(I'm not sure how many "clicks" I'll get with that title, but what the heck...)
Page from "Be Here Now"
I've always liked certain chord progressions in modern jazz, and I felt like there was some common thing that I liked about them, but I didn't understand what it was. I wanted to figure that out, not only due to general curiosity, but also so I could improvise over them better, and use those harmonies in my own compositions. The result was an essay I did as part of my masters degree at U of T, analyzing two compositions by Canadian-born trumpet player/composer Kenny Wheeler, and two composition by my friend and Circles-bandmate, pianist/composer Hayoun Lee. The essay was titled "The Flimsiest of Screens: Moving Beyond Traditional Harmony In The Music of Wheeler and Lee". The title is a reference to a quote by the American philosopher and psychologist William James which I had read in the book "Be Here Now".
Our normal waking consciousness is but one special type of consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from it by the flimsiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different. We may go through life without suspecting their existence, but apply the requisite stimulus and at a touch they are there in all their completeness.
This is an analogy for me about key to understanding this particular type of harmony I was interested in: it was just taking harmony we were already familiar with, and adding just one or two more elements to create a whole new effect. I made the point that "The comparison is not entirely metaphorical, since music with different harmonic languages will inspire different states of mind, and vice versa."
Anyway, I was pretty happy with the approach to analyzing this new harmony that I ended up with. Modern harmony feels less mystifying to me now. I think it is an approach that is practical for the jazz composer and/or improviser. In jazz, it is very important that we can "hear" a chord progression, but what do we mean by this? I would contend that one of the main things we mean is that we are aware of the voice-leading. So my analysis centers around that - both with scales and chords. I like the idea I came up with of thinking of scales as having a kind of family tree, where the modes of melodic minor are related to the modes of the major scale, and the symmetrical octatonic scales are related to the modes of melodic minor through "splitting" one note of the melodic minor scale, and the wholetone scales are related to the modes of melodic minor through "merging"one note in the melodic minor scale. Anyway, now we are really getting nerdy. Read the whole essay if you are sufficiently interested. There may be a few small factual errors remaining in it. If you find one, let me know, you win a special prize!
If you want to listen to the compositions analyzed in the essay, here are some YouTube links to the Kenny Wheeler tunes:
As part of an independent project assignment for my masters degree at U of T, I'm going to be interviewing composers about their views on creativity. I needed a guinea pig to try out the questions on, so I started by interviewing myself! If you are a composer (or writer, or whatever!) and want to be part of my project, please feel free to copy these questions and send your answers to me at matt@mattroberts.ca. I found it pretty fun actually... hopefully my interviewees will feel the same! (If you have any suggestions for questions I could ask, please leave a comment!)
What mistakes do inexperienced composers make?
I consider myself to be an “inexperienced composer”, so I probably lack the perspective to properly answer this question, but I'll take a stab at it anyway. I have noticed that inexperienced artists in many genres often make the mistake of over-doing things. They throw everything they know how to do into each work, because they have just discovered things and are so excited about their newly-acquired abilities. The result is that the work loses its effect because it has no subtly or unique character.
Do you think you have grown as a composer over your career? How?
I think I've grown tremendously over my “career” as a composer. My compositions have become much more complex and elaborate. I've also become much more comfortable writing scores (vs. leadsheets) for large ensembles. Whereas before say about 2006 my writing (especially for large ensembles) was mostly focused in trying to imitate others, now it is more focused on trying to discover a unique sounds. Also, I've gained some insight into my own compositional process, which allows me to make creativity a scheduled activity, whereas before it was more a case of “waiting for the miracle”.
What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think back about the most important factors that contributed to your development as a composer?
Studying Bach chorals with Bill Richards at Grant MacEwan, and arranging class with John MacLeod at Humber. And performing my own compositions over and over again. I have had the benefit of encountering many wonderful teachers. I think their encouragement was even more important than the information they gave me. They gave me the courage and the impetus to investigate things for myself.
What do you consider the most important principle(s) of good composition?
