From the page to the brain

We kept working on Pachelbel’s Canon and Meadow Minuet (with a Twinkle to close).

On the Canon, I tried to help M move from just reading the music to hearing it in her head. We worked mostly on the third 4-bar section, which is mostly 8th notes. After we played it through a few times, we did a few things:

  1. She tried playing it without the guitar. This was unsuccessful — whenever she wasn’t sure of a note, she just randomly tried anything rather than thinking about what the note might be.
  2. I played it, pausing after each note, singing the following note with M, and asking M: Is the next note higher, lower, or the same? She was right every time, showing that she knows the tune. So I essentially modeled for her how to use that knowledge instead of guessing random notes.
  3. I had her sing it, with the sheet music, while I just played the first note of each measure, to help keep the pitches in the ballpark. This went well, except that she missed the rhythm.
  4. We clapped the rhythm without singing it, which helped her see that the first three measures are rhythmically identical, and the fourth measure’s rhythm differs only on the last beat.

On Meadow Minuet, we worked again on the F#/B transition, specifically, on trying to hold each note for the full 3 beats rather than picking up too soon. Then M wanted to try a different section, so we worked on the first 4 bars. She has that melody down pretty well, though she made a lot of careless mistakes because of failing to attend to her hand position.

Overall, a good lesson — probably about an hour long, with only minor conflict. As her activity, she put pop-bead necklaces on herself and Felicity.

Pachelbel’s canon, Meadow Minuet

Good lesson today, half before dinner and half after. M earned pop beads during the first half of the lesson and assembled the earned beads in between items. After dinner, M wanted to play War (the card game). So we did.

We worked on two things: (1) Pachelbel’s canon (two 4-bar sections), and (2) Meadow Minuet.

The Pachelbel’s canon stuff went well. We listened to some Youtube videos of it first, then practiced the parts her teacher assigned. After we practiced the measures together, we had a little fun playing the first two bars together, her on one part and me on the other.

After dinner, we tried to add bass notes in the D section. M’s mental picture of this piece isn’t solid enough. We practiced the first half or so of the section, but it was rocky. I ended the lesson before things went really south, though, and overall, we got a fair amount done in a pretty cooperative spirit.

Starting Pachelbel’s canon

The SAM graduation took all morning, and M ended up playing a lot both during rehearsal and on stage, but she still had a private lesson at around 3 pm. I thought M deserved a little break, so I suggested to her teacher that they sight-read the duets from Read This First that M and I worked on yesterday, because M finds this so much fun.

They did, and M did a nice job. Her teacher praised her for trying to figure out the notes when she wasn’t certain, rather than just guessing.

When they had played two duets, M’s teacher suggested she try a version of Pachelbel’s canon in D that’s much further along in the book. M was game for it, so our assignment is to work on two relatively easy 4-bar sections. If it goes well, M might get a chance to play it with some of her teacher’s more-advanced students.

This is a nice challenge for M.

A trophy and a free cookbook!

After the SAM graduation, the family went to Hell’s Kitchen for lunch. M was clutching her trophy with pride, and the waitress naturally asked about it. M explained that it was for playing guitar, and the waitress was delighted.

About five minutes later, the waitress brought over the restaurant’s owner. He plays guitar and he thought it was very cool that a five-year-old was playing; he had never heard of such a thing. He asked about her guitar, wondering aloud if she was really playing something like a mandolin. I showed him her guitar, which delighted him.

Then he announced that he had an extra prize for M because he thought it was so cool that she was playing guitar: A free, autographed copy of the Hell’s Kitchen cookbook.  (We had a little TMI moment when I asked him to personalize it, but he declined because of tremors caused by his medication.)

Dr. Suzuki weeps quietly

Today was the Suzuki Association of Minnesota graduation recital at Orchestra Hall. The guitarists (M was one of 31) shared a program with the harpists (maybe 10), recorderists (3), and flutists (maybe 12).

For M, it was a good experience. She officially graduated from the Twinkle level, but the next level up was Perpetual Motion, and M wanted to play along during the rehearsal, so, after checking with her teacher, I let M play along both during the rehearsal and during the recital.  The accompanist played way too fast, but M did as well as any of the kids officially graduating at that level.

She was very proud of her trophy. And I was pleased with both her behavior and her playing, with a small exception: She was very fidgety while the other kids were playing. In fact, at one point, she was tapping with her nails on her guitar, which was pretty noisy. I managed to catch her eye and, in sign language, say “no” and then “thank you” when she stopped. She needs to work on sitting stiller in rest position.

What I found most notable, though, was how truly terrible some of the graduating Twinkle-level guitarists were. Of course, this is not the kids’ fault — it’s the fault of their teachers (mainly) and parents (secondarily).

