10 holiday shows, over three weeks, with a 90% success rate. Not bad. Yesterday was the 10th show, and all I can say is: It's a good thing the first nine went so well, or I would be starting Winter Break with a giant dose of depression.
There are a number of factors that contributed to yesterday's failure. For starters, this school has been undergoing some major renovation that has resulted in the loss of the music room. There is so much pressure on the one available room that we have had to knock back to one day per week for instrumental music. With the once-a-week model, failure is almost guaranteed. Class attendance has been sparse for the last month, because of projects, field trips and just plain forgetting. Also, because of a shows at other schools, I wasn't available for any rehearsal in the venue. So, yesterday morning, students showed up out of the woodwork with instruments, but no clue what we were going to do with them.
Before we walked across the parking lot to the mega-church where we hold our big school-wide performances, I tried to talk the kids through the expectations of the show. When we got there, I tuned everyone and put them on stage to show them where they should stand. The piano, which I rely on for support both in teaching and performance was way on one side of the stage. The crew said they would move it out for me, but it would have to stay there for the entire program, and no other class would be using it. Since we haven't had a piano in class anyway this year, I opted to leave it out, except for one song.
Instead of playing piano, I pulled my flute and violin out and played along with the students It was still a disaster. Half of the students in each group stood looking like deer in the headlights, frozen and unable to remember how to do anything. One 4th grader spent the whole time mugging the audience and twisting around to see the kids sitting on the risers behind him. We had to start over when the cellos didn't start with us on one song, and when no one started with me on on another.
Finally it was over- maybe 15 minutes all together- and sweating profusely, I ushered the kids off the stage, back to their seats. Walking out later- off to the middle school to finish the day, and leaving before the show was over- a few parents gave me the thumbs up and said "good job". I thanked them, grimacing to let them know that I appreciate their support, even though we both knew it was awful. In my email later there was a message from a parent who thanked me for letting all the kids play, and reiterated how excited her son is to play trumpet. If this was 15 or 20 years ago, I would have been blubbering to my husband and feeling like I had chosen the wrong profession. I would have been beating myself up. If I hadn't had nine other, excellent shows before that I would have been mortified at this failure. But as it is I can chalk it up as just one in many shows over many years, and keeping my performance mottoes in my back pocket, move on.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Friday, December 5, 2014
Something for Everyone
I've written recently about the joys and challenges of differentiation in the music classroom, and I have had occasion this week to see the rewards and the pitfalls of this most cherished of educational buzzwords. It's winter concert season. I have five schools whose programs will range from classrooms of kids wearing Santa hats singing Rudolph to full-blown displays of performance art of every genre. For my part, I need to have kids on stage, blowing or bowing and making recognizable sounds. Harmonies would be nice.
With the earlier start to the school year, we do get a bit of extra time to prepare this show. But my first motto of performance is "You never finish, you just run out of time", and this proves true, even with the extra month. So I grab at the things the kids can play, try to polish them up and put a holiday shine on them and know that the audience will have something to enjoy.
My second motto is: "It is what it is". It is not the LA Phil. It is not even what they will be able to do next spring, and it's also not what they were able to do last spring, and that is one thing that needs to be addressed in a class with different skill levels all together. In the elementary classes, the second-year students expect, rightfully, that they will be progressing on to music that is challenging to them, showing off their improving abilities. But because of scheduling, it hasn't been possible to develop much repertoire to reflect this. There are a couple songs that we can split out "advanced" parts and "first-year" parts, but some of the few songs we present are going to be, necessarily, beginners' songs- that they played last year.
Even at that, many of the beginners feel overwhelmed by the looming specter of performance. So I give them my third motto: "Fake it till you make it". Keep your instrument up, look like you know what you're doing, and the audience will not know the difference, especially because we DO have the second-year experts playing along. This sets those beginners at ease, and they get the same thrill from the performance experience as the more skilled players. I hope it's enough to keep them going till they get those skills too.
I have had more than a few students try to quit this week. And they fall into two categories. First are the beginners who are scared to death until they understand the three mottoes. Usually a little pep talk is all they need to hang in there. Then there are the advanced players who are just disgusted with me because I haven't challenged them sufficiently and they don't want to play this baby music. To them I say we are just trying to get through a show, here, that everyone can play in. After the holiday, we start working on District Festival music, which will definitely be more difficult. Usually telling them that convinces them to keep at it.
