Silence is like food

Are you nourishing your soul with silence? Paying attention to your sonic environment is one practice in global awareness.

Here is a Daily Sound Journal practice for bringing attention to the sounds in your daily life.

Choose one day and make note of the sounds that you encounter in a given day.

  • What are the qualities (texture, volume, color, shape) of these sounds?
  • Where in your body do you feel a response to these sounds?
  • What thoughts appear in your mind when you hear a sound?

Evolution of a Song

[singlepic id=221 w=320 h=240 float=center] One of my deeply ingrained childhood beliefs was the notion that, "In order to be able to do something, you need to go to school and learn how to do it first." In the thinking of my childhood, I was led to believe that there was a very linear, singular path toward any particular destination. That there was a prescribed sequence of things that needed to happen in a certain way if things were going to work out. I'm beginning to unlearn that lesson, among others. Part of why I am sharing all these old beliefs, as I take myself through my process of chipping at and melting them away, is to reveal that our beliefs, once we begin to observe them, are not as solid and rigid as we make them out to be.

We evolve.

So I share with you my own wide-eyed, childlike awe and wonder at learning - in my mid-30s - about whole other worlds that I never knew existed. After playing music nearly every day of my life since the age of three, I played for the first time into a microphone while wearing headphones in 2008. It was my first experience with multi-track recording. I learned a whole other way of "composing" that occurred with a mixing board and the software interface of a computer, when previously my mental picture included images of Mozart, wearing a powdered wig and stockings, sitting at a clavier and writing on parchment paper with a quill pen. The truth is I had never personally known any kind of real live musician other than the violin soloists and symphony orchestra players and conductors I was exposed to growing up.

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I had met the then child prodigy Midori when she taught me in a master class. I had played for legends like Josef Gingold and Ruggiero Ricci. These were the idols and icons of my childhood.

So I never imagined that I would one day learn a new way of playing, without ever going to school for it. I have had plenty of teachers "miraculously" show up in my life. But they came to me by my being open to doing new things, searching actively for ways to reach out, and being willing to receive what was offered.

My first supporter and encourager to do non-classical music was Erik. After producing my students' CD, he asked if I would come and record some pop music with him.

I said, "I don't play pop music."

He said, "Music is music."

That opened a little window in my mind. So I showed up and tried, not knowing what he meant by "music". I've learned over the course of our weekly sessions - which are part recording, part brainstorming, part therapy (for both of us!) - that music is music. I have played on tracks ranging from Peruvian to American country to blues to pop to homemade percussion grooves.

Erik is an amazing drummer and has a very experienced ear for acoustic detail and timing. He was the only witness to my very first attempt at improvisation ("Johnny's Blues" track) and he gave me such support that I actually came back to do it again! And again and again. I even chickened out and stopped recording for over a year, out of fear for where it might lead me. Then one day I decided to come back, when I knew that I needed to find my own music again.

I've learned that songs evolve just as we do.

Playing from the printed page, the evolution occurs in interpretation: phrasing, dynamics, choices of tempo, articulation and length of notes. The way I was trained involved learning how to produce a particular sound that matched our best guess at the composer's original intentions. Frankly, most of the work involved learning the technical skill necessary to execute what was written. In the classical repertoire, only a very few students would reach the level to be able to express something heartfelt beyond perfect execution of the notes. The narrow gate into classical music artistry was determined by an ability to develop both virtuosic technique and some level of expressive interpretation.

Creating on a recorded track from improvisation, the evolution occurs in a totally different way: choosing melodies, rhythmic patterns, when to play and when to rest, how to arrange the song. Technique is not a barrier but rather a tool. With some songs, I find myself playing performances straight through, not thinking that it will be edited in the future. I try to create a complete performance each time. In other instances, I play with different ideas and fragments, knowing that most of it won't be used. Each take is like a scratch pad of notes to make sense of later.

I never knew that music could be created this way! And I never thought I could be participating in it. I had only ever heard final products on CDs or on the radio, marveling at how they managed to sound so good. I wish more artists would reveal their creative process on their way to producing great work. It might help us all realize that there is an evolution to everything. We live in a time when it's rare to see how things are made or to appreciate how things become the way they are when we acquire or consume them.

So to shed some light on the evolution of a song I'm working on with Erik (which I first posted after our first night of recording), I am going to share the three raw versions of the song that we are playing with on our way to creating a final mix. Please leave a comment to let me know what your favorite parts are!

[audio:http://www.themusicwithinus.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/01-Lisa-Chan-Chan-Take-Two-from-6.6..mp3|titles=01 Take Two from 6.6 Sultry]

[audio:http://www.themusicwithinus.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/03-Lisa-Chan-Chan-Cropped-Take-One-f.mp3|titles=03 Cropped Take One from 6.6 Sultry]

[audio:http://www.themusicwithinus.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/04-Lisa-Chan-Chan-Takes-Overlaid-fro.mp3|titles=04 Overlay Takes from 5.23 and 6.6 Sultry]

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You may have been lucky enough to have a teacher or parent or other mentor who made you feel that every - yes, even the ones your mind may label "ugly" or "forgettable" - step you take is a beautiful one in your own journey through life. If that's the case, I hope you hear their voices of encouragement in your head on a daily basis.

If not, I want to offer this story as a way of saying that you don't need to go back to school to learn what you need to learn right now. The lessons are all around you already. The teachers are not necessarily sitting in classrooms at the large institutions requiring entrance exams and letters of recommendation. They may be in the most unexpected places, waiting to show you who you never knew you could be. They may not even consider themselves teachers. But they could be yours.

There is beauty in every step of your life's journey, no matter how difficult or improbable a particular step seems. Surround yourself with people who will remind you of this as often as possible. You just might find yourself following unexpected paths toward indescribable feelings of joy and wonder.

Bottom photo credit: Rusty Sterling

All other photos - my personal collection

Feel and Heal with Music

I used to believe that music is something we do. Now I know that music is who we are. [singlepic id=205 w=320 h=240 float=center]

Last night I performed with Randy Bales (guitar, vocals) and Cathy Luo (percussion, bass) at the unique, cozy, and inviting Angelica's Bistro in Redwood City, California. (See this NY Times article about the "rebirth" of downtown Redwood City.) I've written a bit about the experience of preparing for this gig. Last night the learning continued, as I recognized that I had always seen music as a set of skills I had, a job that I did, a responsibility like my education. I was very dedicated and disciplined about practicing and building my skills in music, and I had many opportunities to perform on great stages around the world as a very young child. As with most of my accomplishments in life, I never acknowledged myself. I went through life seeking acknowledgment from others, believing that the more I did, the more likely I would be to receive what I most wanted. What may appear to an outside observer to be ambition, determination, and drive, was in fact the passionate pursuit of acknowledgment from others.

I did not realize at the time that what I really wanted was to acknowledge myself, and to believe in myself without needing to constantly seek approval. I did not have that skill, because I was so busy practicing how to see what was missing from my life. I was so busy doing more, that I failed to receive the acknowledgment that was already available to me at every step of the way. Even if others were acknowledging me, I could not see it for what it was, because I had not honed those skills of recognition. I knew how to receive criticism, and I knew how to drive myself to do more. Those were my greatest skills.

In my recent journey with personal growth through music, I have come to experience, in my body and spirit, the deep acknowledgment of self that can come through making music. You cannot "do" music. Everything you offer in music-making is an expression of who you are. There is beauty in all of it. But if you are doing music in order to receive acknowledgment from others, you will miss a very fundamental opportunity.

I have learned, by total immersion in my greatest fears and weaknesses, to acknowledge myself and others through the experience of music improvisation. The backdrop of this was my extensive training in classical music - as soloist, accompanist, in a violin ensemble, and in symphony orchestras. I learned a toolbox of skills during those years. I learned a certain auditory and visual vocabulary.