ELEGANCE
Have you ever experienced “composers block”? If so, how did you deal with it? What do you think causes it?
I think that “composers block” is basically the off-stage version of stage fright. Basically when your fear of creating something overtakes your motivation to create, you have a block. I experience this all the time. I have a lot of little stratagems for dealing with it (some of which I've outlined on this blog). Ultimately, however, I think you have to just acknowledge your fears and decide to proceed anyway.
What do you find to be the greatest challenge of composition?
Well, initially I definitely find overcoming my fears and anxieties to be the greatest challenge. Aside from that, the greatest challenge is to achieve that “elegance” – to arrive at a work that feels like a cohesive whole, rather than a sum of parts. Something that is properly balanced and has the right effect.
What is your compositional process? Does it have distinct phases? Do you follow a routine?
I wish I followed a routine, but I seem to lack the discipline to keep one for more than a few weeks. I think most processes for the type of music I'm writing lately probably go through the same phases: research, brainstorming, realization, editing, and performance/review.
Have you developed any stratagems for helping your composition that come to mind and would be helpful to pass along?
One thing I discovered lately and found hugely important is that during the brainstorming process, I try to make a point of writing down all the ideas I come up with – whether I think they are good or not. This is much more encouraging then just staring at a blank page telling yourself all your ideas are bad, and often some of the ideas you originally thought were bad turn out to be useful, or to lead to something that is useful.
Where do your ideas come from? How do you generate new ideas?
My compositional ideas come from all over – playing bass, fooling around on the piano or guitar, singing, playing with theoretical ideas. Often I'll steal ideas from music I'm studying or playing. There is usually some kind of theoretical idea that is tickling my cranium at any given moment, so often compositional ideas will come out of that. Sometimes ideas come from stories or pictures or events in my life. Often I structure my compositions in a programmatic/tone painting sort of way. Sometimes I have dreams where music and reality are fused, and that is sort of the world my compositions come from.
What composer(s) do you most admire? Why?
The first thing that comes to mind is David Binney. I guess right now I would really like to unlock the secret that makes his compositions so great to me. They seem mysterious to me right now. They are so simple, yet so interesting and compelling. They are interesting from the perspective of the performer and the music nerd, yet also they have a simple and direct emotional effect. I think a lot of it has to do with his band leading and the bands he puts together.
What composition(s) do you admire? Why?
The first thing that comes to mind is John Coltrane's Love Supreme suite. That suite made a huge impression on me. Coltrane had a powerful vision and a beautiful message which came through very strongly through that suite. The whole thing is one message that is direct and clear – that is elegance to me. The next thing I think of is Beethoven's 5th Symphony. It also has a strong emotional effect. I like the way Beethoven plays with the themes – it is very easy to follow but still very interesting. After that I would say the Bach Cello Suites. They are so subtle and beautiful.
Why compose? What is the reward of composition? Is it pleasurable? What is the most pleasurable part?
The biggest motivation for me I think is curiosity – wanting to understand music better, wanting to find and explore new sounds. I guess I would also have to say that I have something I want to express which I don't see how to express by covering other artists. Composition is often a very uncomfortable process for me, but it is a great feeling when I write something and hear it and really feel like it sounds good – maybe even the band has taken it to new places and it sounds even better than it did in my head. That's a wonderful feeling.
Can you recommend any books or videos which have been important to your development, or are important to your current compositional process?
I would recommend The Gifts of Imperfection to anyone who is experiencing anxieties about their art. The Creative Habit is also worth a read to those who are interested in process.
What composition are you most proud of and why?
Well, Duke Ellington apparently always replied “The next one!” but I prefer Weird Al's standard reply: “The one that I am currently promoting!” I'm really excited about “The Little Prince Suite”, which I am just finishing, and everyone should come see at Walter Hall at U of T on April 16th at 5:15pm.
How would you like to develop as a composer in the future?
