Communication is the key

A healthy relationship is built on several foundations, all of which are important but one of which is essential: good communication. The foundation of any good relationship is a respectful back-and-forth between two or more parties.

I have been lucky to work with many excellent communicators since becoming a teacher. Honesty, promptness, kindness, and openness are not just their credo, they are their day-to-day practice. By practice, I mean that good communication is where the rubber meets the road, where we prove, not just say, that we value others. Good communicators go beyond good intentions.

We may have the best of intentions, we may have affinity, respect, and admiration for our friends, family, colleagues, teachers, and others we interact with, but if we don't actually communicate well, our intentions and feelings are in vain. To use a cliche, when we don't communicate well, we don't walk the talk.

Good communication causes relationships to flourish and multiply. It engenders a virtuous cycle that brings people together harmoniously so that real work can be done. It causes flowers to bloom in a desert. You don't need to go into the details to see that poor or non-existent communication, on the other hand, is literally harmful.

Relationships, whether between people or between nations, are prone to many problems that arise from poor communication: We misunderstand, we overreact, we project, we avoid the truth, we blame others, we rationalize, we become defensive. The list of missteps is long. As one philosopher put it, "Hell is other people." I'd wager that he wasn't very good at communicating. Yes, relationships can be hellishly difficult, but when we communicate, we take on the responsibility to work out these difficulties. Hell may be "other people," but something heavenly can be achieved on this earth with good communication.

But here's the problem with communication: It takes two. Only when two people (or nations) are willing to communicate with each other do the benefits start to flow. Just as in a game of tennis, it takes two to play. No one pays money to watch a tennis player hit balls against a wall. The magic in the game, in any game, lies in the communication, the honest back and forth.

When did mom and dad sign up for band?

As I say all the time to anyone who will listen, "Without supportive parents or parental stand-ins, there simply would not be any musicians in the world and, therefore, no music." If you want to acknowledge a musician, thank their parents (or someone who took the role of a parent). If you like to listen to music, whether your thing is Beethoven or Bruno Mars, thank the parents who made it possible.

The widespread notion that great musicians spring forth from the ether of inspiration–let's call it the Mozart effect–is absolutely fallacious. Musicians, whether great or not so great, spring forth from the web of support provided by their parents. In fact, Mozart's father was probably one of the most supportive parents a young musician ever had even though you'd never know that by watching the film "Amadeus."

So, don't wait for a cloud of musical inspiration to lift your child. Get behind and push!

To go fast, go slow first

Many years ago, a friend who was getting a degree in music performance volunteered to be the driver for a distinguished guitarist who was scheduled to give a concert in town that evening. The job requirements were simple: have a large car and drive the famous guest around town for the afternoon.

My friend picks up his guest at his hotel after lunch. The guitarist puts the case in the trunk and takes a seat in the back with the instrument. "Just drive around for the time being," he requests. "I'd like to practice in the back seat." My friend sets off, trying not to pay attention to what is going on in the back seat.

The guitarist is famous in part for playing lightning fast with ease, so my friend, although he's not a guitarist himself, thinks he might get some tips on playing fast.

After a half hour of driving, my friend can't help notice something strange going on in the back seat. The guitarist isn't racing up and down scales and arpeggios. He isn't racing at all. On the contrary, he is playing at a snail's pace: pluck, silence, pluck, silence, pluck, almost as if he were a beginner. One note, silence, another note, silence. It is almost unbearable, so my friend reminds himself to focus on driving safely and turns his full attention to the road.

Still, he's having trouble holding back his curiosity. He wants to interrupt and ask the guitarist what he's doing. How can this famous musician be practicing at such a slow pace? When is he going to race up and down a scale or unleash a pack of killer arpeggios? When's he going to let it rip?

The guitarist, clearly unaware of my friend's thoughts, continues in the back seat: pluck, silence, pluck, silence.

The guitarist asks to be deposited at the concert hall. As he's leaving, my friend gets up the courage to ask his guest the question that's been burning in his mind. "Excuse me, but why do you practice so slowly? You play so fast in concert. Don't you need to practice fast?"

"Oh, that's simple," replies the guitarist. "I practice slowly to be accurate, and playing fast is just the same as playing slow with the spaces between the notes removed."

