Notes from a Studio

This is an online journal where I share thoughts about topics related to music as well as
discussing my ongoing Zen meditation practice as it relates to the art of music.

Enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts and suggestions for further entries
peter@petergach.com

June 2026

A Short History of My Adventures in Improvisation

As a classical pianist, I was never trained in improvisation. Although I had read about composers being superb improvisers (anecdotes from earlier eras, prior to the advent of recorded sound, about composers creating music on the spot made enough of an impression on contemporary listeners that these experiences have been frequently mentioned in written musical history) by the later decades of the twentieth century, when I was undergoing my musical training, the art of improvisation was given over to jazz musicians. Classical pianists such as I were devoted to the faithful rendering of the canonical repertoire. The lines of division between the fields were sharp and rarely crossed. I did take a Jazz Improvisation course as an undergraduate, but the semester left me so intimidated that I convinced myself that I simply did not have a ‘knack’ for jazz, and thus for improvisation. That brief experiment was chalked up to educational discovery and left behind.

Fast forward a couple of decades later. I have just completed a series of Rolfing treatments. In the 80’s and 90’s being ‘Rolfed’ was a thing, one of the first body therapies that dealt with our ability to release muscle memory of pain and injury through the series of deep tissue treatments. After completing the series, my Rolfing Therapist recommended that I take a series of “Rolfing Movement” lessons, as they would supplement my Rolfing work, and help establish new patterns in the way I moved my body.

As a pianist, I was gradually discovering that the ways of moving at the piano were much more than just the movement of the fingers, with a some attention paid to the arms. And I thought that the Rolfing Movement lessons would be helpful. The instructor was a flautist from Los Angeles. The lessons took place in my studio, and one of the first things the instructor said after observing me playing was “OK, now sit down and improvise something for me.” My surprised response was that I was a classical pianist and did not improvise. “Nonsense” was her response, “you’ve got to improvise in order to free up your body and creativity in playing.” So, I dutifully started to improvise. I began to discover that by just sitting down at the piano and ‘making something up’ as I went along, I was tapping into the deepest creative musical impulse that I possessed. This was not an overnight process, and I’ve been at it for more than three decades now.

It is important to pause here to clarify the distinction between the terms jazz improvisation and free improvisation. Generally speaking, a jazz improvisation is based on a set formula of chord changes, frequently based on a popular tune. The most well-known example would be that of the twelve-bar Blues chord changes. The harmonic changes are repeated, and the jazz improvisor creates new patterns over these set changes. In free improvisation all bets are off. There is no prescribed set of harmonic changes to follow. The improvisor is free to go wherever inspiration takes her. I am thus a ‘free’ improvisor, and not a jazz player. As the years have gone by, I have improvised (freely) as a soloist, with other instrumentalists, in groups, and with theatre and dance ensembles. You can watch an example of one such improvisation with Saxophonist Ellen Weller here.

During Covid, when all possibilities of performing for a live audience were either limited or non-existent, I began to learn how to use a DAWS system (Digital Audio Workspace) to record in my studio. I began to record my improvisations. This has gradually evolved into a twice-yearly project of recording improvisations at both the Winter and the Summer Solstice.

In my first forays into improvisation, I began to realize how much thinking I was doing while improvising. This thinking was basically judgmental, “Was this OK? How would it sound in a recording?” And on and on and on. Gradually letting go of conventional thinking and responding to the sounds I was making in a more spontaneous way was the first step in deepening my improvisation practice.

For a classically trained pianist such as myself, conditioned to follow the printed score as the basis of developing an interpretation of a composed piece, just sitting at the piano and beginning to play was a strange and intimidating experience. Creating a musical something out of nothing seemed like an impossibility. But a sense of trust began to gradually emerge. Now, when I improvise, I have no idea what is going to happen when I sit down. I just trust that something will emerge into the world of sound through my fingers. To quote David Sudnow “I find places to go in the course of going to them.”

In a sense, decades of playing the canonical repertoire, and my experience with commissioning and learning new pieces by contemporary composers, have given me (as it gives every musician) a wealth of musical ideas that can be drawn on, rearranged and reformed into new sound constructions. I have gradually acquired the creative freedom to simply allow the music to come out, even though I don’t know exactly what the sonic result will be. I’ve begun to enjoy the exhilaration of riding the ‘rollercoaster of unknowing’ and seeing where it will lead.