What I didn't learn was to acknowledge the tender human part of myself and others through music. Improvisation - starting with the beautiful emptiness of not knowing, then being thrown into a brand new sonic world and just feeling my way around - has introduced me to this human dimension of music. Having no time to be self-critical, having no script to reassure me what the "right" notes are, listening intensely to others, owning what I feel and offering it in the moment -- all of these have begun to show me, very gently and gradually, who I am. As I face my fears, I also face an opportunity either to acknowledge myself including all of my imperfections, or to fear the withdrawal of acknowledgment from others. The old me still surfaces as a habit of criticizing myself, judging the weaknesses in my performances, and wondering why I have the audacity to believe I can do this.

Now, I choose to acknowledge myself. I choose to honor the process and the courage it takes to do something brand new. I choose to dare to trust myself. I choose to risk my significance in the world. I choose to be gentle and kind to myself through all of this.

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Music is healing because it allows us to feel. As listeners, we love music because it goes straight to a part of us that we feel deeply, yet conceal, suppress, or avoid in our daily lives. As makers of music, we heal because we tap into those feelings and give them expression through vibration. We share our story. We share who we are in sound.

I've always had a rich tone and fire to my violin playing, but I have never seen my violin as a vehicle to transport me to the place of my greatest vulnerability, to observe myself, to feel deeply, and to heal the pain of the past.

For me, music is so much more than performing and practicing. It is feeling and healing.

Enjoy these audio clips from our live performance last night!

Singer/songwriter Shawn Evans joined us onstage to perform his original song, "I Believe", which I had never heard before. Wish you could see the visual of this, because we were all standing and moving with the groove of this uplifting song!

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These three clips give you a taste of Randy Bales' vocal expression and range (and me playing around on my violin). All new songs for me!

"Comedown" by Bush:

[audio:http://www.themusicwithinus.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/Comedown-6.4.10.mp3|titles=Comedown 6.4.10]

"Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd:

[audio:http://www.themusicwithinus.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/Comfortably-Numb-6.4.10.mp3|titles=Comfortably Numb 6.4.10]

"Fire and Rain" by James Taylor:

[audio:http://www.themusicwithinus.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/Fire-and-Rain-6.4.10.mp3|titles=Fire and Rain 6.4.10]

Top photo credit (used under a Creative Commons license): Ginny http://www.flickr.com/people/ginnerobot/

Bottom photo credit: Gabe Wachob

Learning to play again

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How the mind gets in the way

Two different days. Same scenario. I am rehearsing for an upcoming gig I've been graciously invited to play with a singer/songwriter/guitarist and a bass player/percussionist/backup vocalist. None of us has ever played together before. We met at a jam session and our lead guy summoned us together to join him for his gig.

The difference between the two days? How wild my mind was the second time around. And how it prevented me from going “full out” with my expression. Interesting to notice. I’ve talked before about the freedom of the first take, and how I’ve found that when I’m totally open, not trying to “get it right” or worried about “playing the wrong notes,” I usually create something very interesting and often artistic. The minute I start redoing, rehearsing, recreating, researching – in the sense of trying to “live up” to the quality of the previous takes or the original version of the song done by the “people who knew what they were doing” – I lose it. I start trying way too hard. I start thinking, second-guessing, and measuring. The sound becomes stiff and artificial.

I've played at six different jams in the past two weeks. I'm beginning to see that there is such a difference between playing from a place of pure listening and ownership of everything coming out in the moment, versus needing to know what you're doing. I used to play mainly from this latter place. I either "knew" a piece or didn't. I had the confidence that I could learn anything if I just practiced it enough. But this confidence didn't make "on the fly" or improvisational sessions possible for me. These weren't fun because I was attached to the idea that if I just had more time to practice, I would know enough to be able to join in. In fact, I always felt slightly underpracticed. Not quite as good as I could be. My so-called confidence was something I held in private, something that was conditional upon my having more time to prepare.

