Sunday, May 12, 2019

Ode to the Paperclip

"Order is the only possibility of rest." —Wendell Berry

Today my desk littered with records of payments made or received. 

The detritus of my publishing life, my meager financial life, a jumble of chaos begging for coherence.

CD Baby, Midpoint Trade, Vicks, Aerocorporation, Schott, Alfred, Peripole, West, Madrobin Music, JW Pepper, Long & McQuade, CDA alongside workshop contracts, flights information, Visa statement, B of A statements, Morgan Stanley, Janus, TIA, etc., etc. and yet again etc.

The paperclip to the rescue! Pile the papers together and bind them with a simple action and lo and behold, order is restored! 

Into the letter holder they go, snuggled cozily together in the family where they belong. 
The world is made harmonious by the simplest of tools. 

And let’s not forget nearby relatives— the stapler, the rubber band, the clothes hanger. 
My definition of wealth is have enough of each.

Hail to the paperclip!

Thank You, Mrs. Lutz

Somebody asked me about my childhood piano teacher today and I told her that she was neither mean nor particularly inspired. Mostly I remembered the bowl of candy in her waiting room, a real treat since I was forbidden candy at my house. I used to stuff my pockets and then pretend to cough during the lesson while popping some in my mouth.

But today I wondered whether I had properly thanked Mrs. Lutz for helping move me in the direction of music. On Sunday, I sang for over an hour with kids from 1 to 9 years old, who were there with their parents who just happened to be SF School alumni students mostly in their early 40’s. And with them were some of their parents, my friends and colleagues. Three generations enjoying an hour of pure happiness, with an extra layer of heartfelt nostalgia for songs we all used to sing together way back then. 



From Tuesday through Friday, I sang with the elementary kids each day for 20 minutes, as I have done during all my long years at school. Mostly some of the fun songs we hadn’t sung this year, so there was a great spirit at each Singing Time. On Thursday, a fabulous Preschool Singing Time weaving songs into the story of Rumpelstiltskin. On Friday, my weekly visit to the Jewish Home for the Aged (where I learned that one of the regular participants, Doris, has just passed away—at 111 years old!). The music began with me playing Bach on the piano, continued to a touch of Grieg, Chopin, Beethoven and Mozart, on to Scott Joplin, and then segued to some jazz accompanied my singer friend, Laura Rupert and ending with some songs from the Mikado. Well, almost ending. One of the women asked if I could play a Yiddish song and she sang along to Raisins and Almonds.

That night, I went to my sister’s solo dance concert celebrating 50 years as a modern dancer. She also took piano lessons with Mrs. Lutz and her musical dance interpretation of The Goldberg Variations showed that foundation.

Today, Saturday, I played at another Senior Center where I began playing a Strauss waltz and suddenly, one of the women perked up and sang along with the melody! And so went another hour of happiness undimmed by the harsh realities of the world, cradled in the timeless loving hands of music where everything makes sense. Then a short rehearsal at my house with jazz trumpeter Scott Jensen and guitarist Kai Lyons and some 2 hours of exciting jazz played this evening at a house concert (including a guest appearance by Laura). 

And that was my week. One group of 1 to 79-year-olds, another of 3-5 year-olds, another of 6-10 year olds, two groups of 80 to 100 year-olds, another group of 30 to 50 year olds. Oh, and rehearsals with 11-14 year-olds for the Spring Concert next week. Folk songs, stories, classical piano pieces, light opera, jazz of many styles. The Warriors have millions watching and cheering when they share their life’s discipline of basketball and here I am with anywhere from 15 to 100 people at a time and no one’s watching. But I know that the way I get to use my life’s discipline brings great joy and happiness one small group at a time. 

And for that, I thank Mrs. Lutz.

Saturday, May 11, 2019

Walking Through the Door

The best choice I ever made was to spend most of my entire life in the company of children. Their effervescent curiosity, their expressive faces and bodies, their boundless energy and infectious laughs (like the 3-year old who laughed uproariously at a joke I made at Singing Time the other day)— all of it keeps me in touch with my own childlike self even as I’ve had to grow into adult concerns and responsibilities. 