I'd like to get better and better at connecting with audiences. I think the key is the overall form and balance of the thing. I'd also like to get over my fears and anxieties a bit and understand my process a bit better so that sitting down to compose becomes easier for me, and I get straight to generating lots of ideas on a regular basis, which I think is the key to finding good ones. I'd like to bring more discipline to my compositional process.
(This is actually something I posted to my Facebook page a while ago, but I thought I'd re-post it here, since it seems relevant.)
Lately I was re-reading a chapter from one of my favorite books, "Zen Mind Beginner's Mind", by Shunryu Suzuki, and I was stuck by it in a new way - I saw how it relates to my music practise. When I first started learning the double bass, I felt I had virtually no skill and everything to learn. Although this was very stressful for me, I practised hard and eventually saw some dramatic improvements. I didn't become a virtuoso, but in a two or three years I went from having a poor sense of time and being virtually tone-deaf to having a reasonable concept on the instrument. Since then, however, I think I have seen a gradual reduction in my rate of improvement. I've been practising the same things for years now and not improving so dramatically. When I first started, everything seemed extremely hard to me. Now I tend to practice things that seem fairly easy to me, with the hope of perfecting them. However, if I was really aiming for perfection, then they I would still regard them as hard, because perfection is very hard to obtain! I think this subtle difference in attitude, together with simply less hours put into practicing due to a lessened sense of urgency (the threat of getting kicked out of Grant MacEwan College for failing my technical jury no longer looms over my head), may be responsible for the diminishing returns I've been experiencing. Basically what I am saying is I think every time I practise it should seem "hard" to me, whether that is because it is something new which I actually can not execute presentably, or because it is something I am aiming to master perfectly. I want to feel like a beginner every time I pick up the bass. But that's kind of a tricky thing, isn't it?
Here an excerpt from the original lecture, which was given after a meditation session. I see further implications for music, beyond just technique, into creativity as well. I would highly recommend buying the book, it contains many other fascinating insights into life and art. You have to excuse his broken english - it isn't his first language.
"We say, "Sho shin." "Sho shin" means "Beginner's mind." If we can keep beginner's mind always, that is the goal of our practice. We recited Prajna Paramita Sutra this morning only once. I think we recited very well, but what will happen to us if we recite twice, three times, four time, and more? Then we will easily lose our attitude in reciting -- original attitude in reciting -- the sutra. Same thing will happen to us. For awhile we will keep our beginner's mind in your Zen practice but if we continue to practice one year, two years, three years, or more, we will have some improvement, and we will lose the limitless meaning of the original mind. In beginner's mind we have many possibilities, but in expert mind there is not much possibility. So in our practice it is important to resume to our original mind, or inmost mind, which we, ourselves -- even we, ourselves do not know what it is. This is the most important thing for us. The founder of our school emphasized this point. We have to remain always beginner's mind. This is the secret of Zen, and secret of various practices -- practice of flower arrangement, practice of Japanese singing, and various art. If we keep our beginner's mind we keep our precepts. When we lose our beginner's mind we will lose all the precepts."
Check out my review of the album "Gallery" by The Parker Abbott Piano Duo in the monthly 'zine "Spontaneous Combustion": http://www.scmagazine.org/pianoduo.html
In my quest to understand the creative process better, I've amassed a modest library on the subject. I thought it might be helpful to post my thoughts on some of the books I own. I feel somehow unqualified or disinclined to call these "book reviews", but I'll just say a bit about how each book effected me personally. Here they are, in the order I was exposed to them:
It seemed everyone was reading this book when I was starting music school. I hope young musicians are still reading this book, because I think it has an important message. It had a big effect on me at the time. I started doing the "steps" and listening to the guided meditations during breaks in my practicing. I even attended a five-day workshop on this subject with Kenny at The Banff Centre in 2002. (Actually, I just found YouTube videos of his wrap-up concert at the end of that week: part 1, part 2, and part 3.) Personally, I found the spirit and overall philosophy of this book to be very inspiring, but when I tried to use it as a specific path to achieving the kind of freedom it describes, it didn't really work for me. I have a tremendous amount of respect for Mr. Werner and his vision. For me this is a good book to flip through now and again, to sort of soak up its vibes.
