Towards the end of my quest, I grew disinterested in writing about my endeavors. I felt that I had already exhausted every interesting topic I could think of, and to have continued to write would have produced meaningless garbage.
However, I did pursue my goal to the very end, and on Saturday June 30, the last day, I logged my 1000th hour of practice. Sadly, it was not nearly as exciting a moment as I had hoped it would be; somewhere along the line it became fairly obvious that I would succeed, and it became a matter of turning the crank rather than pushing myself. In any case, I'm glad I did the quest, as I am a stronger musician and person because of it. There are days now when I miss the strong sense of purpose I had during the quest; perhaps a second round is in order...?
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Independence Day
"You'll end up in situations where you want to do some sort of skill-measuring contest, [but] it's always hard to tell if you've improved. It's easy to say 'Oh, my rank is higher than yesterday', but did you get better? ... You'd get up to like the A- or A range, and you'd play against some player who was just really good. Out of ten games we'd play in a row, I would win three or maybe four, and none of them felt good.... I found that same guy again, and he wanted to play another ten games, and suddenly I won every single one of those games, and his units felt predictable and stupid. His play felt so flawed, and at no point during the game did I ever actually feel nervous. After all those hours of playing, I was like 'Oh my god... I actually improved!' " -- Sean Day[9] Plott
----
In early November, I created a series of exercises designed to improve the independence between my two hands. In each exercise, I would choose an arbitrary sequence of fingers on my left hand, an arbitrary sequence on the right hand, and cycle through both at the same time while moving up and down the fretboard of my roommate's bass. When I first started out, I would always choose exercises that used the same number of fingers on each hand. Twos and threes were pretty easy, but the fours totally threw my brain for a loop. I would look at my spreadsheet and think "I'm supposed to cycle through 1-3-2-4 on one hand and 4-1-2-3 on the other? How the hell am I going to be able to coordinate that?"
But somehow, the right gears gradually clicked into place, and I cruised through those exercises. I decided to bump up the complexity by incorporating patterns with different numbers of fingers on each hand. Some of them felt so clunky and awkward that it would take me nearly an hour just to get through a handful (no pun intended). I struggled and struggled and struggled, until the day when I realized that I wasn't actually struggling anymore. I could just choose a pattern for one hand, choose one for the other, and zip through it. It felt like I was just installing programs into my hands rather than thinking about what I was doing.
Yesterday, after 5 months and more than 100 hours of work, I finally finished all 3600 exercises. Unlike the various other musical projects I've worked on, I still have a distinct memory of what it felt like when I started. As I closed out of my organizational spreadsheet for the very last time, I thought about that old feeling and had a startlingly awesome realization: "Oh my god... I actually improved!"
----
Week 39 total: 20.5
Grand total: 830.5 hours
Required pace: 750 hours (+80.5)
----
In early November, I created a series of exercises designed to improve the independence between my two hands. In each exercise, I would choose an arbitrary sequence of fingers on my left hand, an arbitrary sequence on the right hand, and cycle through both at the same time while moving up and down the fretboard of my roommate's bass. When I first started out, I would always choose exercises that used the same number of fingers on each hand. Twos and threes were pretty easy, but the fours totally threw my brain for a loop. I would look at my spreadsheet and think "I'm supposed to cycle through 1-3-2-4 on one hand and 4-1-2-3 on the other? How the hell am I going to be able to coordinate that?"
But somehow, the right gears gradually clicked into place, and I cruised through those exercises. I decided to bump up the complexity by incorporating patterns with different numbers of fingers on each hand. Some of them felt so clunky and awkward that it would take me nearly an hour just to get through a handful (no pun intended). I struggled and struggled and struggled, until the day when I realized that I wasn't actually struggling anymore. I could just choose a pattern for one hand, choose one for the other, and zip through it. It felt like I was just installing programs into my hands rather than thinking about what I was doing.
Yesterday, after 5 months and more than 100 hours of work, I finally finished all 3600 exercises. Unlike the various other musical projects I've worked on, I still have a distinct memory of what it felt like when I started. As I closed out of my organizational spreadsheet for the very last time, I thought about that old feeling and had a startlingly awesome realization: "Oh my god... I actually improved!"
----
Week 39 total: 20.5
Grand total: 830.5 hours
Required pace: 750 hours (+80.5)
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Confirmation Bias
In the course of history, there have been a few curious individuals who seem to need no help in achieving greatness, as it is simply woven into the very fabric of their being. As an undergraduate student, George Dantzig arrived late to a statistics class and saw two problems written on the board. He assumed them to be homework exercises and completed them both, only to find out later that they were two of the most famous unsolved problems in the field of statistics. Bobby Fischer was better at chess when he was 13 than most players who have studied the game their entire lives, as made evident by his brilliant queen sacrifice to win a match that would later be called "The Game of the Century". Where some have found themselves unable to break new ground in even a single endeavor, Michael Jackson innovated in multiple fields simultaneously: singing, songwriting, dancing, choreography, record production, and music video production.
However, most of those who have achieved greatness were at one point entirely inept at the pursuit that they would later master. In addition to the single-minded focus that guitarist John Petrucci refers to as "tunnel vision", I have come to learn that confirmation bias may also be a vital tool for propelling oneself to greatness. Confirmation bias, as defined by Wikipedia, is "a tendency of people to favor information that confirms their beliefs or hypotheses." In most contexts, the phrase carries with it a highly negative connotation. However, when you want something so badly that you dream about it on a regular basis, but people tell you that you can't have it, confirmation bias can be the only thing that keeps you going.
