[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]It’s a pretty full-on time for me at the moment. I’m in the thick of school concerts. That means there’s a lot of lining children up, getting them to remember the place that they are on stage (or wherever), keeping their instruments still – this is before the playing or singing even happens.

And this is what I’ve noticed….. I don’t seem to teach kids who are very good at solving problems. Not major problems – like world peace, or keeping Donald Trump from doing stupid things, but little things. Things like if someone is away, and there is a space next to them, to just move up. Or if someone forgets to give them a triangle beater, to go and get one themselves. Or if someone needs to get past them, they need to step forwards or backwards.

A lot of the kids I teach have experienced trauma. And it’s been scientifically proven that this will stop your brains from reacting in any way – it sort-of closes down. They can’t problem solve. This breaks my heart. But other kids I teach have not experienced this. And yet they can’t do it either.

I wonder… why is this? Is this because, as adults, we solve everything? We don’t let kids walk home from school, fall over, hurt themselves and have to sort things out? We don’t allow them to negotiate with their peers? We don’t just leave them alone?

I don’t have the answer here. And I don’t think it’s just one thing.

But it is something I’ve noticed.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Over the last few months I’ve had a few interesting discussions with people about concert programs. One upset me, and one didn’t – and I’m not sure why. It’s made me think a bit about things though….

One discussion was with someone who asked for something ‘modern and angsty’. They were approving the program, so we (me and my associate artist) felt that it was a valid point. I don’t really like this sort of music. I haven’t really liked it for many years now. Luckily for me, the person I was playing with said ‘I have something like this’, and played it in the concert. It seemed to go down really well – but interestingly, it wasn’t the piece that people came up and talked to me about.

The other discussion was with someone who, unprovoked, sent me a slightly shouty email, about how, in their opinion, I worked with too many of the same artists, and played music they didn’t really like. (Bizarrely, this was the one that upset me. They weren’t a concert promoter. They weren’t a professional musician. They were on a music club committee.)

Both of these things got me thinking – and this are my thoughts, in no real order.

I take a lot of time over the programs I devise. I think about keys from one piece to another, and if it’ll be jarring for listeners. I think about how I can link things, and what will go with what. Often the program people will hear in a concert will be the sixth or seventh version of what I start with. Various things get abandoned, or added.

I do choose music that I like to play – and what my associate artists like to play. I’ll often program something because the person with whom I’m working has said ‘This is my favourite piece right now’. This generally means, because I love what I’m playing, I play it better. It becomes far more exciting for me, as a performer – and that changes things for the audience, I think.

I work with musicians regularly that inspire me. That means the relationship between us on stage deepens. We can play more organically together, and explore more complex repertoire. We hardly ever play the same thing (someone once asked me ‘Aren’t you sick of this by now?’, and it was only when I walked away they I realised they thought I was playing the same program over and over.)  when we meet again. Admittedly, it is the same sound palette – but with different music. But how many times have I listened to, say, the sixth Brandenburg concerto, or the Mendelssohn Octet? Does this make my umpteenth listening of the piece less than the first time I heard it?

And I don’t often program angsty stuff. I do play music by living composers (I have been criticised by one living composer that I don’t do this enough, but I try and put something in in every program I play…). I don’t like listening to it much – I find it upsetting. Perhaps this is my reaction to hearing upsetting stories of the kids I teach? I want something that is uplifting? I’m not sure. But I know I don’t really like it. It’s made me wonder why I listen to the type of music I do… Perhaps this will change over time. Perhaps not.

I am always a bit taken aback when I meet people and they say ‘Oh, I read your blog!’ – so I’ll ask you a question. Why do you go to concerts? Is it always for the same reason? I think I go to be taken somewhere. I remember once going to an ACO concert – I’d had a really tough week. And for the first time I felt my body relax. I sat and smiled. I cried a bit. And I left feeling totally wonderful. I also go to be inspired by the performers. I don’t go to be challenged. Not at the moment. Maybe that’s close-minded of me. Or maybe that’s just where I am at the moment.

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[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]For me, this November is all about concerts in schools. I know there are other things to focus on in November – Remembrance Day is there (don’t forget that). There’s that silly horse race too – but that passed me by. If I was in the States, avoiding gun shots (but don’t take away their guns… it’s their right), I’d be celebrating Thanksgiving. But for this little black duck, it’s all about school concerts.

I was talking to a few teachers about it. “Oh, the kids don’t know if it’s any good. It’s just great they get up and ‘have a go’. It’ll be fine.”

Actually, I heartily disagree. Kids DO know if they are any good. Maybe not so much in kindergarten, where just getting the little people I teach on stage not looking terrified is a big step. But by about year 2, they do know. And the older they get, the more they know.

I’m not sure if the parents know if the item is any good or not. Haven’t spoken to many parents about that part. But I’ve spoken to a lot of kids about it. They know if they nail it. They know if it works.

And my job (well, as I see it, anyway…) is to make kids feel better about themselves. Which means that I try to get them to perform as best as they can in their school concert. Because they walk off stage feeling a million dollars. It means I put 150% into my teaching in the 6 weeks leading up to the concert. It means I need help from class teachers getting kids ready. It means I put in longer hours drawing maps where each child will stand, and drill them in how they get out their chime bars, or hold up their drumsticks.

Because it matters, you know. Near enough isn’t good enough. Because kids know. And if I demand focus and commitment from them in a music lesson, they can demand that from me.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]An interesting thing happened to me this week. I’ve been asked to teach a song to kids in Irish. (Irish is a crazy, crazy language. It doesn’t look as it sounds AT ALL. And it has some sounds in it I’m not really used to.) Apparently there’s this song that every kid in Ireland learns. Every Irish teacher I work with knows it. It’s pretty catchy. It’s here if you want to listen to it.

So I spent a long time on Sunday trying to learn it. I felt a little like I was swallowing marbles at one point. It took ages. I like to think that I am on the bright side of regular intelligence, but it took forever. I knew I had to be able to sing it pretty confidently to teach it.

Monday’s choir rehearsal came around. 50 kids in front of me. Lots of them don’t read very well. Lots of kids who struggle in the classroom. Off I went, getting them to say each word, say each line, sing each line…. In 20 minutes they’d learned it. That’s right. TWENTY. About a fifth of the time it took me.

“Can we sing this without you, Rachel?” asks one cheeky tacker. “You’re not so good at it.”

I loved watching these kids that don’t do well at NAPLAN, that don’t engage with maths so much, that don’t really engage with reading, writing or ‘rithmetic NAIL singing this song. And it reminded me that I should never ever presume that children I see can’t do something. And that children think completely differently.

Bhí siad den scoth. (OK – I’ve put it into Google translate. It’s probably wrong. But it does say, in Irish “They were excellent.”)

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[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]There are some things in life I cannot do. I can’t hurdle. I can’t do push-ups. I can’t do chin-ups, either. I’m not a very good cook. And I’m not good at being tactful.

But there are some things I can do very well. One of them is teach. I know I am an extremely good teacher, especially at music. I find communicating my love of music very easy – and most of the time, I love it. Some types of teaching I am extremely good at. I am very good with big groups of people. I am very good at teaching cello to beginners and people up to about Grade 6 level (that’s ability, not year group).

I was contacted by a parent of a teenager – would I teach this young person the cello? I said what I normally do – I’ll give them up to four lessons, and then I’ll see if they like me, I like them and we can work together. I don’t usually teach teenagers, but I thought I’d see what happens.

First lesson, fine. Although this particular teen seemed very bright in the lesson – and had been playing the cello for ages, but wasn’t so far down the road of progress. I wondered why… bad previous teaching? No practise? Father assured me that they had time to practise, and said they’d like to do AMEB exams (Alarm bell 1 starts to ring. I hate preparing kids for exams. For most people, they slow progress. There’s a lot of hard scales that aren’t related to pieces. But I left it.). Gave student some work to do, and a new piece.

Next week, the day before lesson two I got a phone call. Didn’t want to come at the agreed time, as it was the start of holidays. They’ll see me in two weeks instead. (Alarm bell 2.)

When it came time for lesson three, I had a concert that evening, and I wasn’t feeling settled. So I called to see if I could see this student the day afterwards, on a Sunday. No problem, they said. That Sunday, I got an email. Can’t come – grandfather’s funeral. (Cue alarm bell 3.) Who forgets a funeral the day before?

Lesson 4 arrived – no-one showed. I sent a text message. ‘Oh – we thought it was a different time.’ came the reply.

At this point, I decided it wasn’t going to work. Slow progress of teen now explained. I wrote back, saying I didn’t think this was going to work out. No accusing anything. No asking for cancellation fees. Then came the cranky text (and with lots of typos. I mean, please? Don’t I even deserve a spellcheck?) from the teen.

So this made me think….. Did this family even consider the loss of income for me here, as I blocked out times, and then had lessons cancelled? Thank goodness I wasn’t relying on the money – but I could have been.

And why can’t people just apologise for their mistakes? At no point did I get ‘Sorry. My mistake. I stuffed up.’ Has this completely disappeared from society? I hear teachers do this in Primary school all the time, teaching children to say they are sorry. Does this lesson disappear with the onset of puberty?

And don’t I deserve a bit of respect? Even just to have a correctly spelled semi-abusive text sent to me? I mean, I can do this thing I was originally asked to do. The teaching part. I’ve been doing it for a number of years now. Actually, decades, now.

So I don’t teach this particular person any more. I do, however, teach some lovely people. I enjoy teaching them immensely. I also teach in some excellent schools, and like doing this.

That’s it now. End of rant. Feel better.

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