There is also often a deep wisdom far beyond the count of years that astounds me. Like when the learning specialist at my school stopped me in the hall the other day and told me (in Yiddish) that she wanted to brag about her student. And proceeded to have Saskia Berry, an 8-year old girl, read me her poem. As follows (minus the spelling mistakes):

Through each door I walk.

not knowing what is in front.

not knowing what will come.

But still, slowly
                               bravely
                                               I walk

walk through each door
                                                             of my future.

As I get ready to announce some changes in my future, prepare to consciously close one door and take the next step forward through new doors, the wise words of an 8-year old girl spoke the words I needed to hear, the courage I need to muster. 

Isn’t that remarkable?


Thursday, May 9, 2019

No Child Left Behind

A student from my Orff Institut Special Course class is doing a review of an article I wrote 15 years ago and asked if I had anything new to add. I had completely forgotten about this article, so I re-read it and hey, it held up! Indeed, I had nothing new to add for nothing had changed in these timeless truths except the political climate referred to in the opening paragraph. And in fact, that hasn't changed either, just different buzzwords to name the catastrophe. So I offer the article again here for those curious: 

“No Child Left Behind” is the current buzz phrase for our nation’s educational plan and while teachers struggle to adjust their curriculums to the same old stupid plan of teaching to meaningless tests, the children suffer. “No child left behind” is the sugar pill given to parents who want to believe that their child will be a winner, like Lake Wobegon’s mythical children who are all above average, But in a school system based on competition, someone must be below average for someone present system, you can’t give A’s to everyone. An A loses its value if no one gets a B, C, or D. 

When education is built on a different cornerstone—that students are not to be pitted against each other’s achievements, but rather against their own talent and genius—“no child left out” is a more appropriate slogan. The idea that everyone should excel in every subject or else be considered failing in school is based on a fantasy directly opposed to the reality of daily life. Difficulty in some subjects is one of the things that leads towards our own strengths. My dismal inability to understand the first thing about what goes on in a car engine saved me hours of tinkering with cars that were better spent practicing piano. My car mechanic’s failure in piano lessons led him to search for his own form of intelligence. I can now give piano lessons to his child and both he and I are quite happy that he can fix my car. The adult world is based on people following the star of their own native intelligence. 

This is not to suggest that students not be required to encounter all the different disciplines that call forth their intelligences. A more enlightened school would not necessarily excuse me from mechanics class (I wish that had been a required study!) or my car mechanic from the history of symphonic music. But it strongly suggests that a teacher figure out how to explain the fugue of rods and pistons to me and explain the engine of Beethoven to my mechanic. And that after we gave it the old college try, we be excused from the stigma of failure because we didn’t choose to analyze the 5th or rebuild the engine in our spare time.

My subject of area of music has been traditionally given the status of an elective reserved for that mysterious population, “the talented.” Yet at my school, it is a required subject for each of the 11 years between three years old through 8th grade. If we went through high school. I would lobby strongly for it to continue to be a required subject for all. I enter class each day with the assumption that each child is inherently musical and that every human being loves music unless neglected by a school system that doesn’t recognize its value or wounded by a music teacher searching for some students to win prizes for him. Every class is a challenge for me to prove my assumption and to date—some 30 years of teaching—I have not been disappointed. 

The reason I feel so confident that every child will feel successful on some basic level is that my teaching is informed by an ingenious approach known as Orff Schulwerk, with over eight decades of practice in discovering where each person’s musical genious lies. For some, it is singing, for others dancing, still others listening and analyzing. Some find their muse through instrumental play—and here it gets very specific. Third-rate violinist Art Tatum finally tries the piano and makes more progress in two weeks than he did in four years. He takes the hint to abandon violin and pursue piano and becomes one of the most remarkable technicians in the history of jazz piano—and perhaps all piano. That muse not only hides behind instruments, but musical styles as well. The failed concert pianist discovers Balinese gamelan and becomes a virtuoso player in a distinctly different tradition. 

Good teachers have always searched for the ways to engage their students specific to their interests and capacities for understanding. Now that approach has been summarized in a thinking called Differentiated Instruction and teaching training courses are preparing future teachers with a wide range of ideas and techniques to help them reach students who don’t fit the fantasy mold of the “normal”—which in my experience, is every student. Much attention is given these days to those with special learning needs and there are indeed some students that are struggling with the tasks of school that need special attention and strategies and compensations. However, the truer statement is that every student has special learning needs. Witness me in car mechanics. Or my car mechanic in music. 