I suppose the audience that night had no idea.

The Russian way of choosing a teacher

When I was a child in Los Angeles many years ago, I had a friend named Andrew who studied the violin and had gotten quite good for his young age. It became clear to his mother that he would need a new teacher, one who could take him further up the mountain.

Andrew's mother got the names and phone numbers of a few violin teachers in the area and called them to schedule appointments. She wanted to be sure that there would be a good fit between student and teacher. On a whim, she also called the concertmaster of the Los Angeles Philharmonic–God knows how she got his phone number in those pre-internet days. At the time the concertmaster was a Russian émigré named Alexander Traeger. To her surprise, Mr. Traeger agreed to meet Andrew and asked them to come to his home.

In an orchestra, the concertmaster is not only the "best" violinist, but also plays sergeant to the conductor's general. (When asked exactly how to follow the conductor's confusing baton waving at the beginning of a piece of music, one musician I know replied, "I don't know, but just don't play before the concertmaster.")

Andrew and his mother met with several promising teachers but hadn't made a decision. On the appointed day and time, they arrived at Mr. Traeger’s home. He invited them into the spacious living room and asked Andrew to take out his violin and play something. His palms suddenly sweaty, Andrew took the instrument and bow out of the case and played. Mr. Traeger listened without smiling. Andrew stopped playing and there was a long silence. Mr. Traeger turned to Andrew's mother and with a heavy Russian accent said, "Yes, I’ll take him.”

Andrew and his mother went to Mr. Traeger's home thinking that they would be choosing a violin teacher, according to their own preferences and taste, but it didn't take Andrew long to understand that it was Mr. Traeger who was doing the choosing. Mr. Traeger hadn't demonstrated to Andrew and his mother that he was a suitable teacher. Rather, Andrew had demonstrated that he was worth teaching.

The Russian way. If you learn to play a musical instrument here in the U.S., the prevailing notion is that everyone is encouraged to keep at it, regardless of talent or work ethic. The Russians, who are known for producing musicians of the highest caliber, believe something different. If you learn a musical instrument in Russia and don’t show talent and a willingness to work at it, you are encouraged to stop. In essence, the Russian teacher's credo is "Don't waste my time."

I don't go as far as the Russians. Of course talent is important, but I believe that everyone can benefit from a musical education if they are wiling to work at it. I've seen it happen so many times that I'd be a fool not to believe it: a young person who appears to have very little talent for music upon first taking up the instrument, but who sticks with it, works patiently and diligently and becomes a fine young musician. It takes years for that to occur, and the key words are "works patiently and diligently." Regrettably, in our culture of distraction and immediate gratification, not every young person can muster that type of patience and diligence. Still, it's important to know that it does happen.

Coda. Fast forward to 2018. Andrew, now a successful violist in Los Angeles and Mr. Traeger are colleagues, both teaching in the Music Department at Pepperdine University. "Do you still call him Mr. Traeger," I asked Andrew recently. "No, now it's Alex. Unless the students are around."

What's the hardest part of practicing?

Starting.

I say that with a sense of humor, but the truth is that getting started is one of the biggest barriers to regular practice and, therefore, to progress.

The Germans have a saying, "Aller Anfang ist schwer," which means roughly that all beginnings are difficult. A beginning is a change from one state to a new state, which is hard because, as we may remember from a distant science class, a body at rest stays at rest, and a body in motion stays in motion.

Each time we sit down to practice our instrument, we are beginning something new. We are in a state of transition from not-practicing to practicing, from off to on, from rest to motion.

In a car, the energy needed to go from off to on comes from the battery (and a person turning the key, of course). For a young person, the energy needed to make that transition usually has to come from a parent saying, "It's time to practice" and following up as needed.

Very few kids have the energy to start practicing–to go from rest to motion–on their, but once they start and get past the initial resistance, many kids actually enjoy playing their instrument and working to improve their playing. Even if kids resist practice, they know that improvement is a worthy goal.

So one of a parent's roles is to create the space for practice and to supply the energy to get a child moving. It's not always appreciated at the time, but it's what make things happen.

