Technique - An Introduction

Continued from this previous article...

The compartmentalization of musicianship can lead to several blocks and disconnects in our practice and performance. We study theory separately from technique, technique separately from repertoire and repertoire separately from improvisation. This can lead to large gaps in artistic development because we tend to pigeonhole ourselves way too soon and too often. We decide that we can improvise but can’t read. We can read but can’t memorize. We can memorize but we can’t do Hanon. We hate theory but love repertoire.

It’s as if the musical dots are discouraged from being connected!

Scales, arpeggios, etudes and other technical exercises are often presented as mindless athletic drills separate from playing music. They may increase our athleticism but decrease our musicality and awareness... Especially when they are practiced with no intent or awareness.

This mindless way of practicing can also have a detrimental effect on our attitude towards our own playing and our judgement of others. We discount other players for being too technical. Others dismiss our playing as being too technical. We get frustrated by what we can’t do. We think that our technique gets in the way of our expression.

However, the technique (or lack of) is not the issue at all - it’s the intent behind the technique. Practicing our instruments with no intent to accomplish something musical or no awareness of how we sound, makes technique the end of the means. Sadly, it’s often all we have to show of ourselves when we play our instruments. Our chops are merely part of the whole picture - maybe even invisible to most if we are truly creating art.

I would like to share some philosophies that have helped my technique practice time be more productive and musical. Then I will get into very specific practice methods that help curb the isolation between technical work and the other musicianship elements.

First, let’s look at a definition of “technique.” Technique can be defined as “a method of performance; way of accomplishing.”

If we understand when we sit down to work out our scales, etudes, etc., that they are in fact “methods of performance” our focus and creativity will increase. And if we saw this part of our practice as a “way of accomplishing,” we would have much more motivation and a positive attitude.

If we approach technique practice as anything other than a method of performance, the dreaded autopilot will take over. Then we get bored... We lose focus... We develop bad habits... We want to quit... We waste large chunks of time each day that we can never get back.

As artists, I think it is essential to always ask ourselves, “What do we want to accomplish?”

Do we want to impress everyone with how fast we play? Do we want to impress everyone with how much soul we have? Do we want to show everyone how much we know? Do we want to show everyone how we don’t have chops and don’t need them? Do we just want to play for fun? Do we want to please our teachers? Do we want approval from our peers or parents?

These are all ego-driven motivations that depend on our relationship to something outside of ourselves. These reasons to play music typically lead to short-lived peaks, really frustrating valleys and practice that doesn’t help us improve to our potential or fulfill us artistically.

Whether we realize it or not, when we go to our instrument we become an artist. The artist is supposed to be a messenger - to communicate. The source of the art lies within all of us. Technique is simply a conduit to bring the artistic source within to our instrument and eventually our audience - even if we’re playing for ourselves.

A prerequisite to technique practice is to know what and how you want to communicate. A purpose and sound is what we are trying to accomplish. Technique is merely the way to create music - artistic music.

Technique develops our sound, our tone, our touch and our facility. In other words, it’s the creation, delivery and development of our sound that is our musical fingerprint. It’s something that we should always be conscious of in practice and performance. It takes relentless focus and awareness to practice technique in a way that will give us a solid voice.

It is very detrimental to play a scale (or even a note) without having a plan - without deciding and knowing what you are to accomplish during that repetition. This is why we can so easily play a gig and not really remember how we got from the downbeat to the end of the set.

Next I’ll walk through practice methods that use technical exercises as a way to increase our level of artistry.

Click here for the previous article.

Michael Stegner

Copyright © 2012

Practicing and Performing

Throughout my playing and practice career I have often consciously and unconsciously struggled with being 100% connected to what I was playing. Possessed by a faithful autopilot, my hands and body sometimes carry me through a performance or practice session. Without respecting this disconnect; we typically endlessly analyze our performances, learn new material, push ourselves in negative ways and use external motivation to improve.

I found that even though many of these methods are great in theory, they didn’t change my performing or playing experience. However, when I started involving the creative process in my practice my musical life began to evolve quickly.

One of the biggest revelations in my musical development came when I realized that I didn’t have to wait to sound good. I would often trudge through scales, arpeggios, technical exercises, theory books, repertoire and improv exercises so that “someday” I would sound good. I was so focused on sounding good “someday” that I got in the habit of mentally checking out when practicing. I was told by myself and others that I wasn’t ready to sound good.

