Following is a copy of Page's senior study from Goddard College,

which he has kindly made available to readers of the net.

THE ART OF IMPROVISATION

Submitted in partial fulfillment of

the requirements for the degree of

Bachelor of Arts at Goddard College

Page McConnell

December 19, 1987

At the age of four I began taking piano lessons. For the next

twelve years I studied with four different teachers. They

attempted to teach me to read music, a skill I never fully

developed. My dyslexic tendencies made the process very difficult

and a good ear made it easier for me to play by ear. In my early

years of lessons I had no problem playing the pieces that were

assigned to me as long as I had heard my piano teachers play them

for me. As the level of difficulty in the pieces I was playing

increased, I was forced to learn how to read. I struggled with the

process and didn't entirely enjoy it, though the ones that I did

learn stretched my technical abilities. The most difficult piece

that I learned was Scott Joplin's "Maple Leaf Rag."

During my ninth grade year I stopped taking piano lessons. It

was during this next stage of my playing that I began to really

enjoy playing. Obviously this was because I was playing for

myself, not for my piano teachers or parents. I spent much of the

next year listening to rock albums, playing what I heard, and

taking my improvisation more seriously. Often I was just

improvising the voicings to the songs that I was playing, but my

ability to do blues improvisation increased also. My first

introduction to the blues was a book I received in first grade

called Jazz and Blues for Beginners. This book introduced me to

blues progressions. These are progressions that alternate between

the I7 and the IV7 chord and generally end with a V7-IV7-I7

progression. Both rock and jazz find their roots in the blues, and

in fact rock has never really left. The majority of rock songs

written are a variation on the I7-IV7-V7 progression. Many do not

vary at all.

I suppose that my main motivating factor for practicing during

my high school years (other than the fact that I enjoyed it) was

that I had some opportunity to perform. These opportunities

generally arose at parties where there would be a piano and I would

play. I was at the time also involved with a jazz band. The group

was founded in fifth grade and I started playing with them in

seventh grade. By ninth grade we had a small repertoire of

jazz/pop tunes ranging from Herb Alpert's "Taste of Honey" to Van

Morrison's "Moondance" to Horace Silver's "Song for my Father." I

had begun to experiment with playing over chord changes, though I

didn't really understand what I was doing. I used my limited

knowledge of blues in these situations, but I usually didn't solo.

What I did understand and enjoy was learning how to communicate

with other musicians. The band was not extremely dedicated. We

practiced very little and had only a handful of gigs during the

years we played together. My soloing may have left a lot to be

desired but I did learn how to comp, to play behind someone else's

solo.

Around tenth grade I found a teacher who was going to teach me

"Jazz Improv." His name is Doug Frueler and he has some

interesting ideas concerning improvisation. He had developed a

theory that there weren't 7 modes as taught in Baroque theory, but

that there were 72 modes. At the time I wasn't familiar with modes

at all, and even now I'm not sure how he arrived at the number 72;

however I did learn some important lessons from him. I learned

that there is no right or wrong way to approach improvising and

that as long as you really put yourself into it, it can work. Doug

and his method are perfect examples of this. I also learned some

valuable tools through exercises that we did, primarily the tool of

economy. Doug would have me do exercises where I would have to

form melodies, or play over blues progressions using only three or

four notes. I found that this approach could work and that I

could create interesting melodies with only a few notes.

Economy is a trait that I try to keep prevalent in my

improvising today. Keeping a melody simple, particularly in the

beginning of a solo, gives the performer (as well as the other

musicians and the audience) something to grasp onto, a starting

point from which to travel. Economy is an element of jazz that is

often attributed to Count Basie. As a pianist and a band leader,

he grew out of the Fats Waller tradition. "Fats had the strongest

left hand in traditional jazz -- a left hand which could replace

not only a rhythm section but a whole band... Today, one can

sometimes hear in the piano solos Basie plays with his band that he

comes from Fats Waller. He plays a kind of "economized" Fats: an

ingeniously abstract structure of Waller music in which only the

cornerstones remain -- but they stand for everything else. Basie

became one of the most economical pianists in jazz history, and the

way he manages to create tension between often widely spaced notes

is incomparable." 1

Economy is a trait I admire in my influences. Bill Evans,

probably my most important jazz piano influence, plays an entirely

different style than Basie yet he incorporates economy:

"He has worked unceasingly to arrive at a clearer, less cluttered

jazz conception,, one with no false starts, no side issues, no

merely showy licks. The logic with which one phrase follows

another is impeccable. Though he sometimes uses locked-hands

chords or moving left-hand figures, a typical Evans solo consists

almost entirely of a single line in the right hand (occasionally

incorporating some thirds) supported by sustained voicings in the

left hand that have been almost brutally pared down until

all that remains is the naked skeleton of

jazz harmony."2

After my lessons with Doug, which lasted only a few months,

I went through a period of relative musical stagnation. I

practiced for my own enjoyment, but I wasn't playing with other

musicians on any kind of regular basis, and my opportunities for

performance were practically non-existent. For the next four years

(one year at home, one year at boarding school, and two years at

S.M.U. in Dallas) my practice schedule was very undisciplined

though I did try to play every couple of days. While at S.M.U., I

majored in music for one semester and learned a lot about a music

education at a traditional institution. There seemed to be two

goals in that educational system: one was to train people to

become concert musicians; the other was to teach the students that

weren't good enough to become concert musicians to be able to teach

the next generation exactly the same thing. At the time I didn't

see how their approach to music applied to my approach to music.

Much of the theory they taught I thought of as common sense. I did

learn modal theory, which proved useful in my early days with Phish

(the band I currently play with) when most of our jamming was done

over modal progression.

At the end of my S.M.U. career (just weeks before I started

Goddard) I took a course called "Imagination, Awareness and Ideas."

The course dealt with promoting creativity, left-right brain

exercises, alpha states, imagination, awareness and ideas. It is

the most important course I've ever taken. I learned how to (or

perhaps how not to) deal with creative blocks.

I took my newly learned insights and came to Goddard in the

Fall of '84. I finally felt that I was in a situation where my

education would be equated with what I was learning. Upon arriving

at Goddard I began to play the piano considerably more than I ever

had before, usually at least two hours a day. Within weeks I began

having musical experiences and feelings that I had never had

before. The feelings could either be described as detaching myself

from the conscious process of playing the piano, or totally

attaching myself, becoming one with the instrument. I became able

to hear music in my head and simultaneously be playing it. The

breakthrough was a result of my ear training, the attitude I had

developed in Imagination, Awareness and Ideas, and the discipline

of practicing every day. The process I am describing is similar to

a process described in Eugen Herrigel's Zen in the Art of Archery

when he tells of a swordsman that is learning to master his art:

"The pupil must develop a new sense or, more accurately, a new

alertness of all his senses, which will enable him to avoid

dangerous thrusts as though he could feel them coming. Once he

has mastered this art of evasion, he no longer needs to watch

undivided attention the movements of his opponents, or even of

several opponents at once. Rather, he sees and feels what is going

to happen, and at the sane moment he has already avoided its effect

without there being "A hair's breadth" between perceiving and

avoiding. This, then, is what counts: a lightening reaction which

has no further need of conscious observation. In this respect at

least the pupil makes himself independent of all conscious purpose,

and this is a great gain."3

This book has proven to be the most valuable piece of literature I

have ever read in terms of helping me helping me gain an

understanding of discipline and helping me define myself as an

artist.

I spent that first year (Fall '84, Spring '85) practicing,

recording with the school's 4-track, and playing in a number of

musical situations. I played with three bands., but the most

rewarding musical situation, and the only real musical

communication I experienced was with an acoustic guitar player

named Thomas McCommas. We would play regularly in the Haybarn,

acoustically, and the arrangement was very satisfying. The sounds

of our instruments blended very well and we played comfortably off

each other, having similar musical tastes. Most of the band

experiences that I had that year were not so positive. I couldn't

find anyone on my musical level to play with. I continued to

record the piano and was very pleased with the results.