Nothing is fun until you're good at it

I am often asked whether band is fun, usually by a parent who is thinking about enrolling their child in the class. "I want to enroll my child, but is it fun?" I do my best to explain that playing a musical instrument is fun, but it requires work. I talk about the virtuous circle: the more you practice, the better you get and the better you get, the more you want to practice.

I also hear a variation on that question. This variation usually comes in the form of a statement made by a parent whose child is dropping band in the middle of the year. "But we thought it was going to be fun."

To my mind, putting "fun" before "work" is putting the cart before the horse.

Amy Chua published a book in 2011 called The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. It was controversial at the time, some readers accusing her of being too hard on her children, among other criticisms. Yet while rereading the book recently, I came across the following paragraph, which I will quote in full. I have changed the word "Chinese" in the original to "wise" and "Western" to "some" because I believe Chua's insights apply to any child, no matter where their parents come from.

"What [wise] parents understand is that nothing is fun until you’re good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is critical to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where [some] parents tend to give up. But if done properly, the [wise] strategy produces a virtuous circle. Tenacious practice, practice, practice is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is underrated in America. Once a child starts to excel at something—whether it’s math, piano, pitching, or ballet—he or she gets praise, admiration, and satisfaction. This builds confidence and makes the once not-fun activity fun. This in turn makes it easy for the parent to get the child to work even more."

I'd like to be able to say that learning a musical instrument is fun and requires very little effort, but, to paraphrase the computer scientist Nathan Myhrvold, "That's not how it works here on planet Earth."

But then again, I suspect we all really understand that we wouldn't want it to be any other way. Imagine a world where the most important achievements happen without effort, where climbing uphill was like skipping downhill. It may sound tempting, but I don't think that would be a good place to live.

"This was the first thing my daughter ever failed"

Each year in February my students encounter an obstacle in their path. They are required to memorize a piece of music and perform it in front of their peers and me. This is a big challenge, as you can imagine, especially because I give them a difficult piece of music.

Most students fail on the first attempt.

Students have three chances to pass the test. Those who do pass on the first try deserve high praise for their hard work, but it's those who don't pass on the first try who stand to learn the most from the experience.

Those who fail the first time are at a turning point: work harder or give up. Sadly, a few students come back the following week just as unprepared as they were the first time. Most, however, come back the second time well prepared and positively beam with pride when I tell them they passed.

This test allows me to measure the students' readiness for the St. Patrick's Day parade in San Francisco where we perform without sheet music. It’s a competition, and we try to do our best as we represent Catholic schools in the community.

But deeper down, beyond passing a test, the experience teaches them something very important about themselves. When students hear that they haven't passed, the look on their faces is often heartrending. Sometimes a few quiet tears are shed in class, and from parents I've heard that some kids feel devastated.

"Wait a minute! You mean, I didn't pass? You mean that I failed? That must mean that I’m not good enough." So one might imagine the inner dialogue of a child who has not passed.

Thomas J. Watson, the force behind the rise of IBM, knew a thing or two about failure and success. He said something on the subject so well put that it instantly engraved itself in my memory the first time I read it. 

"If you want to increase your success rate, double your failure rate."

Failure and success go hand in hand. Those who fear failure and shy away from challenges also cut themselves off from success. Failure is an unavoidable part of reaching for success.

For many kids, especially those accustomed to gliding along with good grades in school, the parade memorization test is a turning point. For some, it is the first thing they have tried to do and failed. Sure they may have felt stressed and upset.

Normal stress. But that’s not a bad thing. On the contrary, brief periods of normal stress–such as the upset caused by not passing a test on the first try–are not harmful. In fact, they are essential to a child’s psychological growth. Learning how to bounce back from a disappointment is part of being mentally healthy. That’s an important lesson to keep in mind in our era of overprotective parenting.

One mother whose child did not pass the first time emailed me to say that her daughter wanted to quit the class when she learned she didn't pass. "[My daughter] really struggled with [the assignment], but we broke the music into sections which I think made her realize it wasn’t as daunting as it seemed. This was the first thing she ever failed!"

Did she pass on the second attempt? Did she learn something very important about life? I say yes to both questions.

The musical journey: are we there yet?

Learning to play a musical instrument, like a road trip, has three phases. First comes the excitement of setting out on a journey. During this phase, normally undertaken in grade 4, everything seems fun and new. Students are pleased just to be able to make a sound with their instruments. Very few students quit during this phase.

