I have been very honored to know some awesome young musicians in my career and have been humbled as they've grown up right before my eyes and gone from awkward little kids to fantastic young men and women. Here are three quick stories that make me glad I get to do this job everyday.
Today, the 5th graders started learning how to play Recorders - those little woodwind-esque instruments that when played together can illicit detailed and top secret information from the world's best spies. The first twenty minutes was like listening to thirty tea kettles all boiling over at once. I, of course, could not leave this pleasure for my own ears and propped open my door. The insane whistling was causing a high school student in the back of my room to literally grip his head in pain. However, after a while, notes could be heard, and then they began to organize into a melody and soon the simple strains of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" began to waft angelically across the room. The kids were so excited with their progress; in just one day, they had learned three notes and were able to play something that they could recognize! They left excitedly and eagerly awaiting tomorrow's class. This is how it starts.
About three weeks ago, the high school band and I were rehearsing Frank Ticheli's "An American Elegy". If you haven't listened to it, go find a youtube video and listen to it right now. Go ahead - I'll wait. Got it? Good! Ok, now listen as the group begins to build up - there's a suspended cymbal roll I want you to hear - hear it? Right there before the first big arrival point? Roll it back, listen again. Go on, I'll still be here when you get back. Hear it? Yeah, that's the one. Ok, so the kid who plays it with us - he's a freshman. Nice kid, great parents, but the early parts of the year he definitely struggled a bit. Mostly because he was new to high school and the more challenging music and he's kind of shy so the whole new people thing was also a bit rough. Through it all he continues to hang in there and on this day - he brought tears to my eyes (for a good reason this time). It was one of those times when the music, the moment, and the kid all line up and true beauty is attained. He began his roll right on time (always a good start), the sound lingered for a moment in this soft milieu and then began to grow - slowly at first - and then with gusto the sound broke over that arrival point as if it had taken a running jump off of a spectacular vista and ringing there was met by all of the other musicians in perfect oneness. Ah, it was sublime! And all this from the kid who marched with two left feet and had trouble finding tempo in a clock shop. In that moment though, he was a true artist who touched my heart with his craft and a lump caught in my throat.
In December, I was invited to see one of my former students perform her junior recital at Grand Valley State University on January 31st; she's studying to become a music teacher there. I was so excited to go I could hardly sleep the night before. I was nervous - as we music teachers get before our kids perform - and I was so proud of her. What would she play? Would I be able to contain my excitement and avoid embarrassing us both? The day arrived - I woke up and made pancakes for my wife and I (pancakes are our Saturday thing). I sucked them down quickly (as I normally do) and readied myself for our journey north to Grand Rapids. Standing outside of the recital hall, I could hear her, and the other clarinetist she was sharing the concert with, rehearsing. Something must have gone wrong, though even my ears couldn't pick up on it, because I heard this sound through the door - a sound I had not heard in a long time. "UGGGGHHHHHHH!" I had to stifle a laugh as I remembered my little eighth grade clarinetist's traditional expression of frustration. Soon we were allowed in and I took my seat and inspected the program. She had chosen to perform two movements of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto in A. We had worked on the second movement when she was a freshman in high school for solo and ensemble festival and I remembered very vividly working on the cadenza. When playing a cadenza the player is supposed to alter tempo and dynamics to create more expression. At the time, she played it very straight and I remember working on it with her, helping her to create her own interpretation of this portion of the work and I wondered if she remembered that too. Her first movement was amazing - lightning fast scales like fireworks flew almost playfully out of her horn and her technique was so clean you could eat off of it! Needless to say, this band director was grinning from ear to ear! The second movement began - slow and lovely, every phrase shaped - as if out of clay - into a perfect work of art. Then the cadenza. Ah, that cadenza! But, wait - hang on a minute - It is! She performed that cadenza with the same interpretation we had worked on years before! Every rise, every fall - an homage to a time long gone. I began to cry, proud of not only the great musicianship but also of this young woman who stood on stage. She was just a little kid when I first met her and now she can bring tears to the eyes and joy to the heart with her music.