It’s hard to understand how teachers can go through the Suzuki Association’s qualifying process and yet not only produce students with terrible technique, but also let those students “graduate” from the Twinkles. Just to note some gross technical flaws, I saw students with posture so bad they played their guitar almost like a lap steel; students playing with their right hand actually resting on the guitar top; students plucking the strings with their fingers going straight up, not even partly back and partly up; students playing everything in tosto position, with an awkwardly bent wrist; in short, students with a stunningly flawed technical foundation. And all this is obvious before a note is played. When they started playing, the general lack of note accuracy and rhythmic integrity was shocking.

The hallmark of the Suzuki Method is its emphasis on laying a strong technical foundation — on learning to play beautifully, with solid technique, from the very beginning. At least in the guitar world, it appears that many so-called Suzuki teachers do not in fact put this core feature of the method into practice.

Why? My guess: the barriers for entry, for both teachers and students, are too low. A whole lot of grown-ups can play the guitar, and some of those folks must decide to brand themselves as Suzuki teachers without really understanding the method. The Suzuki Association is then doing a poor job of screening out bad teachers. And many parents must start their students on guitar without really making a serious commitment to it. Because guitars are cheap, and because there are a lot of teachers around, it’s easy to get started — too easy.  If it were harder or more expensive to get started, people would take it more seriously.

When teachers are sloppy and parents aren’t committed, the losers are the children: They’re forced to spend time learning an instrument in vain. These children who are starting out with dismal posture and technique will never get good enough to really enjoy playing. They’ll quit playing before developing any real skill, and they’ll think they’re not musically talented. There’s really very little point in forcing these kids to play an instrument — their time would be better spent doing something that they enjoy and can become good at.

Notably, the Twinkle-level harpists and flutists were much more technically solid than the Twinkle-level guitarists. And I didn’t see the strings, but I have no doubt that those kids are very solid. People talk about how amazing it was, when the Suzuki method was being discovered in America, to hear young violinists playing the Twinkles beautifully in unison. If today’s guitarists were held up as exemplars of the Suzuki method, the reaction would be very different. People would say, “They look and sound like I expect young children would sound — sloppy and out of tune. What’s so exciting about this method, again?”

An experiment in self-assessment

M is excited for the Suzuki Association graduation tomorrow. She’s going to be playing all the Twinkles, so that was what we practiced. She dawdled a little with a doll before practice, but she had a pretty good attitude going into it.

But on our first Twinkle, she clanged the first note because she didn’t check her hand position. I stopped, lectured, and started again. She clanged a note during the song just because of careless left-hand work. We started over.

We got through two variations, and then on the third, she just stopped playing after the first A section. She said she thought the song was over.

What to do? Here’s what I did: Sat there mute, hands on my head, thinking. Meanwhile, M continued playing — she even played her own introduction for the next variation.

I decided to try an experiment. The problem is her concentration — she’s not paying attention to what she’s doing, perhaps because she doesn’t own it enough. So I decided to give her ownership. I explained that she needed to figure out what to do to improve her playing, and I was going to let her do that on her own. She could get me when she thought she was ready to play through them with me.

I left the room, and I watched from behind from another room as she played the variations, usually with a 4-bar intro she played herself. She seemed really focused on what she was doing: her head was pointed at her left hand (I obviously couldn’t see her eyes), she remembered to play tosto in every second B section, and I think she got the form of every song right. She played everything but the theme, then said she was ready for me.

We played them through together, and she did pretty well. Not great — she spent a lot of time staring around the room, and it was obvious she wasn’t paying great attention to what she was doing. Her right hand, in particular, is stuck in bad habits.

But she definitely made an effort when I left her alone, and she’s probably pretty ready for tomorrow. In any event, I decided we had done enough and we finished early on a positive note.

Hard stuff is easy, easy stuff, hard

I wanted to promote M’s enjoyment, so we started out with another duet from Read This First. Her sight-reading is excellent and we sounded good together.

The Twinkles and the Fuhrmann Tanz were less successful.

It’s so hard to get her to pay attention to these older songs. She rolls through them on automatic pilot, and that works for 70 or 80 percent of the song, but then she botches the remainder. I have not succeeded in getting her to consistently care whether she is doing a good job or not.

But she didn’t bite me, so that’s a plus.

Double lessons, no problems

M and I both got up earlier than usual so we would have time for a lesson after breakfast. We had about 30 minutes available, but I didn’t have my watch and the clock in the practice room was fast, so we only ended up doing about 20 minutes. Still, it was fairly productive: we ran through the Twinkles to prepare for the upcoming graduation, then we worked a little on Meadow Minuet.

She did one cool thing on her own in the morning: She started picking out Lightly Row in a different key.

