Hmm. With most of Alsenï Sylla's* ternary Lamban patterns, it feels like the left hand should lead. I guess with any pattern you might learn to feel it with a RH lead or a LH lead, but some patterns seem to lend themselves to a LH lead more naturally. Note to self, I guess . . .
*I spoke with Reggie about this. He thinks he may have made a mistake, and that Alsenï's last name is in fact Sylla, and not Camara. I'm using Óscar's spelling for Alsenï.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
From the World of Bodybuilding
Two inspirational/thought-provoking quotations from the world of bodybuilding:
1. "Everybody wanna be a bodybuilder . . . but don't nobody wanna lift no heavy-ass weight." - Ronnie Coleman
This quote came to me through fellow bala student, Reggie Ross, who I met in New York. I think its message is obvious, and I agree with it, but juxtaposed with the next quote, it confounds me a bit.
2. "You're not just here lifting weights up and down." - A father to his son at the gym in my brother's apartment building
I might be forgetting or misrepresenting the source and the original wording, but this was the idea--and it's something Bruce spoke with me about years ago: If you practice just to fill your daily quota, and don't pay attention to what you're doing, you may end up doing more harm than good.
I guess the lesson to be learned from the two quotes taken together then is: work hard, practice often, but be thoughtful about what you do.
1. "Everybody wanna be a bodybuilder . . . but don't nobody wanna lift no heavy-ass weight." - Ronnie Coleman
This quote came to me through fellow bala student, Reggie Ross, who I met in New York. I think its message is obvious, and I agree with it, but juxtaposed with the next quote, it confounds me a bit.
2. "You're not just here lifting weights up and down." - A father to his son at the gym in my brother's apartment building
I might be forgetting or misrepresenting the source and the original wording, but this was the idea--and it's something Bruce spoke with me about years ago: If you practice just to fill your daily quota, and don't pay attention to what you're doing, you may end up doing more harm than good.
I guess the lesson to be learned from the two quotes taken together then is: work hard, practice often, but be thoughtful about what you do.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Practice-meme #2 Revisited
Effortless Mastery, a book by pianist Kenny Werner, advocates among many other things, an approach which seems to resonate with practice-meme #2. Werner states: "I don't get my technique from studying technique. I get it from letting my hands and arms find their way without interference." I wish I could remember that. The practice-memes themselves should be keywords.
Actually, practice-meme #2 was derived from a tree-planting technique that I developed in which, instead of pushing harder, trying more, and indeed, fighting against the trees and the land, sometimes slowing down just a bit, concentrating on form, on relaxing, and on breathing are exactly what one needs to get back up to speed. As I was stretching today I was reminded of the same idea. Simply relaxing and "breathing into the stretch" was (I think) far more effective (and so, more enjoyable) than stretching with a frantic "Gotta stretch harder; Gotta be more flexible; Must get there!" approach. Not always clear when to apply practice-meme #2, mind you, since "Hurry hard!" does actually work sometimes. Hmmm . . .
(More on tree-planting xylo-analogies another time, by the way. More also on Effortless Mastery.)
Actually, practice-meme #2 was derived from a tree-planting technique that I developed in which, instead of pushing harder, trying more, and indeed, fighting against the trees and the land, sometimes slowing down just a bit, concentrating on form, on relaxing, and on breathing are exactly what one needs to get back up to speed. As I was stretching today I was reminded of the same idea. Simply relaxing and "breathing into the stretch" was (I think) far more effective (and so, more enjoyable) than stretching with a frantic "Gotta stretch harder; Gotta be more flexible; Must get there!" approach. Not always clear when to apply practice-meme #2, mind you, since "Hurry hard!" does actually work sometimes. Hmmm . . .
(More on tree-planting xylo-analogies another time, by the way. More also on Effortless Mastery.)
Thursday, September 30, 2010
A Self-Taught "Big Moussa?"
Take a look at this clip, and especially, at the information that the poster (xylophonist, Mamadou Diabate) has prepared.
Diabate describes that for the Sambla, practicing means “playing, making music and having fun together.” He explains that: “a goal of this exercise is that Small Moussa Diabate (here 5 years old) learns different ostinati so firmly that he, in spite of the rhythmically free-flying solo and the capricious beat-changes of Big Moussa Diabate [...], can't be thrown out of the beat any more.”
Well, a fundamental component to a more traditional apprenticeship is the presence of someone who would play the role of a “Big Moussa”—i.e. someone who already knows the accompaniment patterns quite well and who has a ready stock of embellishment possibilities in the hands, mind, and body. Without a Big Moussa accentuating and highlighting the various feels of given ostinati, and especially without the social interaction that makes the exercises “fun,” (see all the other children just hanging out, dancing, and clowning around?), practising becomes much more like work, and much less like play—or at the very least, like communication. Now granted, Little Moussa does have his fair share of work to do. He does have the accompaniment patterns to learn before he can even play the game with Big Moussa. And whenever one is learning new “vocabulary,” there’s a certain amount of struggle to undergo before appropriate application of that vocabulary becomes second nature.* But even still, when there is a Big Moussa involved, the rewards of the struggle are immediate. Patterns learned are applied directly to musical, communicative situations and learning becomes much more intrinsically rewarding. (My guess is that, unless the game were fun for both of the Moussas, they just wouldn't bother doing it. Does anyone you know play video games because they've been told that "practice makes perfect?")
Unfortunately, apart from my month in New York, I’ve never really had a “Big Moussa” to accompany, with whom to simply “play music,” nor from whom to learn about how to generate variation in the patterns acquired. The fact is, save for my month with Famoro, I’ve simply never been in the same city as a teacher for more than a few days at a time, and so, have had to video-mediate nearly all of my bala lessons. Even in New York (much to my dismay), I rarely played together with Famoro. (I alluded to this in an earlier post.) Instead of playing with me (letting me accompany him), Famoro would spend most of our lesson time just showing me some new accompaniment pattern or variation. Then he would leave me alone to figure out (usually via transcription of the video I had taken) the patterns shown and to practice them by myself.
Well . . . a new semester has begun at school and I find myself taking on the role of bala teacher. (Several people have expressed interest and I’ve finally decided to accept, and indeed, am excited to have a few students.) Naturally, I want the students to enjoy their studies. I’d rather that they had the opportunity to learn like Little Moussa, which is to say, communicatively, and high surrender. But I’ve had very little opportunity to learn with a Big Moussa myself, and so, it is difficult for me to “draw different feels out of the time” in just that way that would expand the students’ understanding of how they can learn the instrument without having to simply memorize a lot of lengthy phrases and then cut and paste them together—which, again unfortunately is how I’ve had to learn to play.
Now the purpose of this post is not to complain, but rather to try to articulate the dilemma (and perhaps even consider a solution.) I feel that if I had gone through (or could go through at some point during the course of my PhD program) a traditional-type apprenticeship, learning with a Big Moussa, then assuming the role of Big Moussa myself when I have students of my own would not only be easier for me, but would, I bet, also make learning more enjoyable for them.
*One hallmark of a good teacher is, of course, the ability to make the acquisition of new material as quick and as painless as possible, given the particular characteristics of the individual learner. With a good teacher, and perhaps a certain amount of focus, Little Moussa could no doubt learn the parts very quickly, but would still need at least some amount of time to memorize and allow patterns to sink in.
Diabate describes that for the Sambla, practicing means “playing, making music and having fun together.” He explains that: “a goal of this exercise is that Small Moussa Diabate (here 5 years old) learns different ostinati so firmly that he, in spite of the rhythmically free-flying solo and the capricious beat-changes of Big Moussa Diabate [...], can't be thrown out of the beat any more.”
Well, a fundamental component to a more traditional apprenticeship is the presence of someone who would play the role of a “Big Moussa”—i.e. someone who already knows the accompaniment patterns quite well and who has a ready stock of embellishment possibilities in the hands, mind, and body. Without a Big Moussa accentuating and highlighting the various feels of given ostinati, and especially without the social interaction that makes the exercises “fun,” (see all the other children just hanging out, dancing, and clowning around?), practising becomes much more like work, and much less like play—or at the very least, like communication. Now granted, Little Moussa does have his fair share of work to do. He does have the accompaniment patterns to learn before he can even play the game with Big Moussa. And whenever one is learning new “vocabulary,” there’s a certain amount of struggle to undergo before appropriate application of that vocabulary becomes second nature.* But even still, when there is a Big Moussa involved, the rewards of the struggle are immediate. Patterns learned are applied directly to musical, communicative situations and learning becomes much more intrinsically rewarding. (My guess is that, unless the game were fun for both of the Moussas, they just wouldn't bother doing it. Does anyone you know play video games because they've been told that "practice makes perfect?")
