as a team. Careful planning and teamwork makes the world go ‘round — in a fairly predictable world, that is.
When things around us fall apart, though, even the most well-crafted plans stop working. New variables are introduced that contradict our assumed prior knowledge, as the situation on the ground changes rapidly. Suddenly, improvisation becomes a highly valued skillset, as the actions of a single individual adept at spontaneous creation can make the difference between success and failure. It’s the ability to turn a large problem into a major asset. It’s finding just the right approach to negotiate the last-ditch compromise that closes the deal, just in time. It’s knowing where to place the paper clip that diffuses the bomb, to save the day and thrill the audience watching at home — if you’re MacGyver, that is. Careful planning and teamwork may indeed make the world go ‘round, but when things go sideways, quick-witted improvisation helps to get it back onto its axis.
I first listened to jazz — really listened — during my aforementioned misspent high school years. In fact, I’m almost certain it was during the time that I was supposed to be doing my homework, since that time slot was clearly up for grabs. I remember sitting by my parent’s Hi-Fi with a pair of headphones, intently listening to a Jelly Roll Morton recording that featured the traditional, three-piece New Orleans horn section of trumpet, clarinet, and trombone. Near the end of the recording, the three of them started spontaneously creating their own melodies — collectively, at the same time. It should have sounded chaotic and discordant, but somehow, it worked. They were each weaving in and out of each other’s melodies — speaking all at once, but listening together, just the same. The trumpet was issuing strong declarations. The clarinet was spinning a silky web to obfuscate the melody. The trombone was issuing mournful, weary groans. To me, it sounded thrilling. It was the exercise of individualism that I was seeking, as both a musician and a person; where orchestral music — and school, for that matter — seemed overly collectivist and stifling for my tastes, jazz had found a way to make room for the individual to contribute creatively, in a manner that enhanced, rather than upset, its ecosystem. The legendary jazz soloists made their indelible marks on history not through careful and exhaustive planning, but by expressing their ideas purely and honestly, at the moment of their divine conception. Their work continues to move us, because improvisation is human ingenuity writ large. A brilliant solo reminds of our own sense of agency, and the impact that we are each able to have on the world around us.
Contrary to what I believed as a teenager, however, celebrating the spontaneity of a brilliant improviser does not negate the importance of harmonious teamwork. If anything, it enhances it, in the same way that celebrating a coordinated space shuttle launch also underscores the importance of a singular, visionary scientist. After graduating — as I developed as a musician, joined bands, and eventually started bands of my own — a new epiphany began to take shape: learning to improvise may have given me life as a musician, but learning to work within a team is what gave me a career. Learning to strike the right balance between our own interests and that of those around us is not unique to musicians, either; it applies to us all. Sometimes, we’re the black belt that gets all the glory, expressing their singular talents and skills. Other times, we’re the blue belt that is meant to keep their head down and work, for the benefit of the entire team. The real wisdom comes from knowing which one we are, in any given situation.
Learning how to improvise is worthwhile. Learning when to improvise is priceless.
“Teamwork is the ability to work together toward a common vision. The ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives. It is the fuel that allows common people to attain uncommon results.” — Andrew Carnegie
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.” — “Iron” Mike Tyson
-SB
5/1/22 — The Reader’s Mailbag was comparatively light after last week’s piece, “Reboot Culture!” The responses I did get shared my view that this commodified pop culture trend leaves much to be desired; in fact, not since my first piece have I received so much consensus in the responses. One reader wondered if the current online climate of cynicism and sensitivity hasn’t had a chilling effect on creativity; they also offered that their Latina wife hates the term, “Latinx” with a passion (my own Latina fiancé concurs here). And, of those that chose to weigh in on the matter, all agreed that Cobrai Kai was an example of a reboot done well.
One response also articulated an important detail that I hadn’t considered: reboots of “B” movies and television series that never quite gelled entirely tend to be much more creative than reboots of previous box office smash hits (one example the reader provided: the acclaimed 2000s reboot of Battlestar Galactica). It makes total sense; the successful, well-regarded IP of the past should be treated much more preciously by a new reboot, which carries with it the fate of an entire popular franchise (or so it seems, anyhow). Meanwhile, nobody really cares about that forgettable, weird sci-fi movie from the ‘80s — allowing a visionary director to come in and take risks that they wouldn’t dream of taking with a truly classic film. So, some movie studio out there could potentially run a cottage industry of taking the worst films of the past and rebooting them into modern-day masterpieces. If you are that studio: please hire me to do the music!
As always, feel free to write me directly by replying to this email. Word-of-mouth is the only marketing I do for this newsletter, so please also feel free to spread the word by forwarding this piece to anyone that you think might enjoy it!
Enjoy your week,
Scott