Developing life-long musicians is my goal. Quitting just before the winter concert doesn't achieve anything for anyone, and it's a fine line to walk to keep the music flowing. But it is worth it when I see happy parents, principals and children all basking in the glow of a successful presentation. It doesn't really matter that it was just Hot Cross Buns and Jingle Bells.
With the earlier start to the school year, we do get a bit of extra time to prepare this show. But my first motto of performance is "You never finish, you just run out of time", and this proves true, even with the extra month. So I grab at the things the kids can play, try to polish them up and put a holiday shine on them and know that the audience will have something to enjoy.
My second motto is: "It is what it is". It is not the LA Phil. It is not even what they will be able to do next spring, and it's also not what they were able to do last spring, and that is one thing that needs to be addressed in a class with different skill levels all together. In the elementary classes, the second-year students expect, rightfully, that they will be progressing on to music that is challenging to them, showing off their improving abilities. But because of scheduling, it hasn't been possible to develop much repertoire to reflect this. There are a couple songs that we can split out "advanced" parts and "first-year" parts, but some of the few songs we present are going to be, necessarily, beginners' songs- that they played last year.
Even at that, many of the beginners feel overwhelmed by the looming specter of performance. So I give them my third motto: "Fake it till you make it". Keep your instrument up, look like you know what you're doing, and the audience will not know the difference, especially because we DO have the second-year experts playing along. This sets those beginners at ease, and they get the same thrill from the performance experience as the more skilled players. I hope it's enough to keep them going till they get those skills too.
I have had more than a few students try to quit this week. And they fall into two categories. First are the beginners who are scared to death until they understand the three mottoes. Usually a little pep talk is all they need to hang in there. Then there are the advanced players who are just disgusted with me because I haven't challenged them sufficiently and they don't want to play this baby music. To them I say we are just trying to get through a show, here, that everyone can play in. After the holiday, we start working on District Festival music, which will definitely be more difficult. Usually telling them that convinces them to keep at it.
Developing life-long musicians is my goal. Quitting just before the winter concert doesn't achieve anything for anyone, and it's a fine line to walk to keep the music flowing. But it is worth it when I see happy parents, principals and children all basking in the glow of a successful presentation. It doesn't really matter that it was just Hot Cross Buns and Jingle Bells.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
I Wish You Could See Them
Friday, in my middle school orchestra, is one of the days I set aside for "collaborative, student-driven" work. I get out of the way, with the only instruction being to work on our repertoire in whatever teams they choose, or, if they prefer, they can work alone on their part. The motivation comes from the drive toward Common Core Curriculum which values collaboration, creativity, communication and critical thinking. The inspiration comes from El Sistema, the Venezuelan approach to music education which, out of necessity, often allows for the controlled chaos of many students practicing different instruments in the same room.
Our room is not large, only the size of a standard classroom, and there are 20 plus kids in each class. I needed, this week, to work exclusively with one 6th grader who was really falling behind, so I didn't even do what I do some weeks: get out an instrument and play with them, which helps me gain a whole new perspective on their parts and the challenges they face. This week I monitored the activity from the corner where my desk is, while focusing most of my attention on one student.
Anyone walking into the room during these sessions would think I am losing my mind, and indeed, sometimes I think I might. But I see things and hear things that set me up for a glowing weekend of happy reflection. The kids take this task seriously, while having great fun. The groups shift around; for awhile there might be a bass playing with a violin and a flute. Later the same violin will pair up with a French horn and alto saxophone. The trombone and tuba will play with the trumpet and a clarinet. Snippets from the entire repertoire bounce around the room, and occasionally, the whole class coalesces into one, playing some piece spontaneously together. Leaders emerge, with one or another picking up a pencil to be the conductor. They absolutely do not care that there are a bunch of other people maybe or maybe not playing the same thing sitting a foot away. They enthusiastically call out the name of the next thing they want to play, they stop for each other and work passages out, they share information about fingerings, shifting, vibrato, things I can't always spend time on. It is noisy. Great work is happily happening. I am not lifting a finger. I wish you could see them.
Our room is not large, only the size of a standard classroom, and there are 20 plus kids in each class. I needed, this week, to work exclusively with one 6th grader who was really falling behind, so I didn't even do what I do some weeks: get out an instrument and play with them, which helps me gain a whole new perspective on their parts and the challenges they face. This week I monitored the activity from the corner where my desk is, while focusing most of my attention on one student.
