Technique, Mastery and the Flow

"When your spirit is not in the least clouded, when the clouds of bewilderment clear away, there is the true void."
— Miyamoto Musashi, Japanese Swordsman

Technique is something to learn, then forget. The samurai approach to learning was to master the technical aspect of a discipline, then see through the technique to the place of no-technique, the void. This may sound a bit mystical and corny, so maybe a more popular term from athletics like "the zone" or "flow" would help. Basically, it is getting to the point where technique has eliminated anything superfluous, and the player has become the desired action, having left behind thought of what she should be doing. The thought and the action are one. Some people call it muscle memory, or mnemonic engraving.

This experience is common to all people who engage in some form of demanding, physical activity. People who drive frequently experience it, drifting into other thought while still fully engaged and aware on a busy freeway. Veteran soldiers experience it in combat. Musicians experience it while performing. I have had this experience on numerous occasions, the sensation of standing outside of myself watching my body do things that I had up to that point thought beyond my abilities.

This level of engaged indifference takes many hours of disciplined training. It is not a place of uncaring, nor does it mean dispassion. Rather, it is the place where all the technical and skills training begins to gel into a singular action that is contextually appropriate and powerful. It is a kind of unified plateau, where thought and actions are one, from which further creative developments can easily flow. It is highly pleasurable too. But, it is also permanently elusive, as one seeks to obtain higher levels of skill and musicianship. It is something no one ever obtains absolutely, not in this life. When I try to look at it, it disappears. This is the mystique of it.

In the past ten years I have naively developed what has turned into a sort of program. I didn't plan it, but found myself naturally working in accordance with some basic laws of physics and going back to what some would consider the most basic, rudimentary aspects of drumming. After hitting walls regularly and wondering what I was doing wrong, I started looking for answers in the boring, unglamorous, unflashy stuff. The stuff that drives drum students mad with impatience. It seems to be working.

Lately I began the process of rationalising this approach. The program includes four aspects: Physics; Grammar; Poetry and Contextual Awareness*. All of these are interrelated or interdependent. Improving one improves the others. Within each of these aspects is a set of both physical and mental exercises or techniques that correspond to the nature of music as a whole. These techniques are also designed to close the gap of coordination and concentration, the two weak-spots of any musician that are usually expressed in a loss of the groove. My aim is to sit, as regularly as possible, in the void.

I hope to expand on each of these four somatic-abstract techniques in the next couple of weeks.

Yours in drums,
Chris

*I am taking a page from the pedagogical approach of the mediaevals. It is a style of learning that corresponds to the developmental stages of my mind. The metaphor of language seems appropriate too, as drumming is simply a form of language in conversation with others in a musical context. John Riley's scheme of aspects is helpful too: Technique, Groove, Creativity and Musicianship. His materials have been helpful to me in understanding my own experience and approach, the way I have learned and how to maximise the process, getting rid of superfluous stuff. If some of my ideas are similar to his, he gets all the credit. Having said that (to cover my own butt), I believe that what John Riley tapped into is a structural law that corresponds to the shape of the mind. It is a universal learning structure, albeit currently neglected, that corresponds to our humanity.

 "You must strike with intent and focus."
— Miyamoto Musashi, Japanese Swordsman