Yesterday, I wrote about community in the classical music world. More specifically, I wrote about the lack of any kind of community between the musicians and the audience. Today, I shall write about the most important aspect of building a community: presence. Presence is a larger concept of which Happy Feelings Time is a part. Basically, it comes down to the question: Do people know who you are?
In the case of, say, the Dallas Symphony, many people in the Dallas area know the Symphony exists. Very much fewer are the people who know the man who conducts it, or who the concert master is. Can you imagine a sports fan not knowing the names of their favorite team's members? No, you can't. Why? Because those people are invested. And just as importantly, a sports team is present in the lives of their fans. It is that level of attachment we must try to build, and to do that, we must be in the public eye as often as possible.
The Advertising Fallacy
Advertising provides presence. That can't be denied. However, it is wrong to assume advertising is the solution to all of our problems. I hear advertising for the Dallas Symphony all the time... on the Classical station. And audience levels are still rather low, excepting large performances of Carmina Burana or Britten's War Requiem.
Here's the thing. Advertising is there to let people know you exist. But if your presence in the public sphere doesn't extend beyond that, you cannot expect advertising to do all your work for you. Think of Coca Cola. They advertise. A lot. But they are also everywhere. Coke in McDonald's, Coke in restaurants, Coke at ball parks, Coke at the movies. Everywhere you can go where you can buy drinks, Coke is there. Coke's presence is as much part of that company's success as the advertising reminding people they should drink Coke. Reminding people "Yes, Coke is still here. Keep drinking."
Now, I doubt an orchestra can expect to have the same level of presence as Coca Cola. Unless you can put our Symphonies into liquid form and export that. Somehow, I do not expect such a thing to be palatable. Not only would it be a pulpified meat smoothie, it would also have to be served at such a temperature for the metals of the brass section to be melted. That is far too hot. The strings would make such a temperature a veritable fire hazard.
Playing for the People
The trick is, you have to get yourself out there. Sports teams, for instance. They have a game. They play on a field. How do fans know what's going on? They broadcast it. Why aren't orchestras broadcasting their concerts? Perhaps because of a fear that, should the concert be broadcast, people wouldn't bother to show up. And yet people go to sports games. Why? Because it's always better live. And what about the people who don't go? They're likely the people who wouldn't have gone anyways. But now they're watching, and you're making advertising money off of them.
Broadcasting helps people keep in touch, but orchestras have an advantage over sports teams: we don't need a rival team to play. Much better is to make sure to keep playing in very public areas. Dallas now has Klyde Warren Park, which has a stage, which could be used to the Symphony and Opera's advantage. There are always charitable events which could be played for. Churches are another popular place in Dallas. Bars and pubs. Etc. Etc. The list goes on.
"But how do we fit an entire symphony in these places?" Don't be so dense. You don't need to. You break the symphony into smaller pieces, and make sure the audience knows they are playing on the symphony's behalf. Chamber music shouldn't just be a treat that pops up from time to time. It should be happening as close to always as you can get. And there's no lack of opportunities, either. You just have to make them.
The great part about this is, you get extra advertising space. Fliers can be passed around, email lists can be signed, posters can be hung, shirts can be bought... Oh right, there's that. Hold on.
Merchandising!
Imagine! Dallas Symphony shirts, Symphony hoodies, symphony lunch boxes, Jap van Zweden figurines with judo-chop action, Symphony flame throwers! The sky's the limit!
And now back to our regular paid programming
But more important than the expanded advertising space is the fact that the players in the symphony are seen. They are heard. They are perhaps, occasionally, sniffed a little. People all over the city get the chance to meet the symphony not as a monolithic entity, but as individuals. The audience gets to shake hands with actual people, and the performers get to actually play the solos they always wanted to play. It's win win!
And also, they are still performing, which means lots of Happy Feelings Time after. So much Happy Feelings!
Granted, there are issues with monetizing events and paying performers. Ideally, these events would be as cheap as possible, or even free (gasp! goes the Board of Directors). But it could be done. I'm sure of it.
Now go out and play! Happy Feelings Time everywhere, with everyone! Whee!
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Naked Twister
Today I'm going to talk about getting hammered and playing awesome party games. Like, this one time, at band camp... Wait, no. I'm going to talk about community. Yes. Yes... This is something that I feel is missing from the classical music scene. Community. You know, groups of people getting together and sharing time with each other and bonding over something that everybody mutually enjoys. Like naked Twister. Or Bach. Granted, the classical music community as it stands would not be my first choice for naked Twister. But that's how you know you have a problem.
...and then my own snoring woke me up
The thing about community is, it's not just some random group of people. It's people who share something. The anime community, for example, shares its love for school girl uniforms. The video game community shares its arguments over whether Shephiroth was the best villain of all time or just the whiny mama's boy everybody should know he is. The important thing here is, people don't just get together at an anime convention, watch some anime, and go home. No. People often fly hundreds of miles and book hotel rooms for a weekend so they can be around other anime lovers and argue with them.
Now, I went to the symphony for a while before I realized it was a boring dull affair that isn't worth the money. Why is it boring and dull? Is it all the old people? Is it the stultifying pretensions? Is it the lack of a decent shot of whisky? Well, yes to all of this in part, but what I'm really concerned about is the following not uncommon scenario:
You drive 30 minutes or more in traffic to get downtown. You pay too much for parking. You hand over the ticket you paid a lot for. You go inside and are shuffled to your seat by well meaning, genial, and otherwise invisible ushers. You sit for 15 minutes waiting for the orchestra to enter. You listen, clap after the first movement because it was awesome and it seems the natural thing to do, then realize everyone else is looking at you like an idiot. The orchestra finishes. You get up, go to your car, and drive 30 minutes to go home.
Alright. That is your suburbanite's typical experience going to the symphony. When you put it in such stark terms, it's no wonder they never go! Heck, I live practically right next door and I never go either, simply because it's not worth my money or my time. If I want to hear the pieces I want to hear, I have the internet. If I want to go to the symphony, I need something more. What do I need? I need a community.
Happy Feelings Time
To me, community means a number of things. But mostly it means people are talking to each other. Drinks are had. Laughter and arguments and occasionally a pillow fight. Maybe some mud wrestling. A trip to the symphony lacks exactly all of these things. Maybe the director says a few words while people fall asleep in their seats. But look how different this is from Beethoven's time.
Beethoven didn't just play for anything. He played for gatherings, parties. Mostly rich people parties, but parties nonetheless. The musicians may have been the main event, but it was still part of a larger social structure. People met Beethoven. They shook his hand! Can you imagine? I can't imagine shaking the hand of a living composer unless I'm in the symphony itself. All of the cool stuff is happening behind closed doors. We never get the chance to meet the musicians, we never get to hear their stories, we never get to connect with anyone on stage. There's no humanity in the symphony.
You know good bands do? They meet with their fans. They shake their hands. Maybe autograph a breast or two. They may not like it, depending on how everything is going, but they do it anyways. Because after the show, it's Happy Feelings Time. That's when everybody is going around talking about how great the show was, how glad they were to pay the ticket price, how that one girl threw her panties at the lead singer and OMG I can't believe she did that. And the band members are there, and they're taking pictures, and it's all a good time. Happy Feelings Time.
Right now, the symphony doesn't have Happy Feelings Time. It has nothing, in fact. You go in, you go out, thank for your money, chumps. That's not what is said, but that is what is implied. No, you have to do better than that. The soloist can't just be met by VIPS, everybody has to have to opportunity to meet them. And probably not just the soloist, either. The conductor, the principle chairs, heck the whole orchestra should go out and have an good time drinking their prune juice or whatever it is they're drinking nowadays. Yeah, it lengthens your night. Yeah, it can be grueling. But that's what great bands do all the time. You're not going to be shown up by Lady Gaga, are you? Because that's what's happening right now.
The Need for Security
Basically, what I'm saying is, we might want to rethink how the symphony experience should look altogether. I think, if we don't need to hire security to make sure things don't get too out of hand, it's not good enough. Of course, I only really think that because hyperbole is fun. I'm only half joking, though. You don't want people to just "go to the symphony." You want people to "experience the symphony." And not just the performance, either. The whole symphony. All of it. We need Happy Feelings Time, and we need some naked Twister all up in here.
...and then my own snoring woke me up
The thing about community is, it's not just some random group of people. It's people who share something. The anime community, for example, shares its love for school girl uniforms. The video game community shares its arguments over whether Shephiroth was the best villain of all time or just the whiny mama's boy everybody should know he is. The important thing here is, people don't just get together at an anime convention, watch some anime, and go home. No. People often fly hundreds of miles and book hotel rooms for a weekend so they can be around other anime lovers and argue with them.
Now, I went to the symphony for a while before I realized it was a boring dull affair that isn't worth the money. Why is it boring and dull? Is it all the old people? Is it the stultifying pretensions? Is it the lack of a decent shot of whisky? Well, yes to all of this in part, but what I'm really concerned about is the following not uncommon scenario:
You drive 30 minutes or more in traffic to get downtown. You pay too much for parking. You hand over the ticket you paid a lot for. You go inside and are shuffled to your seat by well meaning, genial, and otherwise invisible ushers. You sit for 15 minutes waiting for the orchestra to enter. You listen, clap after the first movement because it was awesome and it seems the natural thing to do, then realize everyone else is looking at you like an idiot. The orchestra finishes. You get up, go to your car, and drive 30 minutes to go home.
Alright. That is your suburbanite's typical experience going to the symphony. When you put it in such stark terms, it's no wonder they never go! Heck, I live practically right next door and I never go either, simply because it's not worth my money or my time. If I want to hear the pieces I want to hear, I have the internet. If I want to go to the symphony, I need something more. What do I need? I need a community.
Happy Feelings Time
To me, community means a number of things. But mostly it means people are talking to each other. Drinks are had. Laughter and arguments and occasionally a pillow fight. Maybe some mud wrestling. A trip to the symphony lacks exactly all of these things. Maybe the director says a few words while people fall asleep in their seats. But look how different this is from Beethoven's time.
Beethoven didn't just play for anything. He played for gatherings, parties. Mostly rich people parties, but parties nonetheless. The musicians may have been the main event, but it was still part of a larger social structure. People met Beethoven. They shook his hand! Can you imagine? I can't imagine shaking the hand of a living composer unless I'm in the symphony itself. All of the cool stuff is happening behind closed doors. We never get the chance to meet the musicians, we never get to hear their stories, we never get to connect with anyone on stage. There's no humanity in the symphony.
You know good bands do? They meet with their fans. They shake their hands. Maybe autograph a breast or two. They may not like it, depending on how everything is going, but they do it anyways. Because after the show, it's Happy Feelings Time. That's when everybody is going around talking about how great the show was, how glad they were to pay the ticket price, how that one girl threw her panties at the lead singer and OMG I can't believe she did that. And the band members are there, and they're taking pictures, and it's all a good time. Happy Feelings Time.
