I'm not a psychologist, but if I had to identify one key difference between the way I think and the way that most humans think, it's that I feel an insatiable need to improve at whatever thing I happen to be doing. At the most basic, fundamental level, I do not understand how a person can be satisfied with their abilities. The reverse is also true: at the most basic, fundamental level, most people do not understand why I feel this need. This disconnect is perhaps best encapsulated by a conversation I had on Friday night:
Me: "Alright, I gotta go home and get some sleep, I've got a long day tomorrow."
Person: "What do you got going on?"
Me: "I'm going to try to practice guitar for 10 hours."
Person: "Why?"
Me: "I'm in the middle of a quest to practice guitar for 1000 hours in one year."
*Person stares blankly*
Person: "Uh, okay, cool."
It's easy enough to paint others as being useless meatbags, but the reality is that those meatbags are generally happier people than I am. When you don't view every single action as a challenge, you don't have to deal with failure as often. Some people call this inexplicable itch "motivation". I don't really know what to call it, though I do wish that I could turn it off from time to time. It has been an aspect of my being for about as long I can remember, even back when all I wanted to do was eat cookies and play video games -- not exactly what I would call a "motivated" person.
I think it's important to note that this urge to improve one's own abilities is, at least in my eyes, distinct from the urge to win and be better than other people. When I was obsessed with Halo 2, a first-person shooter on the XBox, I played through the single-player campaign over and over again, each time adding arbitrary restrictions to try to make the game harder. Eventually it got to the point where I was trying to make it through the game on its hardest difficulty setting without firing a shot. Multiplayer matches, on the other hand, were of no interest to me whatsoever. Even when I developed an interest in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, which is necessarily a competitive activity, I never found myself feeling frustrated after a loss, nor did I ever feel the need to gloat after a win. In fact, I enjoy losing a hard-fought battle against a more experienced opponent far more than quickly submitting a novice.
Regardless of whether the activity is solitary or competitive, I find that I semi-consciously judge myself by the highest possible standard. If a professional gymnast can consistently land an aerial cartwheel, then I should be able to also! I'll disregard the fact that they've received specialized training and just throw myself at the problem -- quite literally, in this case -- until I've got it. Same thing with chess, same thing with speed solving a Rubik's cube, same thing with guitar. Some people look at the elite and say "Wow, I would never be able to do that," and then scamper off to do whatever it is they do with their spare time. I watch for a bit longer and think "How do they do that?", then scamper off to try to figure it out for myself.
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A few weeks ago, I was watching Youtube videos of Steve Vai, who is without question one of the most technically proficient guitarists in the world, when I noticed a thumbnail of him playing an overhand tapping riff in a song called "Building the Church". As this is one of my favorite techniques, I got very excited as I waited for the video to load. When I saw and heard the riff, a most curious thing happened. I was expecting the usual rush of "I should be able to do that!" followed by hours of tedious practice as I sought to bring my abilities up to his level. Instead, for the very first time, I was disappointed with what I saw. It was fast and it sounded cool, but there was nothing intricate or complex about it at all. It was just the same finger pattern played over and over again with different chords. I quickly forgot about the riff.
Last week's blog post focused on my efforts to master a particular John Petrucci solo using overhand tapping. I posted the videos on the John Petrucci forum to see what the other guitar nerds thought. Much to my surprise, the very first comment was "I'm betting Vai's tapping in Building the Church poses NO problem for you at all! Crazy stuff!". I was astounded to find that I was not the only one who thought my overhand abilities had surpassed Vai's. However, I was not going to let this matter be decided by random dudebros on the internets. I had to prove to myself and to "CaressOfSteel@2112" that I was truly up to the task. I focused my efforts on learning the Vai riff, as well as writing some tapping material of my own.
Here, after exactly one week of practice, is what I was able to do with Building the Church by Steve Vai. Notice how each finger is assigned to one string and how the same rhythmic pattern is used over and over again. One other aspect of the solo that makes it easier than it looks is that no two consecutive notes are ever played by the same hand -- the entire solo alternates between a finger on the left hand and a finger on the right hand.
