oboeinsight

This is a post about one of my teaching methods. I realized I never post about these, and some might find them interesting … or silly … or crazy … you decide! I’ll try to post these now and then. If I remember. As I tell my students, I suffer from “OldBoeBrain” … I’m old, I play oboe, and my brain is a little off because of that so I don’t always remember things well. Or maybe my brain is more than a little off. You can decide about that, too. Just don’t tell me what you decide, please.

But enough of my silly ramble …

When I run across an exercise that is completely tongued and isn’t terribly difficult for a student I sometimes write the letters AA above it. This means “Add Articulation”. I tell the student that I don’t care what they write in, but something has to be added. Some choose to do the same articulation for each measure or pattern, while others give me the most incredibly complex and changing articulations. The first time one did that I asked, “Why so many changes?” She explained that doing it all the same was too boring. My response to that was, “Well, I’m okay with that, but now you have to DO it!” She had difficulty, and learned that whatever she wrote in I would require her to play. She continues to write her complex patterns and I really get a kick out of them. (The next time she comes in I’ll have to photograph one. What you see below is from another student. He, too, didn’t want to write the same thing for each pattern.)

I think this allows a bit of student creativity, causes them to think a bit about what makes some articulations harder than others, and it also makes sure they look at the assignment at least once. Granted, that “once” might be in the car on the way to the lesson (?!). It also gives me a bit of insight into the student. There are the everything must be alike students and there are those like the one who said that everything the same is boring! It’s fun to predict what a student who gets this assignment for the first time will do. And no, I don’t always guess correctly.

Ah, dear students! I love you, but sometimes the things you say just crack me up! Or make me roll my eyes. And I will most definitely tease you if you say certain things.

Listed below are a few things I really have heard. Not today … not even yesterday … but I’ve heard ‘em. The third is one I hear far too frequently, in fact!

• “I threw up before I came here, but I’m fine now.”
• “This way I get it over with sooner.” (Said to me when a student came to a morning lesson rather than the usual afternoon lesson.)
• “Is this what you assigned?”
• “I was too sick to go to school today.”
• “I think so.” (The answer to my question, “Did you practice this?”)
• “Maybe.” (Another answer to the same question as above.)
• “Sort of.” (Yet another answer!)
• “I didn’t practice that page because I didn’t like it.”

I should start writing these down as they are said, because I know there are more, but of course I’ve forgotten them!

Teaching brings me a lot of joy. It also tires me out a lot; I don’t coast through lessons and giving full attention to each student is draining. I’m thankful that I get to teach these students.

Even when they crack me up sometimes. 8-)

Many of my younger students hear me say “No piggy back fingers!” when they are beginning. The finger spread with oboe is bigger than flute or clarinet (I’m guessing bassoon is bigger, although I’ve never played the instrument), and when students aren’t pressing the keys down they tend to allow lower fingers in the right hand to “piggy back” on top of upper ones. One of my younger students is catching on now, but he allowed me to have him demonstrate what he used to do so you can see what I’m talking about. Look at the lower hand. Don’t let your fingers do this!

That being said, I’m still working on his left hand! As he knows, I want the index finger to be lurking closer — even over — the side octave key. The way he has it now he has to move a bit too much to activate that octave key. But he’s gradually getting there! While my right had is fairly perpendicular to the oboe, the left is at a bit of an angle, fingers aiming slightly downward. Some might disagree with that — I’m open to discussion. But I probably won’t change my mind. ;-)

Thank you, Darin, for letting me use you as my hand model!

… you can fix it!”

This is something I tell my students frequently. I usually just have to say “if you can hear it …” and they complete my sentence.

I can’t tell you how often students — and yes, I do this too! — forget to actually listen. We get so busy working on reading the music, focusing on fingerings, concentrating on rhythms … and we forget to actually use our ears. Really. And if you aren’t listening it’s very difficult to fix things like glitches. So don’t forget to listen!

And let’s see … what else do I say nearly daily?

“No flyaway fingers!” As I told a student, “It looks as if your fingers hate the oboe and are trying to get as far away as possible!” The interesting thing is that I see this with some very fine players. I really don’t know how they manage to play so cleanly. But my students have to follow my rules and no matter how “artistic” it might look to have those fingers spread out so far, it just makes me laugh. (So do those elbows some players have waving; it looks to me as if they are attempting flight while playing.)

“No finger re-placement!” If a finger that is pressing a key is needed for the following note a student sometimes picks it up the finger and places it back down. If the finger doesn’t need to be moved, don’t move it! (Yes, I break this rule at times … if I’m trying to “pop” a note out, but that’s a very rare event. I use that mostly when my reeds are rotten and low note response is poor.)

I’ve been rather lazy about this blog, so I thought I’d at least put something up that required me to think for a brief time. Now back to my regularly scheduled easy posts…!

I charge by the lesson, because my schedule isn’t easy to work with and if I have to cancel a student I don’t want to “owe” the student anything. Many music instructors, though, charge by the month or by the quarter. I so appreciated a blog entry by a parent of a violin student.

I’m a parent of children enrolled in Suzuki music lessons. I’d like to explain to other parents why I feel – quite strongly, actually – that it is unreasonable of we parents to expect our teachers to make up lessons we miss, even if I know as well as they do just how expensive lessons are, and, equally importantly, how important that weekly contact is with the teacher to keeping practicing ticking along smoothly. I think that it is natural for we parents to share the point of view that students should have their missed lessons rescheduled, but if we were to ‘walk a mile’ in our teachers’ shoes, we might change our minds about what it is reasonable for us to expect of our teachers.