Right now, the symphony doesn't have Happy Feelings Time. It has nothing, in fact. You go in, you go out, thank for your money, chumps. That's not what is said, but that is what is implied. No, you have to do better than that. The soloist can't just be met by VIPS, everybody has to have to opportunity to meet them. And probably not just the soloist, either. The conductor, the principle chairs, heck the whole orchestra should go out and have an good time drinking their prune juice or whatever it is they're drinking nowadays. Yeah, it lengthens your night. Yeah, it can be grueling. But that's what great bands do all the time. You're not going to be shown up by Lady Gaga, are you? Because that's what's happening right now.
The Need for Security
Basically, what I'm saying is, we might want to rethink how the symphony experience should look altogether. I think, if we don't need to hire security to make sure things don't get too out of hand, it's not good enough. Of course, I only really think that because hyperbole is fun. I'm only half joking, though. You don't want people to just "go to the symphony." You want people to "experience the symphony." And not just the performance, either. The whole symphony. All of it. We need Happy Feelings Time, and we need some naked Twister all up in here.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
The Art of Programming Conclusion: Just Look at Them Bones!
Our intrepid flatulaphonist has made it this far. He has decided whether he is acquiring audience members, or retaining the ones he's got. He has two rubrics in hand: machine guns and sniper rifles; rabbits and turtles. Now it's time to arm the troops for glorious combat in service to the motherland.
Context is everything
First off, the two extremes of the rubrics do not line up exactly with the two goals I have listed. For example, it could be that the machine gun style of programming is better suited to audience acquisition. Perhaps. But that does not mean that is its only use. Similarly, turtle pieces are perhaps better suited to audience retention, but not necessarily. Low risk pieces can also be an audience draw because they're probably pieces the layman has heard or can more easily identify with.
This is part of why programming is so difficult. Everything changes depending on what you're trying to accomplish. And we haven't even considered understanding the strengths of the conductor and the orchestra, yet. But lets ignore that and just think about how programs might be made with audience acquisition in mind. It is highly unlikely anybody has even heard of a flatulaphone, much less thought of attending a flatulaphone recital. We should name our heretofore anonymous flatulaphonist. His name shall be Fred.
Accuracy by Volume
We'll start with high variety programs. The idea here, if you will recall, is to present a large and diverse group of smaller pieces with the hope that something sticks. You don't particularly care that individual pieces resonate with the entire audience, just that everybody gets something they can walk away with going "Yeah, that Claire de Lune is such an awesome piece. I had no idea a flatulaphone could be so transparent and beautiful!" You also get the added benefit of discussion as audience members argue over which pieces were more worth their time. "What do you mean you like Claire de Lune?! That piece is such overplayed tripe. And it was in the Twilight movie! How can I possibly take it seriously? No, no, the Moonlight Sonata is where it's at."
You get bonus points if a fistfight starts, or you have to call security. This is in general, but nothing sells tickets faster than a good old fashioned audience riot.
Anyways. There's two directions I see that are valid. One is to take this type of program and fill it with turtles. The much maligned Andre Rieu does this all the time. He plays waltzes, polkas, and other generally popular and/or inoffensive pieces. The end result is a concert which appeals to just about everybody... at some point or another. But it's like cold calling. People don't remember the misses. They remember that part where it seemed like the medium communicated with them personally. That's where it's at.
The other direction I see is to take the opportunity to sneak in some rabbits. Higher risk pieces which may not resonate with many audience members, but you can get away with it because there are other sure hits which will cleanse the palate for those who found the rabbit's antics distasteful. There's probably a limit to what you can push on the audience. And yet consider: if you are specifically targeting newer audience members who are not yet acclimated to classical music culture, they will not know Schoenberg is almost universally maligned. Without previous expectations, they are more likely to listen with open ears. That doesn't mean they'll like it. But it does mean they'll probably give the risky piece a chance simply because "they don't know any better."
I personally like the second direction better because it will open up your programming options in the future. If the audience expects you to introduce pieces they've never heard before, but feel they can trust your taste in selecting them, you'll have a much easier time getting people to come back for more.
The Household Name and the Sniper Rifle
Lets say you want to attract audience members but still want to play big pieces. This is trickier, but not impossible. The best course of action here is probably turtles. If somebody is going to a concert featuring one or two pieces, they don't really want to spend their evening listening to somebody they've never heard of. Heavy hitters like Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, or Shostakovitch are all big draws.
The main issue here is, you can easily stagnate your repertoire if you're focused only on turtles. Over time, you become predictable, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but can lead to disinterest as you aren't presenting anything new and shiny to hold attention. It's all about the contrast. To that end, it's best not to focus entirely on one or two pieces. You might have one big symphony in the program, and then the rest of it is divide up machine gun style to keep things fresh.
A word of caution: it is tempting to view soloists as audience draws. While it's true the virtuosity brought by a concerto generally leads to good audience reaction, you cannot expect any random soloist to attract the attention of new audience members. Soloists draw sales because people can identify with them, because there's a face and a story that is familiar. Rostropovich wasn't world famous just because he was the best cellist of all time. He was also a political mover and shaker, had a personality, had gravitas. Soloists today usually just have a list of awards. That's not a story. That's a resume. If you're trying to attract new people with a soloist, you'll have to do better than that.
The Rabbit in the Rain
It may seem like the rabbit gets the short end of the stick, here. It's difficult. Risk is always difficult. But risk must be taken to keep the art form alive. The best way to turn a risk into not as risky is to make it a regular feature. If people come to expect modern and contemporary pieces, then they will come for that. There are, however, some difficulties. Certain repertoire is so difficult for the audience that it will simply never get performed, even if those pieces are masterworks. Here is where a well designed educatory program can help the most. That's another discussion, though.
Conclusion
Audience attraction will depend greatly upon a balance of pieces they are familiar with and pieces that are new to them. You want pieces that are riskier in your programs because you can't become staid and predictable. That's where the audience retention part comes in. If people always know what to expect, they'll lose interest. At the same time, you can't be doing random things all the time. Familiarity and novelty are your two main tools, within whatever program structure you choose.
Finally, a word about pacing. You want to start strong and end strong. Stuff in the middle can be whatever, but should still have shape. Programming is a lot like composition. You're taking the audience on a ride with ups, downs, curves, and loops. Slow pieces and fast pieces and middling pieces should all be carefully placed to help keep the audience's interest. Modality is also a big issue, because it lets you create progression through the program. What I'm trying to say is, if you've got a piece in Brown Note Minor, you should save it for the big climax at the end. It'll make for a performance no one will ever forget.
Context is everything
First off, the two extremes of the rubrics do not line up exactly with the two goals I have listed. For example, it could be that the machine gun style of programming is better suited to audience acquisition. Perhaps. But that does not mean that is its only use. Similarly, turtle pieces are perhaps better suited to audience retention, but not necessarily. Low risk pieces can also be an audience draw because they're probably pieces the layman has heard or can more easily identify with.
This is part of why programming is so difficult. Everything changes depending on what you're trying to accomplish. And we haven't even considered understanding the strengths of the conductor and the orchestra, yet. But lets ignore that and just think about how programs might be made with audience acquisition in mind. It is highly unlikely anybody has even heard of a flatulaphone, much less thought of attending a flatulaphone recital. We should name our heretofore anonymous flatulaphonist. His name shall be Fred.
Accuracy by Volume
We'll start with high variety programs. The idea here, if you will recall, is to present a large and diverse group of smaller pieces with the hope that something sticks. You don't particularly care that individual pieces resonate with the entire audience, just that everybody gets something they can walk away with going "Yeah, that Claire de Lune is such an awesome piece. I had no idea a flatulaphone could be so transparent and beautiful!" You also get the added benefit of discussion as audience members argue over which pieces were more worth their time. "What do you mean you like Claire de Lune?! That piece is such overplayed tripe. And it was in the Twilight movie! How can I possibly take it seriously? No, no, the Moonlight Sonata is where it's at."
You get bonus points if a fistfight starts, or you have to call security. This is in general, but nothing sells tickets faster than a good old fashioned audience riot.
Anyways. There's two directions I see that are valid. One is to take this type of program and fill it with turtles. The much maligned Andre Rieu does this all the time. He plays waltzes, polkas, and other generally popular and/or inoffensive pieces. The end result is a concert which appeals to just about everybody... at some point or another. But it's like cold calling. People don't remember the misses. They remember that part where it seemed like the medium communicated with them personally. That's where it's at.
The other direction I see is to take the opportunity to sneak in some rabbits. Higher risk pieces which may not resonate with many audience members, but you can get away with it because there are other sure hits which will cleanse the palate for those who found the rabbit's antics distasteful. There's probably a limit to what you can push on the audience. And yet consider: if you are specifically targeting newer audience members who are not yet acclimated to classical music culture, they will not know Schoenberg is almost universally maligned. Without previous expectations, they are more likely to listen with open ears. That doesn't mean they'll like it. But it does mean they'll probably give the risky piece a chance simply because "they don't know any better."
I personally like the second direction better because it will open up your programming options in the future. If the audience expects you to introduce pieces they've never heard before, but feel they can trust your taste in selecting them, you'll have a much easier time getting people to come back for more.
The Household Name and the Sniper Rifle
Lets say you want to attract audience members but still want to play big pieces. This is trickier, but not impossible. The best course of action here is probably turtles. If somebody is going to a concert featuring one or two pieces, they don't really want to spend their evening listening to somebody they've never heard of. Heavy hitters like Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, or Shostakovitch are all big draws.
The main issue here is, you can easily stagnate your repertoire if you're focused only on turtles. Over time, you become predictable, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but can lead to disinterest as you aren't presenting anything new and shiny to hold attention. It's all about the contrast. To that end, it's best not to focus entirely on one or two pieces. You might have one big symphony in the program, and then the rest of it is divide up machine gun style to keep things fresh.
A word of caution: it is tempting to view soloists as audience draws. While it's true the virtuosity brought by a concerto generally leads to good audience reaction, you cannot expect any random soloist to attract the attention of new audience members. Soloists draw sales because people can identify with them, because there's a face and a story that is familiar. Rostropovich wasn't world famous just because he was the best cellist of all time. He was also a political mover and shaker, had a personality, had gravitas. Soloists today usually just have a list of awards. That's not a story. That's a resume. If you're trying to attract new people with a soloist, you'll have to do better than that.