On Thursday night I performed a 25-minute set at what I considered to be my first legitimate gig. Afterwards, my good friend Big T confessed that "all of the songs kinda sounded the same." One of the gig managers boldly described the performance as "an aural intercourse I will not soon forget," and later went on to contradict Big T's account of the evening. Whose words do you think I took to heart?
----
Week 38 total: 13.5 hours
Grand total: 810 hours
Required pace: 731 hours (+79)
However, most of those who have achieved greatness were at one point entirely inept at the pursuit that they would later master. In addition to the single-minded focus that guitarist John Petrucci refers to as "tunnel vision", I have come to learn that confirmation bias may also be a vital tool for propelling oneself to greatness. Confirmation bias, as defined by Wikipedia, is "a tendency of people to favor information that confirms their beliefs or hypotheses." In most contexts, the phrase carries with it a highly negative connotation. However, when you want something so badly that you dream about it on a regular basis, but people tell you that you can't have it, confirmation bias can be the only thing that keeps you going.
On Thursday night I performed a 25-minute set at what I considered to be my first legitimate gig. Afterwards, my good friend Big T confessed that "all of the songs kinda sounded the same." One of the gig managers boldly described the performance as "an aural intercourse I will not soon forget," and later went on to contradict Big T's account of the evening. Whose words do you think I took to heart?
----
Week 38 total: 13.5 hours
Grand total: 810 hours
Required pace: 731 hours (+79)
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Roadblocks
"Release!" barked the instructor. One dozen bowstrings snapped. Eleven arrows found their mark; one missed by a few inches. "Always to the left," grumbled the one. The instructor walked over and placed his hand on the squire's shoulder. "We won't accept archers who miss," he said sternly. "If you cannot learn to adjust your aim, your time would be better spent by joining those who have already given up. Archery is not for everyone." The young man threw his bow to the ground in disgust as he watched the others line up to shake their new commander's hand.
----
Today, after returning from a refreshing and much-needed spring break, I sat down and practiced guitar. I chose to work on a Stanley Jordan–inspired tapping riff that I have been struggling with for several weeks. My left hand plays fine, and my right hand can get through the ascending run without a problem, but for reasons that were a complete mystery to me, I could not play the descending run cleanly with my right hand. After working on it for a few minutes without any success, bad thoughts started to seep into my head: Maybe I'm wasting my time. Maybe I'll never get this to sound the way I want it to. Maybe I should just give up and rewrite it.
A few moments later, I found myself tinkering with pull-offs on my left hand, wondering what it was that made my favorite guitarists able to play legato runs so beautifully... and then it clicked! In a moment of clarity, I suddenly realized the teeny tiny little adjustment I needed to make in order to get the sound that I wanted. I still can't play the riff at full speed, and probably won't be able to do so for some time, but now I have a clear idea of what I need to do in order to get there. It's a great feeling.
----
After a month had passed, the squire arrived at the field for yet another archery trial. He calmly tied back his hair and strung his bow. The instructor eyed him skeptically before turning to face the others. "Archers! Near target... release!" The squire inhaled slowly, then launched his arrow. It struck the intended target directly in the center. "Mid-range target," called out the instructor. "Release!" The arrows flew. Dead center again. "Far target... release!" A third success.
As the archers-to-be lined up, the instructor hurried over to the commander. "That one should not be accepted, my lord," he snarled, pointing at the squire. "He has failed the trial thrice already! Today's performance was merely a fluke." The commander turned to the young man. "Answer truthfully, boy. Were you surprised when your arrows found their marks?" Without a moment's hesitation, the squire replied, "No, my lord." The commander nodded and said, "As I suspected. This lad will be my greatest archer some day. I would be a fool not to accept him." He held his hand up, stopping the exasperated instructor before he could speak again. "Greatness is not a matter of what comes naturally to whom, nor is it a matter of accepting one's abilities as being fixed and immutable. Greatness is achieved when one is fully convinced that one cannot progress further, and yet one chooses to press onwards all the same."
----
Week 37 total: 14.5 hours
Grand total: 796.5 hours
Required pace: 711.5 hours (+85)
----
Today, after returning from a refreshing and much-needed spring break, I sat down and practiced guitar. I chose to work on a Stanley Jordan–inspired tapping riff that I have been struggling with for several weeks. My left hand plays fine, and my right hand can get through the ascending run without a problem, but for reasons that were a complete mystery to me, I could not play the descending run cleanly with my right hand. After working on it for a few minutes without any success, bad thoughts started to seep into my head: Maybe I'm wasting my time. Maybe I'll never get this to sound the way I want it to. Maybe I should just give up and rewrite it.
A few moments later, I found myself tinkering with pull-offs on my left hand, wondering what it was that made my favorite guitarists able to play legato runs so beautifully... and then it clicked! In a moment of clarity, I suddenly realized the teeny tiny little adjustment I needed to make in order to get the sound that I wanted. I still can't play the riff at full speed, and probably won't be able to do so for some time, but now I have a clear idea of what I need to do in order to get there. It's a great feeling.
----
After a month had passed, the squire arrived at the field for yet another archery trial. He calmly tied back his hair and strung his bow. The instructor eyed him skeptically before turning to face the others. "Archers! Near target... release!" The squire inhaled slowly, then launched his arrow. It struck the intended target directly in the center. "Mid-range target," called out the instructor. "Release!" The arrows flew. Dead center again. "Far target... release!" A third success.