Not perfect, but not too shabby considering it has only been a week since I began learning the piece. The following two videos are my attempts to write more complex melodic ideas with overhand tapping. Both incorporate unusual time signatures, polyrhythms, changing string assignments, and consecutive notes played on one hand:
None of this is meant to disparage Vai or imply that I'm a better musician than he is. This would simply be untrue, and as I described earlier, my urge to improve has never been about winning some stupid dick-measuring contest. The point of all this is to illustrate that if you consistently judge yourself by the highest possible standards, and if you put in the time to make it happen, you will eventually get to where you want to be. Better yet: you'll go farther.
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Week 13 total: 24 hours
Grand total: 320.5 hours
Required pace: 250 hours (+70.5)
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Back to Square One
When I was in middle school, I played the double bass to fulfill my music requirements -- or at least I pretended to. Orchestra members were required to practice 100 minutes per week (gasp!) and have their parents sign their practice sheets. I would typically play half-assed, or perhaps even quarter-assed, for around 15 minutes, bullshit the rest of the practice log, and then forge my dad's signature. The fact that I had shown some natural ability on the instrument was entirely irrelevant to me. I simply gave zero fucks about the instrument. However, buried deep in my massive brain, there is one particular memory from that time that continues to be helpful to this very day.
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One of my latest musical challenges is to relearn "Beyond this Life", yet another progressive masterpiece by Dream Theater (who I will be seeing live in a few weeks!). "But wait," you might find yourself saying, "what happened to that whole notion of playing for the win? Why are you still trying to imitate John Petrucci?" A fair question, and my answer is twofold: first, I've converted most of the passages from alternate picking to other techniques, particularly slapping, finger picking, and overhand tapping. Second, I'm trying to learn to perform the vocals and the guitar parts simultaneously, which is no small feat by any means. Singing a series of G#4s while playing chromatic eighth note patterns at 210 beats per minute in a passage that alternates time signatures between 4/4 and 6/4 -- not easy, and also not something that most guitarists would even bother trying to do.
I've been working on this somewhat casually for a while, but this past week I decided to make it one of my primary objectives. I dedicated yesterday to mastering one particular solo, and having that one concrete goal helped me push myself to play for 9 hours in one day -- my new personal best. So, what do I have to show for this fanaticism? Let's take a look! This morning I recorded a few videos to examine the progress that I've made thus far. I present them here unedited and uncensored to give you an honest, complete view of my practicing experience.
This first video contains a few attempts to get through the whole solo, as well as a few corrections to some of the trickier parts. The cleanest run is probably the last one, which starts at around 3:50.
You may have noticed that, in the above video, there's one section near the middle of the solo that I skip over. I have learned the solo in its entirety, but that passage is so much faster than anything else that I haven't gotten it up to speed yet. The following video is me running speed drills of that section. For this particular drill, I started at a tempo that I was comfortable with, and I increased the tempo by 2% whenever I got through two consecutive runs without a mistake. The end speed is about 70% of the target tempo.
Finally, I recorded a full run of the entire song. There are lots of rough patches to work on, but there are also some sections that I'm totally happy with. I leave it to you to decide which is which. The solo that I worked on yesterday starts at the 7:20 mark.
----
I suspect that the author of whatever practice book I had been using in middle school was aware that his students were filling out / forging practice sheets. I distinctly remember reading a note near the beginning of the book that advised students not to set arbitrary time goals, such as "Practice for 20 minutes today", but instead to have particular musical goals, such as "Play this passage at concert tempo." This manner of practicing, according to the author, would not only help the student improve faster, but also make it easier for them to practice for long periods of time without getting bored. My apathetic, arrogant, 13-year-old self decided that this did not apply to me, but I may have changed my mind about that idea.
