“Improvisation, it is 
a mystery. You can write a book about it, but by the end no one still knows what it is. When I improvise and I’m in good form, I’m like somebody half sleeping. I even forget there are people in front of me. Great improvisers are like priests; they are thinking only of their god.”
—Stephane Grappelli
It’s a question I’ve been asked so frequently that I’ve lost track of the who, what, when and where of its many inquiries. It’s usually asked after a jazz worship service or concert. Someone comes up to me to express their appreciation for the music and the skill of the musicians performing. “How do you do that?” asks the questioner. How did you start out with a familiar song and then, each musician in turn, weave the melody, harmony and rhythm into “that?” The “that” referred to is—improvisation.
As the great jazz violinist, Stephane Grappelli once said, “Improvisation, it is a mystery.” And, indeed it is. But like any mystery there is a back-story, a foundation, a source from which it springs. The mysteriously wonderful outpouring of a jazz musician is the culmination of hard work:
- Years of learning scales, chords, modes, all of the harmonic fundamentals that create the essential framework of improvisatory music;
- Through persistent practice—wood-shedding hour after hour to improve one’s technical craft to develop his/her musicianship;
- Honing the ensemble nature of jazz by performing with other experienced and dedicated jazz musicians before appreciative audiences;
- Listening to the voice of the Muse—the inner source of inspiration that moves the artist into the soulful depths of creativity.
The first three aspects are based on doing—the disciplined, focused attempt to master a craft. The scales and chords learned are solidified into second-nature by the tenacity of practice and then strengthening those skills within a supportive ensemble environment. It’s only after repeated attempts that one’s improvisatory creations begin to make sense. Even longer before the developing improviser begins to realize that there is a whole other dimension to what he/she is trying to create. The effort of doing leads to effortless being. The Greek’s called this inner spark the Muse, and believed that every artistic discipline had its own Muse that inspired greatness and genius.
Without going into a lengthy dissertation, let me just say that this creative inner voice of inspiration has deep resonance for those of us who are also people of faith. We in the Christian tradition might understand this best as the movement/call of the Spirit—the Divine source of possibility that inspires us on our creative journey. Grappelli embraces this when he states that great improvisers are like priests, and once in the flow of creative improvisational expression, they are so focused on bearing their soul that they are one with their god. As a Christian jazz musician, I call this an act of transcendent communion with the Holy—prayer!
I’ll share further thoughts in upcoming blogs, but I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts.
Wild improvisatory blessings,
Cliff