Web Development by Alistair Robinson

Had my first ever saxophone lesson today. It’s about time, seeing as how I’ve had the sax for something approaching 10 years. I have never stuck at practise for very long, and have forgotten most of what little I learned on those occasions, so lessons are the obvious solution, mainly for structuring, disciplining and motivating my practice.

The teacher is John Burgess, a local musician who has toured the world and recorded acclaimed albums. He was frenetic. I always find it slightly frustrating trying to talk to people who are obviously impatient, but if you’ve only got half an hour it’s bound to feel rushed: I think he’s an excellent teacher and we’re on the same wavelength on a few things. To begin with he asked me to improvise a little in C major while he played guitar, and he said there was no doubt that I could improvise. I think he even used the word lovely to describe my little solo, which is nice to hear, and that my intonation was good, which hadn’t really occurred to me before.

He made the point that non musicians and some beginners think that the torrent of notes that emanates from the horn of Coltrane, for example, is nothing but raw emotional expression, requiring nothing but emotional openness, and therefore that all you really need to do is emote. This has been a bugbear of mine for years. It’s important to understand that musicians, to be as good as Coltrane, have to work extremely hard for many years, and that when they play they are applying deep musical knowledge and an immense technical, mathematical mastery. Most people have no problem in granting all this to classical musicians.

At the root of this myth we find the artificially elevated status of the Western Classical tradition, as well as the depiction of black people as natural singers and dancers who don’t have to try, and I find it really annoying that this denigration of technical skill and artistic greatness continues. Nowadays it’s less to do with skin colour. The myth is fostered by the musically-ignorant rock critics who seem unable to take simple joy in air sculpture on its own aural terms, and by rock musicians themselves, who feel the need to maintain the attitudes suitable to their sub-genres; whether it’s nihilistic, dark, laddish, jolly, aggressive or rebellious, the technique is downplayed, the real beauty or interest of the music – why this bit feels like that or how that bit works or just the sheer wonder of organized sound – passed over in silence.

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