Sound advice
A reader writes the following about this post from the SLN archives:
“You [say] that ‘it’s pretty easy to tell if a performer “owns” the piece or is using the music as a crutch.’ As a musician (a saxophonist, actually), I’m very much interested in attaining a higher level of mastery of my instrument as well as the music I perform . . . but I am not quite sure as to how I would go about doing so. Any resources you can provide or personal insights you are willing to share would be most appreciated.”
There are (at least) two aspects necessary to achieving a sense of freedom in music performance: complete and utter command of your instrument and musical maturity.
You will notice that I didn’t say “complete and utter mastery of your instrument,” but rather command of your instrument. My use of “command” was a conscious choice because I believe that although we strive to master our instruments, complete mastery is something that is unattainable. Yet despite the fact that we may never reach total mastery, we continue to work towards that “unattainable” goal. That’s what allows us to improve. That’s what leads to instrumental progress. That’s what keeps music fresh, vibrant, and exciting. A life in music, especially music performance, is a journey—a journey that celebrates the process. To be a performing musician, you need to enjoy the process of making music. The countless solitary hours spent in the practice room. The days, weeks, or even months, to unlock the score. Living in the music’s world—its history and context—until it becomes a part of you. These are the things that we need to love doing. If someone doesn’t enjoy this process, they won’t enjoy being a musician.
That said, the process of working towards instrumental mastery begins with investigating every possible aspect of your instrument and its technique—articulation, digital technique, tone production, the wide variety of timbres and attacks, extended techniques, dynamics, and so on. And not only being able to execute these things, but to actually understand how and why these things work the way they do—their pedagogy. You simply have to have an insatiable appetite for any and all information related to your instrument, its history, its repertoire, its acoustics.
The second aspect involves a musical maturity that can only be acquired over time and through experience. Each concert we play gives us new insights. Each concert we attend provides us with grist for the artistic mill. Likewise, every recording we listen to enriches our musical palette, giving us new ideas about phrasing, the use of vibrato in a slow lyrical passage, how to move the time around most effectively, and so on. Over time you begin to synthesize all of these elements into your own playing, learning what makes the great artists of today as well as those of the past so great, and all the while developing and shaping your own musical voice.
Once you’ve reached the point where you feel as though you can make your instrument do your bidding and you know absolutely everything you can possibly know about the music you are playing, then you can really begin to make the music your own. Ask questions: what does the music mean to you? How will you convey the music’s meaning to the audience? This always requires that you perform with your ears. Listening to the sounds you are making—do I want my sound to be transparent, full, edgy?—and how they are resonating, both literally and figuratively, in the hall. Be spontaneous. Feel the energy (or lack thereof) in the room and make something special happen. Do something you’ve never done before. Be whimsical. Make up stories about the music you’re playing and then tell your audience those stories—in sound.