As the archers-to-be lined up, the instructor hurried over to the commander. "That one should not be accepted, my lord," he snarled, pointing at the squire. "He has failed the trial thrice already! Today's performance was merely a fluke." The commander turned to the young man. "Answer truthfully, boy. Were you surprised when your arrows found their marks?" Without a moment's hesitation, the squire replied, "No, my lord." The commander nodded and said, "As I suspected. This lad will be my greatest archer some day. I would be a fool not to accept him." He held his hand up, stopping the exasperated instructor before he could speak again. "Greatness is not a matter of what comes naturally to whom, nor is it a matter of accepting one's abilities as being fixed and immutable. Greatness is achieved when one is fully convinced that one cannot progress further, and yet one chooses to press onwards all the same."
----
Week 37 total: 14.5 hours
Grand total: 796.5 hours
Required pace: 711.5 hours (+85)
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Break
We sat in the front row, an empty pizza box at our feet, staring up at the unfinished tree. She started to stand, ready to face the long night ahead of us. "Nope. We're not going anywhere until until we've eaten this clementine," I said, digging my rusty pocket knife into the peel. It wasn't as though using my hands would have been any better -- they were both covered in paint, glue, sweat, and blood. She giggled, sat back down, and gladly accepted her half of the fruit. "Some people don't realize that a good break can be much more productive in the long run than a short break."
----
Week 35 total: 10 hours
Week 36 total: 11.5 hours
Grand total: 782 hours
Required pace: 692.5 hours (+89.5)
----
Week 35 total: 10 hours
Week 36 total: 11.5 hours
Grand total: 782 hours
Required pace: 692.5 hours (+89.5)
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Embracing Limitations
 |
| "What are you doing in my coop?" |
Way back in the day, when I was still hopelessly addicted to video games, I went through a phase in which I was obsessed with the N Game, a ninjalicious java applet with an absurdly good physics engine. The game itself was fun, but the aspect that really got me hooked was the level editor. A sizable online community had formed for the purpose of sharing levels, a sub-clique of which were the DDA makers. A DDA, or "Don't Do Anything", is a level which completes itself without any input from the player -- essentially an action movie in which the ninja protagonist confidently dodges rockets, lasers, and killer robots.
My first few attempts to make DDAs were pathetic, even by my own standards. The level designs were clunky, unimaginative, and relied too heavily on the more obvious methods of propulsion. At some point, without putting any thought into the matter, I started imposing arbitrary limitations on myself. Can I make a DDA without any launch pads or gold delay? How about one using only thwumps for propulsion? Can I make a DDA with every object hidden behind a bounce block? I found that, with enough time and effort, the answer to every one of these questions was a resounding "Yes!", and the resulting levels were far more interesting than those I had created without any restrictions.
A few months ago, I tried applying this concept to songwriting: I wanted to compose yet another meandering, astructural, progressive, instrumental piece, but instead of having different sections employ different techniques, I wanted the entire piece to rely on slapping. After churning out dozens of fun new riffs, I eventually stumbled upon a wildly different way of incorporating slapping, one which I had never thought of before. I deemed the experiment a success, and made a mental note to try imposing other limitations in the future.
----
During the third week of my photography class, the professor announced that we were no longer allowed to submit photos that had been taken on campus. He was understandably tired of seeing the same buildings over and over again, and wanted us to explore more of the city in our search for interesting subjects. At first I resisted, only ever venturing a few blocks from campus with my trusty Canon Rebel, and the results were mediocre at best. This weekend, however, I spent a few days in New Hampshire with my lovely ninja queen, and I brought my camera along with me. The surrounding environment was so vastly different from my daily routine that it was almost too easy to find interesting things to photograph -- bridges, gravestones, flowers, cats, dogs, and even chickens.
Unlike in previous projects, I liked so many of my shots that I found it hard to pick which ones I wanted to submit. Eventually I decided to impose another limitation: my project would be dedicated to exploring the emotions of animals. The collection I came up with was, without any doubt, the most innovative I have created thus far. Of all the lessons that have crystallized during the 1000 hour quest, the one that most readily applies to any subject is this: creativity is unlocked not by avoiding limitations, but by embracing them.
----
Week 34 total: 15 hours
Grand total: 760.5 hours
Required pace: 654 hours (+106.5)
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Wazbob and Snagbar
On Monday morning, Wazbob left his home to head down to the docks. Along the way he saw Snagbar, his friend and fellow fisherman, walking in the opposite direction. "Hello there, Snagbar! Where are you headed?" asked Wazbob. Snagbar held up his hand and replied, "I've got this little blister on my finger, see? I'm going to take the day off. I've earned it, right?" Wazbob simply said "If you say so," and walked on.
When he arrived at the docks, he found a dock officer standing by his boat. After a thorough and time-consuming inspection, the officer announced, "I'm pleased to report that your vessel meets all of our requirements... except one." Wazbob was puzzled, as he had never failed a monthly inspection before. "Your registration has expired. I cannot allow you to fish until it is renewed." And so, begrudgingly, Wazbob spent the rest of the day at the Department of Fishing Vehicles to renew his registration.
The next morning, Wazbob was awoken by the sharp crack of nearby thunder. He gazed out his bedroom window to see trees being bent almost to the ground by the strong winds. "Gah, a man can get killed trying to fish in weather like this. I'll have to stay home for the day," grumbled Wazbob. The storm raged until late Wednesday night.
Wazbob rose early on Thursday morning, determined to get in a full day of fishing. As he made his way down to the docks, he again ran into Snagbar, this time walking with an unfamiliar man by his side. "Good morning, Snagbar! Is this a new fishing partner?" he asked. Snagbar chortled and exclaimed, "No, this is my cousin Dagmar! He's visiting for the weekend, so I figured I'd take the day off to show him around." They walked away, chortling all the while. When Wazbob arrived at the docks, he was dismayed to find that a tree had fallen on his boat, crushing the cabin and tearing his best net. After thrice cursing his bad luck, he set about dislodging the tree and repairing his livelihood. He dragged himself home in the late evening covered with sweat, blood, and splinters, but with not a single fish to sell for Friday's market.
