I’m always astonished to discover how different I am from everyone else. (Hey, no snickering, I’m being earnest.) How things that are true for me, just aren’t true for somebody else.

Here’s an example.

You know those alt tags for pictures on web sites?

(You know — for those of us who can see — when you mouse over a pic, and that little text descriptor pops up? It usually says something like “picture,” or “logo,” or it might just show the file name?)

Well, that text is there to tell people who can’t see it about that graphic. When I was in school, my web design instructor stressed the importance of filling in alt tag info on every image to make your web site accessible.

Okay, fine. Did I fill them in? Yes.

Was I phoning in the text? Absolutely.

…

Perhaps you’ve already guessed this, but I can see the pictures on web sites (*smile*). But I have a friend who can’t. Having her in my life changed my understanding.

Changing my understanding changed my approach.**

**Have you ever noticed how this is just true, true, true no matter what you’re talking about? Vocal improv, number theory, puggles?

…

Now when I work on my web sites, I imagine my friend asking me to describe the picture.

Do I say “filename = DSC009.jpg?”

Of course not (she has a cane!), I say “it’s a sepia-tone pic — so it looks like an old photo — of 4 kids sitting on the curb eating eating ice cream treats.”

…

So … what’s this got to do with improv? A lot.

Mostly it’s that whopper above about how we have to change our viewpoint or understanding before anything else can change. It’s one of my constant lessons from improv (and why it’s so good for us me.)

Considering the experiences and realities of people unlike me is just like introducing different inspirational tools to become a better improviser. Remembering to stay open and available to new directions, new perspectives and different viewpoints makes me a better improviser.

Doing it in my everyday life makes me a better person.

(Okay … I’m packing up my soapbox now. But, hey, I want to change the world. Don’t you?)

“[W]hat jazz improvisation is, is if you take the analogy of a tune being like a glass mixing bowl, you can put rocks into it, take out the rocks, put a goldfish into it, take out the goldfish, put in jello, take out the jello — but the container stays the same size and it’s transparent, but it’s solid.”

“When I teach, I use a lot of tennis analogies. Like, if you’re in the back of the court and you’ve hit the ball, and the opponent drop-shots you right over the net, you can’t say, ‘Hey, stop, can you hit it to me.’ You have to be prepared to get there.” — Fred Hersch

…

I suspect some people might wonder “where’s the need for discipline in music you just make up?” That’s why the quote above is so sensational. 

Discipline makes the bowl.

It’s knowledge of standard tunes, technique, scales, modes, chords and changes, riffs, licks, other artists, other songs and music that inform how we “get to the net.”

…

From my own experience, I’ve found that, as singers, we aren’t always taught to be disciplined about our craft.

Sure we learn songs (usually by singing them over and over again along with a recording), but how much do we know (or are we taught) about music?

You know, form, chords, harmonic movement and groove? (If you’re wondering what these terms mean, I may have made my point. *smile*)

…

To me, this is where discipline comes in. It’s one of the reasons I returned to school to get a vocal degree. My mentors and vocal instructors concentrated on technical — and theoretical — fundamentals. They kindly assumed I already know how to learn a song. They challenged me to ask myself new questions and learn and develop new skills.

Can you control your pitch? Can you sing chromatically? Tritones? Fluidly? How’s your agility? 

Do you understand the harmonic structure and movement of the song you’re singing?

Are you familiar with jazz turnarounds? Bebop licks? Are you comfortable and familiar with lots of musical genres?

(Can you yodel?)

Can you read music? (Now, I know this is touchy subject for some of you. Rest assured, I’m not saying you have to read music to make music, but … reading music adds another dimension to how you understand the music you’re making. Think of it like being able to write in a foreign language in addition to speaking it.)

…

Being disciplined about developing your voice creates structure and direction. It creates the bowl.

And, hey, once you’ve got the bowl, anything goes.

“If I’m going to sing like
someone else, then I don’t
need to sing at all.”
— Billie Holiday

…

This takes a while to figure out. (Well, it took me a while.) As we learn to sing, a big part of how we learn is through imitation. And if you sing “out and about” every one wants to know what style you sing and who you sound like. (“So …  who are your influences?”)

More important, when you love to sing, you listen to everyone (and everything), you imitate everyone and you want to be able to do what everyone else can do. Scatting, wailing, bebop or beat box. Tuvan throat singing. (Maybe that’s just me? *smile*)

Singers and songs enchant you. You love everything about them. You want to embody them and so you strive to reproduce them … exactly. And in doing that, something is lost. Your perspective. Your approach. Your unique sound that creates the version of the song that only you can sing.

My former teacher, Judi Vinar, tells students: “Sing a song as if this is the first and last time you’ll ever sing it.” While at first this advice might seem daunting, it’s also empowering. It’s an invitation to figure out what you want to say by singing that song in that moment.

Moral of the story? Sound like you.

(Nobody else does you know. *smile*)