----
Week 12 total: 27.5 hours
Grand total: 296.5 hours
Required pace: 231 hours (+65.5)
----
One of my latest musical challenges is to relearn "Beyond this Life", yet another progressive masterpiece by Dream Theater (who I will be seeing live in a few weeks!). "But wait," you might find yourself saying, "what happened to that whole notion of playing for the win? Why are you still trying to imitate John Petrucci?" A fair question, and my answer is twofold: first, I've converted most of the passages from alternate picking to other techniques, particularly slapping, finger picking, and overhand tapping. Second, I'm trying to learn to perform the vocals and the guitar parts simultaneously, which is no small feat by any means. Singing a series of G#4s while playing chromatic eighth note patterns at 210 beats per minute in a passage that alternates time signatures between 4/4 and 6/4 -- not easy, and also not something that most guitarists would even bother trying to do.
I've been working on this somewhat casually for a while, but this past week I decided to make it one of my primary objectives. I dedicated yesterday to mastering one particular solo, and having that one concrete goal helped me push myself to play for 9 hours in one day -- my new personal best. So, what do I have to show for this fanaticism? Let's take a look! This morning I recorded a few videos to examine the progress that I've made thus far. I present them here unedited and uncensored to give you an honest, complete view of my practicing experience.
This first video contains a few attempts to get through the whole solo, as well as a few corrections to some of the trickier parts. The cleanest run is probably the last one, which starts at around 3:50.
You may have noticed that, in the above video, there's one section near the middle of the solo that I skip over. I have learned the solo in its entirety, but that passage is so much faster than anything else that I haven't gotten it up to speed yet. The following video is me running speed drills of that section. For this particular drill, I started at a tempo that I was comfortable with, and I increased the tempo by 2% whenever I got through two consecutive runs without a mistake. The end speed is about 70% of the target tempo.
Finally, I recorded a full run of the entire song. There are lots of rough patches to work on, but there are also some sections that I'm totally happy with. I leave it to you to decide which is which. The solo that I worked on yesterday starts at the 7:20 mark.
----
I suspect that the author of whatever practice book I had been using in middle school was aware that his students were filling out / forging practice sheets. I distinctly remember reading a note near the beginning of the book that advised students not to set arbitrary time goals, such as "Practice for 20 minutes today", but instead to have particular musical goals, such as "Play this passage at concert tempo." This manner of practicing, according to the author, would not only help the student improve faster, but also make it easier for them to practice for long periods of time without getting bored. My apathetic, arrogant, 13-year-old self decided that this did not apply to me, but I may have changed my mind about that idea.
----
Week 12 total: 27.5 hours
Grand total: 296.5 hours
Required pace: 231 hours (+65.5)
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Reflections and Ramblings
I feel that it would be inappropriate for me to write this post without mentioning the September 11th attacks. Today, after all, is the 10th anniversary of that day for which there is no adequate adjective. I was sitting at a desk in sixth grade when the planes hit. Shortly afterward, the entire student body was brought into the gym where we were told of what had happened. So quickly had the teachers gathered information that they were not even sure if the destruction was accidental or intentional. How blissfully naive we were then.
Some students' faces were quickly overcome with tears as the awful questions started to appear in their heads. I would imagine that the only thing worse than knowing a parent had died that day would be not knowing anything at all. The school was located a mere 47 miles from ground zero, and many of the residents of our affluent suburban town commuted into the city each day for work. Our proximity to the attacks almost guaranteed that the answer to at least one person's awful question would be "No."
It seems as though it would go without saying that such an event had an enormous impact on my development as a person, but in all honesty, I don't know that that's true. I was certainly old enough then to still have clear memories of the time but too young, perhaps, to fully understand the magnitude of what was happening. Moreover, I was spared the worst of it: neither of my parents worked in New York, and none my close friends lost a mother or a father that day either. My interest in playing guitar didn't develop until a few years later, and my passion for writing a few years after that. I had neither melodies nor words to encapsulate whatever emotions coursed through me that day, and by the time I was capable of expressing myself in any meaningful way, all I had left was distant memories.