I purchased this book because I was excited and interested in the idea of creativity being a skill you could learn by practice - just like, say, juggling or playing a major scale. I wanted to learn and improve that skill. What I was hoping for was an almost scientific analysis of creativity, what it is, where it comes from, and how it can be harnessed. I found only a small portion of the book was about the details of how a formulated creative process would work. The rest seemed to me a sort of catalogue of tricks for stimulating your creativity. (Which is also helpful in its own right!) Along the way we get a bit of a portrait of Twyla Tharp as an artist. All in all, I think it was a helpful book to read, and each person will probably respond to it in a very personal way, depending on their own strengths and interests. For example, Christine Bougie considers it her bible - check out her blog posts on it here, here, and here.
I definitely feel that there is something fundamentally sympathetic between Zen and creativity; Zen lore and culture is full of beautiful art in the form of poetry, paintings, rock gardens, etc. When Samu Sunim (head of The Toronto Zen Buddhist Temple) found out that I was a musician, he remarked that artists often like Zen, because "Emptiness - that is like a blank canvas." ("Emptiness" is a central concept in Zen.) However, I didn't really feel a strong affinity for this book, and I never finished it. It didn't seem to be addressing the specific questions I have. I'm sure there are lots of great things to be discovered in it though. Maybe I would be better off considering some of the original writings of Dogen et. all.
The bulk of this book is made up of theoretically-based composition exercises, but I was interested in the last chapter, which is basically a collection of rants on the compositional process by the likes of Bill Evans, Carla Bley, George Russell, Horace Silver, Pat Metheny, Chick Corea, Lyle Mays, Anthony Davis, Herbie Hancock, Richie Beirach, and Ralph Towner. While I didn't find anything specific to latch on to, I found it really interesting to read the essays. Each artist has a totally different perspective and set of interests about composing. I eventually flipped through the first section of the book, and was surprised that I found the compositional exercises fun to think about as well.
I've blogged about this book before - actually, twice. This book isn't actually specifically about creativity, but I found it helped my creative process more than any other book I've read in recent years. I guess I'm just excited about Brene Brown's whole "thing". Part of that might just be because I have an affinity for her outlook - we both like to take a "scientific" look at "messy" subjects, and try to invent systems to deal with them. (I think part of this book is kind of about learning to be comfortable not doing that.) Lately I've been noticing that someone can tell me something really wise, but if it isn't told to me by someone I'm prepared to hear it from, in the way that I want to hear it, I don't appreciate it. Which is my loss. (And the aggravation of my teachers and everyone close to me!) Anyway, this book is about letting go of anxieties about who you are. I may read it a second time.
I was pretty excited by this book because the title seemed to be getting right to the heart of my issue. Unfortunately, when I actually started reading it, I found it kind of poorly written, and even sort of bizarre. However, I did find a few bits I really like. I haven't yet finished it, but to me the best of everything I have read thus far can be summed up in the following quote:
"The function of the overwhelming majority of your artwork is simply to teach you how to make the small fraction of your artwork that soars."
I think if someone were to take just that quote and what is implied by it to heart, amazing things could happen.
Maria Schneider is apparently a devotee of this book - she reportedly carried it with her everywhere she went during her visit to U of T a few years back, and she sometimes does clinics with the same title. I've only just started it, but it seems to me like a sort of manifesto for the modern artist (Robert Henri lived from 1865-1929), and it seems to espouse some ideals that I can get on board with. For example, it opens with this quote from Mr. Henri:
"There are moments in our lives, there are moments in a day, when we seem to see beyond the usual. Such are the moments of our greatest happiness. Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom. If one could but recall his vision by some sort of sign. It was in this hope that the arts were invented. Sign-posts on the way to what may be. Sign-posts toward greater knowledge."
