London Viola Player, Violinist & Arranger For Hire

On writing

I think playing music, in the strictest sense, is best approached as a craft not an art. In other words, something that can be practised, polished, has technique and to some extent ‘rules’ (which you at least have to know in order to be able to decide when to break them!) and is not primarily about expression or creation. This is why it’s possible and indeed necessary to practise whether you feel like it, sometimes up to it, or not, and in a sense why it is possible to ever play someone else’s music or perform the same piece twice.

But … writing music can be a different matter. And the gigging band world assumes people get involved in writing. There are very few bands where someone turns up knowing what they want everyone to do; normally they’ll have lyrics, tune, maybe a guitar part or a structure – sometimes not all of those depending on how collaboratively the band writes. In my usual melody / lead instrument role, I’ll rarely get more than chords (sometimes not those if a guitarist-writer has just found an exciting-sounding set of finger positions – it does happen!) and perhaps a couple of suggestions about places to come in and drop out. And in practice, I usually produce a mixture of fixed lines and improvisation.

This too involves quite a bit of craft rather than art from my point of view. Backing, rather than taking over, someone else’s song involves getting to some extent into their style, their aesthetic and their expression; even while people usually form bands to add something they wouldn’t be able to put in themselves, and so there’s also an element implicitly required of bringing my particular musical nature to the table. And if improvisation seems by its nature unrehearsable, that’s only because it’s practised in a different way. You may play differently every time, but getting used to where the music goes, how the group you’re playing with behave not just obviously musically but in subtle cues, maybe facial or postural, that can tell you a lot even semi-consciously about what they’re going to do or want you to do, and becoming essentially fluent takes more practice than playing a fixed part, even playing it in tight ensemble and sympathy with the rest of the sound.

And then there are the bands (to be honest, as many as not) where everyone is actively encouraged to write songs of their own. And for some reason this is where I tend to trip up. Because the craft-type stuff almost always offers ways of plugging the gap if you get stuck. They may be a bit cheap and dull, but as long as they’re not overused they get you off the hook. Things like inverted pedal points (basically, sitting on one note – probably the key note, maybe the fifth – for a long time), with or without octave shifts and rhythmic breaking up; working out the basic chords from a mixture of ear and watching fingers and just arpeggiating them or chugging on double-stops that cover two of the notes; simply dropping out for a section (provided it looks deliberate) works well for a top-line instrument; and I have a personal improvisation favourite of doing a little figure of the first three notes of the scale, descending, in something like semiquavers, repeated: so you get a three-over-four thing and also a movement rapid enough that if the harmony isn’t chromatic the ear will usually accept the line as fitting with any chord. You can keep that up almost for as long as you like, especially with changes in dynamic.

But you can’t exactly do this with writing from scratch. I mean I suppose you can nab and adapt standard chord progressions, and basic units like verse-bridge-chorus structures, four-bar phrases etc. are so basic to western popular music we don’t think twice about them. But if you find yourself going ‘I really need a second verse of lyrics’ or ‘I think this chorus should be twice the length but I don’t know what to write for the second half’, you’re somewhat restricted in your options other than sit down, play over what you’ve got, listen to stuff that’s similar to what you want it to sound like, and keep trying things. There’s no technical ploughing on way through, and most of the shortcuts sound really terrible (evident rhyming dictionary fifth verses, anyone?). Sometimes the perspiration is not a replacement for inspiration but a search and a waiting for it.

Hotting up

So, here’s how my musical diary runs for the next few days:

Today (Sunday): to Surrey, jam / practice with Kouensha (currently acoustic duo of singer-songwriters plus me, as far as I know)

Monday: in Oxford, filming and recording material for video showreel, possibly also moving house

Tuesday: to Uxbridge, second practice with as-yet-unnamed gothic steampunk band

sometime in the week: String Project practice, hopefully

It’s increasingly looking like, if I want to play with a group that hope to get to paying gigs in the medium term, I will be able to do so. (Also realistically falling into that category are London fun Americana band Ella & the Blisters and duo playing with folky singer / guitarists Tom Blackburn (Oxford) and Kris from Gumtree (west Midlands); there is probably a more direct link to income, but less certainty of actual ongoing playing, with singer Amanda Ni Murchu and Celtic/function band The Bateleurs.) The question is how I manage and prioritise things so that I don’t massively let anyone down, but also don’t let myself down by ending up committed to a load of projects which sap my time and finances and don’t ultimately pay back except by being fun. And since no one really likes being told they’re bottom of the priority list, and there are only 5 week nights in a week, this may be diplomatically challenging (not to say stressful for the part of me that hates pulling out of things).