Contrast this with a particular Los Angeles resident by the name of Sean Plott, better known by his pseudonym Day[9], who makes his living providing expert commentary on StarCraft, a popular real-time strategy game. It seems silly to imagine that such a person, more than 2500 miles away from me, could possibly have any effect on my life, particularly since I have never even played StarCraft. And yet, somehow, he has.
I was first exposed to Day[9]'s broadcasts when I was linked to a video by a friend who is absolutely obsessed with StarCraft. I watched out of mild curiosity, and was pleasantly surprised to find it to be highly amusing despite me not knowing anything about the game. I found myself wanting to know more about how StarCraft works, which is about a trillion times nerdier than wanting to actually play the game, but I didn't care. I thought it was a fun challenge to try to decode the action as well as the bizarre jargon used to describe it. I kept hearing such deliciously enticing phrases as "scoot and shoot", "banshee harass", and "chrono boost", and I desperately wanted to know what they meant.
After some time, I succeeded in developing a fairly thorough understanding of the mechanics and language of StarCraft. I continue to watch Day[9]'s videos because of the potent life lessons that he extracts from his experiences as a professional gamer. It may not be apparent that playing video games can provide life lessons until one considers that Day[9] used to practice 14 hours a day before tournaments, a level of dedication matched only by Olympic athletes. A while back I wrote about my habit of changing up every element of my practice environment (temperature, amount of light, whether or not I am wearing clothes) so as to be mentally prepared to perform in any sort of unfamiliar setting. This, in fact, was directly inspired by one of Day[9]'s videos -- specifically this one. This is only one of many ideas and concepts that I have incorporated into my life as a result of watching his broadcasts.
The most recent of these little connections was, perhaps, the most meaningful thus far. Last week, Day[9] was asked what advice he would give to anyone who wanted to become a professional gamer. His response felt so sagacious and so relevant to what I do that it is worth transcribing here in full:
"My advice is kind of similar to my advice that I would give anyone pursuing any task, which is: make sure that you really enjoy it at the most basic level. For instance, there are many people who want to be amazing authors, who want to have New York Times bestselling books all the way at the top every year. But that's the end goal. If you want to be a really good author, you need to enjoy writing sentences, not enjoy having your book as the #1 on the New York Times bestseller list. You need to enjoy the most basic fundamental act of participating in it. There's a lot of people out there who want to become a full-time pro gamer because they like the idea of being of good, they like the idea of winning a tournament, but the individual act of splitting your workers or macroing or even just playing a game of StarCraft 2, they don't like as much. So find what makes you really really happy and do it relentlessly."
When I heard that answer, I immediately felt an enormous sense of pride and relief and sheer joy in knowing that I had made the right decision by making music a bigger part in my life, because I absolutely enjoy every basic fundamental act of participating in it. Yes, I enjoy the idea of performing in front of thousands of people. Yes, I enjoy the idea of being interviewed. Yes, I enjoy the idea of seeing my music influence other musicians. I will not pretend for even a moment that I do not fantasize about these things. But at the same time, I absolutely love every little part of being a musician. I enjoy changing strings and tuning them. I enjoy undoing each clasp on my guitar case, opening it up, and pulling out this beautiful organism that has been a part of my life for so many years. I enjoy transcribing my music into Guitar Pro. I enjoy opening up my iPad spreadsheet and typing "1" after I've finished my first practice hour for the day. I love all of these tiny moments, and I had never really understood the importance of that joy until I heard Day[9]'s words.
----
I don't know how it is possible that I feel such an imperceptibly small connection with such an era-defining moment as the 9/11 attacks. I don't know how it is possible that I find the thoughts of some random nerd on the other side of the country to be so compelling. I don't even know what inspired me to bring these two seemingly unrelated things together here. I suppose that if you'd like to, you could draw some conclusion about what it means to grow and mature, or about the connectedness that the Internet offers that geographical proximity never could. I like the challenge of trying to infuse all of my posts with some sort of overarching message, but somehow I don't feel that anything I could add here would do justice to 9/11 or to Sean Plott. Make of it what you will. I'm going to go spend a few hours doing what I love.
