Somewhere along the line people got the idea that children's perceptions need to be organized for them--I mean really organized, as in regimented.

Being a dutiful sort of child I bought into that way of thinking not realizing that most of the adults who were imposing it upon my youthful mind had nowhere near as intense perceptions as I did. They were certainly well-meaning but they were actually holding me back. It was only as a young adult that I quite accidentally encountered people who helped me develop self-confidence in this critical area of development.

Competition is in some ways good. But as a goal in education it is definitely anti-progress. We live in a changing world, heaven knows. A child raised to compete is being subjected to today's standards. What will things be like twenty years from now? What will that young adult's options actually be? Who can know?

The article in today's New York Times about people keeping their children back from kindergarten for a year so that they will have the advantage over their "peers" when they hit high school is a sign of this kind of thinking.

I take it as unmistakable evidence that people need to be and feel in tune that the equally-tempered piano has fallen to one side while really tunable instruments, like the guitar and unaccompanied voices have come into increasing favor with people, especially young people.

I am completely in love with the complex, untamed sound of the modern grand piano. I am fascinated by its variables and by the music written to celebrate this range of auditory invention.

At the same time I have a need to experience being in tune, really in tune. Thus I sing a cappella on a regular basis and enjoy the best of both possible worlds.

One of my most meaningful rewards as a teacher of young people is when one of them pinpoints an area of weakness in their playing--a technique they would like to work on or some level of musical involvement that needs development.

Today such a moment came from a young girl who plays third base on her school softball team. What she needs in order to play better in time is to transfer to the piano the same skill she must use on the field, i.e., to anticipate where the ball is going to go whether to the right or the left of the base line. It is quite analogous to being ahead of or behind the beat: Once you get behind one beat without being aware of it you may be sure the next beat will be even later, and so on.

It was great to see her face light up as she got the point and could feel her concentration beginning to address the problem.

Incidentally, it is one thing to address specific problems that apply to all music and quite another to focus on mastering individual pieces, which are always an amalgam of complex situations. Addressing specific problems enables her to play better whatever particular pieces she wants to play on a given day.

I love the negative words that characterize so many reactions that young people have to specific figures in classical music: boring (Alberti bass); ploddy (the key of C);
nasty (double sharps); hateful (E#), and so on.

They are the gateway to understanding, as they all imply the questions, "Why?" and "What is really happening here?"--two of the best questions anyone can possibly ask.

When was music assumed to exist without someone playing it? How much have we bought into a culture where it doesn't matter that music has become dehumanized?

A few days ago I heard an improvised performance on the piano. The playing was breath-taking: fresh, specific to the sensibility of the player, unlike anything I have ever heard.

How refreshing!

While on vacation I heard a performance by an "almost eleven-year-old" clarinetist in upstate New York. He played for an audience of about 150 people--almost a full house--a transcription of To a Wild Rose by Edward MacDowell, with piano accompaniment.

It was interesting to see how scared he was, though extremely well-prepared. As I listened to the piece I couldn't help but imagine what he must be hearing. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the impact of that rich chromaticism as he played his fragile, delicate melody. It would frighten anyone, unless it had been pointed out exactly how his sound fit into such strangeness.