The book seems to be full of sort of fatherly advice that Robert Henri gave to his students. So far it has been inspiring, and I'm looking forward to finishing it.
Have you read any of these books? What is your opinion of them? Do you have any other recommendations?
The Wayne Shorter Quartet after their concert Sat night.
I recently attended a free workshop at Koerner Hall, the beautiful concert hall inside the new RCM building here in Toronto. The workshop was sponsored by the music programs of both U of T and Humber, as well as Yamaha Music Canada. Tim Ries helped to facilitate it happening.
The workshop was given by the rhythm section for Wayne Shorter's current quartet, Danilo Perez (piano), John Patitucci (bass), and Brian Blade (drums). It was the most moving and inspiring clinic that I can recall attending. Everyone I spoke with afterwards seemed very moved; at times Danilo, John, and Brian seemed to get emotional themselves. Many inspiring ideas and concepts were presented. I think I will be returning to it in the future when I am in need of inspiration. I may also be writing further blog posts about it!
Each of the three musicians brought a unique gift to the workshop. Danilo was very entertaining with his humorous, self-effacing stories of challenges that Wayne posed to him. His was very warm and open. Brian was very reverent and unafraid to express profound insights. I found it inspiring to hear John talk about how he felt insecure as a younger player, and how he has grown and learned to deal with this. Of course we all deal with insecurities, not only as musicians, but as human beings as well.
Generally what I found most inspiring about the clinic was how they talked about developing as a person and developing as a musician as going hand in hand. That's inspiring to me, because obviously I want to do both, and I want all aspects of my life to feed into one another so that everything is mutually enriched. Seeing music as a human journey seems more meaningful from the perspective of both the musician and listener.
I saw the concert with Wayne later that night, and I really enjoyed it. However, I have to admit that at times it seemed so abstract that I found it difficult to latch onto. Re-listening to the clinic, I noticed that several times they mention that they feel "not everyone is sensitive" to what they're putting out, but that if you can "tune into the frequency" then it is very intense. Maybe I have to do some more work tuning in that frequency.
Here is an audio recording of the clinic (thanks to Tom Flemming for hooking me up with it). I contacted the management of Perez, Patitucci, and Blade and asked them for permission to post it to my website. The management for Blade and Patitucci said it was okay. (John even thanked me for my kind words and expressed how moved he was by the response to the concert last Saturday.) I didn't hear back from the management for Perez. If I do hear back from them that he doesn't want this recording up here, I'll take it down.
If you don't have time to listen to the entire recording, I have included below a written transcription of some of my favorite parts, which include time references in case you find a bit you really like and want to hear them actually say it. I also included some notes on the actions on stage, in case you are listening to the audio without having attended the clinic. You can also download an mp3 by clicking on the down arrow in the widget.
13:21 JP: We are friends on a deep level, and have shared a lot of experiences in life and music together. So that empathy, and joy, and communication that we share in the music is really an outgrowth of what we share when we have to go through days like today, where we take two flights and get up at 5 o'clock in the morning.
18:02 BB: When John talks about empathy or commitment when it comes to playing music together it really comes down to that trust, to be able to take a chance. Obviously we all have to have that conviction inside to be able to embrace the time with your own hands and with your own body. But to be able to share that, then I think freedom comes from that commitment. I feel like I can do anything and they will wrap it in a bow. Hopefully they feel like they can do anything and there will be a response, someone to look and give an agreement to it.
21:09 DP: I am still scared. This is a situation of really truly not knowing what's going to happen. The only instruction you have is "flying" and "go to galaxy".
21:40 Danilo talks about his first experience with Wayne, during the recording session for Alegria, and trying to put "water" into chords.
25:57 BB: That cumulative time spent together, and having all those unspoken things develop... I hope everyone has at least one other person that they have some relationship with where they can make music... to have that reflection and for someone to just give you a look, and maybe you're dragging a little.
Wayne, he wants you to take off, and fly. Which is scary, like Danilo says, but liberating too.
32:10 Danilo is miming Wayne leaning on the piano and looking sort of bored or disinterested.