----
Week 11 total: 28.5 hours
Grand total: 269 hours
Required pace: 211.5 hours (+57.5)
Some students' faces were quickly overcome with tears as the awful questions started to appear in their heads. I would imagine that the only thing worse than knowing a parent had died that day would be not knowing anything at all. The school was located a mere 47 miles from ground zero, and many of the residents of our affluent suburban town commuted into the city each day for work. Our proximity to the attacks almost guaranteed that the answer to at least one person's awful question would be "No."
It seems as though it would go without saying that such an event had an enormous impact on my development as a person, but in all honesty, I don't know that that's true. I was certainly old enough then to still have clear memories of the time but too young, perhaps, to fully understand the magnitude of what was happening. Moreover, I was spared the worst of it: neither of my parents worked in New York, and none my close friends lost a mother or a father that day either. My interest in playing guitar didn't develop until a few years later, and my passion for writing a few years after that. I had neither melodies nor words to encapsulate whatever emotions coursed through me that day, and by the time I was capable of expressing myself in any meaningful way, all I had left was distant memories.
Contrast this with a particular Los Angeles resident by the name of Sean Plott, better known by his pseudonym Day[9], who makes his living providing expert commentary on StarCraft, a popular real-time strategy game. It seems silly to imagine that such a person, more than 2500 miles away from me, could possibly have any effect on my life, particularly since I have never even played StarCraft. And yet, somehow, he has.
I was first exposed to Day[9]'s broadcasts when I was linked to a video by a friend who is absolutely obsessed with StarCraft. I watched out of mild curiosity, and was pleasantly surprised to find it to be highly amusing despite me not knowing anything about the game. I found myself wanting to know more about how StarCraft works, which is about a trillion times nerdier than wanting to actually play the game, but I didn't care. I thought it was a fun challenge to try to decode the action as well as the bizarre jargon used to describe it. I kept hearing such deliciously enticing phrases as "scoot and shoot", "banshee harass", and "chrono boost", and I desperately wanted to know what they meant.
After some time, I succeeded in developing a fairly thorough understanding of the mechanics and language of StarCraft. I continue to watch Day[9]'s videos because of the potent life lessons that he extracts from his experiences as a professional gamer. It may not be apparent that playing video games can provide life lessons until one considers that Day[9] used to practice 14 hours a day before tournaments, a level of dedication matched only by Olympic athletes. A while back I wrote about my habit of changing up every element of my practice environment (temperature, amount of light, whether or not I am wearing clothes) so as to be mentally prepared to perform in any sort of unfamiliar setting. This, in fact, was directly inspired by one of Day[9]'s videos -- specifically this one. This is only one of many ideas and concepts that I have incorporated into my life as a result of watching his broadcasts.
The most recent of these little connections was, perhaps, the most meaningful thus far. Last week, Day[9] was asked what advice he would give to anyone who wanted to become a professional gamer. His response felt so sagacious and so relevant to what I do that it is worth transcribing here in full:
"My advice is kind of similar to my advice that I would give anyone pursuing any task, which is: make sure that you really enjoy it at the most basic level. For instance, there are many people who want to be amazing authors, who want to have New York Times bestselling books all the way at the top every year. But that's the end goal. If you want to be a really good author, you need to enjoy writing sentences, not enjoy having your book as the #1 on the New York Times bestseller list. You need to enjoy the most basic fundamental act of participating in it. There's a lot of people out there who want to become a full-time pro gamer because they like the idea of being of good, they like the idea of winning a tournament, but the individual act of splitting your workers or macroing or even just playing a game of StarCraft 2, they don't like as much. So find what makes you really really happy and do it relentlessly."
