I’ve switched drums – from the djembe to a small panlogo which I play with mallets. My sound is now mid-level and it sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the djembes.

As such, my role in the circle is to fill in notes between the high frequencies of the bell and the low notes of the bass drum to help maintain the pace.

I’m finding playing this drum puts me into a deep-level trance. As I play the same pattern over and over (for 2 hours or so) I feel my consciousness being pulled into the sound I am making and my arms fall instinctively into synchronicity with the pulse. Although I find it hard to write about such an internal experience it is a head-space worth examining.

In the trance state it feels like my body is on automatic pilot. There is a lot less energy going into counting, calculating, executing. It all seems to happen naturally, like someone else has a hold on my mind and body.  And this sometimes feels scary, like I’m out of control.

A strong drummer is able to enter and exit this trance state at will  – to strengthen the beat when it needs strengthening, to resume the trance once the beat is established and to maintain the trance when all other forces are against you – very difficult things to do.

As a relative newcomer to drumming, my untrained mind flits out of the trance only too often to worry about whether or not I’m on the beat.   My goal is to practice being in this trance state as much as possible so once I enter it I am not so easily dislodged.

I would love to have a brain scan done on me while in this trance. I would love to see what aspects of my brain I am accessing and how it changes when I go in and out of trance.  Anyone out there have a spare set of electrodes?

I have always been curious about what makes a dancer a “good” dancer and awhile back found myself on the dance floor with what I consider to be two of Vancouver’s best musicians. I was amazed at how differently the two interpreted the beat. I tried copying their moves and found that in order to dance like the first, I had to conceptualize the beat in my hip region. To dance like the second, I had to conceptualize the beat at the base of my neck.

As I recover from my back injuries I beginning to realize what a huge role my neck plays in correctly interpreting the beat while drumming. If I sense the beat from any other region (hip, toe tapping etc.) I have to mentally calculate the strokes my arms have to make to accurately render the rhythm. However, if I let the back of my neck sense the pulse (whereby my chin and head fall down in time with the beat) my arms correctly fall into place without any conscious calculation – a side product of which is a deep trance.

The study raises a whole bunch of questions for me: Did the less attractive dancers limit their movements due to social conditioning? Physical ailments? Would the researchers find the same conclusions if they had men rate women dancing?

In any case, its well worth checking out the study and making your own conclusions from the video – but next time you are dancing/drumming, try feeling the pulse from the back of your neck and let me know what you find.

“Cholewiak noticed two changes in song when humpbacks sang together. Overall, the first singers switched more often among various musical themes when a second singer hung around. Also, the first males adjusted their songs so that the pair was more likely to sing the same theme simultaneously.”

From a musical perspective, does this makes sense to me? Would my musical behavior take the same approach if I was joined by another player?

The first observation, that the initial singer switched more often among musical themes when joined by a second singer, certainly makes sense. You are no longer holding down the themes by yourself – you are now joined by another player and variation becomes more compelling. The challenge of switching, the finesse and skill by which it takes to switch, means that each player’s ability comes to the forefront. Can he catch me? Can he keep up? Can I keep up?

The second observation, that the first singer adjusted his song so the pair was more likely to sing the same theme simultaneously is interesting. My first impulse would be to think that the second singer would adjust his song to fit the first, but upon further thot, I can see that it is more important for the first singer to “rate” the joiner – is he a threat or just a pipsqueak? So the first singer, by adjusting his song to match the second singer, is laying the groundwork to compare apples to apples.

While Cholewiak does not use the term duet – only the author of the article – there are differences to note between this behavior and human musical duets. In a duet, the musical piece is realized by two voices, whereas in the case of the humpbacks, they synchronize their singing. There is no mixing and matching of parts to create the whole.

Is this synchronized singing evidence of musical behavior? More thots on this in a later post

Sez Wikipedia: The handicap principle is a hypothesis originally proposed in 1975 by biologist Amotz Zahavi to explain how evolution may lead to “honest” or reliable signaling between animals who have an obvious motivation to bluff or deceive each other. The handicap principle suggests that reliable signals must be costly to the signaler, costing the signaler something that could not be afforded by an individual with less of a particular trait.

First off, not only have I found concepts in Zahavi’s book “The Handicap Principle A Missing Piece of Darwin’s Puzzle” fun to apply to all things music but I love the way Zahavi and his co-authors write – as if they tried all the experiments on themselves and then wrote about their observations. For instance, consider Zahavi’s musings on the finding that great tits, whose songs were more rhythmic and contained more syllables, were more successful breeders.

“There is an inherent conflict between collecting information and precise execution of vocalization. Both activities demand concentration, but to collect information one must concentrate on listening, looking, discerning, and correlating, while precise vocalization demands that one concentrate on execution….One who tries both to listen and to vocalize is likely to falter a bit in the rhythm- a stumble that will display divided concentration.”

Maybe he tried talking and listening to someone talk at the same time – or is he also a drummer?

Based on my own observations “in the field” of the drum circle his ideas re: faltering are valid. Playing the drum (vocal execution) while listening for the beat (collecting info) is very hard. As one trains as a musician, the skill of listening while playing/playing while listening becomes so enforced that it becomes second nature, allowing the player to easily enter what I call a “musical state of mind”.

