<aside> 💡
This week’s guest thought is by improv enfant terrible and good egg (bon oeuf) - Liam Webber. Thank you, Liam. 🥚
And if you’d like to get more of these vibes in the flesh, Liam is teaching a class in March that will be laser-focused on scene work. Get you place at https://www.tickettailor.com/events/pretend/2022482
</aside>
Before I ever improvised a scene or dialogue, I improvised music. As a kid I played the saxophone, and improvisation feels like an intrinsic part of what the instrument is. While the clarinet, flute, and trumpet all had a life as classical instruments, the saxophone is relatively new. In the mid 1800s, Adolphe Sax stuck a clarinet mouthpiece on a brass tube in an act many at the time thought was a perverse affront to god*… And if, like me, you’ve been asked to play Careless Whisper a billion times, you’d be forgiven for agreeing.
The saxophone didn’t really find its niche until jazz music came along around the turn of the 20th century and as improvisation became a central part of what makes jazz jazz, I think it simultaneously became a part of what makes the saxophone the saxophone, and so - from about the age of 12 or 13 I learnt to improvise music**.
Learning to improvise music is mostly a solo pursuit to begin with - you learn scales, modes, and chord progressions, as well as studying and learning off by heart solos by famous musicians. The hope is that the patterns you learn filter into your subconscious and muscle memory, before coming out when you’re improvising yourself. It’s like how as a child you have to learn all the words and phrases and how they might combine together by mimicry, before you can start to express yourself.
Then, when you finally leave your bedroom take the daunting steps into a rehearsal room with other people you realise one thing: No matter how skilled you are individually, you will not sound good unless you’re in tune with everyone else***.
Both literally in tune: as a musician, usually someone will play a concert C and everyone will adjust their mouth pieces, tighten their strings, until we’re all pretty much bang on, and then we start playing… And metaphorically in tune: do we listen to each other, move together, follow and lead in equal parts, take the spotlight and give space… you can probably see where I’m going with this.
It got me thinking about improv-improv, and how this tuning process happens for an ensemble over time too. We learn the difference between the offers that our friends will ‘yes, and…” and go along with for the sake of forward momentum, and the types of offers that light each other up. The things that really actually delight our partners and set fire to the scene. Experienced ensembles who love playing together, seem to have this magical connection where every choice delights everyone on stage. The play is light, effortless, and sparks with that magic that had us fall in love with improv in the first place. These ensembles are perfectly in tune with each other.
So the thought inevitably follows this conclusion: how do we get there quicker?
The best answer to this question I’ve found so far comes from my time in Australia. On multiple occasions I had the joy of working with two incredible improv teachers - Patti Stiles and Katherine Weaver - the past and present Artistic Directors at Impro Melbourne, an improvised theatre company rooted in Keith Johnstone’s work based in… well… Melbourne.
They introduced me to the idea of exploring the ‘Happy Nope’ in the rehearsal room. The idea that as much as we should learn to say yes to ideas to give life to them (and we should. It is an integral part of the artform), we should also practice the skill of giving and receiving a joyful nope:
By giving each other permission in rehearsal to joyfully ‘nope’ on occasion, we find ourselves getting a stronger understanding of who we each are as improvisers. What types of offers will light us up individually, and what types of shows we’ll be delighted to create as an ensemble. Pushing us towards being one of those beautiful ensembles who play so freely***.
This speaks to me as improv’s equivalent of tuning****: Actively working the muscle of “how can I truly inspire my partner’ and coming to understand the fuels that best light each others’ fires.
I have a few exercises that I really like for this, which I’ve linked below. I would love to hear if you try them out, or if you have thoughts or feelings on this whole thing. It’s something that’s been rattling around my brain for a while and so I put it to paper - email me at [email protected]
Two classics I learnt from Patti and Katherine:
Two I made up: