A major problem with competition is the assumption that the judges' standards are higher than those of the judged. In too many instances this is simply not the case.

Isn't it better to be taught to value one's own judgment than to accept the ratings of "experts" who, famous though they be and sporting titles and degrees, may have limited understanding?

It was frequently my experience that a panel of judges responding to an audition would split, some giving very high and others very low scores to the same performer.

When a University Dean questioned me on about grading student instrumental performance, I assured her that every music student knows their playing to be flawed. A grade in that case is a meaningless exercise of arbitrary power. Her reply: "Of course!"

It's not that I have anything against competition. It's just that I think it is natural for young people to be competitive: they don't need to be required to be that way.

I have seen young people compete like crazy with their peers only to find that it leads only to confusion. Re-orienting to legitimate learning goals can be hard for such people, though it is a worthy struggle.

One nine-year-old threw a mighty tantrum when she realized that she couldn't compete with her arch rival in school beyond mastering one piano piece that the other girl played. "I hate taking lessons! I want to stop!"

Turned out that what she wanted to stop was the pressure she had assumed for herself. As soon as it became clear that it was all in her own head she calmed down and began to learn for her own pleasure. Now, at fifteen, she is really into it.

There are kids who just can't stop and they shouldn't be stopped. They play for hours on end. I have had students like that, as well. It's a matter of personal
disposition.

All too often children are being listened to, but by unforgiving sibling ears. I have come to the conclusion that real musical maturation is possible only in an environment in which each family member is aware of the power of their listening.

Of course, I have the piano in mind. Located, as it usually is, right in the middle of shared family space, it is almost impossible for the child playing to feel free, that is, to cultivate a sense of listening on her own terms.

I can tell when the older brother of one of my students is home on vacation from college. He becomes insecure and tense--the opposite of his usual self.

"Did you hear me?"

We can all too easily imagine who is asking the question and their tone of voice.

With special emphasis on the last three words, one at a time, it is what I imagine the greatest artist "saying" in every note she plays. It is what the child "says" who plays for us a music they love.

In either case, though we listen, whether or not we understand is a complex matter. Often we don't understand right then and there but only after some reflection, at a distance.

I sometimes think music teachers deliberately structure pedagogy so that they don't feel obliged to listen.

Two questions come to mind: "Who's he when he's at home?" (I believe that's in Ulysses somewhere) and "What kind of company do you want to keep?"

Doesn't music have a lot to do with both questions? Isn't there a kind of music to which we respond on our own with no one around? More precisely, don't most of us use an assortment of musics to fill that need?

In the same way, most people I know -- people of all ages -- enjoy different kinds of music in different kinds of company.

If all that is as obvious as it seems then why is music study so narrowly channeled in the form of minuets and other 18th century relics -- standard fare for learning at the early stages.

Nobody loves music of the 18th century more than I do, but it is a personal taste--one I grew into, by the way. Much more vital for young students is their musical milieu which is notably short on minuets. A wealth of music has been written within the past 100 years specifically for today's children.

It is probably no accident that the conversation following my recent private recital was about cooking eggs.

Few things are as delicate as an egg. Temperature, humidity, proportions of wet and dry ingredients--any and all factor in as critical.

For the pianist every sound is a different specific egg. The hand is thermometer, hydrometer, scale and balance. Touch is the handling that produces if not a perfect, at least a memorable result.

In the presence of properly trained gross-motor skills children are fascinated by such playing and seek instintively to emulate the finesse that only sensitive touch can produce. Fingers drilled without the support of large muscle coordination are too busy to respond to the ear.

Is that why so many young players do not listen?

Competition, comparison -- these are synonyms for leveling off, stifling individuality.

At a critical moment in my life I lived in the midst of an old-fashioned family where music was assumed: everyone played an instrument, assigned at birth most likely, assure a resident string quartet. At first I found it wonderful. Then I realized my great good fortune to have had the opposite experience. The piano was my own, a special private space in which my imagination was free, unfettered by expected behavior. It was all a gift.

Why should it be otherwise?

Now I find to my astonishment that many families in America are using music in more or less that old-fashioned way: to assure a conformist security for their children.