While this is probably not the goal of the great tits, I find studies such as these great fodder for understanding my own musical nature – insights which I’m getting excited about sharing as I prepare for the upcoming 2010 Annual Conference of the Canadian Acoustical Association in Victoria this October. This will be my first foray into the world of science and am looking forwards to meeting others who are intrigued as I am about the chirps, squeaks, hums, thrums, moans, calls and songs us humans and other animals make.

What I’ve been paying attention to lately are the transition zones in pieces I compose- areas where the beauty/groove no longer reigns and the song becomes seemingly less musical. Hold this transition for too long and you lose the listener.   Forget to put a transition zone in and the song fails to progress.

The trick for me is to create these transition zones in a live setting, where loops and layers have already been established. I love the freedom electronic gear ultimately gives me but sometimes the constraints are annoying. I miss the freedom of creating with just my violin, where my whim is at my fingertips.  Ahh well, it wouldn’t be an exciting world without challenges, would it?

First there’s the playing of my instrument – the violin – and all the years I put in to learning its abilities. Second, there’s the programming of gear – learning how to make the sound do what I want it to do when I want to do it – such as creating beats on a drum machine or a patch on a keyboard. Third, there’s the creating music in real time where I am the creator of all sounds and the one in control of them. And fourth is the creating music in real time with other musicians.

This fourth zone for me holds the most risk and the most reward. I have no control over what the other musicians are doing. I can only suggest ideas by sending out particular beats or phrase “codes” but what they add to the mix is up to them. Improvisation within the limits of a structure.

This type of music-making to me is very freeing. The mistakes you make are part of the game, taking you to unexplored areas or relieving you from boredom. Add to the mix a live audience and it feels a little like bungee jumping – scary until you feel the rope at the end of your feet and then you know you can enjoy the bounce.

Kirk and I will be trying out our new material at The Midnight Tea Garden this Saturday. Going to be fun!! Check it out: http://www.mikokuro.com/

Most of my explorations ended up on digital equipment where I could reduce things to numbers and examine their mathematical patterns.  I learned quite a bit by doing this but programming electronics does not feed my soul.  The greatest pleasure for me as a musician is to interact with others, where I open myself up to the risks and rewards of creating in real time.

I have been working with three musicians – Kirk Watson, Alcvin Ramos and Haagen – and have found myself invigorated and challenged as a musician to bring my best to the table. We’ve been jamming and improvising together where nothing is scripted but everything unfolds beautifully. The thrill of interacting with others – of listening and responding, testing my boundaries, taking leaps of faith – is for me the creative adventure of music making.

Music is easy to create if you know and follow the codes. The kicker is it takes a lifetime to learn them. Every day I practice. Today I worked on a track that I thought would be interesting to post a sample of. It is only an exploration of a patch I created. It consists of a sparse bass line and some percussive elements, is 1 bar in pattern length and is tweaked in real time.

The difference between this improvised track and a finished song is in orders of magnitude. There are mistakes or musically undesirable parts to this track. There are boring parts – parts where you wish something might change.  There are also parts which groove where I should have stayed rather than move on. Such is the benefit of hindsight. Once I learn the patch I will be better able to control these elements.

This track may eventually become a component of a song, or it may end up being one of countless explorations that never make it to the light of day. Anyways, thot i would post it for your edification and/or enjoyment
[See post to listen to audio]

Here are two more snippets from explorations from this week:
This one explores filter sweeps.
[See post to listen to audio]

This one explores gating my violin in different patterns
[See post to listen to audio]

Why is it that this particular group of beats has this effect? This particular organization of sound? And how does one explain the trance state that it creates- where I’m still conscious of my surroundings but in a much different way than waking reality?

There remains so many mysteries to music . Music is much more than a sum of its parts – the individual notes or phrases or themes- somehow they all combine to loft the resulting mix into the realm of music and away we go.  Our bodies and minds get wrapped up in it and we dance and sing.

If we are open to the potential of another creature having music we need to understand the essence of music, not just the aesthetics. Each time I pick up my violin, program my drum machines or play with other musicians I am thinking bout what lessons I can learn from my behavior. Why do I choose certain notes over others? Why and when do I change the patterns I’m playing? What is human -specific about what I’m creating?

Back in the studio tonight, preparing for Shambhala. I’ve been working closely with two amazing musicians, Kirk Watson and Alcvin Ramos, focusing our creative efforts on how best to combine our acoustic instruments (violin, bass, shakuhachi) with technology. We will now be joined by a third amazing musician, live PA artist Haagen who will bring his gear into the mix. Together, we will be exploring the creation of human music.

Working with these fellow musicians has definitely broadened my horizons in terms of understanding music. First and foremost they release me from playing every role in the creation of a song. I can better concentrate on specific aspects of sound. I can take time to listen to what’s evolving outside the realm of my own creation. I can rest, recharge and wait for musical inspiration to hit.

The communication that is created between musicians is one of the most intriguing features of music. How do we know what to play and when to play it? What are the cues we are listening for? Why do we have these cues and where do they come from? Is music an innate language or one that we learn as we grow as musicians?

How is a song brought into being? Why is it brought into being? What is its lifespan? Why do some outlive others? Can everyone create music? What is the ratio of creators to listeners? Why do composers compose? Why do I compose?

What would the human species look like if we only had one song? Would we still consider ourselves be a musical animal?