By the time that “someday” came around, my bad practice habits came to the forefront as uninspired and stressful performances.

I couldn’t believe how I instantly sounded better when I decided to take what I had and make it sound good!

In sports we have coaches who drive us to practice harder, push our limits and increase our focus. We are typically supervised several times each week. Learning to play piano was one day with my teacher and six days unsupervised to “work it out.”

When practicing my instrument alone, I often would be unproductively hard on myself or just meander through things without being present. In my head I would bounce between vague memories of my teachers’ suggestions and what I was going to do when I finished practicing, repeat something until I could do it at a certain level of proficiency or master something so I could move on to the next thing. And so the disconnect was born and nourished.

Now when teaching, I’ll ask a student if they would pay $10 to attend a concert where someone played the way they just did. So far in 15 years no one has said “Yes.”

When I ask “Why?”

They typically respond in a robotic, monotonic voice that recites something like, “It didn’t have dynamics, my left hand was too loud, I had a lot of pauses and it sped up.”

And I say, “Wow! I’m surprised that you would go pay for a concert and be inspired by that list of things. That doesn’t sound like a fun way to experience music. Is that what you think when you go see your favorite rock band?”

Finally, the student comes to the simple conclusion that they would be bored by their performance. And if they are really aware and honest, they admit that they were bored when they were playing (and practicing at home). We’ve all been there and still go there.

It is fascinating how we can be bored when recreating music written by geniuses or creating our own improvisations or compositions. At times it can even seem like the norm.

With all the elements of a solid performance in place, a performance can still fall very short. We somehow assume that we can practice void of any energy and excitement and show up for the gig and rock the house.

When the stage lights come on we are thrown for a loop because our nerves and adrenaline tell us that this time is different. Our newly obtained superhero abilities of focus and concentration zoom in on every little detail around us. We don’t know what to do with the intensity and our performances rarely live up to our expectations or potential.

Then we say, “I could have done so much better.”

Or, “I sounded so much better at home!”

And we create a divide between the practice and performance... the lessons and home... rehearsal and the gig.

So... what do we do?

We practice more hours. We switch teachers. We choose pieces that are more fun. We no longer play in front of people - the performance anxiety is just too much!

After trying all of these things at various stages of my life, I think they just avoid the issue.

I believe we owe it to ourselves to learn to practice in a way that can continuously renew our musical experience. Each day we should be entertained and inspired by the music with which we practice. Ironically, I feel this has very little to do with the actual repertoire but how we approach our day-to-day practice.

At it’s base level, music is about expression and communication. To effectively communicate we do need to improve our abilities and do the hard work. But we don’t do this by putting our creative self on hold. Our creative self needs to be driving the motivation to practice and how we practice.

This process does not need to wait until you get to a certain level. It needs to happen before we practice void of energy, quit or let the autopilot permanently replace us.

We perform every single time we sit at our instrument. These are opportunities to express and entertain ourselves or our audience. In our mind and attitude, there can be no difference between practice and performing.

Through teaching and practice I have come up with a few practice techniques that have helped my students and myself. I will share them here so that you can experiment and expand upon them in ways that work for your personal experience.

I will touch on techniques for the following:

• Scales, arpeggios and technique
• Playing written music
• Improvised Music
• Performing

Part two can be read here...

Michael Stegner

Copyright © 2012

Here's my video of the week

Follow Me to Tennessee

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5v_YcJ77JM&feature=related

The Making of Fascination Nation

The Making of Fascination Nation
by Michael Stegner

This recording feels like a musical homecoming for me. People have been very curious about this project since it is such a drastic departure from what I have done over the past 12 years. After playing keyboards and composing for so long, I had almost forgotten how passionate I once was about telling stories and singing songs.

In 2009, I decided to take some piano lessons with one of my local musical heroes, Robin Holcomb. From these lessons, a group of songs began to emerge. I hadn’t sung in years and was very self-conscious about lyric writing and singing. Robin held me to high standards while building up my confidence to sing and write again. After a few months went by, we realized there was enough material for a recording.

While the lessons with Robin were evolving, Andy Sells (drums) and I were playing a weekly gig at the Park Pub two blocks from where we lived. We would try out the new songs, and I began singing. Andy was so enthusiastic and supportive of my singing, writing and lyrics; I felt inspired to continue.