Watch this space.

Managing (if barely)

Time management isn’t objective enough in most of its handling to be called a science, but it is certainly an active and fairly popularly-followed field.

I found out – I think while doing my first proper job, in 2008-10 – that taking my life as a whole, I run out of energy before I run out of time. I’m busy all the time, I fall apart. To keep going, I need to have rest periods in my life over and above getting adequate sleep.

So it follows that in my part-freelance lifestyle, while time management is important to delivering adequate product at or before deadline, I really ought to focus more on energy management, because if I overstretch myself and have to spend half a day or more crashed out to recover, then it can mess up everything.

Unfortunately, it’s a lot more difficult. Time management can start from time available, set bounds on working hours, estimate how long something will take, calculate necessary or possible input time. It’s much more complex – so that in practice I’m not going to try it – to estimate how much energy or alertness or whatever is absorbed by how much time of a given activity, so as to work out when I will hit the buffers if working continuously, or how much time off I need in a given week (since weeks are no longer that similar to each other). There are too many unknowns, not enough data, and too many of the variables are too hard to objectively quantify.

So a lot has to go on my general intuitive sense of levels of wellbeing and capacity; and space has to remain for sometimes kind of dropping out to compensate, because I can’t plan in the downtime effectively enough at present (maybe I’ll get better with practice).

When I was in a particularly bad period of my ongoing depression, I had various euphemisms for when I was too miserable to pretend to be actually fine, but didn’t want to cause the shock of answering ‘How are you?’ honestly. ‘Coping’ I think implied I felt on the edge of breakdown, ‘managing’ that I living my life but there was absolutely no fun in it. There were some little-used terms like ‘alive’ or ‘breathing’ which basically meant my mind was completely shot to pieces.

I think we could say I’m ‘managing’ right now even though I’m not doing time (and energy) management that well. I just hope it doesn’t sink to ‘coping’ any time soon.

How much freedom do you want?

By the way this is nothing to do with Scotland, or Dependence Day as I may call this date forthwith.

Attitudes to improvisation are interesting in their variety. Some people just want to know the key and go from there, or even prefer to do it all by ear. Some want thorough and accurate chord symbols (often me, but not exclusively). Some, including my father, want to be able to see the tune they’re improvising on much more than getting involved in harmonic structures. This is about more than just jazz vs folk vs classical genres – it’s down also to how much people want rules set out for them (and rules make improvisation and composition much easier, they’re not simply restrictions on your imagination but also shortcuts) and how much they want free rein.

It’s rather similar with work. A lot of more hands-on no-desk jobs involve very little time management at all. Your hours are fixed, when you turn up you’re told what to do, your breaks are at set times; you do your job but with very little say in (or pressure to plan well!) the way you go about it. My desk job requires somewhat more thinking about work as opposed to doing work: I can choose preferred working hours provided they add up to a 35-hour week (or now that I’m part time, 14); work will come my way with more or less notice but it is up to me to work out how to allocate time to things so that they all get done by their respective deadlines. And there aren’t in effect any patterns so everything needs planning from the start rather than just slotting in a template. Since the reduction in hours, I’m actually responsible for a lot more work than I can do myself, so I also have to decide whether I’m going to do something, send it to a freelancer or split it; and then try and make the arrangements continue to work if schedules slip or are altered!

Finally, of course, as a freelancer you pretty much have to decide (not that you have full control by any means, especially not at first) what your work is going to be as well as how to do it. How much practice am I going to do? On what instrument, what material, what skills? Which adverts do I answer, what promo projects do I plan and pursue, what groups do I gamble on as plausible money-makers, etc.? Only then can more reactive stuff (learning repertoire for a group or a one-off gig, planning travel, processing and recording expenses and income) take place based on upcoming commitments and plans. And deadlines are self-imposed or at least self-chosen (where opting into others’).

The irony is that freedom, and particularly freedom of time, can lead to feeling massively overburdened and rushed because there’s rarely a really good reason to put something off – easy enough to prioritise something sooner or more demanding over something else, harder to say I’ll definitely leave that alone till this point.