Unfortunately, apart from my month in New York, I’ve never really had a “Big Moussa” to accompany, with whom to simply “play music,” nor from whom to learn about how to generate variation in the patterns acquired. The fact is, save for my month with Famoro, I’ve simply never been in the same city as a teacher for more than a few days at a time, and so, have had to video-mediate nearly all of my bala lessons. Even in New York (much to my dismay), I rarely played together with Famoro. (I alluded to this in an earlier post.) Instead of playing with me (letting me accompany him), Famoro would spend most of our lesson time just showing me some new accompaniment pattern or variation. Then he would leave me alone to figure out (usually via transcription of the video I had taken) the patterns shown and to practice them by myself.
Well . . . a new semester has begun at school and I find myself taking on the role of bala teacher. (Several people have expressed interest and I’ve finally decided to accept, and indeed, am excited to have a few students.) Naturally, I want the students to enjoy their studies. I’d rather that they had the opportunity to learn like Little Moussa, which is to say, communicatively, and high surrender. But I’ve had very little opportunity to learn with a Big Moussa myself, and so, it is difficult for me to “draw different feels out of the time” in just that way that would expand the students’ understanding of how they can learn the instrument without having to simply memorize a lot of lengthy phrases and then cut and paste them together—which, again unfortunately is how I’ve had to learn to play.
Now the purpose of this post is not to complain, but rather to try to articulate the dilemma (and perhaps even consider a solution.) I feel that if I had gone through (or could go through at some point during the course of my PhD program) a traditional-type apprenticeship, learning with a Big Moussa, then assuming the role of Big Moussa myself when I have students of my own would not only be easier for me, but would, I bet, also make learning more enjoyable for them.
*One hallmark of a good teacher is, of course, the ability to make the acquisition of new material as quick and as painless as possible, given the particular characteristics of the individual learner. With a good teacher, and perhaps a certain amount of focus, Little Moussa could no doubt learn the parts very quickly, but would still need at least some amount of time to memorize and allow patterns to sink in.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Hanging Out at the Magic Room
Consider the following list of activities:
The performing of a Haydn piano Sonata
The execution of a cup-stacking sequence
The performing of a Maori haka
A Cirque de Soleil-style five ball juggling performance
The execution of a country line-dance
The public recitation of a memorized speech
The performing of an Indonesian gamelan piece
A freestyle skateboard jam on a half-pipe
A one-on-one basketball game
An improvisatory jazz performance
A b-boy jam to unfamiliar music
A bala performance at a wedding or a child-naming ceremony
A conversation in a second or acquired language
A capoeira jogo
How do the people who perform these activities learn to do them? And (assuming they all have criteria for distinguishing the quality of one performance over another), how do they each “improve” their performances? What things do they have to practise in order to improve?
When Jay Rahn (a York faculty member) and I were discussing some of the differences between Mande music and some other of the world’s musics, we made frequent use of the term “scored.” For the purposes of that conversation, if something was “scored” (regardless of whether it was written down or otherwise visually represented) it was, by and large, conceived of and performed the same way every time from beginning to end with little or no improvisation. Given this definition, it seems to me that the first seven activities in the list above are scored activities, whereas the latter seven, are non-scored. And my sense is that the way one learns to perform in the context of a scored activity is rather different from the way one learns to perform in the context of a non-scored activity—or at least, learning non-scored performance seems to involve an extra step.
With half-pipe skate boarding, capoeira jogos, or bala performance, you never really know what will come next at any given moment. Performance involves the creation of a context (the back and forth traversing of the tube, the jenga, an ostinato groove or chord structure) and then, at any time, the performer can decide to generate or react to changes in that context (usually within particular style parameters). The learning process thus consists of the acquisition of “riffs” or “tricks” that open up possibilities for the performer, without necessarily binding them to a strict recreation of a memorized sequence (as might be the case in a country line dance, for example.) In practising non-scored activities, individuals must develop not only the ability to execute the discrete pattern “chunks” but also to reorder those chunks in reaction to various (often new and sometimes unexpected) stimuli in the environment.
Now, maybe the differences are of degree, rather than kind. As Casey Sokol (also a faculty member at York) was describing yesterday, there is after all a certain amount of improvisation (moment to moment decision-making undertaken by the performer) in all of the above activities. What’s more, the extent to which high-level bala players are actually undertaking random, never before sequenced orderings of the chunks that they piece together (instead of simply returning to sequences that they’d previously mapped out at some point) is not totally clear. Indeed, although above I described that half-pipe skaters, capoeiristas, and balafolaw “never really know what will come next at any given moment” this is true only up to a point. (They don’t likely have to be prepared to jump out of the way of falling safes or defend themselves against wolf attacks.) As well, to be sure, bala playing, as with other improvised music performance involves (or may involve) rather a lot more than simply reordering memorized chunks.*
Nonetheless, my impression is that when the skateboarders I knew in high-school used to hang out at the Magic Room learning and sharing and performing tricks for one another, or when my drum kit buddies would express their excitement at having learned a new rudiment and being in the process of teaching themselves how to articulate it across the toms and snare drum, the practising that they were doing is somehow different from the kind one would have to undertake in order to learn to perform (and then perfect performance of) a Hayden sonata or a cup-stacking sequence. Am I barking up the wrong tree?
*Remind me to write about this some time, citing some of what both Casey and Rob have discussed with me . . .
The performing of a Haydn piano Sonata
The execution of a cup-stacking sequence
The performing of a Maori haka
A Cirque de Soleil-style five ball juggling performance
The execution of a country line-dance
The public recitation of a memorized speech
The performing of an Indonesian gamelan piece
A freestyle skateboard jam on a half-pipe
A one-on-one basketball game
An improvisatory jazz performance
A b-boy jam to unfamiliar music
A bala performance at a wedding or a child-naming ceremony
A conversation in a second or acquired language
A capoeira jogo
How do the people who perform these activities learn to do them? And (assuming they all have criteria for distinguishing the quality of one performance over another), how do they each “improve” their performances? What things do they have to practise in order to improve?
When Jay Rahn (a York faculty member) and I were discussing some of the differences between Mande music and some other of the world’s musics, we made frequent use of the term “scored.” For the purposes of that conversation, if something was “scored” (regardless of whether it was written down or otherwise visually represented) it was, by and large, conceived of and performed the same way every time from beginning to end with little or no improvisation. Given this definition, it seems to me that the first seven activities in the list above are scored activities, whereas the latter seven, are non-scored. And my sense is that the way one learns to perform in the context of a scored activity is rather different from the way one learns to perform in the context of a non-scored activity—or at least, learning non-scored performance seems to involve an extra step.
With half-pipe skate boarding, capoeira jogos, or bala performance, you never really know what will come next at any given moment. Performance involves the creation of a context (the back and forth traversing of the tube, the jenga, an ostinato groove or chord structure) and then, at any time, the performer can decide to generate or react to changes in that context (usually within particular style parameters). The learning process thus consists of the acquisition of “riffs” or “tricks” that open up possibilities for the performer, without necessarily binding them to a strict recreation of a memorized sequence (as might be the case in a country line dance, for example.) In practising non-scored activities, individuals must develop not only the ability to execute the discrete pattern “chunks” but also to reorder those chunks in reaction to various (often new and sometimes unexpected) stimuli in the environment.
Now, maybe the differences are of degree, rather than kind. As Casey Sokol (also a faculty member at York) was describing yesterday, there is after all a certain amount of improvisation (moment to moment decision-making undertaken by the performer) in all of the above activities. What’s more, the extent to which high-level bala players are actually undertaking random, never before sequenced orderings of the chunks that they piece together (instead of simply returning to sequences that they’d previously mapped out at some point) is not totally clear. Indeed, although above I described that half-pipe skaters, capoeiristas, and balafolaw “never really know what will come next at any given moment” this is true only up to a point. (They don’t likely have to be prepared to jump out of the way of falling safes or defend themselves against wolf attacks.) As well, to be sure, bala playing, as with other improvised music performance involves (or may involve) rather a lot more than simply reordering memorized chunks.*
Nonetheless, my impression is that when the skateboarders I knew in high-school used to hang out at the Magic Room learning and sharing and performing tricks for one another, or when my drum kit buddies would express their excitement at having learned a new rudiment and being in the process of teaching themselves how to articulate it across the toms and snare drum, the practising that they were doing is somehow different from the kind one would have to undertake in order to learn to perform (and then perfect performance of) a Hayden sonata or a cup-stacking sequence. Am I barking up the wrong tree?