----
A few months ago I was invited to attend a Wikimedia conference in Washington, D.C., with all expenses covered. I graciously accepted, but foolishly forgot to mark the date on my calendar. I knew I would be leaving on some Thursday in February or March, but had no idea what the date was. Last Wednesday morning, I checked my email to find a final confirmation note regarding the conference which was to take place that weekend!
After two days of scrambling, I found myself in a hostel in D.C. The conference was a smashing success, with lots of good people and great food. The only unfortunate side effect was having to spend four days away from my 1000-hour quest. There was an acoustic guitar in the common area of the hostel, but I hardly had any time to play it. On Saturday night I tallied up my total practice hours for the week, a lousy 14.5. I found myself thinking, "Well, there's nothing I can do about this, so it's not really my fault." But then I was reminded of the lesson of Wazbob and Snagbar: It doesn't matter if you have a valid excuse or not; if you don't do the work, the work won't get done.
----
Week 33 total: 14.5 hours
Grand total: 745.5 hours
Required pace: 634.5 hours (+111)
When he arrived at the docks, he found a dock officer standing by his boat. After a thorough and time-consuming inspection, the officer announced, "I'm pleased to report that your vessel meets all of our requirements... except one." Wazbob was puzzled, as he had never failed a monthly inspection before. "Your registration has expired. I cannot allow you to fish until it is renewed." And so, begrudgingly, Wazbob spent the rest of the day at the Department of Fishing Vehicles to renew his registration.
The next morning, Wazbob was awoken by the sharp crack of nearby thunder. He gazed out his bedroom window to see trees being bent almost to the ground by the strong winds. "Gah, a man can get killed trying to fish in weather like this. I'll have to stay home for the day," grumbled Wazbob. The storm raged until late Wednesday night.
Wazbob rose early on Thursday morning, determined to get in a full day of fishing. As he made his way down to the docks, he again ran into Snagbar, this time walking with an unfamiliar man by his side. "Good morning, Snagbar! Is this a new fishing partner?" he asked. Snagbar chortled and exclaimed, "No, this is my cousin Dagmar! He's visiting for the weekend, so I figured I'd take the day off to show him around." They walked away, chortling all the while. When Wazbob arrived at the docks, he was dismayed to find that a tree had fallen on his boat, crushing the cabin and tearing his best net. After thrice cursing his bad luck, he set about dislodging the tree and repairing his livelihood. He dragged himself home in the late evening covered with sweat, blood, and splinters, but with not a single fish to sell for Friday's market.
----
A few months ago I was invited to attend a Wikimedia conference in Washington, D.C., with all expenses covered. I graciously accepted, but foolishly forgot to mark the date on my calendar. I knew I would be leaving on some Thursday in February or March, but had no idea what the date was. Last Wednesday morning, I checked my email to find a final confirmation note regarding the conference which was to take place that weekend!
After two days of scrambling, I found myself in a hostel in D.C. The conference was a smashing success, with lots of good people and great food. The only unfortunate side effect was having to spend four days away from my 1000-hour quest. There was an acoustic guitar in the common area of the hostel, but I hardly had any time to play it. On Saturday night I tallied up my total practice hours for the week, a lousy 14.5. I found myself thinking, "Well, there's nothing I can do about this, so it's not really my fault." But then I was reminded of the lesson of Wazbob and Snagbar: It doesn't matter if you have a valid excuse or not; if you don't do the work, the work won't get done.
----
Week 33 total: 14.5 hours
Grand total: 745.5 hours
Required pace: 634.5 hours (+111)
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Notes on Jamming
Yesterday I had the distinct pleasure of jamming with M-Bot, a friend and fellow open mic night regular. We journeyed down to my basement, cranked both of our amps to 11, and rocked out like total bosses. So bossy was the rockage that we collaboratively won the ears and heart of a passing lady critter who, with eyes all a-twinkle, graciously accepted a copy of Ready or Not before scurrying off to fold her laundry. By the end of our three hour jam session, M-Bot and I had thoroughly ravaged our fingertips. Along the way, I made two interesting observations:
First, I fully realized how helpful jamming can be for generating fresh new melodies and chord structures. This is obviously the case when other musicians are suggesting the chords, as would often happen when I played with my older brother and his comrades over the summer. Back then, our keyboardist would throw out crazy combinations of chords, and occasionally I would think "Well this is de-goddamn-licious; I'll have to remember it for later," semicolon and all. But this time, with M-Bot, I was always the one laying down the chords, and yet somehow I found myself playing things that felt wonderfully foreign, even to my own hands.
The other was an extremely encouraging realization that there are elements of my technique that are so natural to me now that, even though I don't perceive them as being particularly difficult or interesting, can completely take others by surprise. At one point I threw in a few right-hand harmonics, a somewhat unorthodox technique that I first tried only a few months after I started playing guitar. M-Bot, who is a fairly competent guitarist in his own right, was bewildered. Even after I explained the technique in detail, he still couldn't quite get the hang of it. It seems reasonable to suggest that an expert musician would want this to be true for all of his techniques: to be so comfortable with them that he can't even remember the struggling.
