Japan is notorious for its blistering summer heat from mid June to late September. The steamy humidity sticks to your body and clothing like glue. Within seconds of leaving your home, you are soaked in your sweat, breathing like it’s your last day on Earth.

What a place to start practicing saxophone outdoors.

It was the first week of July, the start of hell. Days were consistently 36 degrees celsius or more, high humidity and no wind. I was scared of practicing in my room because of how intense Japanese people can be when it comes to noise pollution. Luckily for me, my home was in Kemacho in Miyakojima, right alongside the riverside park that lies alongside the mighty Yodogawa river.

Every day I went out, practicing sax in this intense heat. There are many sheltered nooks and crannies along the river. Bridge underpasses, dense foliage and small clearings. Although it helped with privacy and avoiding the direct sunlight, it did not help with the unavoidable humidity that ruthlessly dominates Japan 24/7 every day for 3 months straight.

It became a game. A mental battle with myself. Sax sound work like long tones is already hard enough and requires stamina. Adding the heat, the fact you’re in a bush under a train bridge getting bit by every bug in Osaka and the self consciousness that everybody in Miyakojima can hear the faint hum of a Bb note for 30 minutes gets to your mind. 

But I did it every day. And not a single time was I bothered by someone.

Self consciousness in the practice room is a huge thing that many musicians deal with every day. It comes from ego. The desire to impress ourselves and others. The reality is that nobody really cares, and this mindset comes from our personal attachment and relationship with our instruments.

To face this resistance is to look ego in the face and say that you don’t care. Outdoor practice is perfect for this. You’re vulnerable. In a public space where you think you’re performing to the world. 

However it’s not a performance. It’s not busking. The moment you realise that, you stop worrying. You take in the sounds around you. The rattling of the train above, the waves splashing along the shoreline as the fishing boats go up the river, the constant hum of the monstrous Japanese cicadas. You become a part of the environment. 

After a couple months on hard mode in Osaka, it’s nice to be back in New Zealand. I realised that I am spoilt for choice with practice locations, especially in West Auckland. Every place has something unique to offer, and I often record what I play because my surroundings give me inspiration to play in a way that I never would if I locked myself in my room playing standards all day.

Another note. It's given me opportunities that would've never happened had I not gone outside.