What's love got to do with it?

Seven-year-old Sarah was being particularly obstinate one lesson. Finally, she looked over at her mother and with a note of defiance said, "What if I quit the piano?"

Unlike swimming lessons or spelling bees, the role of music lessons in our lives seems to haunt us for years afterwards. When other people learn I am a professional musician, they inevitably begin to recount their musical histories: stories about the piano lessons they struggled through and quit; stories about the bad recital performance they once endured; stories about their grandmother, brother or uncle who was a great musician. In all the histories I have been told, not one person has ever said to me, "You know, I am really glad I never learned to play the piano, because I hate music." Rather, music seems to be an innate love among people of every culture and class. But, in spite of this, there are many Sarahs that quit piano every day.

There is plenty of available data to support why children should take music lessons. Research shows that music is helpful for brain development. Involvement in the arts inspires creativity, which, in turn, helps produce creative and innovative thought processes both in and out of the arts. The discipline of practicing teaches students to understand the correlation between hard work and results. In addition to those compelling developmental reasons, music education helps shape the next generation of musicians and art supporters: church choir members; music teachers; people who play in chamber groups, volunteer ensembles or garage bands; and those who someday will support art galleries, symphonies, theaters and dance companies. But while there is much evidence to champion arts education, there is disturbingly little concrete and visible action taken to demonstrate our understanding and commitment to making the arts part of our culture. Instead, funding for the arts in public schools in the U.S. continues to be cut drastically, in spite of our progress researching and documenting the value of music in our lives.

One would think that, in the face of all these incentives, professional musicians and teachers would be the loudest advocates for music education for every child. On the contrary: within our circles, we too often share not the success stories--the Sarahs that are still playing the piano--but, rather, we swap advice on how to best weed out the difficult students with no talent. We complain to one another about the students that are always late, often miss lessons or never practice, instead of congratulating ourselves for the fact they are there at all. We offer advice about how to underhandedly persuade students to quit, instead of challenging one another to raise a group of students year after year. Yes, we all want to teach the next Van Cliburn, but the reality is that most students will never become concert performers. In fact, with our encouragement, most students quit after a couple years and become one of the many adults with only stories and little knowledge to account for that short time. As discouraging as the trend toward cutting the arts in schools may be, these conversations among musicians are even more disheartening.

Maggie is adorable, energetic and terribly untalented. However, she loves music, loves the piano and seems to find some solace and comfort in the limited time she spends at the piano every week. Maggie takes special pride in her original compositions, and in those assignments she pours out all her anger, frustration and pain. Her compositions are highly inventive, fun and full of life. And although Maggie may never play the piano well, year after year, she still plays.

Bob is a challenging kid. He goes to a demanding private school and feels pressure both at school and at home from living in the shadow of his older, very beloved and talented brother. One day Bob arrives in my studio with no musical background and a lot of emotional baggage. Writing compositions are out of the question; he is too insecure to play anything of his own invention. In spite of my prodding, he won't sit up straight; he plays halfheartedly and refuses to practice whole sections of his assignments. Any pushing on my part only provokes tears. I don't understand Bob, and he often frustrates me. Yet, week after week he is there, because, for some reason, he wants to be.

I believe it is my job to push and prod students and raise my standards week after week. Certainly, I believe in the discipline of practicing, and I am trained and qualified to teach the next prodigy that walks into my studio. Ironically, however, that's not the hard part. But what if our success as music teachers was measured not in how many competition winners we produced, but in how many lifelong musicians we nurtured? Such a question makes me squirm, but the truth is, I could push and prod Sarah, Maggie and Bob right out my door, or I can work to raise the level of musical literacy and appreciation in this country by starting with these children. In spite of all my efforts and skills, I may not be able to do much about their discipline and practice habits, I cannot force them to accept the challenge of learning to play an instrument, but I can foster their innate love of music. And therein lies my challenge. I can require myself to become, week after week, a better teacher. I can continue to grow and try new and innovative ways of sparking their interest and enthusiasm. I can learn more music, more art, more poetry and become familiar with more recordings so we can have conversations that involve all the arts. I can set aside lesson time to talk about composers and make sure students know that Beethoven wrote nine symphonies and Fur Elise. Yesterday, Maggie came bounding into her lesson, asking, "Guess who my favorite composer is? JOPLIN!" Her excitement doesn't lie in the fact she can play Joplin, but because she has heard me play Solace and Maple Leaf Rag and has developed an opinion. In an ideal world, this would be only the first of many intelligent musical opinions in her lifetime.

As evidenced by the stories I have gathered from other people regarding music lessons, I think there may be another reason such lessons continue to haunt us years after their conclusion. Private music lessons provide a rare, intimate setting between a student and teacher. Although many of us remember favorite fifth-grade teachers, there is something special about the relationship forged in the shadow of our instruments. Unlike many teacher-student relationships that last only a single year, we private music teachers frequently watch students grow up, acquire braces and boyfriends and go off to college and adulthood. We can accrue hundreds of hours with a student over the years, and that is not to be undervalued.