----
Week 32 total: 19 hours
Grand total: 731 hours
Required pace: 615.5 hours (+115.5)
First, I fully realized how helpful jamming can be for generating fresh new melodies and chord structures. This is obviously the case when other musicians are suggesting the chords, as would often happen when I played with my older brother and his comrades over the summer. Back then, our keyboardist would throw out crazy combinations of chords, and occasionally I would think "Well this is de-goddamn-licious; I'll have to remember it for later," semicolon and all. But this time, with M-Bot, I was always the one laying down the chords, and yet somehow I found myself playing things that felt wonderfully foreign, even to my own hands.
The other was an extremely encouraging realization that there are elements of my technique that are so natural to me now that, even though I don't perceive them as being particularly difficult or interesting, can completely take others by surprise. At one point I threw in a few right-hand harmonics, a somewhat unorthodox technique that I first tried only a few months after I started playing guitar. M-Bot, who is a fairly competent guitarist in his own right, was bewildered. Even after I explained the technique in detail, he still couldn't quite get the hang of it. It seems reasonable to suggest that an expert musician would want this to be true for all of his techniques: to be so comfortable with them that he can't even remember the struggling.
----
Week 32 total: 19 hours
Grand total: 731 hours
Required pace: 615.5 hours (+115.5)
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Miscellaneous Debris
It suddenly dawned on me today that, although I have churned out dozens and dozens of meta-analytical writing pieces over the past few months, I don't think I've ever stopped and given a clear answer to the question "So what's going on in your life?" In my oh-so-humble opinion, writing of this nature can become somewhat boring in medium to large doses, but one could certainly argue that a pinch of simple life updates here and there could be helpful for both me and the reader.
A while back, I started a sub-quest to improve my right/left independence using a series of exercises on my roommate's bass. There are 3600 exercises total, of which I have completed 2520 as of a few minutes ago. The other spreadsheet-assisted task I had set out for myself was to expand my knowledge of subdivisions and polyrhythms, and to hopefully get to the point where I can produce any arbitrary two-voice polyrhythm on command without having studied it before. I have made some strides forward, particularly with septuplets and 7-against-4 polyrhythms. Progress has not been as fast as I had hoped, but I think that's mainly because I've been focusing on finishing up the independence exercises. Switching back and forth from one mechanical exercise to another just gets a bit tedious, and I never want my practicing to become a chore.
In terms of actual musical content, I've finished writing material for a concept album. Naturally, there are a handful of passages that are fiendishly difficult to play cleanly (for me, anyway). I'm hoping to be able to play the harder stuff live in the near future, particularly a potential gig in March, which would be my first real solo gig--open mic nights don't count, as far as I'm concerned. Also, I've been trying my hand at memorizing the massive list in Weird Al's "Hardware Store." It's easily the most ridiculous tongue-twister I've ever heard, with more than 120 words and 250 syllables being spat out in a mere 30 seconds. I figured that with all the effort that musicians put into making their hands quick and precise, why not do the same with my voice?
You may have noticed that the past few weeks have featured sub-par practice totals. Two reasons for this: the first is that I've got myself a lovely ladyfriend whom I find extremely difficult to walk away from. I did not find her in a catalog, I promise. I know I spend a lot of time in my room by myself, but I'm not that desperate! Anywho, the other reason is that I've gotten so far ahead of my required pace that at this point I only need to practice 14 hours per week in order to finish on time, which should be easy.
My second-to-last semester of college is now in full swing. I'm taking three math courses and a photography class, the latter of which is "pure motherfuckin' magic", as Shaggy 2 Dope would say. I spent most of today designing the set for a friend's theater production back home, and in a few weeks I'll start working on the lighting design for the next dance production here at school. And of course, as all this wonderful shenaniganry unfolds, I'll be cranking out pretentious analyses of my experiences right here, week after week. Be safe out there, brothers and sisters.
----
Week 31 total: 18 hours
Grand total: 712 hours
Required pace: 596 hours (+116)
A while back, I started a sub-quest to improve my right/left independence using a series of exercises on my roommate's bass. There are 3600 exercises total, of which I have completed 2520 as of a few minutes ago. The other spreadsheet-assisted task I had set out for myself was to expand my knowledge of subdivisions and polyrhythms, and to hopefully get to the point where I can produce any arbitrary two-voice polyrhythm on command without having studied it before. I have made some strides forward, particularly with septuplets and 7-against-4 polyrhythms. Progress has not been as fast as I had hoped, but I think that's mainly because I've been focusing on finishing up the independence exercises. Switching back and forth from one mechanical exercise to another just gets a bit tedious, and I never want my practicing to become a chore.
In terms of actual musical content, I've finished writing material for a concept album. Naturally, there are a handful of passages that are fiendishly difficult to play cleanly (for me, anyway). I'm hoping to be able to play the harder stuff live in the near future, particularly a potential gig in March, which would be my first real solo gig--open mic nights don't count, as far as I'm concerned. Also, I've been trying my hand at memorizing the massive list in Weird Al's "Hardware Store." It's easily the most ridiculous tongue-twister I've ever heard, with more than 120 words and 250 syllables being spat out in a mere 30 seconds. I figured that with all the effort that musicians put into making their hands quick and precise, why not do the same with my voice?
You may have noticed that the past few weeks have featured sub-par practice totals. Two reasons for this: the first is that I've got myself a lovely ladyfriend whom I find extremely difficult to walk away from. I did not find her in a catalog, I promise. I know I spend a lot of time in my room by myself, but I'm not that desperate! Anywho, the other reason is that I've gotten so far ahead of my required pace that at this point I only need to practice 14 hours per week in order to finish on time, which should be easy.
