In the past, I occasionally used computer-based sequencers (Logic, etc.) in order to hear interlocking parts which were too difficult for me to execute on the piano. When I started writing for the SFJAZZ Collective, with its larger instrumentation (4 horns, vibes, piano, bass, drums), I began using the Sibelius notation program. I've found this to be a valuable compositional tool, and I've used it more and more over the years. At first, I would always work ideas out on the piano first, and then enter them into Sibelius afterwards. But as my ears became stronger, and as I became more comfortable navigating the application, I often found myself "writing" directly into the computer. In fact, I've used this method for most of my new trio compositions and arrangements; and I think, all in all, it's worked out fairly well. Perhaps this is because with a lot of the trio material, I'm striving to create two distinct and compelling single-note lines (bass and sax), which work together to establish and define the melodic and and harmonic content of the song. I suppose in this context, since the song doesn't call specifically for a chordal instrument, I feel less of a need to rely on one while I'm writing.

In terms of an overall approach to composition, I'm not sure that I really have one. I can say, however, that for me there has always been a very strong link between composition and improvisation. In fact, many of my earlier compositions were more "functional," in the sense that I conceived of and created them primarily as vehicles for improvisation. (For example, if I was interested in playing over a certain type of tune – with a certain mood, feel, harmonic or rhythmic structure – then that improvisational "need" would serve as the basis and impetus for a new song.) And even as I began to think more "compositionally" – treating the composition more as an end in itself instead of just as a means to an improvisational end – I still relied very much on that same "spark" of inspiration that ignites me as an improvisor. In other words, I used to feel that in order to start composing, I had to feel wholly inspired. Every tune had to start with some initial, imaginative "seed" – it could be a melody, a harmonic sequence, a vamp, a groove, a texture, a mood, or any combination of the above. Once the seed was "planted," it could grow organically from there. I'd work with the germinal idea, expand it, refine it, analyze it, edit it, etc. etc. . . until at some point it became a full-fledged song. But the point is that I never really understood (or could control) exactly how that seed got planted in the first place.

There's always been something a little mysterious and elusive (even unreliable) about inspiration. You never know quite where it comes from or precisely when it's going to come. As an improvisor, I've always felt that whatever vocabulary I have, whatever material I've practiced or studied, whatever I "know" means nothing if I don't feel creative, focused and engaged – if I don't feel like I have something to say, some story to tell. Similarly, as a composer, I've never felt like I could just sit down and start writing if I didn't experience that magical "glimmer" of an idea which inspired me to do so. Perhaps this is why composition has never seemed like a very consistent thing for me. I've had intermittent spurts of productivity, where I've written a lot of tunes in a concentrated period of time. And then I've gone through long droughts, where I haven't written anything at all.

However, I think I'm finally starting to realize that part of the inspiration for composition can come just from the mere act of doing it. Once again, kind of like improvisation. There are many times when I walk on stage feeling tired, stressed, dull, unmotivated – like I have nothing to offer. But then once the band starts playing, I get caught up in the energy, the interplay and the flow, and all of a sudden I feel incredibly creative and inspired. Similarly, I have recently tried to experiment with the approach of just committing to write – sitting down at the piano/computer or with just a pencil and manuscript paper (horror of horrors!) – even if I feel like I don't have any particularly exciting or worthwhile ideas. It's too early for me to tell if this approach will pan out in the long run. But so far, the results seem promising. Perhaps, with both improvisation and composition, it's really all about embracing the Process (as opposed to concerning yourself too much with what idea, or seed, or feeling, or state of mind, is going to create the ultimate Product). Maybe that's all the inspiration you really need. . . .