In May of '85 -- at Springfest -- I was introduced to a band:

Phish. I immediately knew that I wanted to be a member. I moved

to Burlington and joined the band.

It has taken roughly two years for me to figure out what my

musical role is in the band. When I joined there were five of us:

two guitars; bass; drums; and keyboards. The music was extremely

busy and there wasn't much space for me to shape the sound. After

one year one of the guitar players left, and I began to grow into

my space and develop my style. It was during my fourth semester

that I began taking lessons with Lar Duggan a jazz pianist in

Burlington.

Lar has been the single most important person in helping me

develop my improvisation. A master of improvisation himself, he

doesn't suggest directions that he feels are important for me to

follow, rather he will guide me through any direction I choose.

When I began taking lessons with him I felt that the area most

lacking in my playing was my left hand and its interaction with my

right hand. In retrospect that probably wasn't my most lacking

attribute but Lar helped me find exercises that would develop

continuity between my two hands, and offered different approaches

to improvisation such as ones that focused on the left hand and let

the right hand comp behind it. From these exercises I learned many

things, namely that my left hand already led my right hand along

and that my left hand has a better sense of timing.

It wasn't until I began reading music again that I felt that

my right and left hands were working well together. Two pieces in

particular contributed to this feeling of unity: 1) a two-part

invention written by Trey Anastasio, the guitar player and composer

in Phish; 2) Bach's two-part invention #8 in F major. I began

learning Trey's piece the summer after I started lessons with Lar.

The piece was inspired by Bach's inventions and is about as

technically demanding. There is a great deal of imitation and

inversion between the right hand and the left hand. It took me

months to learn it, but once I did I noticed a feeling and an

attitude towards my hands that I hadn't felt before. My left hand

felt stronger and I had more confidence in it. It was performing

the same functions as my right hand. The next semester began at

Goddard, and I was back on campus studying classical piano with

Lois Harris. I started working on Bach's invention #8. I picked

the piece up fairly quickly and had it memorized within a few

weeks. This was partially due to the fact that Lois had helped me

finger the piece correctly. Once I had learned it I played it over

and over because it is so beautiful and so easy to play through, or

rather it is difficult for me not to play through the entire piece.

Once I play the first phrase, there is essentially no way to stop.

The piece moves so fluidly and logically that it is almost

impossible to keep myself from playing the whole piece once I play

the opening notes. I was putting so much energy into the piece

that I decided to drop my classical lessons because I thought that

they were detracting energy that I wanted to be devoting to jazz,

my primary focus. These two inventions have given me confidence

and ability I couldn't have gained any other way.

My playing of the Bach piece has continued to improve. This

semester I set out with an interest in composition. The best way

to learn about composition is by analyzing other compositions.

Bach's invention #8 seemed like a likely place to start since I was

already familiar with the piece and was curious to see how the

melody modulated. I did decide after much analysis that my

discipline this semester wouldn't be composition, but that my true

passion is improvisation. However, my analysis (which is included

in my senior study) has proved very useful to me. My performance

of the invention has improved immensely since this analysis. I

have learned from talking to Lar that this happens because when you

commit music to memory, the brain can remember and recall it, but

when music is analyzed the retention is much deeper and more solid.

A performer that has analyzed music knows and understands the

movement of the melody, where it is headed, and why it is headed

there. The result of my analysis can be heard in my performance of

this piece. Since I have a deeper understanding of the

intentions and movements of the music, my interpretation of the

piece has become much more in tune and responsive to the harmonic

and rhythmic movement of the piece. I still play this piece once

nearly every time I sit down at the piano.