*Remind me to write about this some time, citing some of what both Casey and Rob have discussed with me . . .
Friday, August 27, 2010
Report on Naby’s Workshop
To my two subscribers (and my thesis supervisor): sorry that it’s been so long since my last post. I have been practising, and indeed, I feel that I’ve learned a lot over the past few weeks about how to practice, but I just haven’t put those things online yet. I’ve been making a lot of notes to myself, though, so more posts will definitely trickle in before too long.
One of the first things to report, however: Naby’s workshop went well. It wasn’t particularly well-attended (partly on account of the paucity of information I was provided until the very last minute), but those that did attend had only good things to say. Here’s a picture from that event:
Unfortunately, aside from helping to clarify the cadence of one accompaniment pattern (a basic accompaniment for Soli), for lack of time, Naby wasn’t able to do any private lessons with me. Since the workshop, he and I have spoken on Skype several times and he offers glowing praise for what he hears me play into the mic, assuring me that he’s looking forward to spending a few days teaching me the next time he comes to Toronto, but until that time, I’ll be working exclusively with the video-lessons—both his and Famoro’s.
Tomorrow however, I head to Montréal where I’ll spend the weekend with some friends (Trevor and Nadia) who are also students of Naby’s. In addition to spending a heavy block of time together, sharing information and playing like crazy, Trevor has also arranged for the two of us to meet with Robert Lépine, a classically-trained, professional xylophone and marimba player, long-time student of Naby’s, and founding member of the award-winning group Takadja. I’ll have some pretty specific questions for Robert (and for Trevor and Nadia), mostly about rolling and "vocabulary" acquisition. I sure hope some of those questions finally get answered!
One of the first things to report, however: Naby’s workshop went well. It wasn’t particularly well-attended (partly on account of the paucity of information I was provided until the very last minute), but those that did attend had only good things to say. Here’s a picture from that event:
Unfortunately, aside from helping to clarify the cadence of one accompaniment pattern (a basic accompaniment for Soli), for lack of time, Naby wasn’t able to do any private lessons with me. Since the workshop, he and I have spoken on Skype several times and he offers glowing praise for what he hears me play into the mic, assuring me that he’s looking forward to spending a few days teaching me the next time he comes to Toronto, but until that time, I’ll be working exclusively with the video-lessons—both his and Famoro’s.
Tomorrow however, I head to Montréal where I’ll spend the weekend with some friends (Trevor and Nadia) who are also students of Naby’s. In addition to spending a heavy block of time together, sharing information and playing like crazy, Trevor has also arranged for the two of us to meet with Robert Lépine, a classically-trained, professional xylophone and marimba player, long-time student of Naby’s, and founding member of the award-winning group Takadja. I’ll have some pretty specific questions for Robert (and for Trevor and Nadia), mostly about rolling and "vocabulary" acquisition. I sure hope some of those questions finally get answered!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
A Solid Week
I've been back in Toronto for exactly one week now and I've hit the “4-hours daily” goal easily. A big part of what makes it easier to practice for 4 hours a day is waking up at 6:00 every morning and, after about twenty minutes of morning activities, holing myself up in one of the undergrad practice rooms for two hours straight. (Actually, though, I don't practice for two hours straight. I break the time up into twenty minute chunks. Every twenty minutes, my alarm goes off, I get up, stretch, have a drink of water, and then settle back down into practicing for another twenty minutes. It sure feels more effective that way.)
My New York experience has recharged my batteries and I've got a much clearer understanding now of the relationship between my long term goals and the day to day grind. After my two hours in the morning, I spend most of the rest of the day reviewing and transcribing videos. I do continue to practice the material that Famoro showed me—and I’m advancing daily on that material—but because Naby Camara is coming to Toronto this weekend, I’ve had to recalibrate the trajectory a little.
Last year Naby played at Toronto’s Afro-Fest and in addition to taking a 1 ½-hour lesson with him, I made a one-hour video document of future lessons which I would subsequently transcribe and teach to myself. He and I have kept in pretty close contact since then. (He’s shipped a few balaw to me here and also sent me a copy of his instructional DVD. He’ll be coming to Toronto to do some performing with Alpha Yaya Diallo on Thurday and Friday and he’s asked me to help him organize some workshops for the extra days he’ll be in town.)
So, despite still having quite a lot of Famoro’s material to work through, I’m currently focusing on Naby’s DVD and the one-hour video that we made. There’s enough material there to keep me busy for several months, but I’m trying to learn just enough of it before his arrival to be able to ask him some specific questions and, I hope, receive some of the kind of guidance that will make the acquisition of the rest of the material (both his and Famoro's) higher surrender. Luckily, two of the pieces that Naby and I have already worked on together are the same pieces on which I spent most of my time in New York: Soli and Fasson. It will be great to take another lesson with Naby and get a different perspective on those two pieces. I still have so many questions!
My New York experience has recharged my batteries and I've got a much clearer understanding now of the relationship between my long term goals and the day to day grind. After my two hours in the morning, I spend most of the rest of the day reviewing and transcribing videos. I do continue to practice the material that Famoro showed me—and I’m advancing daily on that material—but because Naby Camara is coming to Toronto this weekend, I’ve had to recalibrate the trajectory a little.
Last year Naby played at Toronto’s Afro-Fest and in addition to taking a 1 ½-hour lesson with him, I made a one-hour video document of future lessons which I would subsequently transcribe and teach to myself. He and I have kept in pretty close contact since then. (He’s shipped a few balaw to me here and also sent me a copy of his instructional DVD. He’ll be coming to Toronto to do some performing with Alpha Yaya Diallo on Thurday and Friday and he’s asked me to help him organize some workshops for the extra days he’ll be in town.)
So, despite still having quite a lot of Famoro’s material to work through, I’m currently focusing on Naby’s DVD and the one-hour video that we made. There’s enough material there to keep me busy for several months, but I’m trying to learn just enough of it before his arrival to be able to ask him some specific questions and, I hope, receive some of the kind of guidance that will make the acquisition of the rest of the material (both his and Famoro's) higher surrender. Luckily, two of the pieces that Naby and I have already worked on together are the same pieces on which I spent most of my time in New York: Soli and Fasson. It will be great to take another lesson with Naby and get a different perspective on those two pieces. I still have so many questions!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Ne Ka Bamanankan Kalan
There are many things this trip is confirming for me, but one of the biggies is that in order to learn this instrument, knowing the language is paramount. Remember this?: Somos peruanos y somos dueños de este conjunto primoroso del amor!
Famoro once said to me as we were listening to an Ensemble Instrumental track: “you see? the bala is singing here” and then proceeded to sing (in words) the melody that the balafola was charting. It sure would be easier to recall melodies if I had words to attach to them.
Michael and I have yet to confirm how many of my uOttawa courses can be applied to the York degree, but if I do in fact have to take another course after this, I think it makes good sense to propose that it be a directed reading (directed [or at least aided] by Toronto's and Ottawa's Malian communities, perhaps?) in which, using Parlons Bambara, Un Peu de Bambara Sans (Beaucoup de) Peine, and J’apprends le Bambara, I embark on a serious study of at least one of the Mande languages. Admittedly, it would make better sense that the language I learn be Maninkakan, but the materials for that language just aren’t there. Susu might be another option, but again, materials are scant. Besides, most Maninkakan speakers I ask (as well as my friend Saiba Suso, a polyglot and native speaker of Mandinka) suggest that Bamanankan is the most versatile of the Mande languages. (Hey . . . maybe a part of that directed reading could involve some kind of linguistic/ melodic analysis of Bamanan songs wherein I search for patterns that might facilitate the learning of sung bala melodies. I need to check my iTunes catalogue to see where I have written lyrics for heptatonic tracks in each of Bamanankan, Maninkakan, and Susu.)
Famoro once said to me as we were listening to an Ensemble Instrumental track: “you see? the bala is singing here” and then proceeded to sing (in words) the melody that the balafola was charting. It sure would be easier to recall melodies if I had words to attach to them.
