Low Arc

This is my current keyword list. It's a 3x5 card that I have taped to the wall across from where I practice. In this post, I'd like to address the first keyword: low arc.

Any one mallet-head, moving between any two keys, makes an "arc" through space. And the height of that arc is important.

In the image above (and you can click on it to see a larger version), I have moved my left hand "down" (1) a sixth; that is, first I struck A2 and then I struck C1. (Play example.) The arc of my mallet-head could have followed the red, yellow, or green lines (or some other path through space.) As any of my friends will tell you (since I all too frequently whine to them about it), my left hand has been a thorn in my side for years. Well, lately I've been letting my focus drift more frequently to my LH's arc. And I've been noticing that by simply paying the arc some attention, other aspects of my LH's deficiencies are beginning to fall into place (cf. Feldenkrais; awareness.)

Sory Diabate has superlative technique. Just look at how low he keeps his LH. The height of the arc, of course, relates inextricably to the height of the . . . whatever that's called: the lift, the recoil, the upstroke, and I've heard of snare drum teachers having students play under tables, so that they are forced to control their upstroke—and in so doing, they learn to generate power in their attack, without needing to lift their sticks up above their heads. I described this to Sory once and he thought it was a great idea; we even implemented it for a while. In fact, come to think of it, I've found that in high-tempo music, for movements of a sixth or greater, trying to follow a yellow or a red arc can be downright impossible. If one of the goals in instrument technique generally, is economy of motion, obviously the green arc is the way to go. Anyway, all I'm saying is, insofar as technique is concerned, lately I've been aiming for a low arc. It's something I'm paying attention to, and that attention is doing some good.


1. In the conception of some—though not all—bala- (and other West African xylophone-) players, A2-C1 would actually be an "upward" movement since for those players, the terms "low" and "high," and "up" and "down" refer not to pitch, but to the physical characteristics of the instrument. On that conception, the lower-pitched notes are called "high" notes because they are physically higher up on the trapezoidal keyboard. Here, I am referring to a movement from the higher-pitched A2 to the lower-pitched C1, so for me, that's a "downward" movement.

Back on Track

This blog was always meant to be "an interactive, public document of my developing thoughts on skills acquisition, pedagogy, and practice," but for the past year and a half, its only purpose has been to record mandebala.net updates. Well, it's time for the blog to become a blog again. No, I don't have a new post ready. But I have added a new section to the site that will replace the blog as an update announcement tool. Henceforth, the blog will be for blogging, and site development will be documented in the update log. (I've already migrated all of the "mandebala.net Update" blog posts to that section and deleted the posts from here.)

So . . . anytime you'd like to see "what's new" on mandebala.net, you can just pop in to the updates section. And with the blog space opened up again, hopefully—dissertation priorities notwithstanding—I'll get back to making the occasional post.

Siamou Phasing?

Apropos last Wednesday's YUMMA session, Maria posted this video to the YU Mande Music Facebook group along with the question: "phasing?" Strictly speaking, this question isn't about Mande bala music (since the Siamou language in fact corresponds to a Kru classification), but because a diatonic balanyi is being used—atypical for the Siamou, who would more commonly use larger, pentatonic xylophones—I think it is fair to address the question here. (In other words, I think this clip shows Diabaté's adaptation of a Siamou style to an instrument (and tonality) these days much more frequently associated with Mande players. Diabaté himself may not even be Siamou—though I don't know for sure.)

In any case, Maria, the short answer is no. I don't think there is any phasing going on here. Oxford Music Online defines phasing as: "the effect achieved when two instrumentalists or singers perform the same musical pattern at different (slightly increasing or decreasing) intervals of time, moving in or out of phase." (1) The Steve Reich piece Piano Phase (1967) is given as an example. I think of phasing as being analogous to two sets of turning signals, say, yours and those of the vehicle in front of you. At one point, the blinking "lines up" and the signals flash simultaneously, but gradually, they move out of sync, until eventually, they're blinking exactly opposite each other. Then they go out of sync again, until, once again, they become aligned. I don't think any of that is going on in the Diabaté clip. You might be experiencing a multiple (or shifting) perspective... that is, you're perceiving a pattern, and then, because of changes made to the (musical) context, that pattern seems to "flip" on itself, changing the way it sounds before your very, um . . . ears.

The clip is interesting for other reasons, however—and especially so when taken in the context of the broader Kénédougou stylistic region. One player (Diabaté) is clearly leading. He "assigns" the accompaniment pattern to the second player (Dembele), who takes it up and maintains it fairly consistently. Diabaté's improvisations then lead to a new melody within the accompaniment pattern and (at about 0:58 and again at 2:31) Dembele takes up that new pattern so that Diabaté can move on to a third pattern. A similar thing happens here (at 2:38). And when I'm playing pentatonic Sénufo music with Kassoum—also from the Kénédougou region—as the accompanist, at Kassoum's signal, I will move from one pattern to the next, according to a prescribed order. (Come to think of it, I wonder if Diabaté is making them up and assigning them on the spot, or if the two of them are also following a predetermined order of some kind.)