My practice sessions at Goddard for the first few years that

I was here were rather undisciplined. I was disciplined in that I

was playing every day, but the sessions themselves were

unstructured. I would spend hours playing songs (mostly rock),

singing, and improvising over these songs. Most of these songs are

harmonically simple, in fact boring. This was the music I listened

to and the music I played, and I was satisfied with my practice

sessions because I knew that I could become a good rock piano

player that way. Once I started taking lessons with Lar and

listening to jazz, I was humbled. I have made an effort in the

past year and a half to listen to as much jazz as possible and as

little rock as possible. I have found that as one who plays by ear

the easiest way to learn is to listen. I have three major jazz

influences: Bill Evans; Duke Ellington; and Art Tatum. I have

listened to more Evans and Ellington than anything else. From Bill

Evans I have learned to try to play fluidly. I have studied his

solos "the logic with which one phrase follows another."4 I

appreciate him in the say way I find Bach's work logically

graceful. I have directly "copped riffs" from him and I have tried

to develop my own fluidity through relaxation, but I have a long

way to go. I know that I have a good ability to tap into someone

else's flow and comp behind them when they are soloing. My ability

to communicate with other musicians is, I feel, my most highly

developed jazz attribute. Listening to Duke Ellington's band has

also been a great influence, primarily in two ways. First, by

listening to the members of his band, particularly the horn

players, I have gotten a feel for swing. Those guys know how to

swing. They could make their instruments talk, and I found what

they had to say interesting harmonically as well as rhythmically.

I have tried to incorporate the swing feel into my playing, and I

feel that just within the past three gigs that I have any kind of

consistent feel for it. The second way that Duke Ellington has

influenced me is through his (and Billy Strayhorn's) compositions.

My analysis of music moved from classical into jazz as my interest

in composition moved to an interest in improvisation. My analyses

of "Mood Indigo", "Take the A Train" and "Sophisticated Lady" were

not so much structural as they were analyses of how one might play

over them. In particular I studied what scales could be used and

how certain notes in the melodies determined these scales. These

analyses have been integral in my growing ability to play over

changes. The third influence I mentioned was Art Tatum. He has

opened me up to a truly pianistic approach to jazz. I envy his

long runs and his perfectly executed trills, but unless I study

more classical music, I won't really be able to incorporate his

style into my playing.

Back to my practice sessions -- I realized that I couldn't

achieve the status of jazz piano player going along practicing with

the attitude of a rock musician. The rock music that I had been

playing and improvising over was almost all modal or strictly

blues. This made improvising fairly easy as long as I was playing

in the right mode or the proper blues scale. In jazz, it is the

melody not the mode that determines what can and can't be played.

The melody determines the chords of the tune, and these chords

(with the melody inherent) are what the improviser uses to direct

his solo. Modal jamming is a small aspect of jazz improvisation,

but only a fraction of what jazz is. The ability to play over jazz

changes requires a deeper understanding of music and a much more

spiritual approach to improvising than in rock music. One needs to

discipline himself and practice, learn the music and when it comes

time to play leave all preconceptions behind. The object is to

play what one hears at the moment, and any preconceptions about

what is going to be played will have a tendency to detract from the

life of the solo. A good way to achieve this is to sing along

while you improvise. This is a tool which Lar introduced me to, a

tool which I have since heard many jazz greats (including Art

Tatum) do on albums. By singing, even if it isn't audible or isn't

exactly the melody you're playing, you open up yourself to any

internal melodies, and these can be sources of inspiration.

It wasn't until this semester that I began to take on a much

more serious attitude towards practicing. This has been due

largely to my reading of Zen in the Art of Archery. My primary

source of discipline this semester has been working out of C.L.