Michael and I have yet to confirm how many of my uOttawa courses can be applied to the York degree, but if I do in fact have to take another course after this, I think it makes good sense to propose that it be a directed reading (directed [or at least aided] by Toronto's and Ottawa's Malian communities, perhaps?) in which, using Parlons Bambara, Un Peu de Bambara Sans (Beaucoup de) Peine, and J’apprends le Bambara, I embark on a serious study of at least one of the Mande languages. Admittedly, it would make better sense that the language I learn be Maninkakan, but the materials for that language just aren’t there. Susu might be another option, but again, materials are scant. Besides, most Maninkakan speakers I ask (as well as my friend Saiba Suso, a polyglot and native speaker of Mandinka) suggest that Bamanankan is the most versatile of the Mande languages. (Hey . . . maybe a part of that directed reading could involve some kind of linguistic/ melodic analysis of Bamanan songs wherein I search for patterns that might facilitate the learning of sung bala melodies. I need to check my iTunes catalogue to see where I have written lyrics for heptatonic tracks in each of Bamanankan, Maninkakan, and Susu.)
Hidden Melodies
The "find melodies within the melodies" skill . . . Guinean players appear to exercise it on the fly--and very quickly at that. One thought about this: Maybe the more patterns and melodies I have in my head (and hands) for a particular piece, the easier it is to find the "hidden" melodies within that piece. (Indeed, many of the patterns are simply elaborations of a hidden melody that can be found, even if only approximately, in one of the basic accompaniments.) And a second thought: I wonder if the slow practice of that skill might involve/consist of writing the patterns out and very deliberately working through the process of finding those hidden melodies (much like how written translation can in a sense be considered the "slow practice" for interpretation.)
Either way, here’s another tweak I’d like to introduce into the notation system: some sleek way of fading and highlighting so I can illustrate (whether to myself or others) some of these hidden melodies. (Eg. Fading out the LH, to pay attention just to how the RH changes. Or highlighting an interior melody [that is carried between the two hands, but then is taken over by one hand while the other begins to lay down an independent, polymeter time-feel or explore other melodic combinations*]). Ho, that would be sexy!
*Incidentally, here is where a taxonomy of cadences would be a useful tool.
Either way, here’s another tweak I’d like to introduce into the notation system: some sleek way of fading and highlighting so I can illustrate (whether to myself or others) some of these hidden melodies. (Eg. Fading out the LH, to pay attention just to how the RH changes. Or highlighting an interior melody [that is carried between the two hands, but then is taken over by one hand while the other begins to lay down an independent, polymeter time-feel or explore other melodic combinations*]). Ho, that would be sexy!
*Incidentally, here is where a taxonomy of cadences would be a useful tool.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
So That's How You Tune a Bala . . .
Two days and counting, but my bala is now wonderfully in-tune and the keys are tied up tight and looking great. It was a team effort. Famoro has quite an ear and I'm getting rather good at restringing. We have yet to re-attach the gourds, but for that, we've decided there's no rush.
Tomorrow, after Mosque, Famoro and his daughter Sona and I will head to either Brooklyn or the Bronx to find a park in which to sit down and do some playing. Now that our instruments are in tune with each other, I hope we'll get to do a lot more of that sort of thing. I'm looking forward to just holding down accompaniment patterns for Famoro. I anticipate that accompanying will be a great opportunity to concentrate on tone, accuracy, and form, as well as to be able to listen to where Famoro brings the melodies and how he draws different feels out of the time. I've been doing some of that all along of course, but not much, and when I'm holding down the accompaniment and my perspective is that of an active participant, I acquire a unique (if not deepened) understanding.
Tomorrow also marks the start of Keme Burema. Big day. Better get some rest.
Tomorrow, after Mosque, Famoro and his daughter Sona and I will head to either Brooklyn or the Bronx to find a park in which to sit down and do some playing. Now that our instruments are in tune with each other, I hope we'll get to do a lot more of that sort of thing. I'm looking forward to just holding down accompaniment patterns for Famoro. I anticipate that accompanying will be a great opportunity to concentrate on tone, accuracy, and form, as well as to be able to listen to where Famoro brings the melodies and how he draws different feels out of the time. I've been doing some of that all along of course, but not much, and when I'm holding down the accompaniment and my perspective is that of an active participant, I acquire a unique (if not deepened) understanding.
Tomorrow also marks the start of Keme Burema. Big day. Better get some rest.
Monday, July 5, 2010
You Can't Push on a Rope
I spend a lot of my time just memorizing patterns. It occurs to me that (and though it may seem obvious, I think it bears mentioning . . . ) I’m not just memorizing a sequence of notes or key positions. Yes, I am doing that, but part of what I’m also memorizing is how it feels to be doing it correctly--in my hands, wrists, fingers, arms, back, money-maker, etc…
When Famoro is across from me, showing me something new, I can recognize patterns and decipher the code very quickly--possibly (owing to a lot of experience) quicker than most. But gosh it takes me a long time to get my hands doing what my mind is asking them to. I wonder if there isn’t some way I can speed that part of the process up, by say . . . relaxing more? developing my concentration (whatever that means)? or just not worrying so much about speeding it up?
Famoro assures me that stuff comes with practice. And yes, it does. I have to do “more more more more more practice” but still, I wonder if, for example, making skill acquisition less urgent might not actually speed it up. After all, you can’t push on a rope . . .
Practice-meme #2: "You can't push on a rope."
When Famoro is across from me, showing me something new, I can recognize patterns and decipher the code very quickly--possibly (owing to a lot of experience) quicker than most. But gosh it takes me a long time to get my hands doing what my mind is asking them to. I wonder if there isn’t some way I can speed that part of the process up, by say . . . relaxing more? developing my concentration (whatever that means)? or just not worrying so much about speeding it up?
Famoro assures me that stuff comes with practice. And yes, it does. I have to do “more more more more more practice” but still, I wonder if, for example, making skill acquisition less urgent might not actually speed it up. After all, you can’t push on a rope . . .
Practice-meme #2: "You can't push on a rope."
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Keyword Checklist (Revisited)
I think the bottom-line highest-priority keyword categories are (a) generally staying relaxed and clear-minded and (b) softening and reorganizing my left hand movements.
Thus, as I practice now, I've begun to mentally cycle through the following series of keywords:
1. relax
2. breathe
and then for the left hand, thinking about "softness" (i.e. lack of tension), grip, and movement through space:
3. the Famoro pinch
4. back of hand
5. wrist
6. elbows, shoulders, & back
7. head & eyes
I bet behavioral psychology's work with professional-level athletes would have something to say about this list . . . Hey, Dad, what were the five categories of skill again? proprioceptive? level of excitation? . . . what else? In fact . . . I wonder what I might learn by taking a look at some of the keyword lists that the figure skaters have used (or indeed continue to use.)
Thus, as I practice now, I've begun to mentally cycle through the following series of keywords:
1. relax
2. breathe
and then for the left hand, thinking about "softness" (i.e. lack of tension), grip, and movement through space:
3. the Famoro pinch
4. back of hand
5. wrist
6. elbows, shoulders, & back
7. head & eyes
I bet behavioral psychology's work with professional-level athletes would have something to say about this list . . . Hey, Dad, what were the five categories of skill again? proprioceptive? level of excitation? . . . what else? In fact . . . I wonder what I might learn by taking a look at some of the keyword lists that the figure skaters have used (or indeed continue to use.)
Mastery Criteria
I think I've observed that my practising (at least) feels more effective when I have mastery criteria for the things I’m trying to learn. (In fact, when I’m not using some kind of mastery criteria, my practising hardly feels effective at all--much more like I’m just mindlessly tapping the keys.)
Generally my mastery criteria are unambitious--usually just four or eight perfect, consecutive repetitions. I set the number low for a few reasons, but a big one is to accommodate the people I live with here. I imagine (and sense) that it’s way less irritating when I work on a pattern for only say, twenty minutes, rather than for an entire afternoon. I do think a lot about Tiger Woods’ "100 putts in a row" strategy though. When I get back to Toronto, it will be fun to try experimenting a bit with the numbers of perfect repetitions to see how my playing (and my enjoyment of practice sessions) is affected.
Now, if only there were a way to objectively measure performance so I could see numeric data on how my playing is affected . . . I wonder if the DDR pickup system couldn’t be rigged up to Jaliya somehow. I should get over to Austria for a week or two before my program is over to see what Harald and I can devise.
Generally my mastery criteria are unambitious--usually just four or eight perfect, consecutive repetitions. I set the number low for a few reasons, but a big one is to accommodate the people I live with here. I imagine (and sense) that it’s way less irritating when I work on a pattern for only say, twenty minutes, rather than for an entire afternoon. I do think a lot about Tiger Woods’ "100 putts in a row" strategy though. When I get back to Toronto, it will be fun to try experimenting a bit with the numbers of perfect repetitions to see how my playing (and my enjoyment of practice sessions) is affected.