Aside from instilling an obsessive work ethic that served me well at things like getting into Harvard, getting through medical school, and impressing people who think that the more degrees you have the better person you are, I haven't found this constant feeling of slight inadequacy to be that useful.

In fact, here are some of the ways it has made my life more difficult/less enjoyable/less peaceful:

  • Not wanting to approach new people with my services/skills/ideas until I have developed them to perfection. By the way, when you’re creating and inventing, there is no perfection, so this is a formula for never putting your stuff out there.
  • Constantly questioning how I can do more, how I can measure up to “Everybody Else” who seems to know what they’re doing better than I do. I’ve talked in previous posts about the plague of believing “I am never doing enough”.
  • Not celebrating or acknowledging the small steps I am taking in completely new directions, because I am preoccupied by a greater vision of how things “should” be. I get so lost in an idea of what I want to be, that I totally miss what I actually am right now. There’s nothing wrong with having visions; I just need to remind myself to bring my attention back to the tiny beautiful little things happening right now, which are often drowned out by the volume and intensity of my big future vision. Funny how the mind blurs those lines, isn’t it?
  • Becoming a bystander versus a doer. I’m trying to find a new balance point between observing and doing. I’ve previously erred on the side of doing more than I needed to, and now I’m finding a new dynamic state of doing and observing.

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Bringing "play" back into "playing music"

I can't tell you how antithetical this is to the way I have lived for the majority of my life. It's only now in my exploration of what play means, for me as an adult, that I see how I have forgotten what it's like to play.

Remember when play used to feel like this?

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We all have that pure joy somewhere inside us.

My little musical excursions into improvisation are like baby steps for me to train a completely new way of being. I remind myself to be gentle with the child in me who is learning to walk again. I’m discovering – actually, in a way, I’m teaching myself - what it’s like to FEEL my way through musical situations – and life - without a piece of paper in front of me, and just my body to guide me.

Talk about a practice in relaxation! I often have no idea how my fingers or my vocal cords are finding notes. When I let go of needing to know, they just get there. And sometimes they don't. But my ears guide them back again, as long as I keep my mind quiet. If I spend any time in that mode of slight inadequacy, thinking I need more practice, or more time, I've lost the connection to the music. The reality is that the music is happening right now, and I don't have the option of considering "what if" I had more of this, more of that, a little better this or a little less of that. I'm either part of what's going on, or I'm lost in my own head, and not connected to the music.

Great metaphor for life, too, actually. If we spend all our time planning, wishing, wanting things that aren't there, worrying about the future, believing we can use our cleverness to outsmart this moment, we miss the opportunity to connect with the music of our lives. We are somewhere in our minds, sitting it out, dreaming about how much we would be able to do if only we had more time to practice.

And then we miss the chance to just listen and play.

Photo credits (used under a Creative Commons license):
Cat playing guitar by Andrew: http://www.flickr.com/people/fozzeee/
PLAY sign by Ed Schipul: http://www.flickr.com/people/eschipul/
Girl in pure joy by Jesper Sachmann: http://www.flickr.com/people/sachmanns/

Are you listening for long enough?

"I learned to listen for a longer time....usually I just play 3 or 4 notes and decide it doesn't sound good enough, then I stop." - Angela, participant in my Music Improvisation for Everyone workshop I love that learning from my class last night. It's a great reminder that we may not be giving ourselves enough time and space to really listen and allow things to develop. We might be judging ourselves too quickly, not allowing those first few notes (which may not sound great) to develop into something else, perhaps something completely different. Recognizing that a few notes don't sound great isn't evidence that you should stop. It's evidence to keep listening for more. Keep listening for the next note. And the next.

Bobby McFerrin's definition of improvisation is "motion". You play one note. And you play another note. And you just keep playing note after note. It evolves on its own.

That's what I've found about improvisation too. And I'm still playing those first few notes in my life, reminding myself to listen a little longer.