My second-to-last semester of college is now in full swing. I'm taking three math courses and a photography class, the latter of which is "pure motherfuckin' magic", as Shaggy 2 Dope would say. I spent most of today designing the set for a friend's theater production back home, and in a few weeks I'll start working on the lighting design for the next dance production here at school. And of course, as all this wonderful shenaniganry unfolds, I'll be cranking out pretentious analyses of my experiences right here, week after week. Be safe out there, brothers and sisters.
----
Week 31 total: 18 hours
Grand total: 712 hours
Required pace: 596 hours (+116)
Sunday, January 22, 2012
How About Pistachios?
"Here, you're going to be on the shelling subcommittee," I said to Ninja Queen as I handed her the bag. "One of two things will happen here: either this curry will be reasonably tasty, or it will be terrible and we learn a valuable lesson. Either outcome is excellent," I mused aloud. She continued to separate the nuts from the shells in silence.
----
In high school, my Calculus teacher Mr. J always wore a latex glove in class. Not gloves; glove, singular. He claimed that writing with chalk for extended periods of time would cause his hand to dry out. He seemed to be of the opinion that the discomfort of having dried out skin was worse than the awkwardness of bringing one latex glove to school every day.
Last week I was hired to record a series of instructional math videos for eHow.com. Sadly, the topics that I was asked to record were so nonsensical and boneheaded that I actually got worse at math just by doing it. Topic names like "How to Divide a Trig Function" suggest that not only are the administrators completely inept when it comes to math, but they may in fact be chimps. There are only two reasons why I am grateful for submitting myself to the whim of the chimps: one is that I get paid to do it, and the other is that I gained an appreciation for why Mr. J loved that glove. By the end of the long day of recording, during which I almost always had a piece of chalk in my hand, my hand had gotten so dried out that the skin on my index finger cracked and started bleeding.
This is why most of last week's practice hours had to be completed with a band-aid around my picking finger. This, of course, severely limited the number of things that I could work on. At some point I got so bored that I thought to myself, "Here, make music out of this," and began tapping two ugly, dissonant chords using my non-lacerated fingers. After a few minutes, I started to hear something that resembled a melody. By the end of the week, it had evolved into a complex, funky tapping piece with a splash of Spanish flavor. I have a feeling that it will stick with me for a while, as I find myself thinking about it even after I've stopped playing.
----
"You know," I continued, "I think having that attitude is the key factor in being able to teach oneself how to cook: the willingness to create and eat things that might be terrible. Last year I cooked some meals that were just awful." She looked over at me and smiled. "I would keep making this beef with peperoncini thing, always saying 'How can I improve this? How can I improve this?', until eventually I realized that it was just nasty, plain and simple... but I'm glad I tried to make it work. I learned a lot doing that."
----
Week 30 total: 18.5 hours
Grand total: 694 hours
Required pace: 577 hours (+117)
----
In high school, my Calculus teacher Mr. J always wore a latex glove in class. Not gloves; glove, singular. He claimed that writing with chalk for extended periods of time would cause his hand to dry out. He seemed to be of the opinion that the discomfort of having dried out skin was worse than the awkwardness of bringing one latex glove to school every day.
Last week I was hired to record a series of instructional math videos for eHow.com. Sadly, the topics that I was asked to record were so nonsensical and boneheaded that I actually got worse at math just by doing it. Topic names like "How to Divide a Trig Function" suggest that not only are the administrators completely inept when it comes to math, but they may in fact be chimps. There are only two reasons why I am grateful for submitting myself to the whim of the chimps: one is that I get paid to do it, and the other is that I gained an appreciation for why Mr. J loved that glove. By the end of the long day of recording, during which I almost always had a piece of chalk in my hand, my hand had gotten so dried out that the skin on my index finger cracked and started bleeding.
This is why most of last week's practice hours had to be completed with a band-aid around my picking finger. This, of course, severely limited the number of things that I could work on. At some point I got so bored that I thought to myself, "Here, make music out of this," and began tapping two ugly, dissonant chords using my non-lacerated fingers. After a few minutes, I started to hear something that resembled a melody. By the end of the week, it had evolved into a complex, funky tapping piece with a splash of Spanish flavor. I have a feeling that it will stick with me for a while, as I find myself thinking about it even after I've stopped playing.
----
"You know," I continued, "I think having that attitude is the key factor in being able to teach oneself how to cook: the willingness to create and eat things that might be terrible. Last year I cooked some meals that were just awful." She looked over at me and smiled. "I would keep making this beef with peperoncini thing, always saying 'How can I improve this? How can I improve this?', until eventually I realized that it was just nasty, plain and simple... but I'm glad I tried to make it work. I learned a lot doing that."
----
Week 30 total: 18.5 hours
Grand total: 694 hours
Required pace: 577 hours (+117)
Monday, January 16, 2012
The Clay Room
She looked up at me with those deep, beautiful blue eyes and said, "So do you want this to be a serious thing?"
"To be honest, I hadn't really put much thought into it," I replied. "Do you want it to be a serious thing?"
"I don't want it to be a joke and I don't want it to be just for fun," she said.
"Well, I never joke around and I never have fun!" I laughed, but I knew exactly what she meant.
----
I have lived my whole life in a room made entirely of clay. For months and weeks and hours I would work the clay into fantastic shapes, with no motivation other than the sheer joy of what I was doing. There are a handful of objects which, upon their completion, I told myself would be permanent. Others I would stretch and shape while thinking to myself "Wouldn't it be nice to have a piece of clay that looked like this?", only to forget within a few weeks that it was there at all.
