Jazz Camp Day 3 (Sunday).
I haven't slept. All night there were songs going around in my head, and I'm feeling really tired.
I arrive 15 minutes late. "You've missed the warm-up" says the lady in charge, reproachfully. Too bad - I will warm myself up at some point. I've almost had enough of being at school.
In our ensemble rehearsal, vocal coach Lauren assigns roles. Someone needs to introduce each song, and someone has to count us in. My task is to lead the ending of "Blue Bossa". The band needs to know when we are about to end, and when to stop playing. It's like conducting - but not really. You need to be clear, but not obvious. Honestly, I have no idea how to do it. I try a few things but they are not right. Either I'm too subtle or too exaggerated. Lauren demonstrates, but I still can't get it right. Eventually I say to her "Move my arm so I'll know how I'm supposed to look". She moves and positions me, as if I'm a Barbie doll. Then she shows me how to turn around and get the attention of the group, and how to use my arm as a "speed controller", so the players know when to slow down. Finally, I've got a reasonable idea of what to do.
In our improvisation class, we practise creating a "motif" to form the basis of a solo. Improvisation needs to have some structure.
I've had some experience with improvisation, but it has never had a structure - simply whatever I could create in the moment. I've used a small repertoire of simple techniques, and always felt anxious about what would come out of my mouth.
Now Mark draws some cartoon characters above the bars of our blues pattern. He's speaking kids' language, and I zone out. I'm tired and preoccupied with other thoughts. Then we start to practice, and I realize that I don't understand what he has been saying. I ask him to explain the concept again. Suddenly a "light bulb" turns on above my head and the code is cracked open for me. You can vary your motif by adding something to it or "editing" - removing something and leaving an empty space. He's given us a formula for improvising. It's a recipe that you can adapt for yourself. It's one of the most valuable things I've gained from this weekend.
We listen to some of the jazz greats. Mark draws our attention to a moment where Miles Davis plays a rough, raw note. He comments that Davis probably didn't intend it to sound that way, but he has integrated it as part of the emotion.
I duck home to change my clothes, ready for the concert.
Returning to the school, I take my place in the chapel with the students. Parents and friends arrive and take their seats.
When it's our turn, the nine of us crowd into the small performance space. We are standing in an unfamiliar formation, and it feels weird.
Now, to execute the game plan!
Except, we don't. Things go wrong. In one song, our sequence somehow gets changed. The solos that Lily and I had rehearsed are left out altogether, and at the end we look at each other wondering what happened.
My solo in the other song doesn't come out quite as I'd planned. And in the middle of it I sing a rough, raw note. Normally I would feel mortified, humiliated. But hey! It's OK for Miles Davis, so it's OK for me! I integrate it as part of the emotion. I forget to lead the ending, but the song comes to an end anyway.
We've learned a massive amount during these past three days. I have new techniques to try, and new ways to listen to music.
What happened to my solo is really not the point.
I haven't slept. All night there were songs going around in my head, and I'm feeling really tired.
I arrive 15 minutes late. "You've missed the warm-up" says the lady in charge, reproachfully. Too bad - I will warm myself up at some point. I've almost had enough of being at school.
In our ensemble rehearsal, vocal coach Lauren assigns roles. Someone needs to introduce each song, and someone has to count us in. My task is to lead the ending of "Blue Bossa". The band needs to know when we are about to end, and when to stop playing. It's like conducting - but not really. You need to be clear, but not obvious. Honestly, I have no idea how to do it. I try a few things but they are not right. Either I'm too subtle or too exaggerated. Lauren demonstrates, but I still can't get it right. Eventually I say to her "Move my arm so I'll know how I'm supposed to look". She moves and positions me, as if I'm a Barbie doll. Then she shows me how to turn around and get the attention of the group, and how to use my arm as a "speed controller", so the players know when to slow down. Finally, I've got a reasonable idea of what to do.
In our improvisation class, we practise creating a "motif" to form the basis of a solo. Improvisation needs to have some structure.
I've had some experience with improvisation, but it has never had a structure - simply whatever I could create in the moment. I've used a small repertoire of simple techniques, and always felt anxious about what would come out of my mouth.
Now Mark draws some cartoon characters above the bars of our blues pattern. He's speaking kids' language, and I zone out. I'm tired and preoccupied with other thoughts. Then we start to practice, and I realize that I don't understand what he has been saying. I ask him to explain the concept again. Suddenly a "light bulb" turns on above my head and the code is cracked open for me. You can vary your motif by adding something to it or "editing" - removing something and leaving an empty space. He's given us a formula for improvising. It's a recipe that you can adapt for yourself. It's one of the most valuable things I've gained from this weekend.
We listen to some of the jazz greats. Mark draws our attention to a moment where Miles Davis plays a rough, raw note. He comments that Davis probably didn't intend it to sound that way, but he has integrated it as part of the emotion.
I duck home to change my clothes, ready for the concert.
Returning to the school, I take my place in the chapel with the students. Parents and friends arrive and take their seats.
When it's our turn, the nine of us crowd into the small performance space. We are standing in an unfamiliar formation, and it feels weird.
Now, to execute the game plan!
Except, we don't. Things go wrong. In one song, our sequence somehow gets changed. The solos that Lily and I had rehearsed are left out altogether, and at the end we look at each other wondering what happened.
My solo in the other song doesn't come out quite as I'd planned. And in the middle of it I sing a rough, raw note. Normally I would feel mortified, humiliated. But hey! It's OK for Miles Davis, so it's OK for me! I integrate it as part of the emotion. I forget to lead the ending, but the song comes to an end anyway.
We've learned a massive amount during these past three days. I have new techniques to try, and new ways to listen to music.
What happened to my solo is really not the point.
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