47:35 BB: You're always trying to get to that next plateu, and then you reach that, and it's never enough. You always want to see what's higher. So the only way to do that is to make it a daily devotion.
50:25 DP: Music is supposed to bring us together, music is supposed to heal, music is supposed to play such a role. I really reconnected with this. I think it is important you reconnect with what brought you all the way to where you are. To really think about why you are doing music.
51:45 DP: Gratitude and respect. When you have a great teacher, and someone who is helping you, always stay with gratitude. Every time you have those values, instead of thinking "Oh I'm going to play what I practised!" you think "Oh my teacher was such a nice man, and he showed me this chord..." and you go "Wow!"
52:24 DP: Just remember, it's the human part. When we do this on and on, on an on, on and on, we are actually working [on ourselves?]: "Am I greedy?" "Do I want to just play alone - I don't want to play with people!" All this stuff comes out about you. "Am I egocentric? Am I just blowing on top of these people? Or are we playing with each other? Am I relating? Am I saying 'hi' to people?" You learn if you take the opportunity to play with people as a human development, you learn a lot, and you know what to practise. It's about humanity, don't forget that.
53:43 JP: We're humbled by the fact that everyone here has gifts. If you're honest with yourself, playing music - I don't care where you get to - is very humbling, because there is always something else to work on. Being around these guys I learn a lot, and being around Wayne we all learn a tremendous amount, with his humility. And he's a genius. I can actually say this: "I'm not a genius, he is." and it doesn't bother me. I know when I was younger that used to bother me, when I heard somebody play something that was a lot better than me I would get all angry and everything. Except that would force me into the shed, and then later on I realized "Yeah, if you hear something great, just go back in the shed and work. And find out who you are and what you do."
55:57 Question: In a few words, what have you learned from playing with Wayne?
BB: [long pause] I guess I've learned about perseverance toward light beyond any darkness that might come into your life. Beyond anything that might want to make you quit. Quit life. That your fire remains burning and you keep putting another note on the page, you keep lifting that horn. Seeing him do that every night, hearing that sound, one note, hearing that sound - one note, it's over. It's like "God, thank you for this man."
57:37 JP: Wayne disarmed me at an early age. One time we were playing at the Bluenote and he played this amazing solo that would take you to another place, and then drop you off, and then he looked at me and said "Want some?" and I was like "No!" I had been playing with a lot of people - you know Chick, etc - and I just thought "I can't even say one word after that." And it made me reanalyze what it was about [a great solo that makes it great?].
59:58 DP: My life as a bachelor stopped. And Wayne was a big influence together with John, getting on my case. Because I had met the woman of my life and I was suavisito, not committed. And Wayne would drop things like "You know those kind of things creep in the music man, you know, you got to watch for them." And he would call me at 2 o'clock and be like "How are you doing? How's your wife?" Because he knew from the beginning that I was like "Oh yeah maybe, but she's got a temper." And he was like "Yeah that's what you need, someone to confront you!" "Oh I don't know about that..." "You just want it easy! That's courage. Courage, when you're willing to invest with somebody all of your life and go through the ups and downs that it takes. That's the practise that you bring into the band stand." The one lesson that really stuck with me is that we are used to having a band leader who only tell us about music. Wayne never talks about that. He talks about life all the time. He is probably the greatest leader I've ever worked with because he made me a better leader. I notice that with my band. I am not upset anymore; if someone makes a mistake, I try to make something of that. With my band I bring that kind of peacefulness that it takes for people to invest spiritually in the music. He taught us that. The only time we would see him upset is when we don't try hard enough and when we don't take chances. That's a sign of a great leader - to inspire leadership in other people.
1:03:04 DP: [On what Wayne said about playing with them.] This is the idea of playing with these guys. You are a little kid and you are missing the whole parade. The father is narrating the whole parade. You are like "Oh my God, I want to see it! I want to see it!" And all of the sudden, the father gets the energy, and he takes the kid and puts him on his shoulders. And now the kid see what her father sees, and even farther away.
