Morning Cup: Learn 5/4

Recognizing 5/4 Timing in Music -- powered by ExpertVillage.com

Over your morning cup of coffee, I invite you to learn to recognize 5/4 timing in music... or not.

Don't know if this guy is for real or not (let's hope not) but you can check out his additional learn to play jazz piano videos here including how to play the "piano part" of "experimental jazz." Actually, I'll save you the trouble of a click; McBride advises you to just play like a child would and that's experimental jazz in a nutshell. (well... maybe he's not too far from the truth after all!)

Back 2 School... or not

Today just over 1 million New York City public school kids and teachers joined millions more of likeminded individuals across the country to end the summer with their first day of school. For the first time in 24 years, I was not one of them.

I, like so many other musicians, have followed an academic calendar in one way or another since the day I first got on that yellow school bus as a shy 5-year-old. Whether as a student or teacher, the waning hours of daylight, the resurgence of new TV episodes, and those first tentative scents of apple cinnamon and ginger molasses have translated to one thing: the start of classes. But this September I will not be joining the ranks of the pencil wielders and rule givers. This past June I decided to quit my elementary school and not look for a job replacement. I feel very passionately that when a teacher reaches burn-out, they have a responsibility to themselves, their students, and the profession to not remain in the classroom. So out of the classroom I have removed myself. I have also been frustrated with the direction my composition career hasn’t taken, and the seeming necessity for a musician to have to teach in order to earn any significant form of income. And so I enter this fall curious to see how life functions without lesson plans and hopeful that I can I figure out a way to make an actual living off of composition, sans teaching.

Ah, to be free from 55 minute time intervals and name memorization! Yet, I must admit to feelings of guilt as I watch my friends’ Facebook statuses announce their reluctant return to school. The concept of the Teacher Musician has been successfully hammered into my psyche. It seems a necessity, even an obligation, for musicians to also be teachers. I certainly agree that when someone has honed a talent and skill, it is their duty at some point in some way to pass on their knowledge. If they didn’t, then the skill would die, or never evolve. But this transference should only happen when the giver is ready to give. It should not occur simply because it could, and definitely not because others think it should. Yet it seems society dictates that in order to be make a career out of music, if primarily only for financial support, one must also teach.

Or is that really society’s voice and not a lemming-like tendency to simply follow what others before have done? Too often musicians “fall back” to teaching as a way to supplement, or support, their income. It is incredibly frustrating that after years of studying and practicing, the reality sets in that playing music, particularly jazz music, does not pay the bills. Even professionals are forced to take up college jobs to make ends meet and that is part of the lifestyle we have come to expect from our chosen profession. Teaching seems like a natural solution as it still involves the music we are passionate about, and usually pays better than the hourly wage at Starbucks.

But teaching is not a cake job. Teachers are not people that drift in and out of lives unnoticed like this morning’s barista. Teachers have a profound effect on their students and that responsibility should not be taken lightly. I firmly believe that aside from practicing medicine, or perhaps construction, teaching is the worst profession to mess up. To me, a bad teacher is one of the worst things in the world. We’ve all had them, and they suck! If we are lucky, a bad teacher simply teaches us nothing and inspires even less. In the worst case, a bad teacher can give us false information, confuse us, ill-prepare us, set us on the wrong paths, or even inspire a self-doubt that takes years to overcome.

What makes a bad teacher? What makes a good teacher? Teachers are fallible. They are not perfect and like parents, they are destined to make mistakes that have unintended effects on their students. What makes a teacher excel is the desire to recognize and overcome these mistakes; to remain humble and continue the learning process; to listen to criticism and be willing to try new things; to adapt to changing times and attempt to connect with the student; to have patience and keep the student’s potential a priority; and to be able to know when to keep their own insecurities, frustrations with administration, and day-to-day troubles out of the classroom. In order to do these things, a teacher must have a passion and love for teaching. They must recognize and enjoy the small rewards of teaching enough to endure the multitude of stress and frustrations that accompany education. If a teacher does not have a sincere desire to help the students, everything that the teacher preaches will become hollow, and the students will know it, and it will not pass unrecognized.

In addition to the academia, teachers are responsible for an invisible curriculum. These are the lessons that teach children (and adults) how to respond and interact in different environments and circumstances. Students observe and often mimic how their teacher treats others, how problems get resolved, and how discomfort and stress is dealt with. For me, this was one of the hardest parts of teaching. Every time I disciplined a child, I hoped that I was teaching a positive lesson, and not creating a monster (which I feel happens way more than we like to admit). Teachers are the ultimate role model. Again, a job not to be taken lightly. If a person does not have the awareness to deal with all of this responsibility, if they can not balance their personal life with their educational life, that person should not teach.