Like many parents, I pay in advance for lessons each term. In my mind, what this means is that I have reserved a regular spot in the busy schedules of my sons’ teachers. I understand – fully – that if I can’t make it to the lesson one week (perhaps my son is sick, or we are away on holiday, or there is some other major event at school) then we will pay for the lesson, but that my teacher is under no obligation to find another spot for me that week, or to refund me for the untaught lesson. And this is the way it should be.

Please read the whole thing!

In the past — and more recently — I’ve run across teachers who take some sort of glee in “getting” students. They seem to take some sort of twisted happiness when they catch students in mistakes or see them fail.

Our job is to point out errors, to be sure, but it is also to encourage students and to cheer them on. I need to remind myself of this sometimes.

I was talking to a colleague last night about how we love to teach. As I’ve written recently, in my “order of retirement” teaching will be what I give up last. I love the very talented oboists I teach. I also love the challenges. I am frequently energized teaching these young oboists, and they do bring me joy. Once they learn how to deal with my wacky jokes and start to joke back it’s great fun. And when they finally “get” something it’s truly exciting!

There are still old school teachers out there, I’m sure — the ones who teach by fear and intimidation. There are also some younger ones who seem to think that’s how you teach. I wonder, sometimes, why the younger teachers and directors want to teach this way. Were they taught that way? Did they really enjoy it? Is this somehow a way to “get back” at their old teachers. If so, it’s not the answer.

I’m at my best when I wish the best for my students, rather than approaching a lesson with the intention of hearing only the bad. I’m at my best when I can point out the areas that need improvement but, at the same time, point out where a student has already improved and what is being done correctly. I’m a very picky teacher*; I’m sure my students will tell you that! But I hope, too, that I encourage students to do their best. My goal is to help them succeed, not fail.

I guess that’s really the the point to keep in mind, isn’t it? Our goad, as teachers, is to help students succeed at whatever it is they are doing. I wonder why we often help them fail instead.

*I heard from a colleague quite some time ago, after she had run into a former student of mine. She said he told her I was good, but very strict. I’m not sure if he was talking about my demand that students show up on time and practice during the week, or if it was about something else. Part of me was concerned; I do hope I was encouraging at the same time. I wonder, now, if I was too hard on him. (He was an adult student … maybe I’m harder on them? Hmmm. Something for me to ponder.)

I love teaching. Really, I do.

I have some colleagues who sort of moan about it; it’s something so many have to do, but don’t really want to do. I was that way when I was younger and thought all I should be doing was playing my oboe on a stage somewhere. For a time I didn’t teach at all; my kids were young and it was just a chore I could do without. But now I find it incredibly enjoyable and rewarding.

Even the toughest students can be fun; the challenge of figuring out how to get a rhythmically challenged student to count — the challenge of getting an expressionless one to burst out of what appears to be an expressionless life — the challenge of getting a student who can’t play anything but a nearly furious forté softer and the primarily pianissimo student louder — even the challenge of getting a student to simply learn to smile (years ago I had the saddest student ever and by the time we were finishing up with our time together she was laughing along with me at my really horrible jokes) or, in our not uncommon therapist mode, getting one to realize that getting a B in school isn’t the end of the world … I really do enjoy it all! My “order of retirement” has teaching as the final thing I’ll give up. It feeds me, and I do hope I manage to feed the students as well.

There are some bad teachers out there — always have been — but I wonder if the “old school” teaching still goes on: the teaching with slapping rulers on hands and berating children. I sure hope not. This article, by pianist Byron Janis, begins with a teacher like that. But then it moves on and I loved the end:

By chance, on Feb. 20, 1944, the great Vladimir Horowitz heard me play in Pittsburgh. In town for his own recital, he had been invited by the manager of the Pittsburgh Symphony to hear me, a 16-year-old pianist, play under a 14-year-old conductor named Lorin Maazel. How honored I was when he later asked me to become his very first pupil! His one condition was that I not play for anyone during our first year. “During experimentation in becoming ‘bigger’ pianist, their opinions will confuse you,” he explained.

As my lessons progressed, he offered me pieces of advice that have proved invaluable:

•”You must make piano sing more. And colors, colors—you paint well in watercolors but must paint more in oils.”

•”You can be a big Romantic pianist and at first, you will exaggerate. Don’t worry. It’s easier to subtract from something good than to add.”

•”When you say something, you must underline it—you don’t play for you.”

•If he didn’t like the way a piece sounded, he would make me find my own way. “Please think about it more and bring it next time.”

Horowitz never played for me during lessons, but on many glorious evenings I was a privileged listener. It was impossible not to absorb some of that magnificent playing. That is one of the drawbacks of studying with a great pianist. You must say to yourself, “I wouldn’t do that”—and have the strength not to. Aware of the temptations, he would always say, “You want to be a first Janis, not a second Horowitz.” I battled for some years before I became me.

Teaching is a great responsibility, no matter what the field. You become instructor, parent, friend, diagnostician and psychologist—trying to understand and cure any problem that might arise.

I once had a gifted young student who became a wonderful pianist, but the artist in her needed to be developed. I couldn’t find a way to free her. One day, I happened to ask if she always walked home the same way. “Yes,” she replied. I suggested taking different routes: “You’ll make new discoveries. It will be fun.”

Within a month, I heard signs of the artist emerging. That simple suggestion seemed to touch the right nerve and her playing started showing signs of freedom. I was amazed. Strange—teachers never can predict what works.

As of now my very brief time at Stanford University has ended. I was subbing for a friend who was out for this one quarter. I didn’t blog about it earlier, but now that I’ve finished up I just want to say that it was an absolute joy to teach there. I had two fantastic students. They treated me with respect. They played very well. And they even laughed at my crazy jokes. I will miss them both. I don’t think either of them read this blog, but if you do, please know, K & S, that I loved every lesson with you, and I’ll most definitely miss you.