I don’t know much first-hand about power, but I do know increasing freedom brings increasingly responsibility – and, all too probably, stress.

How big is your comfort zone?

So on Tuesday I lugged my violin (plus pickup, leads, DI box) over to Watford to try out with a newly-forming, and I quote the original ad though possibly not in the right order, goth steampunk dark cabaret gypsy pirate band. It was an interesting illustration of what can happen if you form a band partly by advert!

The personnel: songwriter / lead vocals / rhythm guitar, Mr Gary Emmins, the real goth-steampunk deal. Think black, silver, pinstripes, skull icons on the white Gretsch F-hole guitar. And that’s just for rehearsals. Commutes from Hemel Hempstead back to Aberystwyth at weekends. Drums and doing most of the organisation: H. Jeff Emsley, with a classic American accent, a wealth of band experience and a pair of greying muttonchops that would make a pretty decent meal if they were actually mutton chops. Bass: Ian, with hair down to his waist; a chief brewer by profession. Lead guitar: Martin, known as Victim because it’s his internet username and two people called Martin is far too confusing. More long hair and a braided beard, a painted Ibanez guitar that’s fuzzy as hell even without a pedal. And me.

So I’m playing up the contrast partly. But it did seem a fairly assorted collection of people. The location was also an approximate average, and I was not impressed with the public transport system’s method of getting me there. (Look on a map: it does not make sense to go from Oxford to Watford via central London. No sense at all)

So where does one’s comfort zone end? Musically, things went surprisingly well, locking in and getting a fairly good handle on four songs in only a couple of hours. High notes, harmonic minors and lots of cheap-Romantic violin tricks (with the odd turn knocked off from Irish folk dances in, for instance, the song sung in the persona of a vampire pirate … ) were well received and probably gave an otherwise fairly straightforward rock lineup that sort of twisted costume-drama feel (think a sort of gigging Sweeney Todd, possibly crossed with Dracula) that is distinctive to the dark cabaret / steampunk generic area.

The actual distance (in terms of time and cost) did cause a significant reaction in me the following day (yesterday) though, as I struggled to stay awake or do anything productive, which is kind of unfortunate on a day with a house viewing up a hill (Headington, if you know Oxford), a rehearsal and a couple of other musical adventures to prepare for.

I’m slightly uncertain if the still-unnamed band will lead to profit-making gigs, but it does lead to making fairly convincing music. Perhaps I need to start setting boundaries as much by where I can be comfortable going (apparently not Watford) as by what I think I can be comfortable playing.

Oh, and we are moving the next practice to somewhere more accessible.

How to be popular: be popular

On Monday I went to explore an open mike night I hadn’t been to before (the still relatively new Eurobar one, run by Chis Bayne and the Moriarty of Oxford open mikes Nigel Brown under their joint Baboom brand).

And it was a bit out of the ordinary, largely because halfway through a massive posse of south Asians (Oxford University business school students apparently) turned up to commemorate their imminent departure from Oxford by half a dozen or so of them doing a slot (or as much time as they were allowed to keep the stage for, pretty much). This consisted of out-of-tune renditions of the beginnings and choruses of various Bollywood songs, in ragged what was supposed to be unison and surrounded by much general chaos. The musical standards of open performance nights are rarely high, but this felt like sinking to a new low to me.

But, as the majority of the people making for a very unusually crowded evening of its kind were their friends, they went down wildly well – far better than any of the several much more professional performers. At the end of the day social popularity trumped musical appreciation.

So I had a realisation of the obvious, which is that cultivating social or parasocial relationships – all the stuff with social media, selfies, oversharing personal information and emotion so that your followers have a sense of narrative and insight however questionable – has as much impact on how your music is received as the actual quality of the music, a lot of the time.

Which may seem irrelevant to my work as a contractor, so to speak; a session / backing / sub for someone else player rather than a name act (generally). Not so, I think. Merely that my audience, my market, the people I need to cultivate socially are not the listeners but the fixers, the producers, the acts hiring me. Look out for the swimwear selfies, Parlophone.

Eat Play Sleep

Is it just me (and my myriad physical and mental illnesses), or is music practice really tiring? Like, out of all proportion to other forms of ‘work’ or the apparent amount of physical exercise involved?