For the past year I have been privately teaching a first grader to play recorder. She has probably been my toughest student to date. For about 4 months I could not crack a smile or a joke without her completely disregarding my authority and acting like a spoiled brat. Our lessons were like boot camp with me relentlessly in her face informing her in my firmest voice that I was her teacher and if I said she played a B instead of a G then she should not argue with me and instead play the G correctly. Eventually I earned her respect and now our lessons are as they should be- fun, lots of smiles and jokes, and significant progress on learning to read and play music (both Bs and Gs!). Last May we were preparing a trio of “Scarborough Fair” for her spring recital. We had been working on this song for almost 4 months and there was one part in the song where she held 2 tied half notes over the barline while my alto part moved in quarter notes. For some reason she missed this part EVERY time. Now, I don’t know if it was because I had been correcting this measure and isolating it for months to no avail, or if it was simply because when she missed the tie and moved on to the next measure I didn’t get to play my pretty counterpoint, but on one particular day in May, I lost it. LOST IT. I have never felt such rage and violence erupt inside me, EVER. I have no idea how I ended that lesson with out completely tearing her to shreds both verbally and physically. I was shocked by the depths of which I could feel such hatred for such a small child. It was a wake up call to me. I realized that day that my patience reserves were bone dry. I also realized that I had lost the perspective that teaching is not exclusively about the music. Did it really matter that she missed this tie? Large scale. Did it? Did the world really depend on whether or not this 7 year old let the 30 year old play the counterpoint? Did her action warrant my reaction?

Not.

At.

All.

And it was then that I realized that I was no longer fit to teach.

At least not right now. I had reached that point of burn-out that can erode teachers away to bitter, bitter creatures. I did not want that for myself, or for my students.

I found that I was blaming and resenting the teaching and by extension, the students, and music in general, for taking away precious time that could be used to advance my rock star composition career. So I am taking time off. I fully expect to return to teaching after a little break, and to be honest, I have kept a little private teaching on my weekly schedule. But I’d like to take the jump and see what it’s like to be a full time composer. (We’ll see how that goes and I’ll keep ya updated!)

Meanwhile, I am obviously back from Australia and have a bunch of things from the trip I’ll be posting over the next week or so. Unfortunately, my laptop decided it could not function in the southern hemisphere so I wasn’t able to post real-time (note to self: ditch the PC and get a Mac).

Good luck to all those teachers who returned to work today, or within the last few weeks and weeks to come. I admire your commitment, and I wish you the clarity, creativity and patience that I myself lost. I also hope that if your heart is not in it, you will have the wisdom to recognize this, and pull out or reevaluate before you drown in that cold, bitter sea of resentment. I will soon rejoin the ranks and help to pass on the passion for music and composition that I hope to rekindle in all my upcoming “free” time.

They may forget what you said but they will never forget how you made them feel.
-- Anonymous

The Sandman finally Entered, and a slow death followed

Today the Jazz Band made it from the beginning of my crude arrangement of Metallica's Enter Sandman all the way up to the half time section. But before the horn section could shout, "Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight," I died. The music, or lack of, heartbrokenly killed me. Or killed whatever sliver of hope I had left in my being that the band will be able to pull of ES on our May 22 concert.

It would have been kinder if my death had come quickly. But as cruel and unusual deaths go, mine was dragged out for maximum pain, over the entire 50 minutes of today's third period.

The first stab was delivered by a 5th grade trumpeter, who informed me that there had been too much homework over spring break, from which we just returned this week, to practice. Right, I replied. Practicing was part of that homework. A pause, then blank stares. And I died a little bit.

In a futile attempt to not give up sweet life so easily, I gave (yet another) rather stern lecture about the importance of practice. I brought home my point by sharing the anecdote of the time Jo Jones threw a cymbal at Bird for daring to play so badly on a jam session. As the band sat in awed silence at the thought of physical violence as a repercussion of a poor performance, hopefully remembering that our concert is now three weeks away, I felt a premature victory. Then a 6th grade tenor sax player asked, Who is Charlie Parker? And I died a little more.

From here on it was the proverbial snowball set in motion down the hill, gathering speed and size, its only goal to take me out Indian Jones style:

My 6th grade 2nd chair electric guitar player forgot her music, and I died.

My 6th grade bass player forgot his bass, and I died again.

The D string on my 1st chair electric guitar player's guitar snapped when I foolishly tried to tune his permanently screwed down strings. He of course, has the main riff of the song, and for the rest of the class he played it an almost half step flat, allowing me to die even more.

My two tenor players still don't remember how to finger F# (IT IS APRIL OF THEIR SECOND YEAR OF PLAYING!!!!) and as I leaned over to reprimand their laziness, I realized the reason they were not making eye contact with me was not because they were ashamed, but because the shirt I wore was just a little too low cut for those 5th and 6th graders! And I died yet again.

After too many four bar isolations, with too many reminders of fingerings, explanations of where 2 is and how many beats a quarter note rest get, repeated demonstrations of steady eighths on the drum set (AGAIN!) and last ditch efforts of Just listen to how I sing it and copy that, we tried one final run through...

(dramatic pause)

The opening riff was in a new, indistinguishable key, there was a noticeable lack of bass, the drummer's eighth notes hailed from some undiscovered dimension like Earth 527, the tenors honked, the trumpets strained, the pianists' hands were moving but I heard nothing over the noise that was akin to a Reich phase, and as we reached measure 36 (that's right folks, we've been working on this for over 2 months now and we can only get to measure 36), I took an invisible knife, stabbed myself in the heart, and collapsed onto the dirty auditorium stage floor... and died my final death.

