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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.
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Week 10 total: 27 hours
Grand total: 240.5 hours
Required pace: 192.5 hours (+48)
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