I love all of my students - past and present. They are why I come to work everyday. I love them and I'm proud of them and who they are becoming. That's why I do this.
Today, the 5th graders started learning how to play Recorders - those little woodwind-esque instruments that when played together can illicit detailed and top secret information from the world's best spies. The first twenty minutes was like listening to thirty tea kettles all boiling over at once. I, of course, could not leave this pleasure for my own ears and propped open my door. The insane whistling was causing a high school student in the back of my room to literally grip his head in pain. However, after a while, notes could be heard, and then they began to organize into a melody and soon the simple strains of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" began to waft angelically across the room. The kids were so excited with their progress; in just one day, they had learned three notes and were able to play something that they could recognize! They left excitedly and eagerly awaiting tomorrow's class. This is how it starts.
About three weeks ago, the high school band and I were rehearsing Frank Ticheli's "An American Elegy". If you haven't listened to it, go find a youtube video and listen to it right now. Go ahead - I'll wait. Got it? Good! Ok, now listen as the group begins to build up - there's a suspended cymbal roll I want you to hear - hear it? Right there before the first big arrival point? Roll it back, listen again. Go on, I'll still be here when you get back. Hear it? Yeah, that's the one. Ok, so the kid who plays it with us - he's a freshman. Nice kid, great parents, but the early parts of the year he definitely struggled a bit. Mostly because he was new to high school and the more challenging music and he's kind of shy so the whole new people thing was also a bit rough. Through it all he continues to hang in there and on this day - he brought tears to my eyes (for a good reason this time). It was one of those times when the music, the moment, and the kid all line up and true beauty is attained. He began his roll right on time (always a good start), the sound lingered for a moment in this soft milieu and then began to grow - slowly at first - and then with gusto the sound broke over that arrival point as if it had taken a running jump off of a spectacular vista and ringing there was met by all of the other musicians in perfect oneness. Ah, it was sublime! And all this from the kid who marched with two left feet and had trouble finding tempo in a clock shop. In that moment though, he was a true artist who touched my heart with his craft and a lump caught in my throat.
In December, I was invited to see one of my former students perform her junior recital at Grand Valley State University on January 31st; she's studying to become a music teacher there. I was so excited to go I could hardly sleep the night before. I was nervous - as we music teachers get before our kids perform - and I was so proud of her. What would she play? Would I be able to contain my excitement and avoid embarrassing us both? The day arrived - I woke up and made pancakes for my wife and I (pancakes are our Saturday thing). I sucked them down quickly (as I normally do) and readied myself for our journey north to Grand Rapids. Standing outside of the recital hall, I could hear her, and the other clarinetist she was sharing the concert with, rehearsing. Something must have gone wrong, though even my ears couldn't pick up on it, because I heard this sound through the door - a sound I had not heard in a long time. "UGGGGHHHHHHH!" I had to stifle a laugh as I remembered my little eighth grade clarinetist's traditional expression of frustration. Soon we were allowed in and I took my seat and inspected the program. She had chosen to perform two movements of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto in A. We had worked on the second movement when she was a freshman in high school for solo and ensemble festival and I remembered very vividly working on the cadenza. When playing a cadenza the player is supposed to alter tempo and dynamics to create more expression. At the time, she played it very straight and I remember working on it with her, helping her to create her own interpretation of this portion of the work and I wondered if she remembered that too. Her first movement was amazing - lightning fast scales like fireworks flew almost playfully out of her horn and her technique was so clean you could eat off of it! Needless to say, this band director was grinning from ear to ear! The second movement began - slow and lovely, every phrase shaped - as if out of clay - into a perfect work of art. Then the cadenza. Ah, that cadenza! But, wait - hang on a minute - It is! She performed that cadenza with the same interpretation we had worked on years before! Every rise, every fall - an homage to a time long gone. I began to cry, proud of not only the great musicianship but also of this young woman who stood on stage. She was just a little kid when I first met her and now she can bring tears to the eyes and joy to the heart with her music.
I love all of my students - past and present. They are why I come to work everyday. I love them and I'm proud of them and who they are becoming. That's why I do this.