It's been a while since my last post! It's too bad because there were actually a lot of things that I wanted to write about, but I got busy with other things, and now they aren't as fresh in my mind. I'm going to try think about doing more frequent, shorter posts in the future.
Even though my last post was over a month ago, I'm still thinking about the ideas of Brene Brown. I wrote my last post after watching her TED talk. I have since read her book, The Gifts of Imperfection, and found it interesting, inspiring, and liberating. In particular, I want to write a bit on my reaction to the chapter "Cultivating Play and Rest - Letting go of exhaustion as a status symbol and productivity as self worth."
In the chapter Dr. Brown proposes that "making the choice to rest and play is, at best, counterculture." Our society generally has been pushing to become more and more busy for many decades now. Speaking from my personal experience as a musician, I can relate to this twisted idea of "exhaustion as a status symbol" (although I think it is common to many professions). It seems that often when one musician asks another what they've been up to lately, the reply is laden with anxiety about being perceived as busy. The anxiety seems to be that if a musician isn't extremely busy, they're boring, uninspired, disconnected from the music scene, and clearly not a person that other musicians would want to collaborate with. Sometimes the question is simply stated as "Are you busy?" which is jazz-slang for "Do you have any gigs?" which is, in turn, jazz-slang for "Is your life worth living right now?" I recall one Facebook status update that a friend of mine made which boasted of an almost inhuman amount of music-related work that they were doing in a given amount of time. I read the status with envy, but looking back on it now, I wonder if that is really something that is right for me to envy. Wouldn't that be incredibly stressful? Would they really be able to do their personal best at every one of those things? Sometimes when we try to do too much, this can lead to botching things up, and in the end it may have been better if we had not attempted any of it. Speaking for myself, if the only time I feel adequate is when I'm extremely busy, then my choices are to either feel inadequate because I'm not busy enough, or to feel really stressed out - and probably inadequate as well anyway because I don't have time to do the things I'm doing properly. My only reasonable avenue is to try to let go of this idea that I can't simultaneously have time for rest while being an inspired and talented musician. The reality is that being relaxed and rested no doubt encourages inspiration.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the tricky phenomena of identity and the snags it can lead to. For example, when I first started playing bass (at the innocent age of 16), I spent many hours a week practicing and jamming, all relatively free from worries about how good I was or how I compared to others. Then in 2000 I started studying music full time, and I rapidly developed some intense anxieties around these subjects. I think some of this came from a shift in my identity - I started to think of myself not just as "someone who played music", but as a "real" musician. The attitude was "This is my profession. I have to be good at this. I can't just fool around anymore." Now, ten years later, I've experienced a similar shift in thinking of myself as a "real" composer. The problem is that "just fooling around" - i.e. playing - is essential to the creative process. Dr. Brown quotes another researcher, Dr. Stuart Brown, in her chapter:
"'The opposite of play is not work - the opposite of play is depression.' He explains, 'Respecting our biologically programmed need for play can transform work. It can bring back excitement and newness to our job. Play helps us deal with difficulties, provides a sense of expansiveness, promotes mastery of our craft, and is an essential part of the creative process. Most important, true play that comes from our own inner needs and desires is the only path to finding lasting joy and satisfaction in our work. In the long run, work does not work without play.'"
Not every idea I think of when I'm trying to compose is going to seem like solid gold right away. But I've noticed that if I just allow myself to fool around with ideas, then often ideas I thought were bad will lead to good ones - although often in ways I didn't expect at first. If I insist that every idea that comes out of me holds up to my idea of a "professional composer", then I have a sure-fire recipe for writers block.
I now have a sticky-note on my computer monitor that says "PLAY" in large friendly letters, with a happy face underneath it. I think it is helping a bit!
Have you experienced anxieties related to your identity? How did that effect you? How did you deal with that? Can you think of other ways that rest and play can (paradoxically?) help us do more and better "work"? How do you balance your need for rest with your ambitions?