Anyone walking into the room during these sessions would think I am losing my mind, and indeed, sometimes I think I might. But I see things and hear things that set me up for a glowing weekend of happy reflection. The kids take this task seriously, while having great fun. The groups shift around; for awhile there might be a bass playing with a violin and a flute. Later the same violin will pair up with a French horn and alto saxophone. The trombone and tuba will play with the trumpet and a clarinet. Snippets from the entire repertoire bounce around the room, and occasionally, the whole class coalesces into one, playing some piece spontaneously together. Leaders emerge, with one or another picking up a pencil to be the conductor. They absolutely do not care that there are a bunch of other people maybe or maybe not playing the same thing sitting a foot away. They enthusiastically call out the name of the next thing they want to play, they stop for each other and work passages out, they share information about fingerings, shifting, vibrato, things I can't always spend time on. It is noisy. Great work is happily happening. I am not lifting a finger. I wish you could see them.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Affinity, Talent, Olympics and a Music Teacher's Realistic Expectations
The Winter Olympics in Sochi are dominating the news this week, and we are watching young people do amazing things, things no regular human body can do. Indeed, these young people ARE like gods, pulling off feats of strength and agility, balance and speed that truly boggle the mind. And as always happens when I witness such extraordinary accomplishment, my mind wanders back to the question of talent.
The other thing that is dominating my personal world this week is a couple of sections of about 30 measures of music that are part of the program we are preparing for the upcoming La Mirada Symphony concert, of which I am now a member. As it happens, the two things overlap in that a good chunk of those 30 measures can be found in the cello part of John Williams' Olympic Fanfare and Theme, which we are going to perform in a couple weeks. You know the piece. You hear it whenever they start the broadcast of the Prime Time highlights. The rest of the measures are in Charles Ives' Variations on America, also on the program.
These are both great pieces of music, worthy of my best efforts. But, jeeze, John and Charlie! I get it. You wanted a shimmering, sizzling undercurrent of buzzing strings to support the themes riding high in the winds. But do we really have to play ALL those notes? At those speeds? What were you thinking? Do you hate cellists?
Okay, so the scene is set. I have been procrastinating all weekend. I must nail these passages, but I can not see how to do it. I am a fairly accomplished cellist, and back in the day when I practiced 8 hours a day, 5 or 6 days a week, I might have found my way to getting my fingers around these crazy licks. But I have other things to do in the next few weeks.
I have written in these pages before about my beliefs about talent. Namely, that if a person loves something enough, he or she will demonstrate what most people call talent. This passion will manifest early in the very best athletes-they say that Wayne Gretzky as a two-year old cried when the TV hockey games ended- musicians, mathematicians, dancers, etc. And if it is nurtured (or, occasionally and perversely, blocked in some cases) by adults and society, it will eventually bear fruit in the form of a successful career. That's it. I do not believe there is some pixie dust that drops on us from the universe to bestow magic powers on us. We may have certain physical attributes that lend themselves to development, but even those can be overcome, given enough drive to DO the thing. Short basketball players, deaf musicians, blind artists do exist because of affinity for the thing they want to do.
So here's the thing. I have been moaning to my ever-patient husband about the impossibility of the mastery of these passages. I storm around the house crying "Who can PLAY this stuff!? Who can THINK that fast"?! And he turns to me and says "I guess you just don't love it enough" (he has heard my rants about talent and affinity), and I guess he's right. I do love playing my cello, and I love to work things out and enjoy the thrill of nailing a difficult passage, but THIS music seems so pointlessly complicated somehow. And impossible. I guess I never loved playing cello enough to spend eight hours a day when I was little. And I didn't love it enough to obsess over orchestra music in high school or college. I got by. I loved playing when the music was a little challenging, and my efforts would be rewarded quickly. If I had really LOVED it at all those stages along the way, I probably would be able to play those passages now.
And that's what I really want to get to here. This is not really about my own limitations, but about how my students view their own limitations. As we are preparing a 4th year in a row for a shot at a Gold Rating at Forum Festival this spring, I have been badgering my students to practice more, spend the time, woodshed. I wonder if it seems impossible to them, perhaps, that they will be able to play some of this music I have chosen for them. They may not see the point in all those notes. They are kids with other things to do. They have homework, robotics, soccer, social lives, families. Only a handful of them LOVE it in the way that could be construed as talent, and those few are the core of whatever success the group will have. Can I make the others love it more? Should I back off of my badgering? Will some of them get the spark BECAUSE of me pushing them to do something they didn't know they could? Probably there is a little "yes" and a little "no" in the answer to each of these questions.
