“Improv Episodes” is a series of multimedia journal entries, documenting my journey of learning improvisation. This series aims to expand the horizons of what we can talk about when we talk about #improv.
How do you improvise?
That’s a good question; a very important one. One of the many possible answers that I found online is:
"With improvisation, I just do it. It might be a total failure but then you just throw the dice again.”--Christian Marclay
“Oh, come on Connie! How do you REALLY improvise?” you might ask.
Too bad! Seems that Googling doesn't always work after all. Let me tell you the story of my first improv.
It took place in an education class at my university. The professor put us into five groups--visual art, dance, film, theater, and music--based on our interests. The goal was to create something to show critical literacy in our respective fields. We had 30 minutes. No further instructions were given.
I sat with my fellow musicians. Aside from our shared passion for music, our musical backgrounds range from classical, pop, hip-hop, R&B, to electronic music. As I pondered how a group of musicians coming from drastically different backgrounds AND never rehearsed with each other could possibly create something impressive in such a short time span, a sense of order started to emerge.
Mamadou played for us a “beat” that he produced lately--a peaceful soundscape with hints of rhythmic ideas. It was nothing like anything that I had heard before. “Okay, now we just need to add more layers on there,” said Jane as she showed us Logic Pro, a software that she uses to produce music on her laptop. Two other members, Cathy and Katheryn, volunteered to sing.
Things seemed to be working out. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing.
I read the room. It was definitely not the time to flex Mendelssohn Violin Concerto. But I really wanted to do something.
“You know what? Forget about it. I’m gonna get my violin and figure something out,” I thought.
I told the group, asked the professor, ran to my dorm, and sprinted back with a yellow violin case in my hand.
We did not have much time left. Jane put her laptop in front of me, and asked, “Are you ready?” Not really. I was so flustered. The idea that I actually had to record something did not occur to me until I put on the headphones.
“There we go.”
I made a mental list of things to look for in the backing track based on my knowledge of classical music. Nevertheless, all the efforts seemed to be futile when I started listening. I could not make sense of anything. The time signature, key signature, melody, and harmony--four building blocks of classical music--were all obscure. I felt I knew nothing.
“What key is this track in?” I asked, considering the possibility of playing some scales and arpeggios.
Mamadou told me it was in c minor. I was dubious. However, since the key was the only frame of reference I could rely on, I decided to go with it.
I barely made any sounds during the first try. I was so scared of failing.
“You were doing so well.” “You sounded great!”
The support I received from my group members warmed my heart, right before shame and frustrations began to overwhelm me. After giving me some time to compose myself, my teammates asked if I would like to try again.
I practiced c minor scale and arpeggios. Up, down, repeat. I became more comfortable with c minor—not just the sound of the tonal region, but also physical movements on my violin.
“Yes. I want to try one more time.”
In my second take, my mind was in a different place. I looked for spaces in the backing track and saw them as opportunities to add my playing. I avoided dissonances, while trying to blend my sound in the original soundscape. I was still very nervous but ended up taking more risks than the first time.
Jane finished mixing the track just seconds before the professor called time. When she played the finished recording for everyone, magically, everything clicked. It was a sound world where all voices interacted, substantiated, and enhanced one another--a visceral, immersive listening experience.
This improvisation experience completely changed my musical perspective.
As a classical musician, I am familiar with interpretation. I spend many years deciphering and embodying notated music by many great composers. I am like an actor that grows to understand the emotions and intricacies behind the musical instructions, while embracing different possibilities of who I can be.
Improvisation, on the other hand, challenged me to be myself. Rather than relying on instructions, I must make my own discoveries. In this mode of playing, I heard opportunities: opportunities to respond, support, challenge, and shine. Music started talking to me. For the first time, I channeled my musical instincts and feelings directly into my playing. I participated in a musical dialogue through improvisation.
Improvisation is communication in its rawest form. I was neither a soloist nor accompanist alone; I could be both, and I could be neither. Few words were exchanged. Only sounds. And understanding. An understanding that transcended the sound waves. An understanding that unified myself, my instrument, with other people.
Try listening attentively to others and responding with something that speaks to you.
Not just in music, but also in our daily lives too.
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*Epilogue*
Here is a food for thought if you are up for some music theory talk today:
If you recall from my story, I barely made any sounds during the first take but returned with more confidence the second time. The difference, besides mental preparation, was the result of a few quick run-throughs of c minor scales and arpeggios.
How did this exercise make a difference?
To begin with, this exercise approached music from the ground up. Playing scales and arpeggios not only gave me a collection of pitches and triadic patterns, but also grounded me in the sound and feel of c minor. I was ready to participate in musical conversations in the same key.
Then, I channeled feelings into those scales and arpeggios. The potential level of expressivity is infinite for these simple patterns. As I added “spices” (technical maneuvers like vibrato and bow speed) to the first three notes of c minor arpeggio (C, Eb, and G) to serve a musical purpose, I brought my sound to life; I felt in tune with my instrument. This discovery shined a new light on the relationship between techniques and musicality. During the process of improvising, techniques connected my mind with my body, carrying the energy--or musicality, if you will--to my instrument of musical expression.
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