Empathy between students

The amazing thing about teaching kids with their listening as the primary organizing skill is that when they play for an audience their listening is even better - more focused.  Also, it seems almost miraculous that when they are used to being truly heard as they play, they listen to one another with that same model at work for them.  Their playing, as a result, surpasses their actual "technical" level.

I am told that this is consistent with social learning theory, about which I know nothing except what I practice in my piano studio.  It works.

Listening with Empathy

Ensemble playing is like a dream for many people: It promises to be so much fun---until we actually do it. Then all kinds of things go awry:
The rhythm is off: Can't you count?
It's out of tune: But I play the piano so it can't be me!
It sounds so good when we all play together but I hate having to be all by myself!
It seems to me the problem is that, just as we are listened to without empathy, so we do not learn how to listen either to ourselves or to others with empathy.

And where does the composer fit into such a picture?

When I was ten I was given a ticket to hear Myra Hess play three Mozart Piano Concertos with the Chicago Symphony. She did not play in time. That's all I remember. I would give my eyeteeth to hear that unacceptable performance again.

I recall a review in The New York Times of one of the greatest concerts I have ever heard, in which orchestra, conductor and piano soloist were faulted for essentially their mannerisms, their over-exuberance, their neurotic flair. I should not be surprised that the reviewer evokes the re-embodiment of my ten-year-old self.

In tracking down the particulars of Mozart's writing for the natural horn I am struck by how much of his music was written for particular players, not in the abstract. And here I am trying to make sense of it in the abstract. Isn't that the musician's dilemma?

Facility / Faschmility

What a drag to be a talented kid!  Praised to the sky for facility which, while it may pass for achievement in the eyes of the less facile, amounts to next to nothing in terms of real achievement.

The curve ruled when I was in school.  That was bad enough to level incentives, achievement, real learning.  Now that there are only numbers it has become a lottery.  Who are neglected in the process?  The truly creative children, the really talented who might just turn the established order on its nose and come up with something really compelling.

We are guaranteeing that this will never happen by shifting the emphasis entirely in the wrong direction.

My kids attended a two-room schoolhouse in NYC: No grades, just a distinction between those who needed to learn to read and those who could already read.   The older/abler ones helped the others, in the process confirming their own achievement while becoming also observant of the inborn differences between people.  What could be more significant?

Why are parents reluctant to engage their smart kids in learning exchanges with kids who are challenged, either physically or intellectually?  What kind of a world do we live in -- even more important, what kind of world do they live in?

If you have learned to read you may recall that writing was an important affirmation of your skill as a reader. The best affirmation of that in music is probably Bartok's well-documented ongoing attempt to notate the singing of Hungary's mountain dwellers.

It came to mind the other evening hearing a splendidly piercing reading of Schumann's Kreisleriana by Marc Ponthus. Extreme at both ends of the spectrum of impetuous and lyrical, it proclaimed Schumann as the consummate modernist that I have always felt him to be, having written down what in fact cannot be written down. Ponthus played it as I'm sure it was conceived: fearlessly, wildly, intimately, unforgettably.

The real difficulty with that music is that it is presented to us in metered bars. It has to be the sounds themselves that propel the motion inward or outward.

The sounds themselves...

Capriccio

Haydn has given us a piano piece: Capriccio in G.  I have never seen it programmed or heard it played.  At first reading I find it less than compelling.

Hey!  Wait a minute!  Haydn?  Less than compelling?  Who do you think you are!

I take another look this time paying attention to the note values and the "repetitions" -- oh! how he loved repetitions!

I begin to get it.

Next time I pay attention to my own gut reactions.  I begin to hear the tonal non sequitors that call for extraordinary reading. 

I go back to the title and, newly empowered by my observations, let the piece rip.

It is a riot.

Maybe that's why it's one of the two late works after which he wrote "Laus Dei."