After dinner, our regular lesson also went fairly well. We only did two things: Meadow Minuet and the Twinkles. Her right-hand position leaves something to be desired (wrist too low, hand falls over).

On Meadow Minuet, M kept making some note mistakes, so we played the problem 2-measure section over until she got it right 10 times in a row. It took a while.

She’s ready to begin putting the bass notes and the melody line together.

Epic tantrum

For the first time in a long time, M had such an epic tantrum that we didn’t really manage to practice.

After dinner, as it was time to get started on our lesson, M was garden-variety uncooperative — not picking up her guitar when told to, dawdling by saying she wanted to go get animals as an audience, but doing this all pretty calmly. I sat and read with the stopwatch going and let her know that I was waiting for her to be ready.

It fell apart when she came in with her audience (a stuffed kangaroo and Fluffles the lamb) while wearing sparkly antennae. I told her she couldn’t wear the antennae, and I took them off and put them on the kangaroo.

M melted down, and it just got worse. After about a half an hour of her crying and saying that I was awful for taking the antennae, I told her that if she couldn’t calm down, we were going to have to do two lessons the next day.

The meltdown escalated. I stayed outwardly pretty calm, but I was quietly getting pretty mad. Still, I repeatedly offered to try to help her calm down and asked if a hug would help. My offers were refused, and at some point (30 or 45 minutes in), M tried to hit me.

I don’t react well to being hit by a child. I have never hit M, but when she tries to hit me, I do react physically, by picking her up and carrying her into another room. Which of course occasions more attempts to hit me and, today, a bonus: she tried to bite me!

M’s mom came home while we were about an hour into this. I told M she needed to calm down before she could see her mommy, and I offered to help her calm down, but she couldn’t. So then I carried M up to her room, where she raged on for another 15 minutes or so. I told her she had to stay calm for at least 5 minutes before she could go downstairs. When she had been calm for a while, I asked her if it would help if I read her something, and finally she agreed to accept my help. I asked if she wanted to sit with me while I read or stay in her bed by herself, and she chose to sit with me, which was nice. I read her a page, then we went downstairs.

A little while later, as she was putting away a tumbling mat (which she had thrown at me earlier) on the bookshelf next to where I keep the music-instruction books, she said, “I have an idea of — if it’s okay — I have an idea of how to make up to you,” and she started pulling sight-reading book off the shelf. It was such a sweet gesture, and we did a few minutes of rhythm sightreading together before it was time for her to get ready for bed. I also explained again, once she was calm, that we were going to do two lessons the next day, one before breakfast and one after dinner, and that if the morning lesson didn’t go well I was going to cancel her afternoon playdate so we could do our makeup lesson in the afternoon. She accepted this.

She hasn’t been this out of control in a long time. I wish I could head it off better and handle it better when it happens. It’s tough for me to both watch my out-of-control kid suffer (because it’s obviously no fun for her) and deal with the anger I can’t help feel when I’m called the worst father in the world, etc. But she’ll grow out of it; she has to!

Rocky but effective

Early practice today so I could go to a class. M was fidgety, which drives me nuts. At one point I threatened to practice double tomorrow if she couldn’t cooperate. She got a horrified look on her face and settled down.

I’m making it sound worse than it was, though. That was the lowlight. We actually got a lot done:

  • Watched/listened to the Fuhrman Tanz on Noteflight and talked about the dynamics.
  • M played the Tanz‘s A section through 10 times (2 groups of five; the second time, I actually asked for 4 repetitions; she did one on her own). I resurrected an old device: giving her a point score depending on how she did. She could get a total of 6 points per repetition, 1 point each for:
    • Eyes on left hand
    • Hugging the frets
    • Decrescendo/crescendo in first part
    • Echo in last 2 measures
    • Legato
    • Vibrato
  • In her first set of repetitions, the first 3 were okay and the last 2 were careless. When I went over her scores for each repetition, I pointed this out, and I asked her what happened in the last 2. She said, “I got lazy.” Which was exactly right.
    • Note: I didn’t accuse her of being lazy, and she wasn’t putting herself down as being a generally lazy person. She was just acknowledging that as to those repetitions, she had acted lazy. This is just another way of saying that she didn’t pay good attention to what she was doing.
  • That took most of the lesson, but we did work on Meadow Minuet‘s A section.
    • M and I played together 10 times a 2-measure part of the song that she was playing wrong. This was a great part of the lesson because she really focused on what she was doing the entire time. I made a point of remarking on this and of explaining that our approach — identifying a problem spot, then isolating that spot in practice — was the best way to make progress.
    • M played the melody and I played the bass, then we switched. She stumbled at first, but after I had her sing the section, she played it well.
  • Her left pinky is looking pretty good. If she can remember to watch what she’s doing, she’ll master these songs.