Differentiated Instruction is a new name for an old practice in Orff Schulwerk. Because most Orff teachers teach General Music, they automatically must accommodate a wide variety of backgrounds, talents and interests. Naturally, the same is true for language arts, science, math, art and P.E. teachers as well. Music, however, may represent one of the more challenging disciplines for inclusion, since every ensemble piece is only as strong as its proverbial missing link. Traditional music teachers solve this problem with damaging “mouth the words” strategies. Some innovative teachers refuse to sacrifice their student’s self-esteem to the musical performance. And yet when the performance itself suffers, the students as a group are not uplifted and the music doesn’t complete its possibility. How can we produce beautiful music and still elicit successful participation from every student? Below are some strategies, none foolproof, but all useful in creating an inclusive musical community.

1.   WORK IN A WIDE SCOPE OF MEDIA: Everyone must play, sing, dance, act, recite poetry, slap their body and more. By offering a wide range of means to musically express oneself, the students have more opportunities to encounter their preferred musical modality. The student struggling with singing or lost in music theory may well be the best shaker player to come down the pike in a while. The frustrated xylophone player will be delighted to make up a dance to the piece. The timid singer feels just fine reciting the dramatic poem. In short, there are multiple ways in which to contribute decisively to a performance.

2.   TEACH ALL PARTS TO EVERYONE—THEN HAVE THEM CHOOSE
The democracy of Orff instruments—everyone at the same level of practice and exposure— allows for learning each part of the music, from the bass to supporting rhythms to melodies. By learning all parts, students not only hear the music more fully, but get to find what suits their fancy. “The melody is too difficult in this piece? I think I’ll choose that simple rocking bass. Bass too boring? I’m going for that hot conga drum part.”

      3. SIMPLIFY PARTS—PLAY MELODIC FRAGMENTS: Since Orff ensembles often 
have  children doubling parts, it is not only fine, but often aesthetically better to have some children play fragments of melodies while others play the whole melody. From playing the accented notes to the answer part of a question-answer melody, a few well-chosen notes can add a lot, help the student relax, yet also feel an integral part.

      4.   CREATE AT YOUR LEVEL OF COMFORT: Orff classes abound in opportunities to 
             improvise and compose. The cardinal rule of creation is that students can only 
             create at their level of skill and understanding. Any student can have a hard time
             learning someone else’s  music, but no one improvises music too difficult for him 
             or herself to do. Of course, students improvising don’t always feel successful or 
              musical and may need some guidance. But experience shows that everyone can 
              create something that is of value to the group, be it a motion, a choice of an 
              instrument, an accompanying pattern or new words to a song.

5.   RECOGNIZE THE DIGNITY OF EACH CONTRIBUTION
Ours is a star-obsessed culture, but Michael Jordan is nothing without his teammates that pass him the ball and every performance by Meryl Streep has hundreds of unseen hands behind it. The music class will have its moments as well where the talents of a few will come to center stage and be properly appreciated, but the foundation of the whole show is the group ensemble work. “No Child Left Behind” runs on the fantasy of everyone as a superstar, but “no child left out” means that everyone contributes from his or her own interest and capability and every contribution is valuable.

6.   CREATE OPPORTUNITIES FOR TALENT, CREATE CHALLENGES FOR 
DISCOVERY: When I took a group of students to perform at a big music education conference, I created the show with particular students in mind. This song would be good for this student’s voice, that song for another’s. This student should improvise here, that student should dance there. Sometimes we neglect talent in the name of “fairness,” afraid that no one should shine brighter than another. The answer is not to dull their brilliance, but to keep searching for material in which other students can show theirs. And at the same time, we must keep encouraging all students to try new things that are difficult for them. For one piece, I had our “star singer” try the drums and he later wrote that that was one of his favorite moments in the year of music!