It's good to remind ourselves periodically what amazing things humans are capable of. These Olympians cause us to spout all the usual words about dedication, perseverance, and, yes, talent. But I really think they just love what they're doing. Why they love it so much is the mystery, perhaps. And that is not to disparage them or the incredible hard work that goes into doing what they do. But without the love, they are just like that kid in the back of the orchestra (maybe that kid is me) who is getting by and letting someone else bring home the gold.
The other thing that is dominating my personal world this week is a couple of sections of about 30 measures of music that are part of the program we are preparing for the upcoming La Mirada Symphony concert, of which I am now a member. As it happens, the two things overlap in that a good chunk of those 30 measures can be found in the cello part of John Williams' Olympic Fanfare and Theme, which we are going to perform in a couple weeks. You know the piece. You hear it whenever they start the broadcast of the Prime Time highlights. The rest of the measures are in Charles Ives' Variations on America, also on the program.
These are both great pieces of music, worthy of my best efforts. But, jeeze, John and Charlie! I get it. You wanted a shimmering, sizzling undercurrent of buzzing strings to support the themes riding high in the winds. But do we really have to play ALL those notes? At those speeds? What were you thinking? Do you hate cellists?
Okay, so the scene is set. I have been procrastinating all weekend. I must nail these passages, but I can not see how to do it. I am a fairly accomplished cellist, and back in the day when I practiced 8 hours a day, 5 or 6 days a week, I might have found my way to getting my fingers around these crazy licks. But I have other things to do in the next few weeks.
I have written in these pages before about my beliefs about talent. Namely, that if a person loves something enough, he or she will demonstrate what most people call talent. This passion will manifest early in the very best athletes-they say that Wayne Gretzky as a two-year old cried when the TV hockey games ended- musicians, mathematicians, dancers, etc. And if it is nurtured (or, occasionally and perversely, blocked in some cases) by adults and society, it will eventually bear fruit in the form of a successful career. That's it. I do not believe there is some pixie dust that drops on us from the universe to bestow magic powers on us. We may have certain physical attributes that lend themselves to development, but even those can be overcome, given enough drive to DO the thing. Short basketball players, deaf musicians, blind artists do exist because of affinity for the thing they want to do.
So here's the thing. I have been moaning to my ever-patient husband about the impossibility of the mastery of these passages. I storm around the house crying "Who can PLAY this stuff!? Who can THINK that fast"?! And he turns to me and says "I guess you just don't love it enough" (he has heard my rants about talent and affinity), and I guess he's right. I do love playing my cello, and I love to work things out and enjoy the thrill of nailing a difficult passage, but THIS music seems so pointlessly complicated somehow. And impossible. I guess I never loved playing cello enough to spend eight hours a day when I was little. And I didn't love it enough to obsess over orchestra music in high school or college. I got by. I loved playing when the music was a little challenging, and my efforts would be rewarded quickly. If I had really LOVED it at all those stages along the way, I probably would be able to play those passages now.
And that's what I really want to get to here. This is not really about my own limitations, but about how my students view their own limitations. As we are preparing a 4th year in a row for a shot at a Gold Rating at Forum Festival this spring, I have been badgering my students to practice more, spend the time, woodshed. I wonder if it seems impossible to them, perhaps, that they will be able to play some of this music I have chosen for them. They may not see the point in all those notes. They are kids with other things to do. They have homework, robotics, soccer, social lives, families. Only a handful of them LOVE it in the way that could be construed as talent, and those few are the core of whatever success the group will have. Can I make the others love it more? Should I back off of my badgering? Will some of them get the spark BECAUSE of me pushing them to do something they didn't know they could? Probably there is a little "yes" and a little "no" in the answer to each of these questions.
It's good to remind ourselves periodically what amazing things humans are capable of. These Olympians cause us to spout all the usual words about dedication, perseverance, and, yes, talent. But I really think they just love what they're doing. Why they love it so much is the mystery, perhaps. And that is not to disparage them or the incredible hard work that goes into doing what they do. But without the love, they are just like that kid in the back of the orchestra (maybe that kid is me) who is getting by and letting someone else bring home the gold.
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