Now, if only there were a way to objectively measure performance so I could see numeric data on how my playing is affected . . . I wonder if the DDR pickup system couldn’t be rigged up to Jaliya somehow. I should get over to Austria for a week or two before my program is over to see what Harald and I can devise.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Indiana
The trip to Indiana was over the top. 21:30 departure from NYC, all night drive* and a 10:30 arrival to Indianapolis with a sheep head soup breakfast and then an immediate solo departure to Bloomington to check out the Archive. (In the end Famoro and Missia decided not to come because, with a performance coming up later that day, they put higher priority on catching a few zs. But it probably worked out for the better that way. It turns out that the Archive makes digital copies for research purposes. I’ve put in a request with the librarian and the archivist and they’ll contact me in a week or so to organize the shipping to New York of a CD with the Dioubaté brothers recordings. So, in the comfort of the apartment and as many times as we choose, we’ll have the means to appreciate Mamaya [and whatever other treasures we find on the CD] together.)
(By the way, something has been clarified to me: Sidi Djeli Dioubaté, the creator of Mamaya, was not Missia’s father but rather, her grandfather. It was his three sons that play in the Alberts [and subsequent Rouget] recordings, and the eldest, Sidi Mamadi Dioubaté, was Missia’s father.)
*During our trip we listened to only Guinean music--often at full volume and at least 10 times over to Missia’s and Abou’s new CDs. And man, was it interesting to hear (in English, French, and whatever Maninka I could make out) Famoro, Missia, and Baw discussing, singing along to, highlighting certain parts of, tracing new melodic combinations for, and arguing about the history of the tracks.
I returned from Bloomington with just minutes to spare to jump in the shower, get dressed and head over to the first part of the wedding celebration (of which, a video was just posted.) Tonight is the ceremony and reception. Missia and Famoro will perform again, this time with a DJ backing them. I’m pretty sure that once again I’ll end up being the money collector and sorter, but we’ll see. Maybe I’ll be too busy shaking it up. :)
(By the way, something has been clarified to me: Sidi Djeli Dioubaté, the creator of Mamaya, was not Missia’s father but rather, her grandfather. It was his three sons that play in the Alberts [and subsequent Rouget] recordings, and the eldest, Sidi Mamadi Dioubaté, was Missia’s father.)
*During our trip we listened to only Guinean music--often at full volume and at least 10 times over to Missia’s and Abou’s new CDs. And man, was it interesting to hear (in English, French, and whatever Maninka I could make out) Famoro, Missia, and Baw discussing, singing along to, highlighting certain parts of, tracing new melodic combinations for, and arguing about the history of the tracks.
I returned from Bloomington with just minutes to spare to jump in the shower, get dressed and head over to the first part of the wedding celebration (of which, a video was just posted.) Tonight is the ceremony and reception. Missia and Famoro will perform again, this time with a DJ backing them. I’m pretty sure that once again I’ll end up being the money collector and sorter, but we’ll see. Maybe I’ll be too busy shaking it up. :)
And a Video!
This is Famoro and Missia performing as part of the celebration of the marriage of Ali and Housai Kouyaté. The video, obviously not of the greatest fidelity, was taken using my BlackBerry (a Pearl 8130.) Famoro was installed outside on the patio with Missia just inside the house elaborating praise song. Because Famoro couldn't see the guests as they arrived, every so often (every 10 minutes or so) Missia would just lean out the door to indicate the melodies that would be appropriate to play. When she would do this, she would also hand me a fistful of money to sort.
Wow, a Photo!
I'm in Indianapolis now. Movement is hectic, but because I've got a stronger connection, I'll take the opportunity to upload a few things. To begin with, here is a photo of what Missia lovingly refers to as "Todd's office": my practice and study corner in Famoro's Harlem apartment.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Plan B
Phew. Well, this week was heavy and filled to the brim with bare-knuckled hard work--and the heaviness was only compounded by acute sleep deprivation, a New York heat wave, and a series of communication hiccups that almost derailed the train. But we did manage to stay on the track even if we’ve needed to hard-left to a kind of Plan B.
I’ll do my best to explain:
Famoro and Missia have been invited to perform next week (in the capacity of jeliw) at a wedding that will take place in Indianapolis, Indiana and I’ve been invited to join them.
At around the time that they told me about Indiana, I was reading an article by Kaba and Charry that discusses the history and cultural context for an event (and piece) called Mamaya. Originally involving singing and the instrumental accompaniment of three balaw and one dunun, Mamaya’s creation and development is widely attributed to a single family--and more specifically to one man and three of his sons. Well, it turns out that this man, Sidi Djéli Dioubaté, is none other than Missia’s father(and the sons, Missia’s elder brothers.) (Missia is the last child by her father and he died when she was very young. Her mother died at Missia’s birth.) In the article, the authors make mention of the earliest known recording of a Mamaya performance, a private recording made in 1949 by the American, Arthur S. Alberts. This is one of twelve bala recordings that Alberts made in Kankan in that year but thus far, only one of the twelve has been released on CD (Alberts 1988). The entire collection, though, is available in Indiana University’s Archives of Traditional Music in Bloomington ("the largest university-based ethnographic sound archives in the United States") so we’ve decided to make the trip from Indianapolis to visit the archives and listen to Mamaya (and the other Dioubaté brothers recordings.) It seemed appropriate, thus, to devote this week to the study of Mamaya in anticipation of that event.
But . . . Famoro and Missia have been unexpectedly called to New Hampshire (to continue work on Abou’s CD) and will be leaving me alone for the three days immediately prior to our Indiana departure. This wouldn’t necessarily mean that I can’t work on Mamaya on my own, mediating through video and audio recordings, but in order to do this, Famoro would need to help me clarify a few key questions--and for various reasons (some, related to our communication hiccups), he was unable to do so. My plan B, then is to continue to work on Soli and Fasson, and to leave Mamaya for our return from Indiana. I’m pretty satisfied with this option as I’ll be happy to have the opportunity to do some solitary practicing for a while--and the Bloomington trip will be interesting either way--but I’m sure that with three days devoted exclusively to Mamaya immediately before that trip, I would be better able to appreciate certain subtleties that will more than likely escape me now. But no problem . . . I can adapt. I’ll do what I can with Mamaya using the material I have already, and who knows? . . . maybe one of the Alberts recordings will be a version of Soli that I can sink my teeth into . . .
I’ll do my best to explain:
Famoro and Missia have been invited to perform next week (in the capacity of jeliw) at a wedding that will take place in Indianapolis, Indiana and I’ve been invited to join them.
At around the time that they told me about Indiana, I was reading an article by Kaba and Charry that discusses the history and cultural context for an event (and piece) called Mamaya. Originally involving singing and the instrumental accompaniment of three balaw and one dunun, Mamaya’s creation and development is widely attributed to a single family--and more specifically to one man and three of his sons. Well, it turns out that this man, Sidi Djéli Dioubaté, is none other than Missia’s father(and the sons, Missia’s elder brothers.) (Missia is the last child by her father and he died when she was very young. Her mother died at Missia’s birth.) In the article, the authors make mention of the earliest known recording of a Mamaya performance, a private recording made in 1949 by the American, Arthur S. Alberts. This is one of twelve bala recordings that Alberts made in Kankan in that year but thus far, only one of the twelve has been released on CD (Alberts 1988). The entire collection, though, is available in Indiana University’s Archives of Traditional Music in Bloomington ("the largest university-based ethnographic sound archives in the United States") so we’ve decided to make the trip from Indianapolis to visit the archives and listen to Mamaya (and the other Dioubaté brothers recordings.) It seemed appropriate, thus, to devote this week to the study of Mamaya in anticipation of that event.
But . . . Famoro and Missia have been unexpectedly called to New Hampshire (to continue work on Abou’s CD) and will be leaving me alone for the three days immediately prior to our Indiana departure. This wouldn’t necessarily mean that I can’t work on Mamaya on my own, mediating through video and audio recordings, but in order to do this, Famoro would need to help me clarify a few key questions--and for various reasons (some, related to our communication hiccups), he was unable to do so. My plan B, then is to continue to work on Soli and Fasson, and to leave Mamaya for our return from Indiana. I’m pretty satisfied with this option as I’ll be happy to have the opportunity to do some solitary practicing for a while--and the Bloomington trip will be interesting either way--but I’m sure that with three days devoted exclusively to Mamaya immediately before that trip, I would be better able to appreciate certain subtleties that will more than likely escape me now. But no problem . . . I can adapt. I’ll do what I can with Mamaya using the material I have already, and who knows? . . . maybe one of the Alberts recordings will be a version of Soli that I can sink my teeth into . . .
