Category Archives: Piano Lessons

Changing Teachers

During the first couple weeks with a new transfer student, they will often exclaim when I say or demonstrate something, “Wow – I didn’t know that! My old teacher never told me about this.” Or they will say things like,”I have learned more from you in just one month than from my old teacher in a year!”

When I first started teaching, I naturally assumed this happened because I was such a better teacher than their old one. Then one day, a colleague conducted a small masterclass for some of my students and in the process asked my student in what key his piece was. He gave her a blank look and said, ” – I don’t know?”

I almost fell off my chair. Mouth agape, stunned look on my face, I could not believe he did not remember how we had figured out not only in what key his piece was, but also the key relationships from one section to the next. Whenever I quizzed him at his lessons, he knew all of that. And now – suddenly he doesn’t know in what key his piece is??  I was embarrassed and made sure to tell my colleague afterward, privately, that this student DID in fact know the answer. She just chuckled and said, “I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t teach this piece without going over the key relationships.”

Nice of her, but very eye-opening for me. Now when I get a transfer student who doesn’t “know” something I don’t automatically assume that the previous teacher didn’t teach it.

It also puts in a different light when transfer students gush at how much more they are learning from me than their old teacher: so often it is simply a matter of hearing a new voice, sometimes a different gender, describe or explain something in a new way that makes them pay attention in a way they didn’t with the old teacher. Different environment, different materials perhaps, different vocabulary, and also very simply a bit of adrenaline because everything is so NEW! and not familiar yet.

To parents of teenagers this is nothing new. One of my favorite books as a parent of teenagers was “Get Out of My Life, but First Could You Drive Me & Cheryl to the Mall” by Anthony E. Wolf, Ph.D.  In the chapter on “They Don’t Listen to Anything I Say” he imagines the following conversation: 

“Eloise, I think it would be a good idea if you dropped Spanish. You’re spending a lot of time on it, and you’re still failing. I’m afraid it’s pulling your other grades down as well.”

“No, Dad, I can handle it. Just leave me alone. You don’t know anything. I’m doing okay.”

“No, Eloise, you’re starting to do badly, and I think the Spanish is just too much.”

“Dad! I can handle it. I’m doing okay. Now leave me alone.”

Two nights later: “Dad, I’ve decided to drop Spanish. I was talking to Becky’s mother about how I was having trouble in school and she said maybe I should drop Spanish. I think she’s right. Besides, I don’t need it anyway, and now I’ll have more time for my other subjects.”

“What did I just say to you two nights ago?”

“I don’t remember.”

… 

 

Expectations

Recently, a disgruntled parent complained that my expectations were unclear.

I scoffed. To me there is not much  that’s more important in the teacher – student – parent triangle than to set clear expectations so I have always been extra careful to communicate these.

I checked with some other parents who immediately reassured me that my expectations were in fact very clear.

Except, they are not really. Clear.

What is clear are my instructions – they are detailed, very specific, aimed at that particular student, written down in the assignment binder, broken down into easy-to-follow steps. The “what to practice” is only a very first step. What follows can be an entire paragraph of “how to practice what you’re supposed to practice”.

I include the student in this process – “What should I write down to help you remember at home what we are working on?” – “What’s a good word to describe the most important thing here?” etc and so on.

But I hardly ever say, “By the next lesson I expect you to be able to do da-da-da.” I guess I assume that if the instructions say “m. 5-8 RH alone” that means that by the next lesson I expect to hear m. 5-8 RH alone.

I did have one student some time ago who during the five-lesson trial period came back to a lesson and said he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with the assignment that said “New: Minuet”. I was baffled: did I really have to spell out “Learn to play the new minuet”?? Apparently so.

My expectations have more to do with – behavior? I am trying to be polite, friendly, considerate, prepared, I start and end lessons on time, and I expect students and parents to be and do the same: they are polite, friendly, considerate, prepared, and they show up on time.

I expect my students to habitually show a high level of enthusiasm, motivation, and commitment. Which means that most of the time they are enthusiastic, motivated, and committed, but not all the time.

One of my high school students, some time ago, apologized for not having been well-prepared for several lessons in a row. Wide eyes when I responded, “I don’t care.” Say what? I explained that I assumed he was doing his best and that I understood that there’s only so much time in a day / week, and that I was glad and proud that he was doing so much other extra-curricular stuff so naturally piano took a backseat for a couple lessons, and I knew he’d get back to spending more time with piano as soon as the other stuff calmed down. But I also appreciated that he recognized that he wasn’t as well-prepared and that he said something.

I guess that is my expectation then: that students (and parents) do their best, and their best is good enough for me.

Dealing with Performance Anxiety

Most of us who grew up learning an instrument and therefore performing at recitals were offered various pieces of advice on how to deal with performance anxiety.

They ranged from, “Just focus and you’ll be alright!” to “Pretend the audience is wearing nothing but their underwear!” (because half-naked people are – less threatening?) to “Pretend the audience isn’t there.” That last one always baffled me: if you pretend the audience isn’t there, then why are you performing? Isn’t it for the audience? The audience you pretend isn’t there?

