I work best when the framework is solid, like a clean operating room. It gives me a baseline to spot where the music can bend without breaking. Structure keeps the sound from falling into chaos, and spontaneity lets me push those edges safely. So I set the rules, then I let the moment breathe within them.

I scan the scene first—listen to the core rhythm, the instruments, the room’s vibe. If a line feels too tight, I’ll tweak a note or shift a rhythm, but only when it feels like a natural progression. I don’t wait for a sudden spark; I trust my instincts and let the music guide the adjustment. The rule is: bend only when it makes the whole feel more coherent, not when it feels convenient.

I treat instincts like tools in a drawer. I know the purpose of each tool before I pull it out. When a gut feeling starts to feel like a new rule, I pause, test it in a small segment, and see if it serves the piece. If it doesn’t, I return it to the drawer. The line between instinct and rule is thin, so I keep them separate by constantly asking, “Does this improve the sound or just satisfy me?” For a solo experiment outside my usual framework I’d pick the theremin. Its pure, eerie tone forces me to think differently about melody and texture.