You Should Write Music Without Your Instrument.

Hot take, I know. But hear me out:

When I sit down with the banjo particularly, it’s hard to concentrate on creating something new. We all learn the same licks, tunes, and chord progressions based on our musical interests. For me this has been bluegrass, and I’ve learned more about Earl Scruggs, J.D. Crowe, Béla Fleck, etc. than any functioning member of society ever should from videos, recordings, and tablature.

These tools are powerful and abundant today—even more so than when I started playing in 2006. Since then I’ve transcribed solos, learned tunes, and spent a lot more time noodling on the banjo than I did creating or learning.

Noodling isn’t all bad. Sometimes we stumble across something new and interesting when we noodle. The issue with noodling is that it’s a distraction and time-sink for the more important task at hand. Think about it: does the word noodle apply to anything that isn’t silly?

When transcribing a solo or tune it’s often helpful to have your instrument on hand to reference what the player is doing. If it’s a video you can find the neighborhood of where they are on the neck and stumble your way through to a close approximation or even a carbon copy of what they”re playing with efficiency.

When you’re trying to create something, on the other hand, the instrument can be a nuisance.

If you’re experiencing writer’s block the instrument becomes a safe-haven away from the difficult and disappointingly locked creative process. You begin to noodle on tunes that you already know, wasting time and energy on something counter-productive to your pursuit. Before you know it, you’ve run out of gas on the same stuff you’ve always played and the tune is laid to rest half-finished, likely to never be visited again.

Adding insult to injury, your “practice” time noodling licks or tunes in this context isn’t even that good. Your mind is still lingering on the unfinished creation and you likely aren’t dedicating all of your effort into high quality practice that produces high quality results, like using a metronome or repeating and experimenting with parts that are difficult (read: unfamiliar) for you.

This is exactly why I say to write music without your instrument. Focus on the melody that you want to write, or the chord progression you’d like, and don’t worry about the technical side. No great author published their finest work without editing after they put something down on a page. Why would music be any different?

Finish your idea as roughly as you need to to preserve the creative thread you’re following. Go back to it with your instrument later and figure out how to lay it on the fretboard.

Creativity and practice are two different acts.

When we create something new, we are manifesting an idea into the world. When we reach a flow state, we aren’t thinking about the technical details—the details interrupt our process. The mind needs full reign to explore big-picture ideas.

When we practice a piece of music, we are training the body to execute the idea in our mind. This is the time to pull out the instrument and begin workshopping the viability of our creation to the challenges of the tool we are expressing it through. The instrument is necessary only in this part of the process, but without something to say through the tool, we are prey to distraction, time-wasting, and burn out.

Let your mind run free and enjoy the process. The more you exercise creativity, the more natural it will become.