The Rabbit in the Rain
It may seem like the rabbit gets the short end of the stick, here. It's difficult. Risk is always difficult. But risk must be taken to keep the art form alive. The best way to turn a risk into not as risky is to make it a regular feature. If people come to expect modern and contemporary pieces, then they will come for that. There are, however, some difficulties. Certain repertoire is so difficult for the audience that it will simply never get performed, even if those pieces are masterworks. Here is where a well designed educatory program can help the most. That's another discussion, though.
Conclusion
Audience attraction will depend greatly upon a balance of pieces they are familiar with and pieces that are new to them. You want pieces that are riskier in your programs because you can't become staid and predictable. That's where the audience retention part comes in. If people always know what to expect, they'll lose interest. At the same time, you can't be doing random things all the time. Familiarity and novelty are your two main tools, within whatever program structure you choose.
Finally, a word about pacing. You want to start strong and end strong. Stuff in the middle can be whatever, but should still have shape. Programming is a lot like composition. You're taking the audience on a ride with ups, downs, curves, and loops. Slow pieces and fast pieces and middling pieces should all be carefully placed to help keep the audience's interest. Modality is also a big issue, because it lets you create progression through the program. What I'm trying to say is, if you've got a piece in Brown Note Minor, you should save it for the big climax at the end. It'll make for a performance no one will ever forget.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
The Art of Programming II: Rabbits and Turtles
Yesterday I talked about programming concerts/recitals. More specifically, I talked about goal setting for your concerts, as well as the machine gun/sniper rifle spectrum of program structure. Today I'm going to talk about cute things. Today, I am going to talk about bunnies and turtles.
Wascawwy Wabbits
Once upon a time, there was a rabbit. He had a lot of friends, but because he was a bit of a dick, he didn't have any particularly close friends. On the other hand, people enjoyed his antics and generally liked having him around for parties. You were never really sure what the rabbit would come up with next. Sometimes, it was glorious fun. Other times, somebody shot their eye out while brandishing a Red Rider BB Gun with a compass in the stock.
Durdle the Turtle
On the other end of the forest lived Durdle the Turtle. He was a fine, upstanding citizen. He paid his taxes on time. He looked both ways when he crossed the street. He was very deliberate with his choices. Sometimes, it would take him weeks to decide what box of cereal to buy at the grocery store. Then he would realize, he was a turtle, and didn't eat cereal. BUT! If he did, he sure well knew which box of cereal he would get. Durdle was not very popular. He did not get invited to the reindeer games, and not just because he was not a reindeer. The friends he did have, however, were very loyal to him, and vice versa.
GET ON WITH IT!
I bring up the Wascawwy Wabbit and Durdle the Turtle to help draw attention to the most basic of economic choices: risk vs reward. The rabbit is always taking risks. Sometimes, it pays off gloriously. Other times, it ends with a trip to the hospital. Durdle the Turtle is never taking risks. Sometimes, this lets him lead a safe and comfortable life. Other times, it leads him to choose a box of cereal he doesn't really need. He's also kind of boring.
So breaking it down to extremes: High risk versus low risk; high reward vs low reward. This makes a box. High risk/High Reward, Low Risk/High Reward, etc. etc. I hope I don't have to spell it all out.
Why talk about this at all? Because certain pieces of music will carry with them a certain amount of risk, and a certain amount of reward for taking that risk. The trick is, figuring out which is which. Occasionally, it is obvious. Schoenberg, bless his heart, is a very high risk proposition in American concert halls. The reward you might get from a concert featuring Schoenberg is a bit iffy, but in America, at least, the reward is likely to be rather low. Beethoven is generally rather low risk. People love Beethoven. It's also rather high reward. People love Beethoven!
In the art of programming, we need to carefully balance our risk. It is not that we can never play Schoenberg. It's just that we need to construct a context in which the risk of programming Schoenberg is mitigated by other factors. And it's not that we should always play Beethoven. While Beethoven is rarely boring, Durdle the Turtle always is. If you're constantly making low risk programs, people will lose interest. This means that we need to take a certain amount of gambles... while carefully balancing those gambles against much less risky programming choices.
The polls don't lie. Except when they do.
The big question is, how do you figure this all out? The most direct method is to just ask people what they like and what they want to hear. This has the advantage that you know exactly what to give the people. It has the disadvantage in that the people don't know what they didn't know they wanted to hear. That is, they will only choose piece based on their existing knowledge. Beethoven and Mozart will come up a lot. Schumann less so. Why? For the simple reason Schumann is less known. It has nothing to do with Schumann being a worse composer, far from it. Whenever I've seen or played Schumann, he has always been spectacularly received. He just doesn't have the same public image, and so won't jump to mind as readily.
Another method is less direct. You take opportunities to program lesser known works and judge the audience reaction. Was the applause polite or enthusiastic? Did the standing ovation seem obligatory or spontaneous? Was the audience falling asleep in their popcorn, or were they carefully paying attention throughout? Things like that. It takes careful observation from several perspectives. How did the orchestra feel they were received? How about the CEO in the audience? What about the ushers? What did everybody see and feel? That's how you tell what the audience felt. You have to watch closely and compare notes, because everybody has a different perspective, and it's only when you take them all together that you get a clear picture.
Tomorrow, Tomorrow
Alright. We're getting some focus here. We've got our goals. We've got our gun spectrum. We've got our rabbits and turtles. Now what is out poor befuddled flatulaphonist to do next? How do we start bringing this information together? Join me next time for the exciting conclusion to The Art of Programming: Building your Rabbit and Turtle Army! Time to crush our enemies, drive them before us, and hear the lamentations of their women!
Wascawwy Wabbits
Once upon a time, there was a rabbit. He had a lot of friends, but because he was a bit of a dick, he didn't have any particularly close friends. On the other hand, people enjoyed his antics and generally liked having him around for parties. You were never really sure what the rabbit would come up with next. Sometimes, it was glorious fun. Other times, somebody shot their eye out while brandishing a Red Rider BB Gun with a compass in the stock.
Durdle the Turtle
On the other end of the forest lived Durdle the Turtle. He was a fine, upstanding citizen. He paid his taxes on time. He looked both ways when he crossed the street. He was very deliberate with his choices. Sometimes, it would take him weeks to decide what box of cereal to buy at the grocery store. Then he would realize, he was a turtle, and didn't eat cereal. BUT! If he did, he sure well knew which box of cereal he would get. Durdle was not very popular. He did not get invited to the reindeer games, and not just because he was not a reindeer. The friends he did have, however, were very loyal to him, and vice versa.
GET ON WITH IT!
I bring up the Wascawwy Wabbit and Durdle the Turtle to help draw attention to the most basic of economic choices: risk vs reward. The rabbit is always taking risks. Sometimes, it pays off gloriously. Other times, it ends with a trip to the hospital. Durdle the Turtle is never taking risks. Sometimes, this lets him lead a safe and comfortable life. Other times, it leads him to choose a box of cereal he doesn't really need. He's also kind of boring.
So breaking it down to extremes: High risk versus low risk; high reward vs low reward. This makes a box. High risk/High Reward, Low Risk/High Reward, etc. etc. I hope I don't have to spell it all out.
Why talk about this at all? Because certain pieces of music will carry with them a certain amount of risk, and a certain amount of reward for taking that risk. The trick is, figuring out which is which. Occasionally, it is obvious. Schoenberg, bless his heart, is a very high risk proposition in American concert halls. The reward you might get from a concert featuring Schoenberg is a bit iffy, but in America, at least, the reward is likely to be rather low. Beethoven is generally rather low risk. People love Beethoven. It's also rather high reward. People love Beethoven!
In the art of programming, we need to carefully balance our risk. It is not that we can never play Schoenberg. It's just that we need to construct a context in which the risk of programming Schoenberg is mitigated by other factors. And it's not that we should always play Beethoven. While Beethoven is rarely boring, Durdle the Turtle always is. If you're constantly making low risk programs, people will lose interest. This means that we need to take a certain amount of gambles... while carefully balancing those gambles against much less risky programming choices.
The polls don't lie. Except when they do.
The big question is, how do you figure this all out? The most direct method is to just ask people what they like and what they want to hear. This has the advantage that you know exactly what to give the people. It has the disadvantage in that the people don't know what they didn't know they wanted to hear. That is, they will only choose piece based on their existing knowledge. Beethoven and Mozart will come up a lot. Schumann less so. Why? For the simple reason Schumann is less known. It has nothing to do with Schumann being a worse composer, far from it. Whenever I've seen or played Schumann, he has always been spectacularly received. He just doesn't have the same public image, and so won't jump to mind as readily.
Another method is less direct. You take opportunities to program lesser known works and judge the audience reaction. Was the applause polite or enthusiastic? Did the standing ovation seem obligatory or spontaneous? Was the audience falling asleep in their popcorn, or were they carefully paying attention throughout? Things like that. It takes careful observation from several perspectives. How did the orchestra feel they were received? How about the CEO in the audience? What about the ushers? What did everybody see and feel? That's how you tell what the audience felt. You have to watch closely and compare notes, because everybody has a different perspective, and it's only when you take them all together that you get a clear picture.
Tomorrow, Tomorrow
Alright. We're getting some focus here. We've got our goals. We've got our gun spectrum. We've got our rabbits and turtles. Now what is out poor befuddled flatulaphonist to do next? How do we start bringing this information together? Join me next time for the exciting conclusion to The Art of Programming: Building your Rabbit and Turtle Army! Time to crush our enemies, drive them before us, and hear the lamentations of their women!
Monday, May 27, 2013
The Art of Programming Part I. Machine Guns and Sniper Rifles.
Last Friday's article sparked some discussion. I am pleased with this. Most pleased indeed. *strokes hairless cat*
There a lot of good points made, and I wanted to incorporate some to create a more nuanced art of programming, as well as address one comment in particular. For those who are not classical music aficionados, 'programming' is the word we use for "selecting pieces for a concert." Usually the discussion ends there. "Did you select pieces for your flatulaphone recital? Yes? Done." More discerning people will ask something like, "Did you select pieces in more than one key? No, every piece is in 'The Brown Note' minor. Please change the program, for the love of..." Very rarely will someone enter the world asking the truly pertinent question. "What the heck is a flatulaphone?"
Clearly, we're missing something in our discussion of programming. But before I elaborate, I wanted to rebut (he heh... but...) a comment made by one of my friends. Perhaps rebut (pfpfpfff....) is not the right word. But (OMG) anyways. The comment is paraphrased as such: "The reason programming is not discussed more often is because it is such a personal issue." The implication seeming to be either, 1. It's so personal there's no use talking about it at all (which I do not think was the intent of the comment) or 2. It's so personal it is very difficult to make generalizations about the art, and so people just avoid it rather than deal with it.