It is this relationship adults often speak of years later. They may not remember where middle C is, but they remember their teacher and often can describe in excruciating details, specifics about their teacher's mannerisms and behaviors. They remember recital performances, down to the kind of cookies their teacher "always served. They recall the tiny gold stars they would receive when they had practiced and how their teacher would beat time with her pencil on the music rack. These are details most of us could not conjure up about our fifth-grade teacher, no matter how beloved he or she was.

In today's world, with parents' work schedules and the multitude of ever-present electronic devices, I am often the only adult some children see who never answers the phone when they are there, who listens to their stories of soccer and Halloween costumes and divorcing parents without interrupting, and who notices when they get a haircut or new tennis shoes. Our busy society doesn't encourage easy adult-child relationships, extended family often live far away and there simply are not enough adult mentors for every child. Sometimes, I am the only adult my students know well, besides their parents. I may not want this emotional responsibility, but like it or not, I've got it.

I am as guilty as the next teacher for occasionally wanting to say, "Hey, kid, have you ever thought of taking up soccer, or karate or anything other than the piano?" But something stops me: I do not want to be responsible for even one person saying, "I love music, but I guess I was untalented, so I quit." Specifically, I want no responsibility for someone who, as a child, took several years of lessons from me, but now can't remember anything about how to play, owns no concrete knowledge about composers, nor has any appreciation for great musicians. I am not advocating that we fill our studios with untalented, non-practicing students but, rather, I am proposing that into all our lives a little rain should fall. I like to convince myself that because I am a talented teacher and musician, I should not "have to" teach less than motivated and enthusiastic students. Deep inside, however, such arguments ring empty; we all need to do something about the musical literacy rate in our society. Caring for students like Sarah, Maggie and Bob is one way to fight the all-too-rapid decline of the arts in our culture.

I dream of a society in which I am not the primary source of arts education in my students' lives. Where schools provide passionate and talented artists to teach art appreciation, as well as furnish paints and paper for children's visual creations. Where poets come to the classroom to teach students to write in colorful, descriptive language about the rain outside and the sound of the ocean at night, instead of exposing them only to trite, silly rhymes. Where music teachers drill not only basic rhythms and simple songs, but also teach kids to be creative and inventive on simple instruments. I want students to arrive at my door knowing who wrote the Moonlight Sonata and who came first--Mozart or Chopin. I would love the artistic literacy rate of this country to be so strong that I could, in good conscience, limit my teaching to only "serious" piano students. But in the meantime, Maggie has written a fabulous composition and poem about kittens racing across the lawn, and Bob sat up straight during his lesson this week and told me in great detail about the piano concerto he heard at the symphony with his grandfather. This is progress, microscopic though it may be.

If music lessons are to be valued, it is not just because of the potential competition winners such lessons can produce. Indeed, music lessons may be more valuable for the knowledge that average students may acquire about musical concepts, music history and appreciation of fine playing; the feeling of accomplishment they may experience from the connection between practicing and success; and, above all, the sense of identity children may develop from their relationships with other, non-parental adults. Recently, a former student of mine called and said, "I just wanted to say that I miss you." I smiled as I listened to the message. Kathryn lent me her Harry Potter books and together we cried over a poor performance at a recital. Today, I live across the country from Kathryn, and it has been years since I have seen her. I have no idea if she is still playing the piano but, surely, by evidence of that phone message, I taught her something.

And Sarah? A few days after that scene, I received a letter in the mail:

OKAY I WILL KEEP GOING TO PIANO

TO: AMY 

LOVE SARAH

The crisis had passed for the time being. I recognize "OKAY I WILL KEEP GOING TO PIANO" is hardly a ringing endorsement for my studio, but I understand her sentiment. Sometimes "OK" and a deep breath is all I can manage in my life, too. "OK," I will teach in spite of the hard work and limited financial rewards. "OK," I will play the Star Wars duet with this kid for the tenth week in a row. "OK," I will allow this child to talk and cry with me about her parents' custody battle instead of playing the piano today. Actually, in the face of giving up, "OK" is the first step towards tomorrow's "yes."

What's love got to do with it?

Perhaps everything.

Amy Greer lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she is an active performer and teacher She has maintained highly successful piano studios in Boston, Texas and I Missouri, and has written about and lectured on creativity, teaching and performing topics. Her article entitled "Risking Aunt Rhody," published in the December/January 2000/2001 issue of American Music Teacher, won the 2000 AMT Article of the Year Greer received a master of music degree in piano performance from the University of Missouri-Kansas City Conservatory of Music and a bachelor of music degree in piano performance from the University of Missouri-Columbia.