I had a converstaion with a friend recently about teaching adults. They wondered if I liked it. And why I did it. And did I have adults I liked to teach more than others.

So this got me thinking. AND my mother (hi, Mum!) told me I haven’t written a blog post in ages, so I am doing just that.

Yes, I like teaching adults cello. I don’t like it more or less than teaching kids. It is different, because you are wokring around their jobs, and other commitments. You are often dealing with self-doubt, or habits of over-thinking, and also older (and so a bit slower) bodies that take longer to physically learn things. I often have to explain things more carefully. But I am just as bossy, and just as demanding.

I don’t care what standard they are. I care if they practise. I care if they trust me to teach them well. I care if they improve. I don’t care if they take weeks to learn a musical concept. I don’t care if I have to explain something a number of different ways.

I do it because I can. And I am good at it. And I love sharing music with others. Playing the cello is so wonderful for me, I’d like it if more people did it. (Imagine a world where everyone played something. Wouldn’t that be a good place, eh?) And for every adult student that comes to me, I try and get them to play the best they can.

And do I have some I like more than others? Not really. I like the ones who pay me on time. I like the ones who try their best. I like the ones who enjoy the process of learning. Because learning something as a grown-up is challenging. It’s often hard. It makes the adult learner often uncomfortable.

We all should keep learning, you know. Keep our brains active. Keep pushing ourselves. I do this to remind myself of what my adult students go through each week – because they are inspiring. To me, but to themselves, mostly.

I don’t think a week goes by when I don’t have one or other of these conversations….

“Rachel, why isn’t this concert live-streamed?” And then something like this is said…. “You could increase your audience, you know.” or “I’m sure you could make more money…” or something like that.

Or then the other one… “So why can’t we see one of the live-streamed concerts live?” And then this is followed with “I don’t really like streaming.” or “I can’t hear it so well…” yada yada.

For every concert I do, I ask the other artists what they’d like to do, and mostly take their choice. Or I ask Ben (who does all the tech for me) if he’s happy to stream. Because the gear that is needed to stream is huge, and the care, and the set-up is incredibly time-consuming.

Some musicians don’t really like streaming. Most of us love to play live – to get the feedback from the audience. To hear things going on in the room – not just the applause, but also the sighing, or the reactions.

So thank you for your concern that I need bigger audiences (I’m happy with the audience I get, thanks), or more money (the money isn’t actually that different). And if you must know, I am (and always have been) someone who will only take direction from a very few trusted people. You’ll know if you are one of them.

I’ll just keep noodling along, thanks. On my own terms. And stream, or not, as the mood takes me.

It’s not a great time in schools at the moment. Teachers are tired – it’s the end of term, they’re having to write reports (that’s a lot of extra work for them), it’s cold, people are getting sick (both big people and little people) – it’s a bit of a drudge.

I am not immune to this either. One night I turned to Ben and said ‘I don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I’m tired. I’m tired of being energetic. My body is sore. My brain is tired.’ We both knew that of course I’d go to school. Of course I’d be happy and energetic. But I didn’t want to.

And then this thing happened, in an elective choir I run at a program. I see kids who do it tough. REALLY tough. When I see this particular group, it’s early in the day, so they’ve not really got into the swing of things yet for the week. And they are tired too. And cold. But they came in, sat down and looked at me, ready to go. I warmed them up and then we started to sing the song we’d been working on for a few weeks. It’s hard, this song. They have to sing in a language that is the Indigenous language from the Kimberley region (called Yawuru. It took me AGES to learn this verse.). They sing and sign in AUSLAN at one point. There are three verses in English.

These kids gave it their ALL. So I started, for the first time (this is a new group – just started this year), asking them to control their breathing, to think in musical phrases, to follow my cut-offs. And it got better. They all sat taller. Their smiles appeared and got bigger. I sat taller too. My grin was enormous. These kids were extraordinary in this moment.

They wanted to perform to someone, so we asked some teachers up who were meant to be planning (and were good enough to give up their time) to come and listen. (The teachers at this school are totally wonderful…). We got a younger class up too. Just as I was about to press play on the backing track, the bell went for recess.

“Oh.” I said. “It’s time to go.”

Stern looks from the front row of the choir. “No, Rachel. We are SINGING.”

So I pressed play. And they were incredible. They sang like angels. They followed my conducting. They sang proudly. They seemed to take up more space in the room, each one of them. It was a moment I will remember for a long time. They nurtured me with their music-making. They gave me everything I asked – and them some.

They were sensational. Completely and utterly marvellous.

I was talking to a friend the other day about putting on concerts. I was saying that since COVID, I’ve noticed something different in the way that people buy tickets. And it’s not just me – it’s other artists too.

Tickets generally don’t sell until the very last minute. Take, for example, the last live stream I ran. It wasn’t until the day of the stream that I had enough money to cover all the costs I needed to. Now, I don’t have huge costs, and yes, eventually, it was all fine. But it was a nervous lead-up to the concert, let me tell you!

For every concert that goes on, someone, somewhere, is financially covering it. They are taking a gamble. And pre-COVID, that gamble, for many, wasn’t a big issue. It was fine – about a month out from whatever gig, enough tickets had been sold, and everyone was going to get paid, and there were no gaping holes anywhere. I was fine with the little concert series that is ‘Bach in the Dark’. I loved knowing I could easily pay my musical friends, cover their travel costs, pay me too, pay my musical arrangers, buy the wine etc. But now – that’s no longer the case. It’s a nervous wait.

And it’s not just me, I know. Other musical friends of mine are having to cancel concerts. I hear that festivals are being cancelled. I know that big arts organisations are selling various different programs for fewer nights.

And I wonder why? Is it the cost of living crisis? Is it that people are sick of things being cancelled due to sickness? Is it that people have just changed how they consume live music?

I also wonder how long I’m happy to live with this gamble each concert. I might be fine, learning to deal with it. I might get sick of chewing my fingernails and nervously waiting. I might find that living dangerously is a bit fun!

And it may change – but somehow, I don’t think it will, you know….

In Australia, we’ve just had a two-week holiday between first term and second term. I found first term really hard. It was long – and by the end, the kids I see each week were REALLY tired. (For those of you who aren’t working with little people, this just doesn’t translate to not-much-learning going on in the classroom, but lots of other dramas – fights in the playground, tears, less regulation of temper in older kids – all stuff we experience when we’re tired, but amplified in the fish-bowl of the classroom.)

I had a number of performances with kids in the term. I had a new choir give their first performance. An Easter play with some fairly complicated music. Lots of singing for performances (and therefore lots of training kids to walk on and off stage). Then there were some really awful things that happened outside of teaching. Curve balls coming at me from a few different directions.

It meant I finished the term totally frazzled. I knew what I needed. Time in the garden. Sleep. Time to sit and drink many cups of tea. Playing the cello. Time in the yoga studio. Walking outdoors. I did all these things.

But here’s something I didn’t know would happen. I had a program to prepare – and it was all slow, reflective music. Slow music isn’t easy to play. It requires really good bow control. Thought about vibrato choices. Very careful attention paid to phrasing. But practising for this concert was completely healing. I felt my soul being pieced back together phrase-by-phrase.

I know the medical benefits of music. I see kids being clamed in the classroom by it. But over the last fortnight, I felt it too. And it was wonderful.

And now I am walking back into school for term two. There’s going to be some big weeks. And I feel ready. Thank you, again, music. Thank you for fixing me. Again.