From time to time people would walk by my room and stare at the mess that I had made. They would find little bits and pieces of clay that I had tinkered with and exclaim "Ah, very interesting!", but they never stayed for very long. One by one did they enter, one by one did they leave. I thought "Maybe if I work hard enough, someone will stay." And so I worked. The fruits of my labors were plenty and ripe, but still all they earned were passing smiles, a wave hello, a wave goodbye.
"I don't care what they think as long as I'm happy," I said, frustrated, to no one in particular. But I looked around at the bits and pieces of unrelated, unorganized, unremarkable art and realized that it wasn't good enough for me. What I really wanted was a room with an identity, not just a collection of trinkets. So I shut the door, sealing myself inside. I slaved away for months and weeks and hours, molding and folding and rolling and pushing and pulling and scratching and scoring and marching towards that image, that clear vision of the room that I wanted. I would yank old toys from their perches and press them into the walls, confidently bellowing "I don't need this anymore!" I would spend hours refining the most subtle details, knowing that no one would ever see them, no one would ever notice, no one would ever care, but knowing all the same that they would never be finished until they echoed perfectly the idea I had in my head.
Some of the raw, childlike joy dried up, leaving the clay hard beneath my fingers, but in its place came a much stronger sense of pride and satisfaction with what I created.
There came a day when I set about carving a new window to the world in a yet-untouched expanse of wall. Through it I saw a group of women dancing. I found myself watching just one of them. She was not the most sultry or the most flexible or the most energetic, and yet with a single elegant flick of her wrist, she conveyed a depth of passion and creativity that was unmatched by any of her wriggling, jiggling sisters.
I called out to her and invited her into my room. Slowly and methodically I lead her around the cavern, stopping briefly at each artifact that I had deemed essential to the understanding of the whole. After some time, she turned to me and said "I understand what you're doing here. Can I stay?"
----
After a few moments of contemplation, I met her gaze again.
"Yes."
----
Week 29 total: 16.5 hours
Grand total: 675.5 hours
Required pace: 557.5 hours (+118)
"To be honest, I hadn't really put much thought into it," I replied. "Do you want it to be a serious thing?"
"I don't want it to be a joke and I don't want it to be just for fun," she said.
"Well, I never joke around and I never have fun!" I laughed, but I knew exactly what she meant.
----
I have lived my whole life in a room made entirely of clay. For months and weeks and hours I would work the clay into fantastic shapes, with no motivation other than the sheer joy of what I was doing. There are a handful of objects which, upon their completion, I told myself would be permanent. Others I would stretch and shape while thinking to myself "Wouldn't it be nice to have a piece of clay that looked like this?", only to forget within a few weeks that it was there at all.
From time to time people would walk by my room and stare at the mess that I had made. They would find little bits and pieces of clay that I had tinkered with and exclaim "Ah, very interesting!", but they never stayed for very long. One by one did they enter, one by one did they leave. I thought "Maybe if I work hard enough, someone will stay." And so I worked. The fruits of my labors were plenty and ripe, but still all they earned were passing smiles, a wave hello, a wave goodbye.
"I don't care what they think as long as I'm happy," I said, frustrated, to no one in particular. But I looked around at the bits and pieces of unrelated, unorganized, unremarkable art and realized that it wasn't good enough for me. What I really wanted was a room with an identity, not just a collection of trinkets. So I shut the door, sealing myself inside. I slaved away for months and weeks and hours, molding and folding and rolling and pushing and pulling and scratching and scoring and marching towards that image, that clear vision of the room that I wanted. I would yank old toys from their perches and press them into the walls, confidently bellowing "I don't need this anymore!" I would spend hours refining the most subtle details, knowing that no one would ever see them, no one would ever notice, no one would ever care, but knowing all the same that they would never be finished until they echoed perfectly the idea I had in my head.
Some of the raw, childlike joy dried up, leaving the clay hard beneath my fingers, but in its place came a much stronger sense of pride and satisfaction with what I created.
There came a day when I set about carving a new window to the world in a yet-untouched expanse of wall. Through it I saw a group of women dancing. I found myself watching just one of them. She was not the most sultry or the most flexible or the most energetic, and yet with a single elegant flick of her wrist, she conveyed a depth of passion and creativity that was unmatched by any of her wriggling, jiggling sisters.
I called out to her and invited her into my room. Slowly and methodically I lead her around the cavern, stopping briefly at each artifact that I had deemed essential to the understanding of the whole. After some time, she turned to me and said "I understand what you're doing here. Can I stay?"
----
After a few moments of contemplation, I met her gaze again.
"Yes."
----
Week 29 total: 16.5 hours
Grand total: 675.5 hours
Required pace: 557.5 hours (+118)
Sunday, January 8, 2012
A New Function
I have found that this model works even when the difficult aspect of a passage is coordination rather than speed or precision. Last semester I learned Pain of Salvation's "Fandango", in which the guitar parts are reasonably easy, the vocals are comfortably within my range, but many of the guitar and vocal rhythms simply don't match up at all. I had thought that if I wanted to perform both parts simultaneously, I would have to take a different approach to the challenge, but that wasn't necessary. I simply broke the song into chunks, started working on each chunk at a tempo that was much slower than the original song, and gradually built up speed as I normally do.
I had come to think that this was the only pattern that would be necessarily to reach all of my technical goals, but my efforts to master arbitrary subdivisions over the past few weeks has opened my eyes to a very different type of practicing. Playing 5 evenly-spaced notes in a given amount of time is not particularly difficult once you've already figured out the appropriate speed at which to play them, and the same is true of playing 7 evenly-spaced notes, or 10, or 11, or whatever. The difficulty comes from trying to seamlessly switch between these subdivisions.
