A big part of spontaneous singing is what I call listening for “instructions.” Instructions are those ideas and impulses about what to do or try that you might ignore in other situations.

Consider this, you may be the only person to hear a part that’s “missing” from the piece. By adding your idea, the whole work becomes more relevant to you and to the rest of the singing circle. Or to put it another way …

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening, that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique.
– Martha Graham

Some of you – writers, storytellers and other word lovers – have the gift of language. Music calls up words, phrases, a line from a poem or another song. Give yourself permission to say it. And I encourage you to say it so that we can hear it – that it truly becomes a part of the music we’re making.

Others are drummers or dancers — you want to add rhythmic elements, tap your feet, clap your hands, click your tongues, dance, stomp your feet, wave your arms or wiggle your hips. Don’t be shy; the music needs rhythm and movement.

Then we have you, the songsters, songstresses and melody makers – you hear the melodies and their harmonies. You tend to hear the pieces as songs, you can find the beginning, middle and end of a piece. You can create structures.

Of course, all of us have all of these talents to varying degrees. The distribution of these talents is as unique as each singer in the circle.

The fun part is finding the music that each unique circle (ensemble, band, etc.) can create when they bring their portions of these talents together.

…

I recently got to play an entire evening of improvised music with some very fine musicians (Riotus N featuring Anthony Cox, Davu Seru and John Penny). My cohorts and I experimented with melodic and textural ideas and I tinkered with stories and tales.

As you may know, I am working on a full-length improvised vocal work. (It’s called Between and was/is inspired by my visit to the Canary Islands in 2010-11.)

Now, I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me that the creation process for an improvisational project would require so much flexibility.

…

Something about moving an idea out of my mind and into the world always takes more energy than I expect. Rehearsals and artists have shifted and the first clear firework of this idea has faded a bit. I guess it’s simply the tension between limitless possibilities and a single desired reality that can make my head start to hurt.

Oh, and that I don’t know what I’m doing. *smile*

…

I don’t mean that in a throw-up-my-hands, ditch-the-project “I have no idea what I’m doing!” kind of way.

I know what I’m attempting, I have a vision for which I’m striving, and I have faith that I can manifest it.

But I haven’t done this before so I am figuring out how to do it.

Now. With this project.

…

I find that as we get older we find ourselves in the position of not knowing less and less often. Sometimes this is a conscious choice, other times it just … happens. We learn our jobs, our partners, our friends. We know what’s expected of us and how to do it.

And, it’s comfortable to know. It feels good to be confident and sure.

But I’ve learned to appreciate not knowing.

(Most of the time,) I like figuring things out. I find it satisfying and rewarding.

As I say to my scat singing students, one of my favorite things about improvising is “solving the problem.” It satisfies the part of me that has a great love of order and appreciation of resolution.

I dig that each of us gets to decide what the problem is for ourselves and I love that the solutions are as infinite and varied as we are.

I am fascinated by the fact that in one moment there is no solution and in the next one can present itself from our intuition, experience and knowledge.

By spending time not knowing, we learn new things and invite unanticipated answers. We acquire varied skills, meet unforeseen collaborators and — at least in my case — create new music.

clip from 1st Between rehearsal (Bruce Henry and me)

I didn’t perform much this spring so I was pleased to have the chance to flex my singing muscles a bit at our annual faculty recital.

In part, because my spring was very full and in part to push myself to keep practicing improvising in performance, I made the choice to sing by myself in the recital. I am glad I did. The Whitney Theater has a lovely sound system and I sank effortlessly into the sensation of being wrapped in the sound of my own voice.

When I teach improvising, I often talk about solving the problem or creating a problem to solve. At the start of this piece, you can hear me set myself the challenge of singing a well-known tune over an unknown (even to me) pattern. I even took a brief detour for a short story.
All in all, time well sung. *smile*