I was working on finally finishing my update of Emile Grimshaw’s How to Master the Tenor Banjo (spoiler alert: It’s called “practice”) when I wrote the next three paragraphs. I realized it was just too “out there” for a mainstream publication, but that it would make a good introduction to a blog on the subject of musical savants. By the way, we have set a publication goal of Christmas this year, so put it on your wish list!
“We should think of ‘keys’ (C, G, F, etc.) as a ‘logical and related collection of tones within a particular frequency range’; dispense with note/key ‘names’ and ‘sharps/flats,’ and you have music in its ‘natural’ state. Those names and sharps/flats have been assigned in various forms through the millennia to try to describe something that exists naturally (music as a physical ‘presence’ or an ‘entity’—not just an ‘artform’), and to make it possible to codify (write) music into a readable form—and thus to help us learn it.
It seems unfair that the unfortunate tone ranges that correspond with the keys of C# and Cb get so much less love than the one just a half-step away (C), simply because they are perceived as more-difficult or unnecessary! For a true master of music (one who knows all keys forwards, backwards, and sideways), ‘key’ becomes irrelevant, and ‘not that big a deal’—no one key is ‘easier’ or ‘harder’ than the next. We just play the appropriate notes within the appropriate tone range on our instrument (the four-string banjo makes this easy!) to fit the musical situation at hand.
There are musical savants among us who can do all of these things while knowing absolutely nothing about music or their instrument (and some perhaps lacking the mental facility to ever ‘know’ anything). That I think is the ultimate ‘mastery’ goal; to transcend ‘education’ and play like you never needed it (‘like a savant’).”
In my own efforts to become a “true master,” I have gotten great encouragement from trying to imagine myself as a musical savant. Just imagining what it must be like to play music at a high level without effort or thought (heck, just realizing that that is a reality for some fortunate individuals) puts me in a stronger frame of mind to study and practice. You see, I’m not a savant (though I thought I might be at one time—whatever it took to justify not practicing. . .), and thus have no choice but to work and study hard to accomplish what some just “come by naturally.” I’m not profoundly-gifted; just merely-talented.
It doesn’t hurt to dream; in fact, educational studies have shown “visualization” to be a very effective supplemental learning method (it can of course never replace hands-on practice). Visualizing myself as a savant—pretending I can do it—in the privacy of my music room leads me one step closer to being able to play without pretense. Now, there is a huge difference between visualization and dreaming! I spent decades “wishing instead of fishing.” Instead of continuing to say to myself “if only,” I have now turned my imagination to good use by going beyond dreaming into visualizing. Learning to describe what a savant is and does has led me to actively imagine what it must feel like, and to channel those “let it happen” vibes into my practice routine.
“Just let it happen”; “play what you feel”; “tell a story”: All of those pieces of “advice” are fine and dandy if you already have the necessary skills (either naturally or through hard work) to do so. To “play like a savant” is a worthy goal—but what if you are not a savant? What then?
Of course, we all look to the untrained “naturals” for inspiration; it’s only natural to want what they have. A built-in problem with hero-worship though is that it’s easy to think “if they can do it, so can I!” There is a common myth that “real” jazz musicians just play with no actual knowledge of what they are doing—in short, that they are all savants with no need for study/practice (some just want you to think that—we don’t see the hours of hard work they put in). It’s easy to think they’re simply “tuned-in” to the celestial jazz station and are “letting it happen.” Thanks to my college and Army Band days, I know better! Both places are filled with real jazz musicians; just to get in the door, prerequisite #1 is music reading skill (and I saw for myself how driven the good ones are to practice). This tells me the truth: They got “there” by hard work and study.
Back when I was self-delusional and thought I might be a savant, I used to think that if I was meant to play jazz, it would just happen. All I had to do was wait for “inspiration” to strike, then I would magically become an improviser (no practice required). I certainly hear some amazing stuff in my head; I should just be able to play it, right? Well, it turns out I lacked the learned/practiced technical facility to play at the high-level “what I hear,” and the emotional strength to play even at a low-level “what I feel.”
This fit perfectly with my natural laziness (at least I came by something naturally)! It took me 20 years of dreaming to realize that there must be a disconnect somewhere between my head and my hands! Oh, to get those decades back! It wasn’t until I started learning and practicing those proven things that make improvisation physically possible for a mere mortal like me (scales, arpeggios, etc.) that I started to see the light of possibility at the end of the tunnel (and not just to dream).
So, in the statement “to transcend education and play like you never needed it,” the magic ingredient is education! When I pushed my lazy ego aside and realized I had been spinning my wheels for 20 precious years, I took the bull by the horns, and vowed to overwhelm it with actual practice—to finally try to live up to what I had always thought would just happen naturally for me. Well, it wasn’t happening naturally, so I am now working hard to see if that leads me to the ability to improvise. So far, so much closer. In the meantime, of course, I just keep getting better and better on the banjo. Savant? No! Accomplished musician? Yes! Able to “transcend education and play like a savant?” Only time will tell.