In January of 2010, we were set to record the 14 songs that would become the record. We booked a session at London Bridge Studio and were hoping to get everything done in two days. At the last minute, I called Paul Kimble to help run the session. I had heard through friends that he knew his way around a studio. Paul had no idea what we were recording until the band played a few songs. Colin Higgins played guitar beautifully and Forrest Giberson, who I have now played music with for 18 years, played the basses. Over the two day session, we tracked the quartet and lead vocals for the record.

This marked the passing of the baton so to speak from Robin’s caring hands to Paul’s. I don’t know that I’ve ever worked with two people who cared so much about a project. It was inspiring and humbling.

Paul began editing the tracks we had recorded. I realized that Paul had a much bigger concept of what it meant to make a recording than I did. I always wanted to have a great recording. Paul wanted it to be a great record. And so the process of converting those raw studio performances took months of intense work directed by Paul.

I enlisted some of my favorite players and people in Seattle to add layers to the songs. Joe Doria played the B3 organ, Dan Tyack played pedal steel, Hans Teuber played saxes, clarinets and flutes, Nelson Bell played trombone, Mark Fung played percussion, Zach Stewart and Paul played guitar, I played parts for a kazoo choir, and Paul and I added layers of background vocals to several songs.

All the layers were painstakingly, beautifully and masterfully mixed by Paul. Mike Babcock mastered the final mix.

The photos on the front of the album and the CD come from the tractor salvage in Kansas my grandparents started and my uncle now owns and operates. Claire Davis helped convert those images into a beautiful CD cover.

And after all that, a new album has emerged - Fascination Nation.


Fascination Nation is available at www.michaelstegner.com

Friday Night

I'll put on my face one more night.

For the chance to find a love that's right.

Dust off these clothes that everyone knows

And hope I look good enough in a room with no lights.

These games I play,

are the spoils of a freedom

I fought for long ago.

It's Friday night...

Time carves new lines on my face.

I feel the night outshine the day.

The dreams I let go have left me alone,

with nothing but memories to keep me warm at night.

To hold you again,

would remind me of the comfort

I ran from long ago.

It's Friday night...

by Michael Stegner

Copyright © 2009

I Love You a Little Bit (I Love My TV a Lot)

I loved you like no other.

We seemed so happy together.

Our love was light as a feather.

But one day you thought you could better.

You fell in love with another,

And held on to me for the comfort.

Just when I thought we were over,

You came back and wanted to start over.

I love you a little bit.

I love my T.V. a lot.

I love you in the morning when the coffee's still hot -

As long as my favorite team hasn't just lost.

I love you a little bit.

I love my T.V. a lot.

All things can be forgiven,

But some things can never be forgotten.

They say time heals all that's broken.

If not loving you is healing, then I'm unbroken.

I love you a little bit.

I love my T.V. a lot.

I love you in the morning when the coffee's still hot -

As long as my favorite team hasn't just lost.

I love you a little bit.

I love my T.V. a lot.

by Michael Stegner

Copyright © 2009

Sung Snapshots: Michael Stegner - by Aaron Ducat for NWmainstage.com

I recently sat down with Michael Stegner, the songwriter, piano player and singer of the Seattle-based band Fascination Nation, to discuss the roots of his songwriting and the release of the band’s upcoming album. Below is a small impression of my time with Michael, as well as several videos of him discussing and performing his music.


Michael Stegner


Michael Stegner creates songs as a photographer captures images: lens ever at the ready in search of a contrast of light, a falling shadow, a weathered smile. His eye shifts across the human landscape and finds a jealous lover, a self-absorbed banker, a fleeing father. With dignity he gives each the light they themselves cast, and then SNAP, the whirling click captures a moment and impresses it in the silver halide of memory. Then its off to the darkroom of his imagination to churn and trundle, out of whose recesses later – a day, two months, four years (there is, as in most good art, little confident predictability) – it comes, an image sung raucous, sepia-toned with insights dark and discomforting.