Unlike the various other challenges I've attempted, this one simply does not get easier as one decreases the tempo. Switching between 5 and 7 subdivisions of a beat is just as hard to do at 40 beats per minute as it is at 80. So now what? After some pondering, I've come to realize that the ability to switch between subdivisions is not modeled by a logistic function, but instead by an exponential decay function like the blue one below.
----
Week 28 total: 26 hours
Grand total: 659 hours
Required pace: 538.5 hours (+120.5)
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Abstraction
Over the years, there have been a handful of times when I've thought to myself "Wow, there's no way I'll ever learn something more complex than this." It happens not just in music, but in a variety of disciplines. I distinctly remember having that feeling while taking Calculus in high school. Oh sure, you can always learn another trick for integrating functions, but at the conceptual level, I couldn't imagine any math that would be more involved than Calculus -- until I took Differential Equations and Real Analysis, by which point integration seemed childishly easy.
The other clear memory I have of this sort is when I started learning about unusual time signatures. I was blown away when I first heard a piece of music written in 5/4 time, and blown even further away when I tried to learn "The Test That Stumped Them All" by Dream Theater and "Dedication" by Pain of Salvation, both of which I gave up on due to their frequent meter changes which seemed impossible to comprehend. This, of course, was years ago, and by now I've grown so comfortable with odd times and shifting meters that they appear in almost all of my songs.
It is only after this happened a few times that I was able to recognize the pattern and append "This is the most challenging concept I will ever encounter" with "...but I've said that before and I was wrong, so I'm probably wrong now." However, recognition of a pattern is not nearly as exciting as the ability to make use of it. Instead of gradually drifting towards the next level of complexity as I've always done, I now find myself wanting to dive right into it, and over the past week I've done exactly that.
----
A few months ago, I started making an effort to expand my understanding of rhythm to include quintuplets by learning Dream Theater's "Erotomania" and writing my own rhythmic labyrinth called "Broken Hourglass". As I grew more and more comfortable with quintuplets, I caught myself thinking those usual thoughts of "Well, this must surely be the most abstract rhythmic idea I will ever learn."
More recently, however, I saw that this was the perfect opportunity to charge headfirst into the realms of complexity. Instead of piecing together an arsenal of unusual subdivisions over weeks and months, I'm now trying to train myself to be able to accurately divide a beat into any number of subdivisions on command. The vast majority of last week's practice hours were spent listening to a metronome, rapidly switching between various numbers of subdivisions to try to wrap my head around this abstract concept. I even wrote a program on my calculator to produce random sets of integers just to keep myself guessing.
The eventual goal is to become as comfortable with arbitrary subdivisions as I already am with arbitrary time signatures. Assuming I can do that, the next goal will be to master two-way polyrhythms with arbitrary numbers, rather than just using the various combinations of 3, 4, 5, and 6 that I've come to love. From there, I will work towards mastering arbitrary polyrhythms with any number of voices, each using any number of subdivisions. After having realized how often we fool ourselves into thinking we've reached our limits, I am confident that I will eventually be able to conquer any rhythmic concept I can dream up. Only time will tell if this confidence has been misplaced.
----
Week 27 total: 20 hours
Grand total: 633 hours
Required pace: 519 hours (+114)
The other clear memory I have of this sort is when I started learning about unusual time signatures. I was blown away when I first heard a piece of music written in 5/4 time, and blown even further away when I tried to learn "The Test That Stumped Them All" by Dream Theater and "Dedication" by Pain of Salvation, both of which I gave up on due to their frequent meter changes which seemed impossible to comprehend. This, of course, was years ago, and by now I've grown so comfortable with odd times and shifting meters that they appear in almost all of my songs.
It is only after this happened a few times that I was able to recognize the pattern and append "This is the most challenging concept I will ever encounter" with "...but I've said that before and I was wrong, so I'm probably wrong now." However, recognition of a pattern is not nearly as exciting as the ability to make use of it. Instead of gradually drifting towards the next level of complexity as I've always done, I now find myself wanting to dive right into it, and over the past week I've done exactly that.
----
A few months ago, I started making an effort to expand my understanding of rhythm to include quintuplets by learning Dream Theater's "Erotomania" and writing my own rhythmic labyrinth called "Broken Hourglass". As I grew more and more comfortable with quintuplets, I caught myself thinking those usual thoughts of "Well, this must surely be the most abstract rhythmic idea I will ever learn."
More recently, however, I saw that this was the perfect opportunity to charge headfirst into the realms of complexity. Instead of piecing together an arsenal of unusual subdivisions over weeks and months, I'm now trying to train myself to be able to accurately divide a beat into any number of subdivisions on command. The vast majority of last week's practice hours were spent listening to a metronome, rapidly switching between various numbers of subdivisions to try to wrap my head around this abstract concept. I even wrote a program on my calculator to produce random sets of integers just to keep myself guessing.
The eventual goal is to become as comfortable with arbitrary subdivisions as I already am with arbitrary time signatures. Assuming I can do that, the next goal will be to master two-way polyrhythms with arbitrary numbers, rather than just using the various combinations of 3, 4, 5, and 6 that I've come to love. From there, I will work towards mastering arbitrary polyrhythms with any number of voices, each using any number of subdivisions. After having realized how often we fool ourselves into thinking we've reached our limits, I am confident that I will eventually be able to conquer any rhythmic concept I can dream up. Only time will tell if this confidence has been misplaced.
----
Week 27 total: 20 hours
Grand total: 633 hours
Required pace: 519 hours (+114)
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