I think the second point is actually the more relevant issue. The first one is easily dismissed: music and interpretation are, after all, highly personal arts, yet we talk about them all the time. They are arts we are much more comfortable discussing, though, and given the human tendency to avoid looking like an idiot at all costs, well... We'd rather maintain silence than remove all doubt. Nevertheless! If we're going to make progress at all, somebody is going to have to look dumb, and it might as well be me. So here I go!
Goal Setting
In my experience, I have never really heard this come up in the realm of classical music. It is likely because goal setting is more what those stuck up business people do. Well, guess what, people... Music is a business. Get over it. To get better, to compete, we have to realize what we are aiming for. And no, "being a financially solvent institution" does not count as a goal. That is called "a given."
As far as I can tell, there are two goals which are necessary. The first is audience acquisition, the second is audience retention. Which goal you are concerned with will change how you approach your programming.
Machine Guns vs. Sniper Rifles
There are also two extremes with which we can approach organizing a program. On one end, we have the classical kitchen buffet. You have a concert filled with pieces by different composers from different time periods, and it's all over the place. The advantages this type of organization can give you is you're much more likely to hit something somebody likes. It won't be everybody at the same time, but in general, it's hard to miss. Accuracy by volume, as it were.
The other extreme is to have a single work fill up the entire concert. Something like a Mahler symphony. The advantage here is the audience knows what they are getting and they are almost certainly going to be blown away by the awesomeness of the awesome music they want to hear. BOOM! Headshot!
Disadvantages of the Machine Gun approach are: not as much power, not as much accuracy, much more difficult to organize into a meaningful whole. Disadvantages of the Sniper Rifle include: a (potentially) more narrow target, often asks a great deal of the audience.
To my knowledge, there are a handful of large works that operate well under both methods. This hat-trick category include pieces like Britten's War Requiem, or Orff's Carmina Burana. They are large works which take up an entire concert, but are divided into a series of smaller chunks which provide the variety of the first method. It is not surprising that pieces such as these tend to fill up seats really well. The DSO was nearly sold out for Carmina Burana recently, and WAS sold out for Britten' War Requiem.
Ok, so a basic ground work has been laid. We have some goals. We have a metric to judge program structure. We have a flatulaphone. Now what is our flatulaphonist to do? You'll have to wait and find out! Join me next time when I discuss types of music you might want to program!
There a lot of good points made, and I wanted to incorporate some to create a more nuanced art of programming, as well as address one comment in particular. For those who are not classical music aficionados, 'programming' is the word we use for "selecting pieces for a concert." Usually the discussion ends there. "Did you select pieces for your flatulaphone recital? Yes? Done." More discerning people will ask something like, "Did you select pieces in more than one key? No, every piece is in 'The Brown Note' minor. Please change the program, for the love of..." Very rarely will someone enter the world asking the truly pertinent question. "What the heck is a flatulaphone?"
Clearly, we're missing something in our discussion of programming. But before I elaborate, I wanted to rebut (he heh... but...) a comment made by one of my friends. Perhaps rebut (pfpfpfff....) is not the right word. But (OMG) anyways. The comment is paraphrased as such: "The reason programming is not discussed more often is because it is such a personal issue." The implication seeming to be either, 1. It's so personal there's no use talking about it at all (which I do not think was the intent of the comment) or 2. It's so personal it is very difficult to make generalizations about the art, and so people just avoid it rather than deal with it.
I think the second point is actually the more relevant issue. The first one is easily dismissed: music and interpretation are, after all, highly personal arts, yet we talk about them all the time. They are arts we are much more comfortable discussing, though, and given the human tendency to avoid looking like an idiot at all costs, well... We'd rather maintain silence than remove all doubt. Nevertheless! If we're going to make progress at all, somebody is going to have to look dumb, and it might as well be me. So here I go!
Goal Setting
In my experience, I have never really heard this come up in the realm of classical music. It is likely because goal setting is more what those stuck up business people do. Well, guess what, people... Music is a business. Get over it. To get better, to compete, we have to realize what we are aiming for. And no, "being a financially solvent institution" does not count as a goal. That is called "a given."
As far as I can tell, there are two goals which are necessary. The first is audience acquisition, the second is audience retention. Which goal you are concerned with will change how you approach your programming.
Machine Guns vs. Sniper Rifles
There are also two extremes with which we can approach organizing a program. On one end, we have the classical kitchen buffet. You have a concert filled with pieces by different composers from different time periods, and it's all over the place. The advantages this type of organization can give you is you're much more likely to hit something somebody likes. It won't be everybody at the same time, but in general, it's hard to miss. Accuracy by volume, as it were.
The other extreme is to have a single work fill up the entire concert. Something like a Mahler symphony. The advantage here is the audience knows what they are getting and they are almost certainly going to be blown away by the awesomeness of the awesome music they want to hear. BOOM! Headshot!
Disadvantages of the Machine Gun approach are: not as much power, not as much accuracy, much more difficult to organize into a meaningful whole. Disadvantages of the Sniper Rifle include: a (potentially) more narrow target, often asks a great deal of the audience.
To my knowledge, there are a handful of large works that operate well under both methods. This hat-trick category include pieces like Britten's War Requiem, or Orff's Carmina Burana. They are large works which take up an entire concert, but are divided into a series of smaller chunks which provide the variety of the first method. It is not surprising that pieces such as these tend to fill up seats really well. The DSO was nearly sold out for Carmina Burana recently, and WAS sold out for Britten' War Requiem.
Ok, so a basic ground work has been laid. We have some goals. We have a metric to judge program structure. We have a flatulaphone. Now what is our flatulaphonist to do? You'll have to wait and find out! Join me next time when I discuss types of music you might want to program!
Friday, May 24, 2013
Headbanging with Beethoven
I'mma let you finish, but Beethoven is the best composer of all time. Of all time!
There. Post over.
... ... ...
Ok, so not really. Beethoven is among my most common go to composers. It's really not hard to figure out why, either. He speaks clearly, directly, and passionately. He's not afraid to get up in your grill and shake you by the collar until you break a vertebrae, but then he'll show you the most sublime stuff afterward that you realize that's what he was trying to get you to hear all along. You just weren't listening and he got frustrated. That's all.
If there's one thing I can say about Beethoven, it's his ability to speak to an incredibly wide range of people. Did you know the Japanese sing Ode to Joy, like, all the time? Did you know Beethoven is usually listed among the favorite listenings of metal heads of all stripes? Heavy metal, Death Metal, Black Metal... In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize metal heads have a somewhat peculiar affinity for classical music in general, not just Beethoven.
Perhaps it's the fact that metal is more virtuosic than your average bear. They don't just want the picnic basket, they also want the ranger's head on a pike. Not to say that metal is more complex than pop or regular rock, necessarily. It, like almost everything in life, depends on the case. But usually, metal solos are wickedly difficult to perform. Listen to the riffs of Metallica in their prime and compare them to Beethoven's Piano Sonatas, and you can probably hear some resemblance. The primary differences are modality and amplification.
Speaking of amplification, there is no doubt in my mind if you gave Beethoven a tube amp, he would blow the thing out in, like, 15 seconds.
But moving on. The main reason I bring this up is simple. The old guard of classical music was, and still is in many ways, quite exclusionary. Either it was classical and good, or it wasn't. Nowadays, that is changing, but I think we can do a lot to speed up the process. I think the main thing getting in the way of classical music's popularity is image. The idea that classical music is some stuffy, moth-balled, hoity-toity music that is irrelephant to the demands of contemporary culture.
Some of this is valid criticism. Stuffy? Perhaps. In fact, likely. Classical music performances are rife with hidden rules and rituals that are not intuitive to newcomers. Also, for some reason, clapping between movements of a longer work is received like somebody just kicked a puppy. Harumph harumph harumph! Clapping between movements! What an ignorant neophyte! Go to your shame hole and think of what you have done! Harumph harumph harumph! As for moth balls, well... It is not unlikely some sort of artificial preservation is going on with certain people in orchestras nowadays. I'm not going to point fingers, but maybe possibly we should rethink our idea of tenured musicians.
But irrelephant? First, that's not even a word. Second, I will paraphrase Steven Fry: "If you cannot find a way to connect with music of the past, that is more a reflection of your own lack of creativity than a fault of the music of Bach." Now, I personally think Mr. Fry is being a little harsh, there. People walk into a concert with assumptions about how music works, and sometimes classical music can, in fact, be rather overwhelming to a new listener. Heck, I didn't like Brahms until I was 25, and that was after studying music for 14 years. However, I think Mr. Fry has something of a point. What we have, here, is a failure to communicate.
How do we bring people into the fold? The primary focus has been on 'music appreciation.' This is one of those well-meaning but utterly misguided attempts to connect with people that has plagued classical music since the late 20th century. Lets put it this way. Do you think people "appreciate" the music they listen to over and over again? No! They love it. Otherwise, they wouldn't listen to it more than once. Do we want people to merely appreciate classical music? No! We want them to love it! That's what really brings people back, is the connection they make to it. Trying to educate people about how classical music works might open some doors, but the interesting details lurking beneath the surface (things like form, melody, harmony, progression, counterpoint, etc) are all secondary to the fact that the composers loved the music they wrote. All of those details are merely technical points which are incidental to that underlying state of mind. Bach wouldn't sign ever piece "With thanks to God" unless he really, really loved what he was doing.
So if not music appreciation, then what? How about this. One of my friends learned of my utter distaste for opera. He told me: "Look, full operas are dumb. You don't really go for the whole thing. You go for the one or two arias that you really like. Then, after a while, you start seeing how those arias connect to the other stuff around it. Pretty soon, you won't think opera is dumb any more."
Arias: They're like gateway drugs.
But he has a point. When you look at concert programs, they usually focus on one or two large pieces, with maybe a smattering of smaller stuff. But if we're trying to attract new people, this is exactly wrong. They've never heard classical music! They don't know what's out there! They don't realize how diverse and multifaceted classical music is! If you only ever present one or two pieces at a time, and new audience members don't connect with them, they're not coming back. But if you present a sampler platter... Now we're talking.
Then, a new audience member will hear the stark contrasts between Baroque and Romantic, Classical and Modern, Empfindsamer Stil and aleatory. Then, maybe, just maybe! One or two of those pieces will hook them. They'll go, "I want to hear more of whatever the heck that was." And you give it to them.
This is all well and good, but ultimately, it comes down to one thing. Passion. And this brings me back to Beethoven. Beethoven, more than any other composer I can think of (except possibly Shostakovich) knew how to cut to what was important. As musicians trying to bring these pieces alive for a new generation, we have to do the same. It is not enough to play the notes. It is not enough to play with feeling. We must play like our lives depend on it, like we will die if we do not say what we have to say. We have to pick people up by the collar, shake them, and show them the heights and depths classical music has to offer. We have to try again and again with piece after different piece to find a way to connect with each audience, one person at a time. And we have to trust that the composers we near worship truly had something worthwhile to say.
