Why are professionals so afraid of amateurs? Isn't it obvious that people play sports because they enjoy doing so? The ones who can produce reliably under pressure become pro's. Once money enters into the picture it becomes irrelevant whether or not they still enjoy playing.

When kids get interested in sports or in music the degree of their obsession usually becomes clear early on. A kid who is obsessed with the piano will play nonstop, as I did, starting at 6:30 A.M. every day. (Note I said "play" rather than "practice.") Why shouldn't kids who are not so inclined be taught to love their playing because they love music? Isn't loving music the whole entire point? More simply put, why can't we get used to the idea that cultivating mature musicality (on a non-professional track) requires a special kind of training: that in which the ear that demands satisfaction is not the teacher's or the parent's, but the child's?

Isn't that preferable to producing generations of quitters who hate themselves for quitting, and who wouldn't dream of inflicting piano lessons on their own children?

Two questions that emerge from my life as a teacher who is fascinated by the disadvantaged:

Why was I so fiercely determined to play the piano even though it was obvious to people who know the technical aspects of playing that it was never easy for me to do so?

Because I was fascinated by the sound of the instrument: I had always loved it.

Why was I drawn, already at an early age, to music by Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, Debussy?

Because in their music I recognized the sound that I loved so much.

These things are the basis of all my teaching: love of the sound and finding in music--any music--connections to that love.

The way I see it people become musicians because they are chasing the speed of vibration. Musicians come awfully close (I mean "awe-fully") to achieving this mental speed. If you imagine how many aspects of sound they attend to while it is speeding past it makes physical activity seem slow.

Think for a moment about musical time. Is it really the "beat?"

If that were all there was to it no one would go into music. I'ld have long ago become a professional potato masher.

Is there anything more complex than musical time?

It's absolutely fascinating to teach a naturally musical child who bends over backwards to keep her music a secret: she doesn't remember vocabulary (chords, clefs, etc.); she rejects note reading--in short, she doesn't make it easy to deal with her.

Yet everything she touches she transforms: almost imperceptible nuances of timing; an unmistakable lilt.

It is an awesome responsibility.

What is it about playing tennis that makes it fun? Is it necessarily winning? If not, what else is there?

Connecting with the ball; delivering a beautiful serve; getting the ball to go exactly where you wanted it to go--I'm sure the list could go on.

It's not unlike playing the piano for pleasure. Having to win is like competing with other players in terms of numbers of notes, speed, perhaps repertoire. For non-competitive types there are other sources of satisfaction among which savoring dissonances ranks high on the list.

One of my adult students pointed out that dissonance has an entirely different impact in Bartok than in Mozart. Learning to savor this has brought both maturity and satisfaction to her playing.

The real beauty of schmush and smear is that you can't even pronounce it without clear articulation.