Unless maybe with Soli, we don't really do this "on-the-fly-re-assigning" in our YUMMA sessions. There, the leader will weave in and around several patterns while the accompanist sticks with just one. It could be fun to try some mid-stream pattern re-assigning at our next meeting. I guess we could also experiment with some phasing, but then I think we'd be taking a clear step away from the stylistic characteristics of the broader West African xylophone area.

1. Whittall, Arnold. "phasing." In The Oxford Companion to Music, edited by Alison Latham. Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.ezproxy.library.yorku.ca/ subscriber/article/opr/t114/e5139 (accessed April 20, 2012).

One Twenty-Minute Interval at a Time

When practicing is going well--when I'm relaxing and paying attention to form, working step-by-step through the zoom.it transcriptions, sometimes using jv4 to "jam" on the patterns, sometimes turning it off to work "click-less," mentally isolating LH and RH, listening for hidden melodies, etc.--it's pretty self-sustaining. The intrinsic reinforcers seem to be what's maintaining the behaviour. I just don't want to do anything else. Practicing is my 3DS.

However, lately I've re-introduced a means to record the amount of time I spend practicing, and I gotta say, I sure do find it rewarding to fill in those little boxes, one twenty-minute interval at a time:

Another Xylophone Skill?

My ability to see beyond the distance of one octave is rather limited. I can see the octave alright, but when I have to widen my mallet position on the keyboard (my "stance") to greater than one octave, my control diminishes (it feels like, exponentially.)

Practically, there may be very little difference between exercises that might be developed (or repertory that might be practiced) to improve this "wide stance" skill and those used to improve independence, but subtle as the difference is, I think it exists. Could be worth exploring . . .

Website Launch

This is just a brief note to announce the launch of my website: mandebala.net. It's the barest of bones as yet, but . . . petit à petit.

Not So Work-Like

My brother Toby and I have been involved in an ongoing discussion for well over a decade about the advantages and disadvantages of various approaches to and routines for weight training and other forms of exercising. One of the observations to come out of these discussions is highly pertinent (indeed, perhaps central) to bala practice. The bottom line for any exercise regimen is adherence. Boy, this seems almost important enough to repeat: The bottom line for any exercise regimen is adherence. Regardless of how "smart" the practicing is, if you don’t do the damn stuff, you just won’t get no fitter. Well, when the program is designed to emphasize the heavy-ass-ness of the weights, so-to-speak, and you start to dread your workouts, you’ll be far less likely to adhere to the regimen you’ve laid out. But when the program is put together in such a way that you’re not minding (or not noticing) that those weights are as heavy-ass as they are, adherence becomes something of a non-issue.

Now, it is of course important not to let the de-emphasizing of heavy-ass-ness become an excuse for laziness. The work does need to get done. It just need not feel so "work-like." (Remember the question “Does anyone you know play video games because they’ve been told that ‘practice makes perfect?'" Obviously, the answer is supposed to be no. But surely you could name scores [no pun intended] of people you know, who have at one time or other been "addicted" to video-game playing... Well, if I want to adhere to my regimen, I should be addicted to practicing—not cringing at the thought of it.)

For Toby and I, two important features of an exercise program in which work feels less "work-like" include: (a) small, manageable (as well as larger, longer-term) goals and (b) a means to measure incremental progress. (Toby blogs his thoughts on [and charted progress with] fitness, nutrition, and self-quantification here.) Another—and a biggie in the context of musicking—is having others to play/practice with. (I haven't practiced so much in weeks as I did these last few days with Trevor visiting from Montréal. Plus, I enjoyed the practicing immensely and felt that it was quite productive.)

Tom Chatfield touches on some of these ideas in his July, 2010 TED talk. Discussing video game design, he presents "7 lessons from games that can be used outside of games":

1. experience bars measuring progress
2. multiple long and short-term aims
3. rewards for effort
4. rapid, frequent, clear feedback
5. an element of uncertainty
6. windows of enhanced attention
7. other people

I'd like to learn more about the studies, observations, or findings that led Chatfield to these lessons. Has anyone put them to a test? Most of the seven lessons resonate with what we know to be behaviourally true, or with what we probably just sense intuitively, but how do we "know?"

Can anyone help me find scientific support (in the form of published, peer-reviewed studies, for example) for the validity of Chatfield's (or Toby and my) claims that manageable goals and measurement (as well as any of Chatfield's other "lessons") are indeed important features of an effective learning/development program?

"Dear Dr. Chatfield: We can offer the following behavioural explanations for lessons 2, 3, 4 and 7 (or whatever), but how do you account for lessons 5 and 6? (again, or whatever...)."