Putting In the Work

Lately, I've decided to spend more time learning cover songs on guitar rather than writing my own.  Why?  Over the course of a couple of decades' worth of guitar playing, my working knowledge of cover songs is surprisingly slim.  This is due to a few reasons:

• I didn't think I had any ability to sing.  When I started composing my own songs, I didn't solely want to write instrumentals (though I was happy with my rockin' chord melody arrangement of White Christmas.  Everyone listening was either rapt with amazement or inattention when I played it), and wanted to see what I was capable of myself.   I'm no Rick Astley by any means, but I can sing in key, even if it takes a lot of work to make sure I'm hitting the right notes.  [Aside: Most people can actually sing, but, pertaining to the title of this post, it takes effort.  I think people are fooled into thinking singing is either a given talent or not, since we use our voice every day and assume we already have sufficient control of it as a result.  This isn't the case.  Using your voice as an instrument is completely different from using it as a utilitarian means of communication.  We're also fooled into thinking we have to be flashy or belt out something that competes with American Idol or The Voice.  Again this isn't the case.]
• I thought it would take forever to learn a part.  And it does take effort (again the point of this post when I eventually get to it), but it's possible to get a lot of mileage out of practice quickly as long as your expectations are reasonable.
• I was afraid to make changes.  I didn't think I had a sufficient musical vocabulary to make alterations to fit my abilities or my style.  In addition, when you're playing a cover, you're always going to be compared to the original, which is expected but also a bit maddening - even the artists themselves can't compete with the studio engineered version that you're generally hearing.  So, anyone who'd remark that I don't sound like Mick Jagger when playing Honky Tonk Women at a children's birthday party is right.  I don't sound like an English octogenarian.  Doesn't mean I wouldn't be willing to try to prove my point though, guv.

Composing my own songs helped me to tackle those challenges.  In addition to learning to sing, I would have to tinker with chord arrangements, voicings, and melodies to turn the song from an idea into a reality.  And, specifically in the cases, where I didn't want to compromise what was in my head, I needed to practice incessantly to have my idea match reality.

Sometimes when I started on a new section, I didn't make any progress for a few days.  At first, it was scary - what if I never improve? But, I decided to give myself a break and allow for more time.  Slowly, I'd notice improvements.  I still may not have been able to play the entire solo at tempo or sing the entire song on pitch, but I'd be able to play faster and hit a note consistently that was giving me trouble for a week.

And now?  I have the confidence to know that if I put in the effort, I'll make progress, even if it's haltingly slow at first.  Knowing that something will eventually come out of the effort helps keep me motivated when I feel like I'm at a standstill, since I've come to understand progress isn't always linear.  I've also realized the value in practicing something you just can't master for at least a few minutes.  Once you stop and take a break, your brain will fill in the gaps.  Something that was frustratingly difficult earlier in the week is now routine.

And, this, finally is my point - the journey itself can be equally as enjoyable and far more educational than relying on talent (or artificial tooling) to reach the end product immediately.

I've started learning the chord progression to Mr. Jones from The Counting Crows.  It's a catchy little jingle, and I have a feeling it'll take off either in the near future or in the increasingly distant past (32 years - yikes!)

As chord progressions go, it's not too difficult in either the general progression (it's a vi-IV-ii-V progression for most of the song if you're into music theory) or in the strumming pattern, but that doesn't mean there wasn't a lot to learn.  

It's originally written in the key of C, but as written, there's no way I could hit the notes the singer, Adam Duritz, does in the original arrangement.  I could've drastically changed the arrangement, and made it a mournful version or something jazzy to make it suit me better, but I decided I wanted to stick to something resembling the original.  

As a result, I needed to transpose to a different key (G, if you're interested) to accommodate my lower range.  I've still had to make some adjustments because I just can't hit the high notes, even when accounting for my voice.

In addition, singing along while accompanying yourself on an instrument takes a lot of practice (it's even harder than walking and chewing gum).  Your brain wants you to sing on the same beats that your hand is strumming, but doing that for too long will make the entire piece sound robotic.  

In order to get around this, you start playing extremely slowly and find where the breaks in the vocals occur vs. the breaks in the instrument.  The ultimate goal is to make both actions automatic, so you can strum and/or sing without thinking.

Why am I going into so much detail on learning what is ostensibly a simple song?  Because it's amazing, when armed with the understanding that you will get better, how patient you can be and how enjoyable the process can be even if it involves hours of repetition over several days or weeks [I should note that I'm not talking about several hours in one session or a given day.  I'm impressed by pros and aspiring pros who can do that, but my practice time is much more dispersed.]

That, to me, is the key concept about putting in the effort, consistently.  It's very difficult when delving into something new after the novelty has worn off to keep going (that's why so many people pick up a hobby and drop it).  Doubt starts to set in and you'll question whether or not you'll ever get better.

But, if previous experience can convince you that you will get better, the valleys become a lot shallower.  And, if you don't have experience to draw on, you can always jumpstart your confidence by focusing on something simpler but adjacent to your long-term goal.

For me, it was learning about the strumming pattern and being able to confidently play it at tempo before tackling the lyrics.  I would convince myself to play for 5 minutes before moving on to something less repetitive, but I'd often go for 20-30 minutes, since the incremental success would fuel my desire to go on just a bit longer, taking pleasure in the modest gains.

To recap, this is why experience is important - it gives you perspective on how to tackle seemingly insurmountable problems and provides a framework for moving forward; it provides a framework for tackling similar problems while fast-tracking your ability to solve those problems by leaning on your previous lessons; and it allows you to enjoy the journey and take pride in the finished product rather than just demand results.

As we're pushed more into a world that promises instant answers and a disdain of expertise and all of the work associated with it, we should remind ourselves why the actual journey itself is still worthwhile.

Until next time, my human and robot friends.