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 . . .

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."

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."