Bowl of Chops

It’s nearly spring here in Charlotte, and somehow I have lived here for nearly 9 months without posting a blog, which I think is really a shame considering the breadth of experiences I have had in that time! It would be unwise of me to try to put into words all of the things I’ve been up to, so instead I’m going to opt for a particular tangent that seems appropriate at this phase of the year.

Before I fully arrive at my tangent, some context: Since 1997, I’ve been an avid sports fan. Baseball was my first love, and within the first year of participating in a pitching machine league at age six, I was certain I had a future among the greatest ever to play the game. I can remember confidently penning a letter that went into my elementary school’s time capsule in 1998 with, “I’m sure you recognize my name from my famous baseball career…”

Well, that certainly… transpired differently than my six-year-old self predicted! But my enjoyment of being a sports fan has lived well beyond the end of my own playing career in 2007. As my aspirations shifted towards music, and in the decades since, I have found parallel after parallel between my heroes in the sports world and those I take inspiration from in the musical world. Among those parallels is one that leads me to the topic of this post: rest and thoughtful preparation of the body.

If we were to examine the working life of a major league baseball pitcher, you’d surely find (in most cases) someone who is very methodical about just how much they are participating in the game at full speed. A starting pitcher performs once every five, or sometimes six, games during the season, which is roughly 7-8 months of the year. How they train, simulate game activity, study the opposition, and rest takes up far more time than actually performing the job they are hired to do. Awareness of how they are feeling, if they are hurting, or if they are fresh, is critical so as not to suffer an extended stay on the injured list. These professionals make numerous calculated decisions to ensure they are indeed capable of performing at their best.

I bring this up because I believe that a high percentage of musical students, i.e., brass players, do not operate with that level of care. Practice is viewed as only on-the-face-repetition, with hours and fatigue as currency in a world where strength is thought to be a game-winning strategy. Brass musicians spend a large amount of time “doing the thing,” albeit incorrectly, by focusing on running repertoire, while fading critical aspects of preparation, such as listening to great music, singing what they are working on to save face, and recording themselves to fast-track the feedback they give themselves. These elements aren’t seen as “practice” but instead as a form of study that is far too boring and tedious to believe in. All the while, sleep, especially for collegiate students, is placed at the bottom of the priority list. “Sleep when you’re dead! I have too much to do! When else do I get time to hang out with my friends? I have to work!” - yes these are valid thoughts, but does this leave no room for you to place priority on the craft that you have chosen to move forward with as a young professional?

I mention this because I see how this dynamic still plays a role in my life today. Yesterday I had the pleasure of sitting in with a professional group and playing a lot of fun, brass-heavy, loud music. I was lost in the joy of it all, but afterwards I felt like I had just thrown 9 complete innings of baseball, using my face. Later in the day, when I was teaching, I went to demonstrate something, and the magic just wasn’t there. I had exceeded my threshold for the day, and there was no way to recreate that feeling until I had allowed my face the proper rest it had earned. Given that, I prioritized today to be one of musical rest - I listened to some sounds I really enjoyed, I played about 20 soft minutes on my instrument, and I’ve been drinking water like it’s going out of style. I slept about 7 hours last night and will get at least that much again tonight. All of this to have a full day of playing and teaching again tomorrow, with an approach that is fresh both physically and mentally.

For years, this has been the formula that was preached to me as a student, and I’m still learning to follow it. One of the most influential teachers I ever had, the incredible jazz trombonist Freddie Mendoza, characterized each playing day as “a bowl of chops,” and once the bowl was empty, you were done. Boston University’s own Don Lucas, who loves his late-night practice sessions, can be frequently found calling himself out for “staying too late at the fair” from the night before if he isn’t careful. A final quote that stands out to me from the method book of my latest teacher/mentor, Toby Oft, reads, “Be kind to your lips. Treat them like a vocalist treats their vocal cords.”

Do with the content of this post as you will, but if I could simply direct your practice over the final half of this spring semester, it would be this: Sleep, drink water, listen more than you play, and simulate performance before you actually perform! Happy practicing, and happy spring break, for those who celebrate.