Fascinating . . . Just Fascinating . . .
The other day, Famoro invited me to the studio where he was going to be doing some arranging work with his good friend, the superlative balafola Abou Sylla. (Abou had recently recorded some base tracks in a studio in New Hampshire, and now wanted Famoro to help him arrange some vocal parts.) After introductions and a bit of settling-in, I spent the first few hours of the afternoon catching up on some transcribing work, while occasionally glancing up to observe the action. It was phenomenal to see the jelilu doing studio-based praising work. They had a long list written out of potential praise recipients and the singer would improvise praise melodies from a short list of patrons that Famoro had fed him just moments earlier. So from the long list, the “head jeli” would select the most appropriate short list and tell the names to the singer at the appropriate times and on a need-to-know basis. Seems obvious that it would be that way now that I think of it, but it was sure fascinating to see it actually happening . . .
Another really interesting part of that day was when Famoro, frustrated with the singer’s slow progress in creating a vocal harmony, motioned to the computer monitors and said to the technician, “I want to see the tonality. Isn’t there some way that you can show me the tonality?” That Famoro wanted to have a visual representation of the music to be able to pinpoint a particular spot and then experiment with a few harmonic options for that spot is just fantastic for me. Many people I know have made informal claims that writing down African musics somehow robs them of their feeling. I think that Famoro’s question to the studio tech is a clear example of how visually representing music can facilitate both its acquisition and its enrichment. (Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that visual music is somehow richer or easier to learn, just that to assert the opposite is equally silly.)
Anyway, after those few hours behind my laptop, I stepped outside to continue my practicing. It was good to have the opportunity to play with a bit more force. In the apartment, I often have to play unnaturally softly. I think the practice I do in the apartment is still effective, but it was nonetheless good to get out and really do some wailing. Later that afternoon both Famoro AND Abou came out to offer guidance. They have very different playing styles and it was helpful to experience a little of what each one brings to the table.
Another really interesting part of that day was when Famoro, frustrated with the singer’s slow progress in creating a vocal harmony, motioned to the computer monitors and said to the technician, “I want to see the tonality. Isn’t there some way that you can show me the tonality?” That Famoro wanted to have a visual representation of the music to be able to pinpoint a particular spot and then experiment with a few harmonic options for that spot is just fantastic for me. Many people I know have made informal claims that writing down African musics somehow robs them of their feeling. I think that Famoro’s question to the studio tech is a clear example of how visually representing music can facilitate both its acquisition and its enrichment. (Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that visual music is somehow richer or easier to learn, just that to assert the opposite is equally silly.)
Anyway, after those few hours behind my laptop, I stepped outside to continue my practicing. It was good to have the opportunity to play with a bit more force. In the apartment, I often have to play unnaturally softly. I think the practice I do in the apartment is still effective, but it was nonetheless good to get out and really do some wailing. Later that afternoon both Famoro AND Abou came out to offer guidance. They have very different playing styles and it was helpful to experience a little of what each one brings to the table.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sylvain's Lessons
I first wrote to Sylvain Leroux in October of 2009. It was through Sylvain (and through Jumbie Records’ Raul Rothblatt) that I first made contact with Famoro. Sylvain, a Quebecois now based in New York, is a highly accomplished player of the Tambin (or Serdu), the traditional flute of the Fulani people of Guinea’s Fouta Djallon highlands. Sylvain is greatly respected in the New York Mande music scene and his Fula Flute is a much decorated (and wonderful!) ensemble of musicans from the US, Canada, Guinea, and Mali. Although he would downplay his accomplishments, as an "outsider" who has learned to play so well, the music of an "other," Sylvain has long been an inspiration to me.
In the last post, I mentioned that one of the events that Famoro had me attend was an outdoor festival where his afro-fusion group, Kakande gave a few performances. Sylvain is also a part of the Kakande project and so, naturally, was at that festival. After the group’s first performance, while some of us were having a bite to eat, I had the chance to talk with Sylvain about his experiences, and to ask if he might have any advice for someone who is at the beginning of his own musical apprenticeship.
One thing that he mentioned that was very encouraging: He only began his pursuit of tambin performance at the age of 38! (He had studied music and was already an excellent flautist in a Western Art context, but at 38, beginning to study the tambin? That’s astounding!)
Beyond this, he offered that while for now, my priority should be on learning to play perfectly and verbatim, the things that Famoro teaches me, I should also spend at least some of my practice time just playing around, improvising, and experimenting.
This confirms both what John Castellano of New York’s The Drummers Collective has suggested: "Leave some time to be creative . . . being creative is an excellent way to end each practice session" and what Famoro is reiterating time and time again: that Guinean music and the bala are ALL about inspiration and improvised expression. When he teaches me patterns, he'll also give examples (without committing me to them) of the myriad (virtually infinite) directions they could be explored.
Sylvain told me that I shouldn’t worry about "finding my own voice" just yet--especially if I really am just beginning. I should practice the things that Famoro teaches (patterns and variations alike) until I can play them without needing to think about them. When I can do that, my voice and the ability to express myself will just come.
In the article cited above, "How To Improve" (a long-time shaper of my own practicing approach), Castellano describes an excellent teacher thus: "Although the teacher has personal experience, he or she has the ability and confidence to allow students to find their own way." But he adds: "You must become your own primary teacher. Be objective about your strengths and weaknesses, and recognize what is required in order to improve. Never depend solely on the advice of others, no matter how much you may admire them."
In the last post, I mentioned that one of the events that Famoro had me attend was an outdoor festival where his afro-fusion group, Kakande gave a few performances. Sylvain is also a part of the Kakande project and so, naturally, was at that festival. After the group’s first performance, while some of us were having a bite to eat, I had the chance to talk with Sylvain about his experiences, and to ask if he might have any advice for someone who is at the beginning of his own musical apprenticeship.
One thing that he mentioned that was very encouraging: He only began his pursuit of tambin performance at the age of 38! (He had studied music and was already an excellent flautist in a Western Art context, but at 38, beginning to study the tambin? That’s astounding!)
Beyond this, he offered that while for now, my priority should be on learning to play perfectly and verbatim, the things that Famoro teaches me, I should also spend at least some of my practice time just playing around, improvising, and experimenting.
This confirms both what John Castellano of New York’s The Drummers Collective has suggested: "Leave some time to be creative . . . being creative is an excellent way to end each practice session" and what Famoro is reiterating time and time again: that Guinean music and the bala are ALL about inspiration and improvised expression. When he teaches me patterns, he'll also give examples (without committing me to them) of the myriad (virtually infinite) directions they could be explored.
Sylvain told me that I shouldn’t worry about "finding my own voice" just yet--especially if I really am just beginning. I should practice the things that Famoro teaches (patterns and variations alike) until I can play them without needing to think about them. When I can do that, my voice and the ability to express myself will just come.
In the article cited above, "How To Improve" (a long-time shaper of my own practicing approach), Castellano describes an excellent teacher thus: "Although the teacher has personal experience, he or she has the ability and confidence to allow students to find their own way." But he adds: "You must become your own primary teacher. Be objective about your strengths and weaknesses, and recognize what is required in order to improve. Never depend solely on the advice of others, no matter how much you may admire them."
Sunday, June 20, 2010
New York: Week 1
I am currently in New York City. I arrived last week to begin studies with Famoro Dioubaté, a bala jeli from near Boke in the coastal region of Guinea. From this moment until the end of my time here (which I hope will be at least two months), this blog will continue to serve its original purpose (the documenting of my developing understanding of how best to learn to play the Mande xylophone), but will additionally serve as a report to my thesis supervisor in fulfillment of the requirements of a performance option course that I’ve undertaken as part of my degree coursework.
First, let me describe the situation here. I'm living right in Famoro's apartment: two bedrooms, a kind of open concept kitchen/ living room, and one bathroom. We are five in the place. Missia Saran Dioubaté (a well-known and very highly-respected jeli muso) shares a room with Famoro. Soba Kanté (also a wonderful singer) and another young man share the other bedroom. I throw down an air mattress and sleep in the living room. We mostly eat together--usually, the meals that Missia prepares in the evening time--and supplement meals with fruit, juice, and tea.