And if we find we can't perform in such a way? Then perhaps we'll have to admit that the composers we deify didn't have something worth saying. How do I know that's wrong? Because every fiber of my being revolts against such an idea. But it's not the audience's job to find the connection. It's ours.
Post-Script:
People head bang to metal because they're lost in the music. When people literally move to classical music, we'll know we're on the right track.
There. Post over.
... ... ...
Ok, so not really. Beethoven is among my most common go to composers. It's really not hard to figure out why, either. He speaks clearly, directly, and passionately. He's not afraid to get up in your grill and shake you by the collar until you break a vertebrae, but then he'll show you the most sublime stuff afterward that you realize that's what he was trying to get you to hear all along. You just weren't listening and he got frustrated. That's all.
If there's one thing I can say about Beethoven, it's his ability to speak to an incredibly wide range of people. Did you know the Japanese sing Ode to Joy, like, all the time? Did you know Beethoven is usually listed among the favorite listenings of metal heads of all stripes? Heavy metal, Death Metal, Black Metal... In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize metal heads have a somewhat peculiar affinity for classical music in general, not just Beethoven.
Perhaps it's the fact that metal is more virtuosic than your average bear. They don't just want the picnic basket, they also want the ranger's head on a pike. Not to say that metal is more complex than pop or regular rock, necessarily. It, like almost everything in life, depends on the case. But usually, metal solos are wickedly difficult to perform. Listen to the riffs of Metallica in their prime and compare them to Beethoven's Piano Sonatas, and you can probably hear some resemblance. The primary differences are modality and amplification.
Speaking of amplification, there is no doubt in my mind if you gave Beethoven a tube amp, he would blow the thing out in, like, 15 seconds.
But moving on. The main reason I bring this up is simple. The old guard of classical music was, and still is in many ways, quite exclusionary. Either it was classical and good, or it wasn't. Nowadays, that is changing, but I think we can do a lot to speed up the process. I think the main thing getting in the way of classical music's popularity is image. The idea that classical music is some stuffy, moth-balled, hoity-toity music that is irrelephant to the demands of contemporary culture.
Some of this is valid criticism. Stuffy? Perhaps. In fact, likely. Classical music performances are rife with hidden rules and rituals that are not intuitive to newcomers. Also, for some reason, clapping between movements of a longer work is received like somebody just kicked a puppy. Harumph harumph harumph! Clapping between movements! What an ignorant neophyte! Go to your shame hole and think of what you have done! Harumph harumph harumph! As for moth balls, well... It is not unlikely some sort of artificial preservation is going on with certain people in orchestras nowadays. I'm not going to point fingers, but maybe possibly we should rethink our idea of tenured musicians.
But irrelephant? First, that's not even a word. Second, I will paraphrase Steven Fry: "If you cannot find a way to connect with music of the past, that is more a reflection of your own lack of creativity than a fault of the music of Bach." Now, I personally think Mr. Fry is being a little harsh, there. People walk into a concert with assumptions about how music works, and sometimes classical music can, in fact, be rather overwhelming to a new listener. Heck, I didn't like Brahms until I was 25, and that was after studying music for 14 years. However, I think Mr. Fry has something of a point. What we have, here, is a failure to communicate.
How do we bring people into the fold? The primary focus has been on 'music appreciation.' This is one of those well-meaning but utterly misguided attempts to connect with people that has plagued classical music since the late 20th century. Lets put it this way. Do you think people "appreciate" the music they listen to over and over again? No! They love it. Otherwise, they wouldn't listen to it more than once. Do we want people to merely appreciate classical music? No! We want them to love it! That's what really brings people back, is the connection they make to it. Trying to educate people about how classical music works might open some doors, but the interesting details lurking beneath the surface (things like form, melody, harmony, progression, counterpoint, etc) are all secondary to the fact that the composers loved the music they wrote. All of those details are merely technical points which are incidental to that underlying state of mind. Bach wouldn't sign ever piece "With thanks to God" unless he really, really loved what he was doing.
So if not music appreciation, then what? How about this. One of my friends learned of my utter distaste for opera. He told me: "Look, full operas are dumb. You don't really go for the whole thing. You go for the one or two arias that you really like. Then, after a while, you start seeing how those arias connect to the other stuff around it. Pretty soon, you won't think opera is dumb any more."
Arias: They're like gateway drugs.
But he has a point. When you look at concert programs, they usually focus on one or two large pieces, with maybe a smattering of smaller stuff. But if we're trying to attract new people, this is exactly wrong. They've never heard classical music! They don't know what's out there! They don't realize how diverse and multifaceted classical music is! If you only ever present one or two pieces at a time, and new audience members don't connect with them, they're not coming back. But if you present a sampler platter... Now we're talking.
Then, a new audience member will hear the stark contrasts between Baroque and Romantic, Classical and Modern, Empfindsamer Stil and aleatory. Then, maybe, just maybe! One or two of those pieces will hook them. They'll go, "I want to hear more of whatever the heck that was." And you give it to them.
This is all well and good, but ultimately, it comes down to one thing. Passion. And this brings me back to Beethoven. Beethoven, more than any other composer I can think of (except possibly Shostakovich) knew how to cut to what was important. As musicians trying to bring these pieces alive for a new generation, we have to do the same. It is not enough to play the notes. It is not enough to play with feeling. We must play like our lives depend on it, like we will die if we do not say what we have to say. We have to pick people up by the collar, shake them, and show them the heights and depths classical music has to offer. We have to try again and again with piece after different piece to find a way to connect with each audience, one person at a time. And we have to trust that the composers we near worship truly had something worthwhile to say.
And if we find we can't perform in such a way? Then perhaps we'll have to admit that the composers we deify didn't have something worth saying. How do I know that's wrong? Because every fiber of my being revolts against such an idea. But it's not the audience's job to find the connection. It's ours.
Post-Script:
People head bang to metal because they're lost in the music. When people literally move to classical music, we'll know we're on the right track.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Teaching Orchestra Classes
Continuing with my educational theme, today I'm going to discuss orchestra as a school class. I make the distinction between a 6th grade orchestra and a college orchestra because at the college level at least the players know how to play their instruments. Although, after having lived through numerous college orchestra rehearsals, I sometimes wonder if that is a fair assumption to make.
Anyways. After hearing a student orchestra rehearse the same piece for five weeks and not really ever get better, I began to think maybe we're doing something wrong. Is it possible that perhaps we don't know as much about teaching music as we think we do? I think it is.
So lets get cracking.
Problems Facing School Orchestras
1. Class size. It is well known by now that class size is an important factor contributing to student success. Large classes tend to hinder learning, smaller classes tend to help it. Or at least, not get in the way. The book "Boys and Girls Learn Differently"(a book which I recommend with reservations... it's a whole article unto itself) says that the optimal classroom size for middle school is around 20.
Twenty.
Excuse me while I vomit out my nose from laughing too hard. I'm not saying this is unattainable, but 'good' orchestra programs, even at the 6th grade level, rarely if ever have fewer than 30-40 kids in a class. It's not surprising, as orchestra is by nature a group activity. But still.
2. Lack of teacher's aides. In absence of low class size, "Boys and Girls etc" recommends the help of one or sometimes even two teacher's aides. These teachers are able to provide individual assistance where the head teacher cannot. When staring down a battalion of 6th graders, allies will at least give some moral support. But in an orchestra, you are far outnumbered, and they can smell your fear. Just say to yourself, "This. Is. SPARTA!" and go down in glory.
No. I mean, get some additional help.
"But what about money?"
Money? Oh right. Money...
3. There are other problems, but I'm going to stop with a big one here. When learning music in an orchestra or a band, there are actually two subjects going on. There's the subject of the instrument, which is obvious. It's the thing you just dropped $500 on for a ten month rental. Then there's the subject of music. Which is less obvious, but mostly because it's so obvious nobody thinks to think about it.
See, music isn't just playing notes. It's also knowing how notes are put together. Learning patterns. Reading notes. As it is, we're teaching those kids the ABC's without teaching them how to string them into words, much less how to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs and paragraphs into whole compositions. Imagine trying to read Les Mis one letter at a time, and you'll get some grasp of what we're expecting orchestra classes to accomplish.
Ultimately, it is problem number three which poses the most difficulties to a student orchestra and their director. They are really trying to learn and teach two different subjects in the same amount of time as one. Problems 1 and 2 exacerbate this problem greatly, as individual help cannot be provided to struggling students in real time, and the class is usually far too large to facilitate group discussion of music or problem solving.
So it's no wonder orchestras take so long to learn a piece. The students are reading one letter at a time without comprehending words, there are more students making mistakes than a single teacher can reasonably be expected to keep up with, and that teacher somehow has to try and divide 45 minutes worth of time into teaching instruments and teaching basic music theory. Yeesh! Even Sisyphus had it easier than school orchestra directors.
Possible Solutions
1. There's not a lot that can be done here because orchestras are, by nature, usually rather large. There are some things that immediately spring to mind, however. The first is the divide orchestra classes into sections, rather than the full orchestra. This will not only reduce the class size, but also make it easier on the teacher as he or she will not have to deal with all of the little idiosyncrasies which plague each instrument. Other than that, I don't know what to say. This is the most intractable of the problems.
2. Get aides. No, not AIDS. The other aides. This is only problematic insofar as it requires money, but the benefits would be well worth the cost. The size of the classes almost requires additional assistance for effective teaching. And I don't just mean "Let's divide the orchestra into sections and have the assistant teach one and the head director teach the other." I mean the class is going on with two teachers: the head director giving the large scale instruction, and the assistant weaving in and out helping individuals with their own unique problems in real time.
I cannot stress this enough. Mistakes must be addressed quickly as the mistake is being made. Otherwise, it is highly likely the student will not even realize there is something wrong and keep on doing what you don't want them to be doing. Not that they weren't doing what you didn't want them to be doing in the first place, but... you know what I mean.
In addition, assistants can provide much needed moral and psychological support. "Is it me, or does Jimmy's intonation sound worse than a donkey getting eaten by a velociraptor?" "No, it's not just you. But at least his tone is good. Emily's violin sounds like it needs an exorcism. I keep expecting the scroll to twist around while spewing out obscenities about my mother." "Ha ha! I know, right?" (This is totally not an actual conversation I have had with an orchestra director. Totally not at all.)
There. Don't you feel better now? This way, you can relieve all your frustrations without ever taking them out on your students.
3. And now the radioactive elephant in the room. I mean, I don't even know where to start. However! There is some hope. At the 6th grade, beginners level, I highly doubt students need more than 15-30 minutes of practice a day. There's just... not enough to practice, you know? They know all of three notes. Only so much you can do with that.