My teacher was different. She didn’t give advice but she made sure we were so well-prepared that any chance of “messing up” was minimal (and we practiced recovery for when mistakes did happen). We also practiced to perform, not once at a dress rehearsal but many times during the lessons leading up to a performance: how to walk up to the piano, bow, make sure the bench was at the proper height and distance, sit down, hear the beginning of the piece in our head, perform, finish, get up, bow, walk back to our seat.

If that sounds tedious – yes, maybe it was, but those are the steps involved in performing and so we practiced all of those steps until they felt natural and became part of “performing” – not just practicing your piece until it was perfect.

She also addressed the physical aspects of being nervous: feeling like you can’t breathe, etc.: she had us do jumping jacks – “faster!” – until we were out of breath and then immediately sit at the piano, and figure out what we had to do so we could perform while – initially – being out of breath. It was a good exercise, both physically, but also mentally in that the vague “nervous” became a very concrete physical sensation one could deal with.

I have since added my own ideas: butterflies in your stomach? Make them fly in formation. Shaky knees? Gently hold on to them with your hands and move them with purpose. And of course breathing techniques. All of which is meant to put you back in control, not allowing the performance and everything around it to control you.

Covid-19 and other challenges

Yesterday, the Kansas State Department of Education clarified that “Governor Kelly didn’t cancel school for the remainder of the 2019-2020 school year due COVID-19. She closed school buildings. Schools will be working to implement Continuous Learning plans for all students.”

Similarly, my piano studio is closed for in-person lessons but learning will continue, via remote communication. One week ago, I sent an email to my piano students and parents, explaining how we will go about this: most of the learning and teaching will happen via videos my students send me which I will then critique and respond to, via email and/or video. The videos I send to students illustrate a point I was making in my email, or it is a recording of a piece or part of a piece that a student is struggling with – the way I would at an in-person lesson perform for a student (who usually takes a video to review at home). That way they don’t have to try to remember but have something they can re-read and re-watch.

A few parents and adult students responded within a day or three to say, good idea, but how *exactly* do we do this??

In addition to responding to students individually, I also wrote another lengthy email to the entire studio, explaining in more detail *what* to put in the video, what format to send it in (I made suggestions but also said that anything goes, I am not particular), and when to send it – no need to wait until the normal, usual lesson day, but send whenever you have something you want my feedback for.

While there has been a wonderful response from some parents and adult students, actually thanking me for this arrangement to keep the learning going, and sending videos right away and responding to my response, there are parents from whom I haven’t heard at all.

Just like probably everyone else, I, too, am a bit on edge, not sure how all of this – virus, school closings, etc. – will unfold over the next weeks, months. Communication is very important to me, saying please and thank you is important to me, and when I send an email, especially an important one that outlines important changes, I need a response. Doesn’t have to be an essay, just a short “got your email, busy, will talk in a couple days” or “got sick, distracted” or something like that. Anything. To not respond at all is rude.

ETA: a parent to whom I just complained about the above reminded me that “I think the silent ones are the ones that think the same as I thought yesterday: today for certain I will have time to deal with it.“ (Thanks, Yurii.)

So. Deep breath. These *are* stressful times, for everyone.

 

On the subject of pianos

I own a piano studio. I teach people how to play classical piano. Acoustic pianos have several unique properties that allow them to produce music that is richly textured, has tremendous dynamic range, and is exquisitely beautiful. Having a good quality acoustic instrument is essential for learning piano and laying the foundation for a lifetime of music enjoyment.

While it is possible to learn to play piano music on a keyboard, I do not recommend it. In order for a keyboard to be acceptable it must have weighted keys and touch. Expect to pay at least $1500 for an acceptable digital piano with weighted keys.

Keyboards without weighted keys, or that do not have a full sized keyboard are simply not sufficient for piano study. (Full sized refers to the number of keys as well as the size of the keys.)

Pianos, like any other manufactured object, have a spectrum of quality; from “piano shaped objects” to world class concert grand pianos that cost more than $1,000,000. While it is possible to spend tens of thousands or more on a piano, a good quality student instrument will cost about $3,000 or $4,000. While there are good instruments available for less than $3,000, less expensive instruments often are in poor repair or have mechanical issues that will make them uncomfortable to play and will hamper a student’s progress.

I am always available to help families look at and decide about a piano purchase. I am thrilled when students and their families ask me to help them make a good piano purchase, one that will last for years and years.

I understand the reality of making a piano purchase. I traded in two high-quality upright pianos to purchase my first grand piano, and I still had a two year loan to pay off the instrument. Pianos, good pianos, are expensive. Good piano lessons are too. You are investing in the lessons I provide, paying for the 30+ years of teaching experience I bring to each one of your or your child’s lessons. Please invest in an instrument to match. You didn’t compromise when it came to baby food and medical care when your child was born, please don’t compromise when it comes to laying a healthy foundation for a lifetime enjoyment of music making.