Sleeping and waking times tend to depend on the days' activities. Because I sleep in the living room, my schedule has to revolve around the comings and goings of the members of the household, but usually I manage around eight hours and am almost always the first one up. I use the early morning for transcribing or other writing work and begin practicing by around 9:30, quietly tapping the bala keys with my fingers. When I've seen that everyone is awake, I reach for the mallets. Famoro joins me once he's showered and gone for his morning coffee. If he has nothing else programmed, he'll stay with me for the better part of the afternoon. If he's busy (and heading out), I'll usually stay home to practice but will sometimes accompany him with whatever he's got to do. (So far, we've gone to a studio in Brooklyn where he spent a few hours mixing down some tracks for a new CD that Missia's recorded, to a wedding [where he performed several of the functions typical of a jeli in such a context--including playing the bala], and to an outdoor festival for a performance with his afro-fusion group, Kakande.)
Practicing sessions can never be as concentrated nor as free from distractions as they might be were I on my own, but I’d say I am averaging about four hours daily of hands-on work with the instrument. Taking transcribing and other bala-related activities into consideration, the average would be more like seven hours. The rest of my time is spent helping Famoro with his English language and computing skills, reading articles about Mande music, studying and practicing Maninka/ Bambara, and generally helping around the house.
We spent this whole week working on just one piece: Soli. Famoro has shown me several patterns (usually called "accompaniments" by the Guinean players) which I learn to play individually at first, eventually learning to move from one pattern to the next, partially improvising a transitional phrase of some kind. Once I’ve learned to play the accompaniment, I transcribe it using a combination of my own notation system and Jaliya, the notation and playback application created by Harald Loquenz. Famoro’s suggestion was to change pieces about every week, making selections according to my own needs and interests. I think next week, we will begin to work on Fasson.
In terms of the overarching question of "how one learns to play the Mande bala," I think the most important development has come in the form of a confirmation of the validity of the skills described in the list published in the February, 2010 "A blog?" entry. (Again, for the long-term I have an eye to develop a series of George Lawrence Stone-style exercises for the instrument--something like scales or rudiments which, if practiced daily would facilitate the acquisition of new material and offer the flexibility to explore a broader range of improvised musical expression.) (Note to self: In light of this confirmation, I wonder if a tweak to my notation system might not be to use the double-line square (which currently distinguishes left hand from right) to instead "draw lines" to follow or explore new melodic possibilities. [And RH/ LH could be distinguished some other way--as through capital and lower-case letters, for example.])
This week I was also reminded that for the readiest pattern-recognition, it can be helpful to think in terms of:
(a) There is what your left hand (LH) is doing, there is what your right hand (RH) is doing, AND there is what the two hands do together.
and (b) There are really only four main types of movement:
LH stays, RH moves "away" or "towards" ("in" or "out")
RH stays, LH moves "away" or "towards" ("in" or "out")
Parallel movement R or L
Hands separate/ hands come together
First, let me describe the situation here. I'm living right in Famoro's apartment: two bedrooms, a kind of open concept kitchen/ living room, and one bathroom. We are five in the place. Missia Saran Dioubaté (a well-known and very highly-respected jeli muso) shares a room with Famoro. Soba Kanté (also a wonderful singer) and another young man share the other bedroom. I throw down an air mattress and sleep in the living room. We mostly eat together--usually, the meals that Missia prepares in the evening time--and supplement meals with fruit, juice, and tea.
Sleeping and waking times tend to depend on the days' activities. Because I sleep in the living room, my schedule has to revolve around the comings and goings of the members of the household, but usually I manage around eight hours and am almost always the first one up. I use the early morning for transcribing or other writing work and begin practicing by around 9:30, quietly tapping the bala keys with my fingers. When I've seen that everyone is awake, I reach for the mallets. Famoro joins me once he's showered and gone for his morning coffee. If he has nothing else programmed, he'll stay with me for the better part of the afternoon. If he's busy (and heading out), I'll usually stay home to practice but will sometimes accompany him with whatever he's got to do. (So far, we've gone to a studio in Brooklyn where he spent a few hours mixing down some tracks for a new CD that Missia's recorded, to a wedding [where he performed several of the functions typical of a jeli in such a context--including playing the bala], and to an outdoor festival for a performance with his afro-fusion group, Kakande.)
Practicing sessions can never be as concentrated nor as free from distractions as they might be were I on my own, but I’d say I am averaging about four hours daily of hands-on work with the instrument. Taking transcribing and other bala-related activities into consideration, the average would be more like seven hours. The rest of my time is spent helping Famoro with his English language and computing skills, reading articles about Mande music, studying and practicing Maninka/ Bambara, and generally helping around the house.
We spent this whole week working on just one piece: Soli. Famoro has shown me several patterns (usually called "accompaniments" by the Guinean players) which I learn to play individually at first, eventually learning to move from one pattern to the next, partially improvising a transitional phrase of some kind. Once I’ve learned to play the accompaniment, I transcribe it using a combination of my own notation system and Jaliya, the notation and playback application created by Harald Loquenz. Famoro’s suggestion was to change pieces about every week, making selections according to my own needs and interests. I think next week, we will begin to work on Fasson.
In terms of the overarching question of "how one learns to play the Mande bala," I think the most important development has come in the form of a confirmation of the validity of the skills described in the list published in the February, 2010 "A blog?" entry. (Again, for the long-term I have an eye to develop a series of George Lawrence Stone-style exercises for the instrument--something like scales or rudiments which, if practiced daily would facilitate the acquisition of new material and offer the flexibility to explore a broader range of improvised musical expression.) (Note to self: In light of this confirmation, I wonder if a tweak to my notation system might not be to use the double-line square (which currently distinguishes left hand from right) to instead "draw lines" to follow or explore new melodic possibilities. [And RH/ LH could be distinguished some other way--as through capital and lower-case letters, for example.])
This week I was also reminded that for the readiest pattern-recognition, it can be helpful to think in terms of:
(a) There is what your left hand (LH) is doing, there is what your right hand (RH) is doing, AND there is what the two hands do together.
and (b) There are really only four main types of movement:
LH stays, RH moves "away" or "towards" ("in" or "out")
RH stays, LH moves "away" or "towards" ("in" or "out")
Parallel movement R or L
Hands separate/ hands come together
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Some Miscellaneous Thoughts
1.
Re: Friday, February 26, 2010's Surrender Value post, I said: There's more to language learning than memorizing vocabulary. A communicative approach is higher-surrender.
I wonder if this is true...
One way to test would be the scrolling piano-roll sight-readers thing (which I'll describe in a future post).
2.
I wonder if practice without performance imperatives, where social (and economic) feedback (and incentives) affect the role of "creativity," execution, speed, reactivity, etc. is doomed to never be as effective as practice where you aren't "struggling"...
3.
I think communicative playing involves (or is related to) listening, grooving, relaxing.
4.
To vary a riff and groove on a tune, try: listening for melodies within melodies, playing subtly with dynamics, taking certain notes out, and/or shifting your multimeter perspective.
Re: Friday, February 26, 2010's Surrender Value post, I said: There's more to language learning than memorizing vocabulary. A communicative approach is higher-surrender.
I wonder if this is true...
One way to test would be the scrolling piano-roll sight-readers thing (which I'll describe in a future post).
2.
I wonder if practice without performance imperatives, where social (and economic) feedback (and incentives) affect the role of "creativity," execution, speed, reactivity, etc. is doomed to never be as effective as practice where you aren't "struggling"...
3.
I think communicative playing involves (or is related to) listening, grooving, relaxing.
4.
To vary a riff and groove on a tune, try: listening for melodies within melodies, playing subtly with dynamics, taking certain notes out, and/or shifting your multimeter perspective.
Groove-Based
Just a reminder: the keeping of an ostinato (and especially a simple one) allows you to musick at the same time as concentrate on (item by item, cyclically or Gestalt) various aspects of playing: form, feel, awareness, etc., If you're thinking about forward movement all the time, about what comes next, where it could go (or where it can't), etc. it seems to me that at least some of your concentration is diverted away from those aspects of playing.
Another (Partial) List
Approaches to Practicing/
Things to Think About While Practicing/
Phases of a Practice Session
a. memorization (step by step, slow); incl. play through the things you know to refresh familiarity
b. form (slow to fast); concentrate on Feldenkrais stuff, the "feel"
c. reactivity (different speeds);
d. flow/groove (different speeds);
e. concentration/focus
One of the points here is that, whereas yesterday I was feeling burdened by the reduction of my practicing to little more than memorization, today, I'm recognizing the importance of memorization in the total package of what makes an effective practice approach--whether the individual components of such a package are parsed out and dealt with individually (30 minutes of memorization, followed by 45 minutes of work on form, etc.) or whether as part of a kind of Gestalt approach.