Keeping this in mind, it is entirely possible orchestras spend far too much of their class time teaching the students how to play. Given a 50 minute class, if you divide up the class into a 25 minute theory class and a 25 minute practice, we can probably cover everything we need to cover so long as we are exceedingly efficient about it. This is still far from ideal. Music theory is a class of its own, but it is progress.
Another possibility is the use of computers. "How People Learn" describes an experiment wherein students learning physics are allowed deliberate practice through a computer-based tutoring program. The students exposed to this program were able to reduce the time it took to reach real-world performance criteria from 4 years to a paltry 25 hours.
I mean. What? Really? Is this real life? Did I seriously just read that? Well.
I can attest to the usefulness of these programs, as well. One of the private schools I teach at has several computer modules where piano students go to learn their music theory. It would not be difficult to adapt those kinds of programs to the specific needs of string, wind, and brass players (and singers who, judging from performance at the college level, seem to need help the most).
So like I said. There is hope. But we have a lot of work to do. Now lets hunker down and prepare for the onslaught. It's a long night, and Gandalf isn't guaranteed to show up.
Anyways. After hearing a student orchestra rehearse the same piece for five weeks and not really ever get better, I began to think maybe we're doing something wrong. Is it possible that perhaps we don't know as much about teaching music as we think we do? I think it is.
So lets get cracking.
Problems Facing School Orchestras
1. Class size. It is well known by now that class size is an important factor contributing to student success. Large classes tend to hinder learning, smaller classes tend to help it. Or at least, not get in the way. The book "Boys and Girls Learn Differently"(a book which I recommend with reservations... it's a whole article unto itself) says that the optimal classroom size for middle school is around 20.
Twenty.
Excuse me while I vomit out my nose from laughing too hard. I'm not saying this is unattainable, but 'good' orchestra programs, even at the 6th grade level, rarely if ever have fewer than 30-40 kids in a class. It's not surprising, as orchestra is by nature a group activity. But still.
2. Lack of teacher's aides. In absence of low class size, "Boys and Girls etc" recommends the help of one or sometimes even two teacher's aides. These teachers are able to provide individual assistance where the head teacher cannot. When staring down a battalion of 6th graders, allies will at least give some moral support. But in an orchestra, you are far outnumbered, and they can smell your fear. Just say to yourself, "This. Is. SPARTA!" and go down in glory.
No. I mean, get some additional help.
"But what about money?"
Money? Oh right. Money...
3. There are other problems, but I'm going to stop with a big one here. When learning music in an orchestra or a band, there are actually two subjects going on. There's the subject of the instrument, which is obvious. It's the thing you just dropped $500 on for a ten month rental. Then there's the subject of music. Which is less obvious, but mostly because it's so obvious nobody thinks to think about it.
See, music isn't just playing notes. It's also knowing how notes are put together. Learning patterns. Reading notes. As it is, we're teaching those kids the ABC's without teaching them how to string them into words, much less how to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs and paragraphs into whole compositions. Imagine trying to read Les Mis one letter at a time, and you'll get some grasp of what we're expecting orchestra classes to accomplish.
Ultimately, it is problem number three which poses the most difficulties to a student orchestra and their director. They are really trying to learn and teach two different subjects in the same amount of time as one. Problems 1 and 2 exacerbate this problem greatly, as individual help cannot be provided to struggling students in real time, and the class is usually far too large to facilitate group discussion of music or problem solving.
So it's no wonder orchestras take so long to learn a piece. The students are reading one letter at a time without comprehending words, there are more students making mistakes than a single teacher can reasonably be expected to keep up with, and that teacher somehow has to try and divide 45 minutes worth of time into teaching instruments and teaching basic music theory. Yeesh! Even Sisyphus had it easier than school orchestra directors.
Possible Solutions
1. There's not a lot that can be done here because orchestras are, by nature, usually rather large. There are some things that immediately spring to mind, however. The first is the divide orchestra classes into sections, rather than the full orchestra. This will not only reduce the class size, but also make it easier on the teacher as he or she will not have to deal with all of the little idiosyncrasies which plague each instrument. Other than that, I don't know what to say. This is the most intractable of the problems.
2. Get aides. No, not AIDS. The other aides. This is only problematic insofar as it requires money, but the benefits would be well worth the cost. The size of the classes almost requires additional assistance for effective teaching. And I don't just mean "Let's divide the orchestra into sections and have the assistant teach one and the head director teach the other." I mean the class is going on with two teachers: the head director giving the large scale instruction, and the assistant weaving in and out helping individuals with their own unique problems in real time.
I cannot stress this enough. Mistakes must be addressed quickly as the mistake is being made. Otherwise, it is highly likely the student will not even realize there is something wrong and keep on doing what you don't want them to be doing. Not that they weren't doing what you didn't want them to be doing in the first place, but... you know what I mean.
In addition, assistants can provide much needed moral and psychological support. "Is it me, or does Jimmy's intonation sound worse than a donkey getting eaten by a velociraptor?" "No, it's not just you. But at least his tone is good. Emily's violin sounds like it needs an exorcism. I keep expecting the scroll to twist around while spewing out obscenities about my mother." "Ha ha! I know, right?" (This is totally not an actual conversation I have had with an orchestra director. Totally not at all.)
There. Don't you feel better now? This way, you can relieve all your frustrations without ever taking them out on your students.
3. And now the radioactive elephant in the room. I mean, I don't even know where to start. However! There is some hope. At the 6th grade, beginners level, I highly doubt students need more than 15-30 minutes of practice a day. There's just... not enough to practice, you know? They know all of three notes. Only so much you can do with that.
Keeping this in mind, it is entirely possible orchestras spend far too much of their class time teaching the students how to play. Given a 50 minute class, if you divide up the class into a 25 minute theory class and a 25 minute practice, we can probably cover everything we need to cover so long as we are exceedingly efficient about it. This is still far from ideal. Music theory is a class of its own, but it is progress.
Another possibility is the use of computers. "How People Learn" describes an experiment wherein students learning physics are allowed deliberate practice through a computer-based tutoring program. The students exposed to this program were able to reduce the time it took to reach real-world performance criteria from 4 years to a paltry 25 hours.
I mean. What? Really? Is this real life? Did I seriously just read that? Well.
I can attest to the usefulness of these programs, as well. One of the private schools I teach at has several computer modules where piano students go to learn their music theory. It would not be difficult to adapt those kinds of programs to the specific needs of string, wind, and brass players (and singers who, judging from performance at the college level, seem to need help the most).
So like I said. There is hope. But we have a lot of work to do. Now lets hunker down and prepare for the onslaught. It's a long night, and Gandalf isn't guaranteed to show up.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Birth, Death, and Beer
Today is Wagner's birthday. I say this with little enthusiasm. Wagner induces drowsiness in me better than coitus. However, I understand there are some non-zero number of misguided souls who fly into raptures at the mere mention of Wagner. I therefore feel compelled to mention today is his 200th birthday in deference to the lunatic ward of the classical music community.
For me, Wagner was only worthwhile insofar as it led to Elmer Fudd in a viking costume. If ever there was an argument for historical inevitability, this is it: Kill the wabbit.
In other news, Henri Dutilleux died today. Mr. Dutilleux is one of those composers who is criminally underplayed. If you don't believe me, just pick a piece of his and go crazy. I recommend his Cello Concerto. Granted, 20th century music is not every person's cup of tea, but Dutilleux is definitely worth a try, at least. What could possibly go wrong?
Famous last words, I know.
Bringing Music to the People
I have already mentioned Classical Open Mic in one post. Due to a recent news article, I feel I should mention it again.
Apparently, the Cleveland Orchestra has decided it would be a good idea to play around in bars. Lets just hope there aren't any lumberjacks in the audience. Oh, but what am I saying... It's a new century. If lumberjacks want to dress up like women and hang around in bars, who am I to judge?
Sorry, got off track there. This move is, I think, brilliant, not least because bars are where people go to get drunk, and when you're drunk everything sounds awesome. Why do you think country music has stuck around for so long? Whisky. So not only are you close to guaranteed to get an audience, they are almost guaranteed to like what you play due to inebriation bias. It's like beer goggles for the ears.
Alcohol also leads to decreased inhibitions. I only bring this up because classical music culture is almost as socially inhibited as the Royal Guard outside Buckingham Palace. Seriously, the most excited expression a classical music audience ever gives is a "standing ovation." Oooo. So enthused. Where's the crowd surfing? Where's the mosh pit? For God's sake, can we have a decent orchestra hall riot sometime soon? It's been almost 100 years since the last one! Step it up people!
Ahem.
What I really want to know is, why is this such a big deal? Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn played for parties. Chopin played in parlors. I remember reading Stravinsky, Poulenc, and some of the French crowd got into a giant pillow fight at 1am during a house party. Bach wrote music about coffee addiction when coffee houses were all the rage. (They still are, I suppose...) Where did all of this go?
Maybe it was never really there. In medieval artistic representations of music, instruments were considered vulgar. Angels certainly don't play the hurdy-gurdy! How droll! It didn't get much better in the Renaissance. So even then, there was a sharp social distinction between "art music" and "music of the people." And, true, the Viennese School played for parties, but they were upper-crust... sorry, upper-class parties. Not that they weren't unruly, just, you know. Politely unruly.
That said, whatever the historical case may be, classical music's move into the barroom is something that I know can work. I've seen it work. I've participated in it. Even when I played in a band, I would sneak in some Bach cello suites. They never failed to get applause. I just wish classical musicians would go farther.
The problem I have with the symphony model isn't just that the culture is on life support. It's that the musical hall is centralized. If you're in the burbs and you want to see some classical music, be prepared to drive for an hour that evening. And then spend twenty minutes parking. Oh, and you have to dress up, too, so... Right, and dinner. Don't forget dinner. Going to the symphony requires as much planning as a wedding anniversary. It's no surprise people aren't going.
But what if, just, you know, bear with me here... What if musicians, now hold on, this is some mind-blowing stuff coming up... What if musicians went to their audience. Instead of expected their audience to come to them. What if, you know, musicians went out to the burbs to play for their money instead of sat on their butts wondering why no one is showing up? I know, I know, it's a lot to wrap your head around.
Seriously, though, if classical music is to survive, the musicians have to become mobile. There are many ways to do it. Bars are one. Churches are another. Local performing art centers. Parks. Restaurants. There's a lot of options.
And don't forget the internet! The MET has had some success broadcasting their operas to movie theaters, which is great, but let me introduce you to a little website called twitch.tv. This site is used to stream video games, usually tournaments, like Starcraft 2, DotA, and others. Think of what would happen if classical musicians leveraged this kind of infrastructure for live performances. Granted, the accounting side would have to work hard to monetize it well, but no harder than they are working now, trying to give CPR to a beached whale.