On a really good day, I might manage to do four hours of practice. It’s very unlikely to be more, though I might conceivably practise that much by myself in the day and then have a rehearsal or something in the evening. But four hours of practising, spread over a morning and afternoon, is exhausting! I’ll finish it with my left hand aching, my back stiff (possibly I shouldn’t always practise standing up), my head starting to hurt and my brain at the edge of being unable to concentrate or absorb any more information.

And yet, that’s four hours. It’s only half a normal working day! OK, I will probably have spent some time going through adverts and dealing with ‘business’ of one sort or another; but still, the claim that when I’m not in the office I work the equivalent amount of time as a musician looks kind of weak. On the other hand, the effort involved is much greater – music days are much more tiring than desk days!

Is this particular to string players? I seriously cannot imagine that wind players or singers come off easier with the breath control involved. Maybe pianists and guitarists get by a little more lightly; I imagine kit drummers, using and coordinating all four limbs, must get a lot more knackered again!

All I know is now I’m really tired and it’s only five o’clock … (in the afternoon, you cynical people!)

Third house in under three weeks

Moving again today, to temporary place #2 as I keep looking for somewhere long-term. This time I’m not even updating my postal address in the many places it’s held (there’s a list in one of the bags and boxes somewhere). Most of my stuff isn’t coming with me either, but staying in an attic cupboard here.

I haven’t finished rationalising my luggage yet, but it would appear that even working from home part-time, what I need to live and work (not on holiday!) can be reduced to:

  • the two main instruments
  • a bag (possibly two) of clothes
  • a bag of extra gubbins – laptop, sheet music, electrical kit, toiletries
  • a sharps bin (I’m type 1 diabetic ie insulin-dependent – the thing you chuck the used needles in is too big to put in a bag)
  • my bike

How long would I have to keep moving before I reduced it to an amount I could carry by myself? If I threw away the stuff in my bike panniers and used them to carry the instruments, with a bag on my back and one strapped on the back rack of the bike, I could nearly do it already. I’m not sure if that feels like a nudge towards living much more lightly (and I already thought I was fairly unpossessive), or an indication that real rootlessness, not to name homelessness, is only a couple of steps away.

What do I really sound like?

Just a random speculation really – do musicians ever really know what it’s like to listen to us? In my case anyway, you hold violin or viola under your chin – the near ends of the resonating strings are rather nearer to my left ear than my ears are to each other, and there are extra vibrations running though my jawbone to my skull and inner ear without passing through the air at all (albeit in my case somewhat damped by the beard!). So what I hear when playing is certainly not what anyone in an audience hears. ‘Raw’ demo recordings tend to be quite unkind to bowed strings, because of webcam mikes optimised to human speech for one thing, so usually before I release anything I do a treble cut and also noise reduction for the obvious reason! I think these make it a better representation of my playing, but the truth is it most obviously simply makes it sound nicer; it would be very hard for me to tell (and perhaps irrelevant to my purposes) if that light manipulation was actually covering up defects in tone and sound. (I was thinking about this listening back to some demos that had been sent to me, I had overdubbed and then comments had been sent back, making me return to a very unpolished product to follow the responses.) Studio recordings have much more accurate recording systems to start with, but also much more sophisticated sound manipulation systems which are normally used with the goal of the best sound possible, not necessarily the sound most like what could have been heard in the studio during the sessions.

In some ways amplified musicians have it easier – you can get a long lead and stand 20 feet away from your amp while playing and that is a pretty good idea of what the audience would hear. In theory of course you can do it during a gig and find out what they actually hear, though you’ll probably be too busy soloing without tripping over the audience to pay much attention … But acoustic instruments, except if the other sounds around are massively loud, are heard directly even when played amplified, so you still wouldn’t get a comparable impression. (It’s quite rare for the amount of noise on stage to be so loud that I really need monitors to hear myself. This is quite useful given how many gigs I play with amplification but bad or no foldback!)

It’s a bit of a tree falling in the forest with no-one to hear question, but it does reveal that there’s an assumption underlying all the self-promotion all musicians have to do, which is that we sound roughly how we think we do – close enough to it to be worth listening to, close enough that people who hear us won’t say ‘never again’. And in the world of endless statistics and Big Data, the era of prizing scientific evidence above all other means of knowing, that is something it seems we all ultimately have to take on trust.