Things to Think About While Practicing/
Phases of a Practice Session
a. memorization (step by step, slow); incl. play through the things you know to refresh familiarity
b. form (slow to fast); concentrate on Feldenkrais stuff, the "feel"
c. reactivity (different speeds);
d. flow/groove (different speeds);
e. concentration/focus
One of the points here is that, whereas yesterday I was feeling burdened by the reduction of my practicing to little more than memorization, today, I'm recognizing the importance of memorization in the total package of what makes an effective practice approach--whether the individual components of such a package are parsed out and dealt with individually (30 minutes of memorization, followed by 45 minutes of work on form, etc.) or whether as part of a kind of Gestalt approach.
A Blog?
I wonder if blogging really the best way to go about this . . . I think that some kind of "interactive, public document of my developing thoughts on skills acquisition, pedagogy, and practice" is a very good idea. (I might think it were a great idea if I had some readers and some people with whom to interact.) But the format of a blog (with its largely--if not entirely--chronological interface) just doesn't facilitate the kind of manipulation of data that I think would be most effective for stimulating discussion and innovative, problem-solving ideas.
As an example: from the last post until now (and I still have 30 min. left in the session for today), I've realized that one thing I want to do is develop a few lists from which, say, some keywords could be derived (cf. olympic skiers) so that I can get to where I am now in the session* faster, and so that I can generally waste less practice time. *(You see . . . despite what I wrote in the last post, I now feel very "warmed-up." I've stopped [or maybe, relaxed] concentrating so much on memorizing vocabulary and instead, am paying closer attention to form and generally just moving across the keyboard more slowly. As a result, I feel that the last hour and a half was more productive than the first two hours.) Two lists in particular I'd like to see (and have accessible, not chronologically, but in some other, more spatially interactive way) are:
1. Xylophone Skills
a. imagining a melody and choosing the keys that correspond (relative to position)
b. parallel octave jumping in singles, doubles, triples, etc.
c. rolls
d. 4s and 5s
e. left/right independence
f. on the fly cross rhythm and polymeter creation
g. recalling & reproducing memorized patterns
2. Keywords for Form (cf. Feldenkrais Awareness)
a. relaxed. no tension.
b. wrists straight. wrist snap.
c. thumb position. thumb snap.
d. middle finger second digit, pinch to thumb.
e. shape of bend of support fingers.
f. elbows.
These lists are obviously incomplete, and I'd like to continue to add to them, refine them, but again, because the format of the blog is chronological, what am I going to do, hunt through all the previous posts to find each time I mention new thought/idea "x" so that I can add it to category/configuation "y"?
I think some parts of the blog format are really good. (It IS useful to be able to access this information chronologically if that's what's called for in a given situation, and I like the idea of adding a video component, for example, but there need to be other options as well, as in the case of the specific situation I just described.) Or as in this other example:
I came up with the idea about a half an hour ago to follow a pattern of waking up early and beating the crowds to the practice rooms so that I can use the mirrors in the big room (and so, get visual feedback on some of the form keywords I just listed.) Well, good. Now I've blogged that idea. There it is. The idea is written down. Which is good because I'm so busy, I may not have a chance to implement that (or some other) idea for a few days. But how likely is it that I'll remember in a few days that I even had that idea? And what if a few days becomes a few months? Unless the blog allows me (and others) to access (and reorganize) such ideas in a convenient way, what's the point of writing them down at all?
As an example: from the last post until now (and I still have 30 min. left in the session for today), I've realized that one thing I want to do is develop a few lists from which, say, some keywords could be derived (cf. olympic skiers) so that I can get to where I am now in the session* faster, and so that I can generally waste less practice time. *(You see . . . despite what I wrote in the last post, I now feel very "warmed-up." I've stopped [or maybe, relaxed] concentrating so much on memorizing vocabulary and instead, am paying closer attention to form and generally just moving across the keyboard more slowly. As a result, I feel that the last hour and a half was more productive than the first two hours.) Two lists in particular I'd like to see (and have accessible, not chronologically, but in some other, more spatially interactive way) are:
1. Xylophone Skills
a. imagining a melody and choosing the keys that correspond (relative to position)
b. parallel octave jumping in singles, doubles, triples, etc.
c. rolls
d. 4s and 5s
e. left/right independence
f. on the fly cross rhythm and polymeter creation
g. recalling & reproducing memorized patterns
2. Keywords for Form (cf. Feldenkrais Awareness)
a. relaxed. no tension.
b. wrists straight. wrist snap.
c. thumb position. thumb snap.
d. middle finger second digit, pinch to thumb.
e. shape of bend of support fingers.
f. elbows.
These lists are obviously incomplete, and I'd like to continue to add to them, refine them, but again, because the format of the blog is chronological, what am I going to do, hunt through all the previous posts to find each time I mention new thought/idea "x" so that I can add it to category/configuation "y"?
I think some parts of the blog format are really good. (It IS useful to be able to access this information chronologically if that's what's called for in a given situation, and I like the idea of adding a video component, for example, but there need to be other options as well, as in the case of the specific situation I just described.) Or as in this other example:
I came up with the idea about a half an hour ago to follow a pattern of waking up early and beating the crowds to the practice rooms so that I can use the mirrors in the big room (and so, get visual feedback on some of the form keywords I just listed.) Well, good. Now I've blogged that idea. There it is. The idea is written down. Which is good because I'm so busy, I may not have a chance to implement that (or some other) idea for a few days. But how likely is it that I'll remember in a few days that I even had that idea? And what if a few days becomes a few months? Unless the blog allows me (and others) to access (and reorganize) such ideas in a convenient way, what's the point of writing them down at all?
Friday, February 26, 2010
Surrender Value
There's more to language-learning than memorizing vocabulary. A communicative approach is "higher-surrender."
This, from the Encyclopedic Dictionary of Applied Linguistics:
> Surrender Value
>
> This concept is taken from the world of insurance. A policy with
> high surrender value yields a quick return on investment.
> Wilkins (1974) observes that in some situations (e.g. on pre-
> sessional courses) the learner requires a swift ‘return’ on
> ‘investment’ made, in terms of ability to communicate. Wilkins
> argues that the notional/functional syllabus provides this since
> the learner is soon able to use language to communicative ends.
> The structural syllabus, in contrast, has low surrender value
> because it may take a considerable time before the learner has
> enough grammar to attempt communication. (1974).
Tonight, I'm finding myself just memorizing parts. I'm pretty sure that memorization is a big part of learning to play. But tonight, I'm letting myself get hung up at every "mistake" and not playing communicatively at all. Being limited to just memorizing "vocabulary," it feels like I'm compromising the development of the skill of recovering from a missed note--the very skill that would supersede the need to have parts memorized (or at least that would allow for the creative improvisatory recovery from something I "went for," but missed.) The question comes up: "OK, so why not just stop memorizing vocabulary tonight and work on the development of that skill?" And the answer is: "Fine . . . and how do I do that?"
Hmm . . . I'm going to have to define "communicative playing" at some point. . . . And "improvisation."
This, from the Encyclopedic Dictionary of Applied Linguistics:
> Surrender Value
>
> This concept is taken from the world of insurance. A policy with
> high surrender value yields a quick return on investment.
> Wilkins (1974) observes that in some situations (e.g. on pre-
> sessional courses) the learner requires a swift ‘return’ on
> ‘investment’ made, in terms of ability to communicate. Wilkins
> argues that the notional/functional syllabus provides this since
> the learner is soon able to use language to communicative ends.
> The structural syllabus, in contrast, has low surrender value
> because it may take a considerable time before the learner has
> enough grammar to attempt communication. (1974).
Tonight, I'm finding myself just memorizing parts. I'm pretty sure that memorization is a big part of learning to play. But tonight, I'm letting myself get hung up at every "mistake" and not playing communicatively at all. Being limited to just memorizing "vocabulary," it feels like I'm compromising the development of the skill of recovering from a missed note--the very skill that would supersede the need to have parts memorized (or at least that would allow for the creative improvisatory recovery from something I "went for," but missed.) The question comes up: "OK, so why not just stop memorizing vocabulary tonight and work on the development of that skill?" And the answer is: "Fine . . . and how do I do that?"
Hmm . . . I'm going to have to define "communicative playing" at some point. . . . And "improvisation."
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