Just think about it. Brainstorm about it. And don't take my word for it... Actually do it. You may be pleasantly surprised.
For me, Wagner was only worthwhile insofar as it led to Elmer Fudd in a viking costume. If ever there was an argument for historical inevitability, this is it: Kill the wabbit.
In other news, Henri Dutilleux died today. Mr. Dutilleux is one of those composers who is criminally underplayed. If you don't believe me, just pick a piece of his and go crazy. I recommend his Cello Concerto. Granted, 20th century music is not every person's cup of tea, but Dutilleux is definitely worth a try, at least. What could possibly go wrong?
Famous last words, I know.
Bringing Music to the People
I have already mentioned Classical Open Mic in one post. Due to a recent news article, I feel I should mention it again.
Apparently, the Cleveland Orchestra has decided it would be a good idea to play around in bars. Lets just hope there aren't any lumberjacks in the audience. Oh, but what am I saying... It's a new century. If lumberjacks want to dress up like women and hang around in bars, who am I to judge?
Sorry, got off track there. This move is, I think, brilliant, not least because bars are where people go to get drunk, and when you're drunk everything sounds awesome. Why do you think country music has stuck around for so long? Whisky. So not only are you close to guaranteed to get an audience, they are almost guaranteed to like what you play due to inebriation bias. It's like beer goggles for the ears.
Alcohol also leads to decreased inhibitions. I only bring this up because classical music culture is almost as socially inhibited as the Royal Guard outside Buckingham Palace. Seriously, the most excited expression a classical music audience ever gives is a "standing ovation." Oooo. So enthused. Where's the crowd surfing? Where's the mosh pit? For God's sake, can we have a decent orchestra hall riot sometime soon? It's been almost 100 years since the last one! Step it up people!
Ahem.
What I really want to know is, why is this such a big deal? Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn played for parties. Chopin played in parlors. I remember reading Stravinsky, Poulenc, and some of the French crowd got into a giant pillow fight at 1am during a house party. Bach wrote music about coffee addiction when coffee houses were all the rage. (They still are, I suppose...) Where did all of this go?
Maybe it was never really there. In medieval artistic representations of music, instruments were considered vulgar. Angels certainly don't play the hurdy-gurdy! How droll! It didn't get much better in the Renaissance. So even then, there was a sharp social distinction between "art music" and "music of the people." And, true, the Viennese School played for parties, but they were upper-crust... sorry, upper-class parties. Not that they weren't unruly, just, you know. Politely unruly.
That said, whatever the historical case may be, classical music's move into the barroom is something that I know can work. I've seen it work. I've participated in it. Even when I played in a band, I would sneak in some Bach cello suites. They never failed to get applause. I just wish classical musicians would go farther.
The problem I have with the symphony model isn't just that the culture is on life support. It's that the musical hall is centralized. If you're in the burbs and you want to see some classical music, be prepared to drive for an hour that evening. And then spend twenty minutes parking. Oh, and you have to dress up, too, so... Right, and dinner. Don't forget dinner. Going to the symphony requires as much planning as a wedding anniversary. It's no surprise people aren't going.
But what if, just, you know, bear with me here... What if musicians, now hold on, this is some mind-blowing stuff coming up... What if musicians went to their audience. Instead of expected their audience to come to them. What if, you know, musicians went out to the burbs to play for their money instead of sat on their butts wondering why no one is showing up? I know, I know, it's a lot to wrap your head around.
Seriously, though, if classical music is to survive, the musicians have to become mobile. There are many ways to do it. Bars are one. Churches are another. Local performing art centers. Parks. Restaurants. There's a lot of options.
And don't forget the internet! The MET has had some success broadcasting their operas to movie theaters, which is great, but let me introduce you to a little website called twitch.tv. This site is used to stream video games, usually tournaments, like Starcraft 2, DotA, and others. Think of what would happen if classical musicians leveraged this kind of infrastructure for live performances. Granted, the accounting side would have to work hard to monetize it well, but no harder than they are working now, trying to give CPR to a beached whale.
Just think about it. Brainstorm about it. And don't take my word for it... Actually do it. You may be pleasantly surprised.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Teaching Movement
I read. A lot. One of the books I have been reading lately is titled "How People Learn." This book is amazing in so many ways. It is well researched. It is clear. It cites its sources. It's bibliography is 80 pages long. And it admits where more research needs to be done before definitive conclusions can be drawn. I mean, really. What more could you ask for from a $20 book? Almost nothing. Except what today's article is about: movement.
Specifically, skilled movement. Stuff like walking, dancing, typing... playing an instrument. You get the idea. "How People Learn" focuses mostly on knowledge based learning, like math, history, science, language. Great! Thank you! This is very helpful when I am teaching my kids music theory! It does absolutely bupkis for movement based learning. Or does it? I don't know. That's the problem. The book just doesn't talk about it. Maybe it's the same, maybe it's not. I have a feeling its similar, which is an evasive way of saying "they're different." But today I am going to assume they are the same. Or at least similar enough you can generalize principles of knowledge based learning towards movement based learning.
Three Aids to Learning
The introduction of the book provides three keys to learning something well. They are as follows:
1. Students enter learning with preconceptions about a topic/task. That is to say, the "blank slate" philosophy of learning is totally wrong. If a student is coming in with incorrect assumptions, and you don't ferret those assumptions into the open, learning will be very difficult.
2. To develop competence, you must have a deep foundation of factual knowledge, understand those facts in the context of a conceptual framework, and organize knowledge in ways that facilitate retrieval and application. In other words, you have to know a lot of stuff, that stuff has to be related into a larger scheme, and it has to be organized in a way that the brain has easy access.
and 3. A "metacognitive" approach to instruction can help students learn to take control of their own learning by defining goals and monitoring their progress in achieving them. So it's best to help the students "get outside of themselves" as they are learning, thereby increasing their ability to learn without aid from a teacher.
Application to Movement
Warning: Hypothetical Territory Ahead
The book goes into a fair amount of detail applying the above principles to knowledge based learning. Here's where I move into an area which I have not specifically read research about. I am merely operating under the assumption that the three principles will work in the same way for movement as they do for knowledge.
1. Assumptions. Believe it or not, students do assume things about how movement works. One of the first assumptions I have come across is that because movement in other areas of life is easy to them (walking, opening doors, etc), learning how to play the instrument should also come easily to them. They are quickly disabused of this notion, and I need to do very little to help them realize how wrong that is.
Another assumption is 'Learning an instrument is different from other physical tasks." This can make things quite difficult for the student as they start to move in very unnatural ways that they would do for other tasks (like walking, opening doors, etc). One of my friends, Brandon Sterrett, reminded me of Mr. Miyagi. When the Karate Kid is first learning, Mr. Miyagi makes him wax cars and paint doors. Why? Because the basic movements in karate are similar to the basic movements in other, simpler tasks. I have found discussing similar movements helps students better understand what is required for the instrument.
A more subtle assumption is "The body moves in blocks." That is, the arms move in one large chunk. This leads to other unnatural movements as they tense up the wrist and elbow and end up moving their arms only from the shoulder. A related assumption is "More tension equals more power," which is pretty much exactly wrong. Tension is necessary, but power comes from relaxed, fluid movement that is coordinated across the whole limb.
There are more assumptions, I am sure, but you get the idea. Moving on.
2. Creating a conceptual framework for movement is proving to be very difficult. I do have some ideas, however. One of the first things I have noticed is: strength starts high in the center (the core) and decreases as you move towards the extremities (hands and feet). The wrist muscles are naturally less strong than the chest muscles. The thigh muscles are stronger than the calves. This is one of those obvious observations that I have never heard anybody point out. It has dramatic applications for something like the cello, because it leads directly to the next concept.
Movement should start with strong muscles and "ripple" out towards weaker muscles. I myself have fallen prey to using weak muscles for movement, particularly in the left hand where the intricate fingering is done. Mark Landson, a wonderful violinist colleague of mine, helped make me aware of other possibilities. Using the weight of the arm in conjunction with the stronger shoulder muscles to depress the strings, for example. What this concept also says is, the weaker muscles should respond to the impetus provided by the stronger muscles. Take advantage of physics, not fight it. I guess this concept could also be phrased as "Let your your body do what it is good at." Wrist muscles are not good as sustained effort, but the larger muscles are. The larger muscles are not good at precise movement, but wrist and finger muscles are. Etc. Etc.
3. Metacognition is an important part of learning. This is a fancy way of saying "being aware of yourself." Metacognition in movement is pretty difficult. I have noticed most of my students are hardly aware of their bodies at all. I have had some success, however, by asking them to focus on specific movements. Move the wrist this way, then that. Notice how it feels when the wrist is flexed. Move your wrist while moving your elbow. Tense your hand, now relax it, feel the difference. Etc.
I have also had some success by using external objects to force the student into playing correct form, like wrist guards for the left hand. Guiding the bow back to center while the student is playing. Etc. It is also helpful to ask the student to play incorrectly, because it makes them aware of what the body needs to do while playing "wrong." In fact, asking the student to play incorrectly often leads to the student playing correctly. When this happens, I often point it out to them: "If it feels wrong, you're probably right." Usually, they return the next week much improved.
Conclusions
It is difficult to draw conclusions at this point. It does seem, however, that applying the three principles outlined in "How People Learn" will help students both with knowledge based and movement based learning. Without experimentation, however, there's no way to know how well it all applies. Still, in the absence of a better way, it seems to work pretty well.
I hope this helps you teach better! Please, share any comments, constructive criticisms, and ideas you may have. If teachers don't help each other teach better, we're doomed. Doomed, I say! So stop sitting in the back row pretending you're not playing Angry Birds and interact!
I read. A lot. One of the books I have been reading lately is titled "How People Learn." This book is amazing in so many ways. It is well researched. It is clear. It cites its sources. It's bibliography is 80 pages long. And it admits where more research needs to be done before definitive conclusions can be drawn. I mean, really. What more could you ask for from a $20 book? Almost nothing. Except what today's article is about: movement.
Specifically, skilled movement. Stuff like walking, dancing, typing... playing an instrument. You get the idea. "How People Learn" focuses mostly on knowledge based learning, like math, history, science, language. Great! Thank you! This is very helpful when I am teaching my kids music theory! It does absolutely bupkis for movement based learning. Or does it? I don't know. That's the problem. The book just doesn't talk about it. Maybe it's the same, maybe it's not. I have a feeling its similar, which is an evasive way of saying "they're different." But today I am going to assume they are the same. Or at least similar enough you can generalize principles of knowledge based learning towards movement based learning.