Purchasing a quality student instrument for $3000 or $4000 is an investment in your or your child’s musical future. The natural, injury-free technique I teach will protect them from repetition injuries and tendonitis. Having an instrument that is in poor repair, having a fixed height bench that requires an unnatural arm-wrist-hand alignment, having a keyboard that simply can’t produce the music – all of these factors will detract from your child’s success and will potentially risk their physical health as well as their desire to continue piano.

(Written in collaboration with Mark Nichols)

 

Genius and Little Mozarts

The parents of my young piano students know that I have a serious problem with the name of one of the piano methods for young beginners, “Music for Little Mozarts”.  Not only do I find it presumptuous and misleading, I find it unfair to the children:  they are being taught that if they only try hard enough, they can be “little Mozarts” which leads some of them to think that they are expected to become little Mozarts.

There’s a misconception here in the United States, arising from the statement, “All men are born equal.”   People equate “equal” with “the same”.   The fact is, we are not all the same.  We are born male, female, (or, in moderately rare cases, intersexual – persons incompatible with the biological gender binary); we are born tall, short, in-between, easy-going or not; we are born first, second, the last of ten.  We are not all the same.  Nor should we be.  In a truly great society, everyone finds his/her place, with room and encouragement to develop his/her individual talents.

Dylan Evans, in an article that was published in The Guardian, speaks of talent:

We can’t bear the idea that some people might be better than us, so much better that we could never be like them, no matter how hard we tried. That upsets our democratic ethos, our belief that all people are born equal.

But raw talent is not distributed equally. By definition, most of us are not exceptional. We are neither particularly stupid, nor especially intelligent. Only a very few are extremely gifted. […] The Mona Lisa, the Goldberg Variations and King Lear were not the work of ordinary people like you and me. They were the work of geniuses, people so much more talented than us that we could never paint or write anything comparable to their achievements, no matter how hard we tried or how long we lived.

And here’s a thought that’s particularly dear to my heart because of its relevance to piano competitions:

The just allocation of admiration is a virtue that requires judgment and integrity: judgment to distinguish genuine talent from mere showiness, and integrity in refusing to bestow praise on those who do not fully deserve it. Prizes are only valuable if they are restricted to the very few. Not winning a prize is not something to be seen as shameful – it should be the norm, something that happens to the overwhelming majority of people.

This kind of thinking usually doesn’t go over too well with American students and parents who by now are used to receiving some kind of prize or recognition for just about everything.   While I wholeheartedly believe in and teach supporting young people’s efforts and accomplishments, I think this society has gone overboard in its attempt to reward expected behavior.  Making people, especially young people, think that they are exceptional just because they follow the rules or because their work is acceptable is dangerous.

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So, what’s wrong with naming a piano method “Music for Little Mozarts”?  It is the arrogant assumption that all children are geniuses in the league of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  It is degrading to the genius of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to put him on the same level as the majority of people who just happen not to be geniuses.  It reminds me of the story of the 4-year old whose parents manage to grab him just as he’s about to step onto a busy four-lane highway.  The parents, distraught, demand to know, “What on earth and in heaven’s name did you think you were doing?!”  The 4-year-old answers, “I am going to cross the highway because I can do anything if I just believe in myself.”

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First Impressions

As someone who often has trouble “reading” people, first impressions are tricky for me. I tend to take things literally, at face value.

Last year, a new student was coming for a first meeting. As it was dark, the mother had trouble finding the house and ended up being something like 20 minutes late. She texted, “What is your address?” and “I can’t find your house.” When she finally arrived, she was frazzled, almost panicked, exuding frantic energy, complaining loudly that she couldn’t find the house in the dark and had to drive around the block several times, almost knocking on the wrong door (intent on showing me exactly which house she meant) , etc and so on.  As someone who likes to over-prepare it was a bit difficult for me to accept that she hadn’t realized that she had never asked for my address nor done a google search *before* she left home to know where to go and how to get there.

It turned out that this frantic first impression was a sign of things to come: not every week, but often enough to become almost predictable she would forget books and frantically apologize and explain, or she would show up on the wrong day, or show up 30 min early and then wander around the yard. After a few months I couldn’t take it anymore – “it” being the disorganized and frazzled energy she brought into the studio – and ended lessons.

Fast forward to a couple weeks ago, when another mother came for a first meeting: couldn’t find the house in the dark, panicky when she finally arrived, frantically complaining that it was dark etc and so on. (Just to clarify: we live in a residential neighborhood, where even in the dark you can read street signs; and our house number is on the mailbox as well as on the house.)

There was an immediate feeling of déja-vu, a sinking feeling in my stomach, Oh God, not again – this is NOT going to work.

Turns out that this was a one-time shit-happens event: the mother as well as the daughter have turned out to be delightful, reliable, responsible, a joy to work with.

So much for first impressions.