J.S. Bach wrote his cello suites between 1717 and 1723 – no-one really knows exactly. I’m playing the second one at the moment, for a concert of spoken word and cello. A dear friend of mine is reading from her new book, and I’m playing music that we think fits to her words. It’s not a hugely crazy concept – if you feed the sound of a cello through an oscilloscope (the instrument that measures soundwaves), the graph that is produced very like the human voice – so she’s speaking, and then the cello is speaking back. Same, but not-same, as my primary-school friends might say.

I read her excellent book, and found passages that I thought would match with movements from the second suite. And we are now fitting the whole concert together. (It’s really exciting, experiencing all the pieces falling into place!) This book is partly about being on a sheep farm through a drought year. And in one part of the book she describes a day of shearing – the energy, the gestures, the sounds. And you know something? It fits PERFECTLY with the gigue. And this amuses me as I play.

Bach solo cello and a Tassie shearing shed. Who’d have thunk it, ‘eh?

I’ve had a really challenging class this year. They are older kids. Kids who have seen a bit too much already. I haven’t taught them for long (only this year), so I haven’t really established friendships with them. They don’t really trust me much (and why would they?). And there’s a big range of abilities, and some really strong personalities.

Ususally, I drum with older kids, and they love it. NOT this bunch. After two terms, they basically mutinied. They drummed it with another teacher, and are bored. They don’t like it. And I was getting nowhere. I hadn’t won them.

I work with an amazing AP (Assistant Principal to those not in the know…). She went into the class and talked to them. Found out what they might like to do in music. They gave her a list – they wanted a song that they could play along to on didgeridoo, percussion, and clap sticks. And sing as well. So she wrote all this down to me. It must have taken her hours. And then I read it. And then panicked.

Now, modern songs aren’t something I listen to. In fact, I hear auto-tune in tracks and switch off (both my ears, and then the radio). I get bored with most of it, and lots of songs aren’t really singable with kids. So I am NOT the right person to create this new percussion-stuff-to-a-song for these kids. But I’m all they’ve got. And I have a weekend.

Ben (long-suffering husband) came to the rescue. He found a song, and with very clever editing software edited it for me to be in the right key (so I could add percussion stuff in C), edited it again so it was in a format we could all memorise, edited it more to remove a few unsiutable lyrics, and then I sat down and dreamed up percussion parts and a way to teach it. This was all done over 48 hours, in the middle of a weekend of a concert, cello teaching and desperately needing to plant out seedlings.

And last week, I started teaching it. And the kids loved it. This week, I’ll find out if they’ve practised it. But for the first time, they were all engaged. I won’t ever like this song. But what we’ve done with it I will. And the fact it makes kids smile makes me smile. So I will suck up my hatred of auto-tune, and try to sneak in as much musical teaching as I can. And enjoy kids enjoying it.

I was talking to a teacher friend a while ago as I got kids ready for a performance, and they told me that they’d never really seen a teacher who says ‘no’ so much to children. To clarify, they didn’t mean that I say ‘no’ as just one word, but I tell kids that what they’ve just done isn’t good enough. And I don’t use language like ‘This is really great, and you’re trying really hard. And now we’re going to do it again and you’re going to be really awesome!’ Because that’s not me. I’ll stop a track and say ‘This isn’t good enough. You’re not concentrating.’ Or ‘You’re not following my conducting.’ Or ‘You’re getting too fast. Why aren’t you watching me?’

To begin with, children are a bit taken aback. Sometimes they get a bit cross with me.

But here’s the thing. They suck it up and they do better. Mostly enormously better. And they sense that it’s better. And they can see that I think it’s better too. I smile at them. And then they start to work harder. They sing better. They drum more accurately. They play better.

And then when I say something like ‘Yes! That was fabulous!’ they know it’s the truth. They were fabulous. It was something that deserved a ‘yes’.

In my experience, after all these years, when you are preparing for a musical performance, kids don’t need the sugar-coating. They don’t need the affirmations. They need a really solid lead-up time, good preparation, and the truth. And then, when they excel – because they always do – they need honest, heart-felt praise. And then they’ll trust you more. And the whole process begins again.

I go and have regular massages. It’s a wonderful thing for me – not only has it fixed my back (like most cellists, I often have a sore lower back), but also undoes things in my arm muscles (and shoulders) from lots of playing. And most importantly for me, my brain switches off. I can think of nothing else. I visit a wonderful massage therapist – he used to be a professional dancer, and we often talk about performing and the discipline it involves – the conversation weaves around all kind of things arts-wise.

I’ll just side-step for a bit….. I have a live-stream concert coming up that means a great deal to me. It’s a tribute concert to someone who was really important to me – both as a person, and as a musician. I am playing most pieces in this concert by the composer Martin Wesley-Smith. And these pieces are hard. For many reasons. Some of them are just technically difficult. Some are difficult because I have to sing and play. One has a very complicated backing track I need to know inside-out. There are difficult rhythms. Difficult time-signatures. And every so often, I miss Martin terribly. I marvel at what he’s musically done, I laugh at the jokes – and then I feel very sad. But right now, I don’t want to be playing anything else. I love this music. I want to play this concert – and play it the best I can. But it’s draining. I am practising early in the morning, and late in the evening to fit around teaching. I am giving up spending time with friends. I feel like I am working all the time. I am anxious about it. I am having to be extraordinary disciplined – even for me.

So back to me chatting to my massage therapist. I was telling him about this. And he summed it up perfectly. “It’s a labour of love, isn’t it? But it’s still a labour….”

Yes. Totally. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But boy, it’s a slog at the moment.

 

I often teach children who aren’t very happy. They could not have been happy for a number of months. It could be a sad time for them at the moment. Or it could just be an off day for them, and tomorrow will be better. But when I see them in their lesson, they aren’t very happy. Their body language is often closed off. There’s no smiling – not with their mouth, not with their eyes – nothing.

I’m lucky with my job, becuase I don’t have to teach children the music curriculum. I mostly do, and then some, because the NSW creative arts curriculum is not particularly detailed. But officially, my job is to engage the little people I see through music. In a nutshell, I have to try and make them smile.

Last week, I saw a little person that isn’t often happy. I know that they are anxious. I know that things aren’t great for them. And my heart breaks for them. Last music lesson, we were playing a piece with lots of different percussion instruments, and the class was rotating through each instrument. After a few goes, this little friend of mine got to play the bells. I’d asked the kids to play four bells when it was their turn to be the bell part (they are sleigh bells, and little hands can easily hold two) so that there was lots of ringing when we needed it.

I heard a voice “This is my favourite!” I asked why. “Because there are four instruments to play.” I stopped everything. “Okay bell department. You need to go and get two more bells each. Get ready for SIX bells.” You should have seen my little friend’s face. A BIG smile.

It made my day. I smiled for the rest of the day. In fact, I’m still smiling now thinking about it. And maybe you are too…