Three Aids to Learning
The introduction of the book provides three keys to learning something well. They are as follows:
1. Students enter learning with preconceptions about a topic/task. That is to say, the "blank slate" philosophy of learning is totally wrong. If a student is coming in with incorrect assumptions, and you don't ferret those assumptions into the open, learning will be very difficult.
2. To develop competence, you must have a deep foundation of factual knowledge, understand those facts in the context of a conceptual framework, and organize knowledge in ways that facilitate retrieval and application. In other words, you have to know a lot of stuff, that stuff has to be related into a larger scheme, and it has to be organized in a way that the brain has easy access.
and 3. A "metacognitive" approach to instruction can help students learn to take control of their own learning by defining goals and monitoring their progress in achieving them. So it's best to help the students "get outside of themselves" as they are learning, thereby increasing their ability to learn without aid from a teacher.
Application to Movement
Warning: Hypothetical Territory Ahead
The book goes into a fair amount of detail applying the above principles to knowledge based learning. Here's where I move into an area which I have not specifically read research about. I am merely operating under the assumption that the three principles will work in the same way for movement as they do for knowledge.
1. Assumptions. Believe it or not, students do assume things about how movement works. One of the first assumptions I have come across is that because movement in other areas of life is easy to them (walking, opening doors, etc), learning how to play the instrument should also come easily to them. They are quickly disabused of this notion, and I need to do very little to help them realize how wrong that is.
Another assumption is 'Learning an instrument is different from other physical tasks." This can make things quite difficult for the student as they start to move in very unnatural ways that they would do for other tasks (like walking, opening doors, etc). One of my friends, Brandon Sterrett, reminded me of Mr. Miyagi. When the Karate Kid is first learning, Mr. Miyagi makes him wax cars and paint doors. Why? Because the basic movements in karate are similar to the basic movements in other, simpler tasks. I have found discussing similar movements helps students better understand what is required for the instrument.
A more subtle assumption is "The body moves in blocks." That is, the arms move in one large chunk. This leads to other unnatural movements as they tense up the wrist and elbow and end up moving their arms only from the shoulder. A related assumption is "More tension equals more power," which is pretty much exactly wrong. Tension is necessary, but power comes from relaxed, fluid movement that is coordinated across the whole limb.
There are more assumptions, I am sure, but you get the idea. Moving on.
2. Creating a conceptual framework for movement is proving to be very difficult. I do have some ideas, however. One of the first things I have noticed is: strength starts high in the center (the core) and decreases as you move towards the extremities (hands and feet). The wrist muscles are naturally less strong than the chest muscles. The thigh muscles are stronger than the calves. This is one of those obvious observations that I have never heard anybody point out. It has dramatic applications for something like the cello, because it leads directly to the next concept.
Movement should start with strong muscles and "ripple" out towards weaker muscles. I myself have fallen prey to using weak muscles for movement, particularly in the left hand where the intricate fingering is done. Mark Landson, a wonderful violinist colleague of mine, helped make me aware of other possibilities. Using the weight of the arm in conjunction with the stronger shoulder muscles to depress the strings, for example. What this concept also says is, the weaker muscles should respond to the impetus provided by the stronger muscles. Take advantage of physics, not fight it. I guess this concept could also be phrased as "Let your your body do what it is good at." Wrist muscles are not good as sustained effort, but the larger muscles are. The larger muscles are not good at precise movement, but wrist and finger muscles are. Etc. Etc.
3. Metacognition is an important part of learning. This is a fancy way of saying "being aware of yourself." Metacognition in movement is pretty difficult. I have noticed most of my students are hardly aware of their bodies at all. I have had some success, however, by asking them to focus on specific movements. Move the wrist this way, then that. Notice how it feels when the wrist is flexed. Move your wrist while moving your elbow. Tense your hand, now relax it, feel the difference. Etc.
I have also had some success by using external objects to force the student into playing correct form, like wrist guards for the left hand. Guiding the bow back to center while the student is playing. Etc. It is also helpful to ask the student to play incorrectly, because it makes them aware of what the body needs to do while playing "wrong." In fact, asking the student to play incorrectly often leads to the student playing correctly. When this happens, I often point it out to them: "If it feels wrong, you're probably right." Usually, they return the next week much improved.
Conclusions
It is difficult to draw conclusions at this point. It does seem, however, that applying the three principles outlined in "How People Learn" will help students both with knowledge based and movement based learning. Without experimentation, however, there's no way to know how well it all applies. Still, in the absence of a better way, it seems to work pretty well.
I hope this helps you teach better! Please, share any comments, constructive criticisms, and ideas you may have. If teachers don't help each other teach better, we're doomed. Doomed, I say! So stop sitting in the back row pretending you're not playing Angry Birds and interact!
Monday, May 20, 2013
First!
EDIT: There used to be a couple links in here. They went to Leroy Anderson's 'Typewriter' recorded by the BBC, Dvorak's 'Silent Woods' performed by Jacquelyn du Pre, and Miyoko Shida balancing a feather on a bunch of sticks. Alas, they are copy written material, which AdSense does not take kindly to. I'm not complaining, it's reasonable, but I wanted to make a note so if you wanted to find this stuff, you can.
I started a blog. It is going to be about music. And teaching. And maybe other random stuff. But mostly music and teaching, because I play music and I teach. Specifically, I play and teach cello, the best of all possible instruments. There are some who will disagree with that on personal grounds. I don't care about them so much. There are some who will disagree on philosophical grounds, because Dr. Pangloss. Those people may have a point. Upon further reflection, however, they are still wrong. Why do I say this? No particular reason.
So music. Classical music blogs are woefully lacking. I don't know this for sure. Maybe they are hiding. It amounts to the same thing. I'm positive this is not such a good thing. There's so much wonderful music to be heard, and I know from personal experience many people want to hear it. But they don't know where to look. Well, look no further. I will discuss classical music here, hopefully in a clear, non-pedantic, non-judgmental manner. Ok. Maybe a little judgmental.
What will I discuss? Mostly composers, classical music culture, and other things that come to mind. Also contemporary musicians/performers/composers, because an art only survives if it is alive, and it is only alive if new compositions are created and performed. Otherwise it's a museum. There is a difference between a museum and a gallery. Mostly money. But partly the artist's age, give or take a few centuries. Granted, both are important, just for different reasons. Right now, classical music is only museum music, or mostly so in the large cultural centers. This must change.
But why? You don't hear anything about the dwindling Grateful Dead audience. It's a catastrophe, really, when you think about it from the Grateful Dead's point of view. They're hemorrhaging audience members faster than a patient losing blood in an episode of House. Do people still watch House? I don't know. I don't. Some of you know what I'm talking about. That's the important thing. Where was I. Right.
Because classical music is better than the Grateful Dead. Deadheads will disagree, but their nickname implies, well... I don't want to judge too much. Everybody has their thing. Go have some fun watching Grateful Dead cover bands. What does it mean, 'Classical music is better.'? It means it has more depth. It has more interesting things hiding under its surface. Its more clever, sometimes too clever by half. It has more variety. Sometimes it has more of everything. Like, sometimes it uses a typewriter.
Not to say it's all better. Classical music also tends to be long. And require focus. And possibly some amount of knowledge to fully appreciate it. Possibly. I'm not 100% convinced of that. Probably. But I go to an Open Mic dedicated almost exclusively to classical music. Almost nobody in the audience is a trained musician. Other than the musicians, who are highly trained. But other than them. Few of them know much about classical music, or music at all other than the Top 40. And yet they love it. And they come back. And they tip.
As it turns out, people like seeing things that are done well. It really doesn't matter what that thing is. It could be somebody balancing twigs on a feather. Or sports. Or anything, really. As long as it's done well, people will like it. But you also have to show it to them. You have to let them know it exists. You have to bring it to them. That is a full article in itself, but really: You cannot expect your audience to come to you. You must go to them. Symphonies are quite poor at making this happen. Maybe that is why symphonies are failing.
Ok. That's enough. Now go listen to music.
I started a blog. It is going to be about music. And teaching. And maybe other random stuff. But mostly music and teaching, because I play music and I teach. Specifically, I play and teach cello, the best of all possible instruments. There are some who will disagree with that on personal grounds. I don't care about them so much. There are some who will disagree on philosophical grounds, because Dr. Pangloss. Those people may have a point. Upon further reflection, however, they are still wrong. Why do I say this? No particular reason.
So music. Classical music blogs are woefully lacking. I don't know this for sure. Maybe they are hiding. It amounts to the same thing. I'm positive this is not such a good thing. There's so much wonderful music to be heard, and I know from personal experience many people want to hear it. But they don't know where to look. Well, look no further. I will discuss classical music here, hopefully in a clear, non-pedantic, non-judgmental manner. Ok. Maybe a little judgmental.
What will I discuss? Mostly composers, classical music culture, and other things that come to mind. Also contemporary musicians/performers/composers, because an art only survives if it is alive, and it is only alive if new compositions are created and performed. Otherwise it's a museum. There is a difference between a museum and a gallery. Mostly money. But partly the artist's age, give or take a few centuries. Granted, both are important, just for different reasons. Right now, classical music is only museum music, or mostly so in the large cultural centers. This must change.
But why? You don't hear anything about the dwindling Grateful Dead audience. It's a catastrophe, really, when you think about it from the Grateful Dead's point of view. They're hemorrhaging audience members faster than a patient losing blood in an episode of House. Do people still watch House? I don't know. I don't. Some of you know what I'm talking about. That's the important thing. Where was I. Right.
Because classical music is better than the Grateful Dead. Deadheads will disagree, but their nickname implies, well... I don't want to judge too much. Everybody has their thing. Go have some fun watching Grateful Dead cover bands. What does it mean, 'Classical music is better.'? It means it has more depth. It has more interesting things hiding under its surface. Its more clever, sometimes too clever by half. It has more variety. Sometimes it has more of everything. Like, sometimes it uses a typewriter.
Not to say it's all better. Classical music also tends to be long. And require focus. And possibly some amount of knowledge to fully appreciate it. Possibly. I'm not 100% convinced of that. Probably. But I go to an Open Mic dedicated almost exclusively to classical music. Almost nobody in the audience is a trained musician. Other than the musicians, who are highly trained. But other than them. Few of them know much about classical music, or music at all other than the Top 40. And yet they love it. And they come back. And they tip.
As it turns out, people like seeing things that are done well. It really doesn't matter what that thing is. It could be somebody balancing twigs on a feather. Or sports. Or anything, really. As long as it's done well, people will like it. But you also have to show it to them. You have to let them know it exists. You have to bring it to them. That is a full article in itself, but really: You cannot expect your audience to come to you. You must go to them. Symphonies are quite poor at making this happen. Maybe that is why symphonies are failing.
Ok. That's enough. Now go listen to music.
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