One of the most frequent questions I get in regards to scales and arpeggios—besides the obligatory “why should I learn them”—is “now that I know them, how do I apply them?” I have long struggled with an appropriate answer to this! “Just learn them and you’ll understand” is about all I’ve been able to come up with—until now. It occurred to me—while writing a tenor banjo arpeggio exercise—that the best answer is “just use your imagination.”
I know, this sounds like the ultimate feel-good cop-out, but I’ve come to realize that it is the truth. Think about it: A master jazz improviser has no problem applying scales and arpeggios to music—even if they claim to not know or care what they are. “I don’t need any of that stuff; I just play what I feel!”
Side Note: To those of you who fall for that line of bull, let me ask this: If they didn’t know—at least instinctively—what scales and arpeggios are, what would they play? A bunch of random notes, hoping that they occasionally play something that actually fits with the music—music that was built from scales and arpeggios?
But I digress; let me get back to the original thought. Pros don’t have any problem using them; why should we? Well, maybe we lack the musical imagination that they have! As much as I would like to do more for you than this, I can only lead you to the water (teach you the framework); you ultimately have to drink it (apply it to actual music).
Unfortunately, the framework is all I know, or at least know how to teach. Believe me, I struggle with application as well; I’ve spent my adult banjo life increasing my technical facility without sufficiently addressing the imagination issue. Is there anything that can be done about it? I don’t know; I suppose you either “have it or you don’t.”
Now, unless you just have a natural, profound gift for music (comparatively rare, actually), you need some kind of framework, or what else are you going to draw from? Never played a Diminished Scale (or even know what it is)? What do you think the chances are that you will just magically stumble across that particular series of notes in the heat of improvisation? The way I see it, the necessary framework for jazz improvisation is either “came by it naturally,” or “learned it from a book.” I’ve known plenty of fine, professional jazz musicians who learned their craft from a book—more actually than who came by it naturally.
I am very hamstrung by fear; I am afraid of making mistakes and seeming a fool. Every note I play (and every word I speak/write) is agonized over. As a typist, I have trouble typing through mistakes; when I know I’ve made one, I have to fix it before moving on because the mistake is all I will think about. As a performing musician, I have had to fight past that fear-driven, fix-before-continuing habit. I am lightyears ahead of where I was when I first dared to get on stage all by myself. In fact, my fear is the reason I decided I wanted to be a soloist; I know of no better way to overcome fear than by throwing yourself into the spotlight!
It could be argued that the art of improvisation is in “letting it go”; an irrational fear of making mistakes is not conducive to this! First off, you have to have “it” before you can do any “letting go!” I let my fear—and the belief that I would never work past it—keep me from developing “it” (developing it being the best any of us can do in the lack of naturally having it). I suppose I didn’t have the right motivation to practice, but more importantly, not starting kept me from the process of personal evolution. I was stuck in the false narrative that says that scales and arpeggios are unnecessary for “playing the banjo!” True enough, however; they are necessary for “playing music”—especially jazz!
I will concede that a natural improviser doesn’t necessarily have to “learn” them; they probably have enough skill to “imitate” them without knowing what they are. But again, without that basic musical framework, what would they play? Can you imagine music without scales and arpeggios? It would be like the written language without nouns or verbs; you don’t have to know what those are either to speak and write intelligently, but they are still there, otherwise, the language would fall apart. A learned understanding of the fundamentals—in either music or writing—makes it that much better (especially if you also have a gift for them).
To get back to the original point (again!), imagination by itself may be enough for a gifted improviser, but not for the vast majority of us. If you just don’t have it, rather than give up, I think it is best to press forward by learning the mechanics of music to the best of your physical ability—and studying the theory of music to the best of your mental ability—with the optimistic belief that the
If nothing else, you will get really good at the things that don’t require imagination (like written music, for instance—and yes, there is plenty of that for the banjo!). I’ve also known plenty of fine, professional Classical musicians who require written music in front of them to play anything; before you think less of them for that, realize that many can sight-read stuff that would make your head spin! That’s why I’ve taken so well to the Classic banjo style. Before that, my solo “repertoire” consisted largely of things I copied note-for-note off of famous recordings (my true gift; hey, you “use what you got!”).