On the Subject of Practicing - by James Finn

written for The Jazztimes, October, 2005

Roland Hanna once called us do a rehearsal before a 1991 tour. Near the end of the tour, I asked him if we would be playing any of the music that we rehearsed. Roland replied, "What did we rehearse?" ...and we all fell-out laughing, including Roland. Roland was one of the many old-school jazz musicians who believed that you should "rehearse at home" and show up to the bandstand prepared. Since that experience, I've never called a rehearsal.

In a typical practice session -- perhaps "discovery session" is a more appropriate term, I'll generally explore materials in an organized and creative fashion. These days, I'll begin with variations of sound production warm-ups on the flute and then work on classical literature from Baroque to 20th Century composition. After that, I'll go to the piano and then the saxophone. As far as the material that I'll be exploring...well, usually I would have been thinking about something that I want to get to. I'll begin with this idea as a microcosm and explore it until the macrocosm is realized, or vice versa. If I'm at a loss for ideas, I can always find something new. It can come from a musical system that I developed twelve years ago which generates ideas or from listening to spirit for guidance -- whether it be a sound, a melody, a motif, or concept.

After having taught music for over twenty years now and playing much longer than that, the best advice that I can give to young students about practicing is: 1.) Form an outline for your session, based on your long and short term musical goals, making sure to get everything in. I used to even have a clock nearby and would stop when I needed to get to the next topic, and, 2.) Always keep it creative. Vary everything possible...meter, tempo, articulation, and dynamics, etc. I try not to play the same phrase twice, but will play a variation on the previous idea or a completely new idea. It's important to be working on flexibility and creativity at all times, keeping the creative juices flowing. Very little of the specifics of what I ever practice comes out when improvising, but the overall flexibility that I've developed allows for performing with a feeling of wonder and freshness.

When playing literature, choose a tempo where you can play the entire piece perfectly from beginning to end. If you can play the entire piece except for one phrase, then play the phrase with a variety of articulations and rhythms. It's your ability to focus on detail that will allow you to achieve technical mastery. There is no need to play the same piece twice on the same day. If I'm learning a new jazz standard, I'll learn the lyrics (if any) and then play the song on the piano in all twelve key centers.

I once asked Tommy Flanagan if he had ever worked on Giant Steps in all twelve keys. He replied, "Isn't it in enough keys already?" ...and we all laughed, except for Tommy. (At this time, Tommy had really proven to play Giant Steps beautifully. Everyone has their own process.) Next, I'll explore as many different re-harmonizations that I can come up with (I once showed Benny Golson all forty-two ways of harmonizing Duke Ellington's Azure.) Next, I'll play the song in every key (this is what the late musical wizard Arthur Rhames professed as does George Coleman) and then improvise on the song thru different key cycles, i.e., fourths, thirds, seconds, etc., usually with the metronome clicking on two and four from 40-208 mm. - that's 80-416 to the quarter. As Andrew Cyrille told me years ago, the metronome can give you a sense of

"other." Years ago, I had the luxury of also doing this work with a few different drummers. This is all not so much for learning a tune better as it is for achieving technical fluency on one's instrument. J.R. Monterose used to say, "It takes a long time to learn a song." My experience has led me to understanding this now.

Too often, due to necessity, I've spent countless hours practicing outside. In Tompkins Square Park, in the woods of the Catskill Mountains, on a cattle ranch, a hay field, in parking lots after work, the subways, the streets. Find as many different spaces and experiences to explore blowing your horn. There will be many times when you get a good surprise. Years ago, while living in the mountains near Woodstock, NY, we were visited by the seventeen-year cicada. Well, if you've ever heard them, you will concur that they make a torrent of sound. I took my saxophone out into the middle of a meadow and joined in uninvited into their alien symphony. I found to my amazement that they, millions -- possibly billions of them, were singing in waves on a scale pitched in D-Flat that was a mirror of itself. Bela Bartok called this the golden scale. I used this scale within the theme of the pieces entitled Plaza de Toros and Opening the Gates.

Younger musicians can acquire much experience from doing a variety of gigs. Something can be learned from everyone and every situation. Look/listen for the lesson. The great J.R. Monterose used to say that the moment he is not humble is the moment that he "no longer has it." Observe how different musicians approach music. Compose as much as possible and play your music with others. Oftentimes, your practice may come from your compositions. Also, record yourself as much as possible, i.e., wood-shedding, rehearsals, concerts, etc. Painters step back from their work to get "an arm's distance" so, that they can see their work more clearly and objectively. So can musicians -- through recording. As you mature as an artist, look after, what my wife calls, "your artist" and become more selective. Learn to say no. Follow your vision. Practice listening to your inner voice. Practice listening to spirit. Contribute.