Hanon's The Virtuoso Pianist, a book designed "for the acquirement

of agility, independence, strength, and perfect evenness in the

fingers, as well as suppleness of the wrist."5 These Hanon

exercises have helped me with all these areas. I began doing these

exercises daily and working with the metronome. After I had worked

through the first twenty exercises in the book I began to speed up

the metronome as recommended. I was having problems with muscle

cramping and a general tightness in my body. I went to Lar for

advice, and he helped me position my body and hands so that they

were in a much more natural position. He suggested that I focus my

attention on relaxing instead of trying to hit every note, or

focusing on the metronome. He said that I should constantly be

checking my wrists and elbows to be sure they aren't tight. He

mentioned that playing with a metronome can sometimes lead a

musician to start playing like a metronome, which sounds lifeless

and inhibits one's ability to swing. Concerning the tightness I

was feeling all over, he thought it might be from improper

breathing. He suggested that I try screaming a phrase over and

over while playing the Hanon exercises. This approach seems rather

unorthodox, but it got results. By concentrating on my voice and

lungs, not only did my breathing regulate itself, and by body

loosen up, but I played the exercises with more conviction,

emphasizing each note.

The importance of proper breathing did not just apply to these

exercises but turned out to be the most important aspect of feeling

comfortable while improvising. I learned this through Lar and I

learned this through Zen in the Art of Archery. In this passage

the master is describing what is necessary for the artist to let go

of himself for the sake of the art, in this case an arch with

archery:

" ... Thus between these two states of bodily relaxedness on the

one hand and spiritual freedom on the other there is a difference

level which cannot be overcome by breath-control alone, but only by

withdrawing from all attachments whatsoever, by becoming utterly

egoless: so that the soul, sunk within itself, stands in the

plentitude of its nameless origin.

The demand that the door of the senses be not closed is not met

by turning energetically away from the sensible world, but rather

by a readiness to yield without resistance. In order that this

actionless activity may be accomplished instinctively, the soul

needs an inner hold, and it wins by concentrating on breathing ...

The more one concentrates on breathing, the more the external

stimuli fade into the background."6

I am fortunate enough to be in a band that gigs regularly, and

this has given me many opportunities to practice my relaxation

techniques. While playing in front of people, if I feel myself

tightening up, or am not feeling inspired (especially during

solos) I concentrate on breathing and everything usually falls

into place.

About the same time I began to understand relaxation, I began

playing jazz regularly with a sax, drum, and bass player. We

primarily play jazz standards though more recently we've gotten

into originals written by our sax man (my advisor) Karl Boyle. I

have used these sessions not only to improve my playing but to

gauge my improvement as a jazz musician. As the semester went on

I began to be able to play these tunes with much looser feel, and

even felt comfortable improvising over songs that I had never seen

or heard before such as Karl's originals.

My proper breathing, my playing out, my listening to jazz and

my discipline have given me a new confidence. I know that even

though I have a long way to go that I am a good jazz player. This

confidence has helped me approach improvising with fewer

preconceptions about where the music is going to go. I don't have

to worry because I know that my improvisations will lead me to a

good place musically, and if they don't I have the confidence that

I will be able to get myself out of any awkward musical situations,

and in fact use these situations to create tension.

At this point (the end of the semester) I took my skills to a

recording studio where I would learn even more about my playing.

We (Phish) went to Boston to record a three song demo. The

experience of working in a recording studio is different from any

I'd ever had before. The energy level was high though it was much

different than playing in front of people. We laid down the

initial tracks. I didn't feel very comfortable with the playing at

the time, and in fact I didn't think it was very good. However,

upon listening to it a few times I found that much of what I'd

played was interesting. I'd learned another lesson: even if I'm

not moved by what I play, it doesn't mean that it's not good. As

a musician I need to become as good as I can, and believe that what

I'm playing is good, even if I'm not have an amazing musical

experience. Hearing the work I did in the studio has given me even

more confidence.

Bibliography

1. Berendt, Joachim E., The Jazz Book, p. 223, Westport,

Connecticut., Lawrence Hill & Co., 1975.

2. Aikin, Jim, "Bill Evans".. Contemporary Keyboard, Vol 6,

No. 6., p. 45, June 1980.

3. Herrigel, Eugen, Zen in the Art of Archery, p, 82, New

York, Vintage Books, 1953.

4. Aikin., p. 45.

5. Hanon, C.L., The Virtuoso Pianist, New York, G. Schirmer,

Inc.