A month ago, I watched a video of band I admire, Xiu Xiu, doing some primitive, infantile almost, improvisation with cups, glasses, bottles and various other items (http://bit.ly/1xqY9EK). As much as I’m a fan of the band, I must say the performance is in itself nothing extraordinary. It might just be a way for the band to prove to themselves that they’re not too mindful of other people’s views, or a way for them to see up to what point their fans would follow them — although that last possibility seems to me unlikely, considering the video is 8 years old and Xiu Xiu is not a pretentious band as far as I can tell. That they go through this simplistic improvisation stage reassures me in a way, since I’ve been meaning to try myself at it for quite a while but only needing a second person to make the experience worthwhile (more on this in a few paragraphs). Watching Xiu Xiu improvise made me realize how revealing that activity is: the decisions they automatically make in their drumming is a signature, an imprint of their musical identity. Recording bands making music with makeshift instruments is basically what La Blogothèque has been doing for the past ten years with its Takeaway shows, sometimes yielding surprisingly entertaining results (Yeasayer playing in the métro comes to mind)… or downright disappointing ones: while I totally respect Animal Collective for taking part in the project, their performance I’m still not really a fan of.

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I believed that discovering and, more importantly, participating in improvisation sessions would make me grow, and that was motivation enough for me to take action towards it.

This summer, I attended my very first jazz session at the Edelweiss in Berlin (€3 entrance fee for five hours of live jazz; beat that!) It was a truly stimulating experience and was bringing to light the extraordinary complicity between the numerous talented musicians. After the show, I went just outside in the park (though not venturing too far in, as it was ill-famed) and sat next to some tipsy musicians making music, one playing the guitar, the other drumming, the third one a girl dancing around and ululating freely. The experience was just as fascinating. Maybe that’s a common process and what every band goes through, and maybe my complete lack of band experience is the reason why I feel so attracted to the idea, why it feels so new to me. Well, desire is a good thing, so it’s all right I guess… so long as it’s followed by action.

Last month, I had an illuminating and memorable experience at the house party of a classmate, at her parents’ property in the middle of the forest in the suburbs of Paris. It wasn’t only memorable because of the curious case of disappearing items inexplicably and repeatedly reappearing in the third garden of the house (yes, the house was pretty big.). Nor was it because of our friend running in the garden and falling into a bush he hadn’t seen, thereby making an imprint of his silhouette on the bush, for posterity. No; the height of the night was when a friend and I split off from the group, found some quiet, remote space in a corner of the then-still-unexceptional third garden, far from everyone, and started making music by hitting plastic bottles and plastic cups with marshmallow sticks, tentatively singing at times. We first did a cover of an Animal Collective song (We Tigers), with me giving it my all, before going into drumming improvisation and interplay, with just the two of us. It was for me a moment of true growth, a long-time dream come true, an item crossed off my bucket list… that would sure enough prove recurrent. The experience was exhilarating. And a bit surreal, too (I should mention that my buddy was dressed up as a princess for the party). After maybe an hour of that, we noticed we were going round in circles in the way we were responding to each other’s playing; an interesting note. We then tried to find alternative ways of improvising together, and although the process was thrilling all the while, it wasn’t fruitful. Eventually, my friend got up and started dancing in response to what I was playing, and I would change my music based on how he was dancing as well. During that time, we also managed to creep out and scare off a couple of guests from the party passing by, for whom it must have been quite a sight — a dancing princess with a hobo percussionist. After a while, I, too, stood up and, together with my friend, we moved on to some collective expressive dance session, the movements of one having an impact on the body of the other. Believe it or not, I was dead sober all the while; just tired… and excited.

It remains my most memorable evening to date, and that I’ve touched on what feels right or liberating to me is inspiring. That I haven’t taken any action towards it since then is less inspiring.

All this is to say that hitting bottles is cool, but doing it with someone else is cooler.

Collective improvisation is an interlocking of minds; giving a piece of our mind to somebody else and letting them complement it with a piece of theirs, which we do not have, all this done using such a simple and tangible yet rich language as words, dance or music.

Improvisation is also finding unity in yourself, and might be a way for me to reconcile with my lifelong desire of being free and of proving it to myself, the two essentially amounting to the same thing.