So how does this process look today, as it has evolved from the recorded sessions in my studio during the Covid lockdown to the improv sessions I now record twice yearly at Solstice? And why Solstice? I’m not sure exactly when I happened on Solstice as an occasion for taking on an improvisation project, but it has always seemed to me that the increase and decrease in the length of days/nights has been one of the experiences that we humans around the globe share – a turning point in the light that is common to all. And these moments when the light turns, and the days lengthen or shorten have begun to acquire an inspirational power for me.

As this year’s Summer Solstice approached, I sat up my recording equipment in the studio and prepared to capture some improvisations. Let me add that I don’t just confine my improvisations to these two occasions in the calendar. Many evenings, before going to bed, I’ll go to the studio, sit at the piano and improvise. An ongoing practice of improvisation has developed in my musical life that continues throughout the year. But when the microphones are set up, and I put a remote button next to the keyboard, I can just sit down, start the remote recording device, and begin to play. Of course, knowing that I am recording myself adds another layer to the experience. Initially, it was uncomfortable recording because I was aware of another listener - the microphone - in the room. With time, this has become less of a challenge, and is simply one more element in the process, rather than an occasion to judge how well I might be improvising.

Over a period of days leading up to and including the Solstice on June 21, I recorded 15 different improvisations. Then, giving myself some time to “rest my ears” before listening to the recorded improvisations, I waited two weeks. This allows me to approach the recordings with some aural freshness. With the recording data moved onto my main computer and accessible by the DAWS system, I began a preliminary listening to the 15 improvs. I made brief notes about them – what I like, what works and possible titles (NB I only add the titles after the improvisations are on the computer, and rarely begin an improvisation with a title in mind.) From the initial 15, 9 improvs made the final cut, and that’s what you’ll hear in the final recording. These 9 then get processed in the DAWs system, where I can trim and beginnings and ends of the recordings, add reverb, or change the color of the piano sounds.

What does not change are the actual sound events in each improvisation, the way the music spontaneously unfolds. When I’m working with the computer, I may ‘curate’ the color of the improv (think of someone in an art gallery changing the lighting so an artwork is shown off at its best) I may enhance certain sounds, especially if I am going inside the piano and extracting sounds directly from the strings, bypassing the keyboard. These initial 9 improvs are then transferred to various sound sources, such as my phone and laptop, so that I can listen to them in various settings: in the car while driving, on a Blue Tooth speaker, on the speakers of a laptop, through headphones. At this stage, two of the improvs were eliminated, bringing the final total to 7.

Here’s a brief description of the seven that are in this Summer Solstice ’26 set:

For JS – this is based on the chord sequence of the First Prelude in C Major of the WTC Book 1 of JS Bach. I play Bach almost every day and this piece reflects that.
Folkish – This piece didn’t start out with this title; it just seemed like the right description of what I heard on reviewing the recording.
Strumming – this is a ‘hybrid’ piece, I am standing at the piano, one hand is inside the piano strumming on the strings, while the other hand is playing a solo line over the strumming.
Two-part – Again a title that came after, but the improv was no doubt influenced by the polyphonic writing in two parts of Bach.
Music for the Arrival of the Solstice – This one was recorded at dawn on the morning of Solstice, when the sun rises way up to the north in the horizon. I always feel the power of this sunrise, and this was the result. You can hear me humming into the strings, as I also strum and pluck at individual strings. This one underwent a great deal of digital processing. I believe this helps communicate the sacred, mysterious nature of the energy of that dawn.
Bird Talk – my response to the bird chatter I heard in those early mornings approaching the Solstice. You can almost hear them arguing.
Cancion – again a title that came after the finished recording, but one that fits, I think.

So there you have it, a world of creating sounds that I first discovered by chance while doing body work some 40 years ago, but a practice that has become part of my musical life ever since, and one that I’m happy to share with you.

Previous Notes From a Studio

#3 February 2026

#4 June 2026

#2 December 2025

#1 September 2025