Memorial services will be announced later this week. Condolences can be made in the form of chocolate, foot massages, and tequila shots.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

POST SCRIPT: Classroom violence is no joking matter, and is all too real. I use the above expression of being killed by the music because that was truly my emotional reaction to today's rehearsal. I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart. I mean no disrespect to teachers and students who deal with real violence at schools, a place which should be a safe haven meant to foster growth and education, not fear and duress.

Hearts, Smiles, & the Blues

I may moonlight as a composer, but my secret identity is that of a part-time public elementary school music teacher. I teach Kindergarten general music, third grade recorders, a 4th grade beginner concert band, a 5th and 6th grade advanced concert band, and a by-audition only Jazz Band.

Every year on Valentine’s Day, my principal expects the music and dance teachers to put together a “Brotherhood” Concert. This concert is intended to be a celebration of heritage, community, and brotherly love. In reality, it is an exercise in stress, cramming, and the fine skill of organizing a concert with children 6 weeks after our last big (Holiday) concert. With the poor timing of standardized tests that occur in January keeping kids out of rehearsals, the Brotherhood Concert is usually very short with one performance (instead of the usual three) from each group.

With the stress this concert brings, coupled with the organizational problems and clash between teachers and administrators at my school, the concept of “brotherhood” feels like a stabbing, hypocritical joke. And yet, today my heart glowed as all hearts should on a day dedicated to love.

As a composer, I spend quite a lot of time trying to perfect the music I write. I agonize over each chord, motif, and voicing so as to most accurately express whatever feeling or emotion I am trying to portray. I strive to tell stories, and communicate certain ideas through the perfection of the music. This is one reason my current commission is taking so long.

As a teacher, I am constantly reminded, as I was today, that the magic from music comes not entirely from the perfection of the writing, but from the intentions of the musicians.

My jazz band performed a simple 5 note, three chord, medium swing blues that I wrote for them last year. They work hard to get the swing feel, but overall my bass player and left hand pianist (also playing the bass line) keep a pretty steady tempo. My sax players still have not figured out how to use their tongue or remember to keep their bottom lip rolled under, and my trumpet players still miss partials. Tuning is not a word they’ve heard me use, except for with the guitarists.

And yet, to be completely generic, they rock! What makes their music so enjoyable is the kids’ excitement. They are SO into it! I have to instate 5 minute breaks of no playing so they don’t wear their chops out. This morning I walked out of the music room onto the stage to find a tenor and a trumpet player standing next to the drummer, the three of them “jamming.” My heart swelled with pride!

They work so hard at it- before the concert started, my alto player played me the first strain of the tune and asked, “is THAT the right feel?” He’s almost got it. The majority of them want a solo, asking for one, then changing their mind, then changing their mind again.

I’m not one to call out or hoot and holler when I hear something I like. When I’m into the music, I find myself smiling.

Listening to my shy right hand pianist manipulate her F blues scale with confidence as the drummer and bass get super soft to accommodate, I can’t help but smile. When the drummer crescendos his 1 bar fill into the showy tenor solo, who has figured out the trick of the trill, I can’t help but laugh. THIS is music. The audience applauds loudly after I myself applaud, letting them know its okay to clap after each solo. The coda offers a Basie piano wink, followed by the only non-unison part of the song- the typical loud, dominant 7 chord finale. One of my trumpet players aims for the super high D in the staff, but misses. Its okay- the audience roars, and I smile.

Later, the chorus performs and I can’t stop smiling. Their faces are so intent as they start off softly, “Some… times in our lives, we all have pain, we all have sorrow.” They over enunciate the “t” in “but” and I smile. They go all forte on the chorus- “LEAN ON ME!”… and I smile. They even manage to clap on the 2 and 4! They performed a second song, a two-part rather cheesy song entitled “Gonna Rise Up Singing.” This one featured two soloists- a 6th grade veteran, and a newbie third grader who is reminiscent of a young George Strait (or so I imagine!) Seriously, this song literally brought tears to my eyes. Not because of how well it was written, but rather from the passion and honesty with which it was sung.

Perhaps I feel this contrast so sharply because I am struggling to finish up this sax quintet. And I’m certainly not saying music should have no intelligence in its composition. I just appreciate the reminder that music does not have to be complicated to be wonderful. It just has to be heartfelt.

Valentine’s Day brings the blues to many, but today, my kids gave me something much better that a heart shaped box of chocolates (especially since it’s Lent again, so no sweets for me!).

They gave me the Blues. They brought magic to music. And that makes me smile.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

The Joys of Teaching

Me: Okay, break over- we need to go back to practicing your major scales.
5th grade clarinet student: Ick! I hate scales!
Me: I thought you liked scales?
5th grade clarinet student: Scales are only fun if you are sure of them.
Me: How do you think you get sure of them- it doesn't happen magically!
5th grade clarinet student: WHAT?! It doesn't?! This is a rip off!
Me: *long, exasperated sigh*