Stegner himself, caught in the frozen Polaroid moment of a pen’s flash, cuts an unlikely scene. He stands narrow, bird-boned and lanky; so rice-paper thin one wonders if a strong wind wouldn’t dislodge him and, Dorothy-style, carry him elsewhere. His physicality is the sort of skinny shadow that hangs like a coat-tree in the corner of a party, at the end of which, when he thanks you for your hospitality and says goodnight (and he always will, he has the formality of an antediluvian southern gentleman), in surprise you search your brain and try to remember having earlier noticed him at the party. His face is high-cheekboned and broad-lipped and half-hidden by an ever-present hat and narrow plastic glasses, while his jaw is covered by a beard, deep amber red and thick as a pelt. Kentucky-bred his voice belies its roots more in the slowness of his speech than any obvious drawl; his speaks in a low baritone that is oddly soothing, with a gravely underside that catches and scrapes like a rasp. From habit he often repeats the first words of sentences, as if he weren’t entirely certain how to begin, and he has long-standing sinus problems that make him frequently sound congested and ever recovering from a head cold. His laugh comes often and easily, rippling and skipping from his mouth like a stone across water. When he laughs you are reminded of a slightly nerdy teenage boy giggling in satisfaction with his successes. Laughs tumble from him in dribbling hiccups that are welcome most of all for their un-self-awareness, their simple present-tense enjoyment.

From the externals he is not your typical Seattle rock musician — he doesn’t drink, doesn’t eat meat, rarely curses, displays no obvious tattoos or piercings or jagged hipster hairstyles. Instead he dresses in worn jeans and too-big t-shirts and pads about in grubby running shoes. Often, in tribute to his extended family in Kansas, he sports a rather large dark wool Stetson, which sits like a fiesta platter atop his head and only further emphasizes the fencepost thinness of his physique. Peering deeper into the image you see that, unlike many musicians he is terribly humble, on the quiet side of things without being shy. He discusses himself and his music in a tone rich with assurance and confidence; absent is the hungry neediness that so many, especially younger, artists display. He is more articulate than most, disavowing the normally vacuous musician-speak of yeahs and whatevers and desultory uhs for a more literary style full of references ranging from Mark Twain to the Buddha to Miles Davis. What strikes one with a startling clarity is his willingness to listen: where many, especially in the arts, are tone-deaf to any frequencies other than their own, he presents an engaged intentionality, an active listening.

In the shadows of this picture you see the sources of his lyrics. Barren barrooms, lonely bed spaces, dressing rooms with cracked mirrors and exposed lightbulbs. The dark unlit alleys of the soul. He writes in snapshots and his snapshots are possessions. He inhabits characters whose surface are easily distasteful — obnoxious bankers, preening narcissists, comfortably fat Americans — but his possession isn’t mockery, for such would eventually turn boring, stilted and dry. Rather his is the view from within, between the heart’s eyes in those spaces below the externals where the prickly universals – jealousy, anger, self-absorption, loss – reside in the tumultuous darks and make null the shallowness of any externals.

His music is a patois of sound that belongs elsewhere. Sounds deep from the marrow of America. Music from and for the south, the lower middle west, the empty open plains, the muddy deltas of oil spat lands. It cries of jazz, honky-tonk, church hymnals, rhythm and blues; the sounds of Leon Russell and Randy Newman and Willie Nelson. There are no oceans or mountains or skyscrapers; no fields of emerald evergreens or saltwater skies; no electronic blurbs or hip-hop beats. His is music for anywhere other than Seattle.

He is, to put it simplest, unique. When seated before his piano his face, which usually displays the passive calmness of someone reading a telephone book, becomes animated; he smiles at the other players, nodding and connecting as the songs structure themselves and the band screams along behind him. Atop his piano bench he is, you sense, most comfortable. He plays with a sneakiness that belies his genteel demeanor: what can seem like a lounge player’s easy casualness can on a moment’s notice become a jazz-virtuoso’s screaming intensity, his fingers skipping and popping across the keys like a hummingbird’s wings. He smiles. This is a music of character, of originality and singularity in a marketplace of ever dwindling difference. He is an outlier, a photographer of the insides who resides outside the usual in the downturned corners of the bell-curve of normal.

Sung Snapshots: Michael Stegner discusses songwriting:

Michael Stegner discusses and performs the song, I Love You A Little Bit (I Love My TV A Lot):



Michael Stegner discusses and performs the song, Friday Night:



Michael Stegner discusses and performs the song, Prayers For Highly Successful People:



Michael Stegner discusses and performs the song, Fascination Nation: A Brief Autobiography of a Fallen CEO:



Michael Stegner and Fascination Nation play at the Seamonster Lounge in Seattle the 1st and 3rd Thursdays of every month. They will be releasing their first album this fall and can be followed on Facebook or Myspace. A copy of this interview was also posted on the very cool website NWmainstage, which is a great resource for music goings-ons here in the Northwest and across land.

-Aaron Ducat