When I heard that answer, I immediately felt an enormous sense of pride and relief and sheer joy in knowing that I had made the right decision by making music a bigger part in my life, because I absolutely enjoy every basic fundamental act of participating in it. Yes, I enjoy the idea of performing in front of thousands of people. Yes, I enjoy the idea of being interviewed. Yes, I enjoy the idea of seeing my music influence other musicians. I will not pretend for even a moment that I do not fantasize about these things. But at the same time, I absolutely love every little part of being a musician. I enjoy changing strings and tuning them. I enjoy undoing each clasp on my guitar case, opening it up, and pulling out this beautiful organism that has been a part of my life for so many years. I enjoy transcribing my music into Guitar Pro. I enjoy opening up my iPad spreadsheet and typing "1" after I've finished my first practice hour for the day. I love all of these tiny moments, and I had never really understood the importance of that joy until I heard Day[9]'s words.
----
I don't know how it is possible that I feel such an imperceptibly small connection with such an era-defining moment as the 9/11 attacks. I don't know how it is possible that I find the thoughts of some random nerd on the other side of the country to be so compelling. I don't even know what inspired me to bring these two seemingly unrelated things together here. I suppose that if you'd like to, you could draw some conclusion about what it means to grow and mature, or about the connectedness that the Internet offers that geographical proximity never could. I like the challenge of trying to infuse all of my posts with some sort of overarching message, but somehow I don't feel that anything I could add here would do justice to 9/11 or to Sean Plott. Make of it what you will. I'm going to go spend a few hours doing what I love.
----
Week 11 total: 28.5 hours
Grand total: 269 hours
Required pace: 211.5 hours (+57.5)
Monday, September 5, 2011
Playing for the Win
At the beginning of a chess game, there are 20 legal opening moves, of which there are only 4 or 5 which are considered viable for competitive play. The most popular of these is to push the E pawn forward two spaces. The utility of such a move is obvious: it opens up diagonals for the nearby bishop and queen, and it claims space in the center of the board. The two most popular responses for Black are shown below. On the left, Black also pushes his E pawn forward for the same reasons that White did. This is known as the Open Game. On the right, Black pushes the C pawn forward instead. This is known as the Sicilian Defense.
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The exact statistics will vary depending on which chess database you use, but you'll typically find that Master-level games which begin with the Open Game are about 5% more likely to end in a draw than those that begin with the Sicilian Defense. The first two moves themselves may not directly affect the final outcome of the game, but observe what happens when we step a bit farther into the game tree:
On the left, we have a particular variation of the Open Game that is known as the Giuoco Piano, or "Quiet Game" in English. The board is almost entirely symmetrical, as Black has sought to minimize White's attacking chances by mimicking them. On the right, we have the Najdorf Variation of the Sicilian Defense. The two sides have developed their pieces in wildly different ways, as Black has sought to minimize White's attacking chances by creating distinct threats and advantages of his own. Both of these positions are very popular, having been played hundreds of times by chess Masters all over the world. The key difference is that, in the left position, Black is trying to not lose, while in the right position, Black is trying to win.
In both chess and music, the importance of an early decision may not always be apparent until you have fully explored the path to which you have committed yourself. Many will follow the path taken by their peers, content to walk just a few steps behind the one in front. I choose to take a different path, as I am playing for the win.
----
Week 10 total: 27 hours
Grand total: 240.5 hours
Required pace: 192.5 hours (+48)
----
Those who are familiar with my music but who have never seen it played live might be surprised to learn that I don't use a pick. When I first began playing, I just used my right index finger for everything. As I began learning and writing more difficult music, I gradually learned to incorporate more of the fingers on my right hand for passages on multiple strings, but single-string melodies were always in the domain of my triumphant index finger.
Eventually I realized that I would need to learn some form of alternate picking in order to make any progress. Rather than use an actual pick, I just pinched my thumb and index finger together as if I were holding a pick and continued to play all of my single-string melodies with just one finger. Sometimes I call this "pseudopicking." Sometimes I call it the "hands-on technique". Usually I don't call it anything, as there's really no need to explain oneself when one's audience consists of a water bottle and a graphing calculator.
