Moving Forward in Music Education

Years ago, I wondered. What if musicians, artists and creatives of all kinds were valued above all else? What if our educational system, the culture we inhabit and the society in which we raise our children focused on the compassionate connection borne from creative expression? How would our world look?

My curiosity grew out of the bold reality of my life as a professional violinist and Suzuki teacher. I loved my work, but the long hours and less-than-ideal conditions placed me at risk for illness, injury and burnout. Aside from my own inquisitiveness, I had no guidance or training to deal with the real challenges of my work, which took the form of relational conflicts, policy setting, life-work balance, financial planning, health care, and the humdinger of them all—relating meaningfully to the public that arrived in the form of students and their parents for lessons.

My world and theirs bore little or no resemblance to one another. Most of my families were well off, engaged in a smorgasbord of after-school activities, and spent weekends on the houseboat listening to the UT football game. I went to secondary school with most of the parents of my young students, and I knew the mindset they inhabited. Nothing could be further from that and the people I encountered in the music school I attended for college, except for the strive for excellence. High achievement was the only common factor between my former existence and the one I chose for myself.

There’s no fault in either. The problem comes in communicating, expectation and values. I vividly remembered railing to myself that a certain family actually didn’t believe it necessary to practice daily. It just wasn’t important to them. In my mind, they were not only flatly wrong but they were exhibiting a fine illustration of ignorance and arrogance, as well. What I didn’t understand then, but know now, is it really didn’t matter who was right or who was wrong. What I was refusing to face was the vast shift in a culture that no longer valued—the members of which rarely even experienced—the kind of elite immersion we musicians received in our training. It was not only not valued—it was entirely disregarded as old-school thinking. Add to that the work hours on weekends and late nights, the somewhat transitory existence moving from gig to gig, and the precarious financial reality musicians endure—and routinely accept—and you have a great divide in experience. We musicians and our public speak from different worlds.

Naturally, not every family falls into such a stereotype, but more and more do. And, it doesn’t look like the tide will turn anytime soon. Culturally, society is hurtling toward more easily obtainable information, more activity, and more overload. So, what happens next? If we continue to teach students in the ways we were taught, set expectations for our families in involvement that we followed, and limit our commitment to only those that meet our standards, what happens to our profession? Do we teach our students as if they are aspiring professional musicians? If we do, who will continue to take lessons? Who will attend performances? If we don’t address students and their families as they are, with the commitment level that are willing to make, who will be carry on the artistic torch to the future generation? If the children we teach experience music learning as positive, enjoyable and even stimulating, it is more likely they will grow up to demand it be part of their community,

Let me clarify: I am not advocating a dissolution of quality by meeting families where they are. In fact, banging on kids to have perfect bow holds and fine posture at the exclusion of music-making—or on the condition for being permitted to create beautiful music—is self-annihilating. Most won’t last long enough to get to that point. They need to have the opportunity to experience music as it is meaningful to them from the very beginning. I propose placing the joy of making music be the central focus of our teaching. If children enjoy what they do, they have the desire to do it better. They want to practice. They understand what it will do for them in attaining their own goals and they have clarity on the result if they don’t. Technique is relegated to a secondary role behind creation, making a student’s drive to self-express through sound primary. 

How can this be done? Get to know your students. Learn what the parents want for their child in learning an instrument. Ask. Observe. Connect. Explore. If you have a pre-instrumental program, introduce music through what the children know best: language, story, chant, movement, song, painting, and dramatic play. As they develop musical concepts, extend their involvement to include improvisation, critical listening, and simple composition. Children gravitate toward that with which they most identify. This evolves into a preferred way of expression which, once on the instrument, provides the direction and purpose for learning how to play. Students are self-driven by their own passion and their ownership of what they do. Teaching to that does not need to be drastically redone; in fact, do as you would but through the lens of connection. “What would be most relevant for this child” rather than “what do they need to do to achieve my goal for them.”

Do these students perform Mendelssohn Concerto at eight years old? Maybe. But if they do, it would come from their desire to do so. Otherwise, it can lead to psychological problems down the pike. We know it well: prodigies that fizzled out or couldn’t easily see a way through into an identity as an adult musician. My own experience as a precocious student didn’t give me an edge in my twenties; I had to prove my worth in all the same ways as anyone else. Did the judges care if I played Mendelssohn at eleven? Did it place me into a more elite status? Of course not. My students are capable of that level of expertise at a young age if they choose to pursue it. Even not choosing it, they DO attain a high level of performance later in their teens—one that exceeded mine in my early years—that is brought on as a natural emanation of their growing state of maturity. As Gingold once said of a young prodigy he was teaching, “he plays too fast and too loud. It’s fine. Let him be a child.” In accordance with his thinking, I believe something is irretrievably lost if we push young children too early into their musical development. The consequences to their own growth as human beings, and as musicians, is unknown unless we allow the child to lead in his own learning.

I hear teachers refer to our childhoods as the “good old days” where music education was prioritized, parental involvement was given, and teachers were held in high esteem. Let it go. In some ways—and I was blessed with extraordinary teachers who were exceptional human beings—it was not the best of times in music education history. We read it in the news, on social media, and some who have “made it” are coming out with the dreadful abuse they endured at the hands of their mentors. As a coach for creatives and teachers, I encounter a huge percentage of folks either professionals or highly trained musicians addressing the psychological damage they experienced through their “good” music education. So, maybe change in how we teach students and train teachers is what we need. The truly ironic thing in this possible shift is this: by incorporating a more flexible, resilient approach toward teaching a child how to play an instrument, perhaps we aren’t just addressing the needs of the community. 

We may be healing ourselves, as well.