Sometimes I feel like experimental improvisers can be a lot like alcoholics—they don’t know when to stop. I was going to keep these thoughts to myself but something happened during Mobtown Modern’s performance of Cobra last week that made me want to put it out there: I think I became the person that you’ll read about further down in this post. We’d been playing for close to an hour—not quite by my watch—and the performance could/might have reached a logical conclusion point. But I was so excited about what the group might be able to do if we did just one more cobra, I turned to the audience and asked, “Should we do one more?” And then there was this line from Baltimore Sun critic Tim Smith’s review of the show:
It might have been wiser to quit while they were ahead, though; by the time they played the last round, the diversity of contributions had lessened considerably.
Ugh. Let me explain a little more. I go to a lot of improv shows and there has been a high frequency of times I leave vowing to never speak of what I’d just witnessed and wishing for that 2 hours of my life back. Now that’s not to say that there couldn’t have been some supremely beautiful or bona fide compelling moments within that two hours, but I think that the old adage “you should leave your audience wanting more” should start being heeded. Maybe I’m being a little unfair, but if I’d heard a coherent, cohesive one-hour, or 45-min, or hell, even a 30-min improvisation recently I’d be less inclined to raise my voice.
In most of the long form improvisations I’ve heard in the not so distant past there seemed to have been several moments when the session could have ended to make a cohesive statement. Instead, these cadence points arrive and inevitably someone on stage gets a little too self-indulgent and mistakes the natural end of a piece for a big solo opportunity. What follows is generally a very similar process to what had just unfolded: 1) the players start mimicking the sounds that are already happening, 2) then they gradually begin introducing something contrasting, 3) and commence a really long build-up that may peak up to 10 times, 4) followed by a very slow decrease in activity and volume, and finally 5) the audience sits rigidly during an uncomfortably long silence praying that no one on stage is inspired any more. I love it when the musicians finish one of these long pieces and then look around at each other on stage and then invariably say, “Should we do another one?” That’s the best. Though I believe that nearly every audience member wants to scream, “NO!!!!!!” nobody ever says anything. Then the players decide to do a “short one.” And the band plays on. And on. And on.
But rather than just complain here, I’d like to make a sugggestion: what about a time limit? (David Byrne makes a really great point about time constraints here. Thanks to Bill Mill for that tip.) Rather than basking in the comfort that you can ramble on for over 30 minutes hoping that inspiration may strike if it’s failed to up to that point, why not try and aim to create a solid, focused, complete, and meaningful statement in, let’s say, 10 minutes? Hardcore folks probably won’t like this idea since it imposes an unwelcome parameter in a musical genre that tends to shun any kind of constraint. But I think that would be more challenging for the players. And likely more engaging for the listeners. Parameters like duration (of the shorter variety) might be worthy considerations for free improvisers who haven’t matured enough yet to sustain a long form session.
There are two types of experiences to keep in mind here—the experience of the audience member and the experience of the performer—and I’ve been on both sides. The joy and excitement you feel as a performer during an improvisation might not translate to joy and excitement to an audience member. How do you know when you’ve reached that point? Are audiences just stupid if they don’t “get” what you’re playing and can’t stay focused? Whose fault is it? When does self-indulgence become over-indulgence?
I agree w/ Ryan that rules or parameters can often push us to places we wouldn’t have been. There is a true freedom within bounds. A game of football would not be very interesting to watch (or play) if the runner could truly go wherever he wanted. i.e. off the field, up the tunnel, whatever. The fact that there is a line of scrimmage, sidelines/boundaries make it exciting. There is still all kinds of freedom after the snap but it takes place within bounds. There are set plays but the greatest things take place when things are improvised on the field. And there is a game clock!!! Music is very much the same. Structure isn’t limiting, it’s freeing, when used well.
Great post. I always have to check myself as well. Recently at a recital I played some improv with a percussionist. Because it was on a faculty recital, there were other numbers on the program and strict time constraints to watch. The chair gave us 8 minutes, but since neither of us trusted ourselves to keep to that time, we actually had someone sit in the back row and put his hand up at the 8-minute mark!
I also need to say that I disagree 100% with Chris Becker. I actually believe creativity thrives on rules. When I set certain limits for my students, such as “only play triads” or “stay within the range of a fifth,” they play many things they wouldn’t have otherwise. When there are no rules, they’ll stay within their comfort zones. These comfort zones are much smaller rhythmically and melodically than they’re capable of when a few guidelines are set. You could certainly play music with no rules, no guidelines, and no beginning or end … just don’t expect anyone else to enjoy listening to it.
I think you are trying to make a “product” out of what is really an experience – a ritual. There isn’t a beginning or end to improvisation. There are no rules. There certainly aren’t “rules of cohesion.”
This is what I’ve gathered from performing improvised sets of music with musicians far more experienced than I. Come to think of it, it’s when I’ve tried to create limits, time frames, and / or other parameters that the music in these situations lost its magical qualities.
But even that isn’t really a problem. What happens if you don’t “fail” onstage? Do you get a prize?
Captcha is “the conjures” back atcha, yo.
@Alex @Trevor I think if the doing-of-the-experiment is the actual performance, then that’s indicative of the quality, or lack thereof, of the result. However, I sometimes feel that people think they can “get away” with that line of reasoning because it is “experimental music,” right? I know I’m preaching to the choir with you two, but affiliation with this stream of music shouldn’t result in it being okay to not prepare, plan, or “rehearse” a likely consequence.
Ironically, the Captcha words for this comment are “the failing.”
“The joy and excitement you feel as a performer during an improvisation might not translate to joy and excitement to an audience member. How do you know when you’ve reached that point? Are audiences just stupid if they don’t “get” what you’re playing and can’t stay focused? Whose fault is it? When does self-indulgence become over-indulgence?”
I think there really is a skill to this. I’ve seen Peter Evans improvise for 45 minutes straight, solo trumpet, and it’s been riveting every time. But of course Peter Evans does something like that 50 times a year. I’ve also seen dozens and dozens of “improvisers” (scare quotes oh-so-intended) who are great players and have great spontaneous ideas, but no idea how to take the long view in shaping the piece. There are certain rules of cohesion I’m convinced apply across the written/improvised spectrum, which are easier to intuitively realized in a short improvisation, but are impossible to just innately “feel” over a period of time that extends much beyond that.
When I hear the form you just described–introduction of ideas followed by 8-10 climaxes–I know I’m going to be in trouble by the end. That’s a textbook example of confusing “improvising” with “not planning.” I don’t want to hear that for the same reason I don’t want to hear someone write a piano piece in sonata form anymore.
Brian, this post is totally right on. I am not a fan of subjecting audiences to experimental improvisation (though I’ll be the first to admit that actually doing it is SO FUN) without time limits. When one has the right mix of people, who are able to play together and LISTEN to one another within a time limit, and without becoming self-indulgent (not so easy!) improv can be a magical thing.