In most cases, the excitement lasts for the first year and into the second. Fifth graders return to school in the fall still excited to continue the musical journey begun the previous year.

However, after a time, excitement gives way to impatience, and we enter the are-we-there-yet phase. In my experience, this phase usually arrives about half way through grade 5. The novelty has worn off, and the destination seems far away. For some students, the journey ends here. The phrase that announces a student's intention to quit is almost always a variation of "It's too hard and just isn't fun anymore." However, I don't believe that quitting at this point always has to do with the level of difficulty. Rather, it's about not knowing where the journey is leading. I will have a few words to say about that below.

If students are lucky enough not to turn around and go home at this point, they begin to approach the third and most important phase of the journey: arrival. The meaning of "arrival" is a bit complicated in music. The truth is that musicians who make it past the second phase are constantly arriving at new heights of achievement if they continue to make an effort. Playing music becomes more enjoyable the more we learn and the more effort we put into it. It becomes a virtuous (and yet still challenging) cycle.

Mountains. Switching from the metaphor of road trips to mountains, there is a reason why I say in the Owl books that playing a musical instrument is like climbing a mountain. Both activities are extremely challenging, but also exceptionally rewarding. No one gets to the top of a challenging mountain or learns to play an instrument without extensive preparation and effort and without overcoming many obstacles.

At the halfway point of grade 5, a child may be thinking, “This just isn't very fun anymore” in the same way that a half-frozen climber who is halfway up a Mt. Everest may be wondering desperately, "Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to climb this mountain?" Both have lost sight–or never had a clear idea of–the destination.

A parent's faith. It's during the second phase of the musical journey that parents become so critically important. Most kids willingly sign up for band in grade 4 without any pressure from their parents. However, carrying on the journey during the second phase requires something more than pure excitement. That's because learning to play a musical instrument is not just an activity.  It's also an act of faith, a belief in something we cannot yet see.

Children don't know what lies ahead when they begin to play an instrument. They start because it seems fun. They begin with a sense of fun and excitement, but they don't know what the view from the top of the mountain will be. So they must have the support of those who have faith that the view from the top will be hard but worth all the effort. Excitement will only go so far, so it's a parent's faith that sustains a child's journey up Mt. Music. As I've said elsewhere in this blog, without parental involvement, there simply would be very few musicians and therefore very little music in our world.

Our fingers move our spirit

"It's not our spirit that moves our fingers but our fingers that move our spirit."

– Marguerite Long

Marguerite Long was a French pianist and teacher born in 1874. She knew and worked with many greats in classical music and wrote a classic piano method. Strangely, she is not well known today in the U.S., even among pianists.

When I first read that sentence from her book, I thought I must have read it wrong. Surely she's got it backward, I thought. Surely the wind of inspiration must blow on us before we can play like a great artist. But like much wisdom, its meaning only became clear to me with time and reflection. She took common sense knowledge and turned it on its head, showing us the true order of progress in the arts.

By "fingers" she refers to the practical and technical aspects of learning to play an instrument whether it's the piano, the flute, or the viola. We have to learn to play our instruments very well, in short, to master them before we can hope to express ourselves artistically. The winds of inspiration don't blow on us out of the blue as we sail toward artistic achievement. We ourselves must become the wind, and we do so by working diligently and intelligently on our craft for many years. The slow and patient mastery of the mechanical aspects of our instrument may lead us to create art.

That's a message that risks being overlooked in our culture of distraction and immediate gratification with its enablers in the social media, movie, television, and video game industries.

What does music teach?

One of the ideas that I try to disseminate (somewhat in vain, I believe, because it goes against a deeply ingrained cultural notion that says that music is either "fun" or only for the naturally gifted) is that music is academic and useful to everyone.

Music teaches math, including arithmetic and geometry, it teaches coding (deciphering and using a symbolic notation system), it teaches extreme physical coordination (think "Flight of the Bumblebee"), it teaches patience, it teaches emotional development, it teaches us how to work with others to achieve something that we cannot reach individually, and most importantly, to me at least, it teaches people how to spin human emotions and experience, including everything from joy to suffering, into a technicolor brocade that we can share with each other.