“Ready or not.” That easily summarizes my first experience with improvisation. Jazz was a foreign concept to me and I found myself enrolled in the “Beginning Jazz” class at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp. The instructor spent an hour discussing what appeared to be rocket science. (Later, I realized it was simply beginner’s jazz theory, and that often chords by the name of “dominant” were used. Who knew?) After this crash course in Confusing Symbols 101, a rhythm section started to play and the teacher started pointing at each student to take a solo. Upon my turn, I simply stared back at him wide-eyed, frightened, and embarrassed. I maybe played two notes. By the end of the week I had progressed to about seven. Ready or not – there’s much to be said for that. Often the best way to learn is to be thrown in head first.

However, readiness rarely gets its due. As a result of the above experience, I completely avoided jazz for another ten months before attempting to tackle it with my private teacher. I had wanted to ever since my failure of a debut at camp but was too embarrassed (even though no one I knew saw me crash and burn). I was interested but far from ready.

Conversely, last week I practiced some flute etudes (on saxophone) by Benoit Berbiguer. I had gone through them in graduate school at my professor’s request, but I was far from interested at the time. I begrudgingly got through them, often wishing to practice other material. However, last week’s work on the etudes was far more productive because I was interested and ready. Instead of going through the motions I had a vested interest, and my practicing reflected that.

The moral of course is not to never leave your comfort zone but to become aware of your boundaries, interests, and readiness. Such awareness can be a wonderful, intuitive guide to improvement.

Over the last few months, I’ve participated in a number of rehearsals and/or projects that have been stifled because of too much talking. Now, I’m not mentioning discussion of unrelated issues, such as personal conversations, etc. Instead I’m referring to discussion of the music itself.

I can’t even count the number of rehearsals that have included as much time spent discussing the arrangement of a tune (all in “non-classical” genres) as spent actually playing. I admit that some discussion is relevant, but too much talk or over-analysis can both make the performers second-guess themselves and also further cloud the issue (as opposed to provide clarity). As opposed to simply playing together and letting the music guide everyone, the players instead focus too much on technical issues and not on the actual music.

The most rewarding musical situations I’ve been involved with have been with groups that let the music guide the players. Two of my longest and closest musical collaborators, Pat Harris and Nate Powell, are such joys to play with in part because we spend almost no time actually talking about the music. With The French Henchmen, the only discussion we ever had was really about tempo – should we play it up or again as a ballad? Beyond that, we would just play, and if we started to take the piece in a direction that none of us had anticipated, we simply went with it and made the best of it, and 99% of the time were met with success.

Collaborations that involve a little less talking and a lot more listening, feeling, and playing, will find the greatest musical return.

Last week included the final performance of The French Henchmen for a while, as my partner in crime is heading to grad school at Indiana University. It was a successful gig, and we were quite solid. Over the last year, we’ve enjoyed a twice-a-month residency at The Brass Cafe & Saloon, along with various other gigs. Furthermore, though the group is now a duo, The French Henchmen actually started out as a trio with Pat Harris (my musical other) in 2004, and we’ve played together in various groups since 2003. In other words, we’ve done a lot of playing together through the years. And it shows.

There really is no substitute for time. I’ve played in many short-lived groups with regular, involved rehearsal regimens, and the product has usually been pretty good. In fact, Nate and I used to rehearse many hours each week together in various groups. However, the simple fact that we’ve played and performed together for six years does so much for our musical interaction, and no amount of rehearsal with another, younger group could replace that. Over time we have developed a particular repertoire, sound, and niche that sets The French Henchmen apart. Along with that, the countless hours we’ve played together have allowed us to musically communicate in a way that makes words unnecessary, and we’re consistently able to take familiar tunes to new places and surprise even ourselves.

Part of me is being nostalgic, as I’ll miss performing as The French Henchmen on a regular basis (though future gigs are definitely in the works). And I’m obviously partial to the group, as I’m 50% of the ensemble. But stepping back from those two points, the fact remains that a big reason (arguably the biggest) for the group’s success is time. Rehearsing is good, as are gigs. However, allowing time and patience for a group to cultivate a sound and persona are irreplaceable, and something for which there is no shortcut.