I wish I could say that my decision to pseudopick was borne of my inherent desire to do things differently, but that wasn't really the case. In fact, it was hardly a decision at all: I just started doing it without putting any thought into the matter. Regardless, I stuck with it even when I began to learn songs that would have clearly been easier with a pick.
The result of this stubbornness soon began to manifest itself in the form of specialized techniques. Overhand tapping came quite naturally for me. Tapping Frenzy, for example, was developed out of the very first overhand tapping riff that I ever came up with. Pinch harmonics never made much sense to me, but since I wasn't holding a pick, tapping harmonics and right-hand harmonics were right up my alley. The weird techniques continued to pile up over the years: slapping, dual pseudopicking, tap sliding, right-hand fretting, and on and on. The ease with which I found myself incorporating these rather unorthodox techniques into my music was a direct consequence of my refusal to ever use a pick. I never had to ask myself "Should I write this song with or without a pick? Do I have time to drop the pick here and then grab another one later? Or should I hold it in my mouth like a chimp?"
As the breadth of my bizarre techniques increased, the depth did as well. I continued to push the speed and accuracy of my pseudopicking, eventually even working to incorporate economy picking and pinch harmonics. My desire to do everything well seemed to be working just fine for me until very recently. It became apparent that if I ever wanted to match the abilities of John Petrucci, Steve Vai, or Guthrie Govan, I would have to dedicate literally all of my time to honing my pseudopicking technique. Even then it would still be unlikely for me to ever play at their level: as much as I like pretending that pseudopicking can achieve everything that regular picking can, the fact is that there are some serious limitations that I don't know how to overcome. Sweeping and pinch harmonics, two classic techniques of all the great shredders and rock gods, are very very very difficult to do consistently without a pick.
At the same time, it became apparent that there was a whole world of extraordinarily difficult ideas that I could develop using only the more unorthodox techniques in my bag of tricks. I want to be able to tap a complex melody with one hand while tapping a harmony with the other. I want to be able to execute a 5/4/3 polyrhythm using my two hands and my voice. I want to be able to be able to change tunings in the middle of a song without anyone noticing. I want to be able to play music that makes even the very best musicians wonder "How the hell is he doing that?"
While I would never think of abandoning my coveted pseudopicking technique, it became clear to me last week that if I want to be recognized as a top-level virtuoso musician, I won't get there by attempting to match the abilities of the other guys. Instead, I should focus my efforts on expanding and perfecting those quirky methods that most people don't even think about. Why should I try to do what other people have succeeded at when I can instead succeed at things that few people have even tried?
The exact statistics will vary depending on which chess database you use, but you'll typically find that Master-level games which begin with the Open Game are about 5% more likely to end in a draw than those that begin with the Sicilian Defense. The first two moves themselves may not directly affect the final outcome of the game, but observe what happens when we step a bit farther into the game tree:
On the left, we have a particular variation of the Open Game that is known as the Giuoco Piano, or "Quiet Game" in English. The board is almost entirely symmetrical, as Black has sought to minimize White's attacking chances by mimicking them. On the right, we have the Najdorf Variation of the Sicilian Defense. The two sides have developed their pieces in wildly different ways, as Black has sought to minimize White's attacking chances by creating distinct threats and advantages of his own. Both of these positions are very popular, having been played hundreds of times by chess Masters all over the world. The key difference is that, in the left position, Black is trying to not lose, while in the right position, Black is trying to win.
In both chess and music, the importance of an early decision may not always be apparent until you have fully explored the path to which you have committed yourself. Many will follow the path taken by their peers, content to walk just a few steps behind the one in front. I choose to take a different path, as I am playing for the win.
----
Week 10 total: 27 hours
Grand total: 240.5 hours
Required pace: 192.5 hours (+48)
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