7.   UNDERSTAND EACH STUDENT’S LEARNING STYLE
This is where Differentiated Instruction scares teachers and seems overwhelming.
How can one teach the same material differently to each student? Again, multiple strategies are crucial here. In my case, I might have everyone sing a melody and go off to the xylophones to try to “find it.” Those with trained ears can work things out on their own while I go sit next to others and play a phrase at a time on their xylophone. Some may ask to see it written. Some may ask if they can play triangle on this piece. This process is made easier when the student comes to understand his or her preferred strategy and can articulate it to the teacher.


The above guidelines should help both music and other teachers navigate through the difficult waters of true teaching. Those who find it too much work may choose to teach at on-line universities where learning is simply disembodied facts flying through screens. But for those of us who are called to this noble profession of teaching, teaching each student one at a time in the group is what makes our life interesting, challenging and rewarding. And most importantly, it makes the children happy. 

Monday, May 6, 2019

Second Manhood

This men’s group I mention occasionally, now it’s 29thyear of meeting every two weeks, is something apart from business as usual. Though the default setting of conversation can often be machines, real estate, good restaurants and such, these nine men can rise to the occasion of reading poetry at breakfast and discussing the big unsolvable questions of life and death— especially with a glass of wine close by! 

The topic for our recent retreat was re-visiting the question that first brought us together in 1990. What does it mean to be a man? What are the gifts? What are the limitations? What is hard-wired and what is malleable? What did the culture send into hiding and how can we safely bring it out into the open? 

But now that our average age is 72, that question is worth re-phrasing. Now what does it mean to be a man? Back then, our identity had a lot to do with our work, our responsibility to help provide for the family, our sexual attractiveness and virility, our ambition to rise in our field. Since most of us are retired, our paid job is no longer central to our identity. The family is mostly off and gone on its own, our ambition to rise is the memory of what height we reached and nobody is particularly interested in what that was. As for our sexual virility and attractiveness, well… . Somewhere this must be a joke like, “9 old guys walk into a bar. No one notices.” 

So without these things to create and sustain our identity, who are we? Where do we plant our flag and what territory do we claim as worthy of elder exploration? Interestingly enough, many have turned or returned to some level of art—pottery, metalwork, clarinet lessons, writing poetry. In one case, the life of the imagination was found in fantasy play with a young grandchild. In another, the kitchen was the laboratory of experimental creation. Art and imagination are just the things that the Soul suggests and having passed through the crucible of the workplace, of creating new life and raising the kids and keeping afoot in the flirtation game, it’s time to attend to the work of the Soul. Free from distractions, from wage-earning (fortunate we are in that respect), settled in our mostly mortgage-paid homes, not bound by schedules and responsibilities, we can give time to the slow making of Soul. Another antidote to the lament of our lives and faculties narrowing and losing a certain kind of energy.

In short, identity is an ever-flowing verb, changing through and with time and we would do well to move along with the changes. While the culture tells us to keep our six-pack, invest in botox, erase those wrinkles and tuck up those chins, admire the youngsters who can teach us how to use the latest apps, wisdom suggests a different path.

It was a fruitful and reflective time. 

PS And the irony is not lost on me that 9 out of every 10 comments to these Blogposts is someone advertising meds for erectile dysfunction. 

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Addition and Subtraction

To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t thrilled to be running out of school yet again on Friday afternoon to get in a car in heavy traffic. Last week was 4 hours to the south, stop-and-go to the Orff Mini-Conference in the Carmel Valley. Yesterday was 2 hours to the north, to the annual Men’s Group Retreat in Bolinas Beach. Something strange about going through the stress of traffic to be able to “relax” on a retreat. 

But something must be working, because I came up with a prose poem today, inspired by a spirited discussion at breakfast as we read several poems aloud. A walk to the beach and I sat down and wrote this. Definitely a first-draft, but I share it here.

It’s the annual Men’s Group Retreat. Nine of us are gathered around a ringed oak table for morning pancakes and poetry. The chosen poems about are all about aging, singing their mournful song about the body’s decay, the diminishing of faculties, the loss of memory. 

When we began meeting 30 years ago, it was all talk about hopes and dreams amidst the tangles of life lived in the thick of it, in company with young children, aging parents, advancing careers. Now white-haired with slower steps, the talk turns to aches and pains, the losses of loved ones, the wounds from the lion’s paw of time. 

And so we read these poems while passing the butter, nodding in agreement with the old Chinese poets that “everything passes, everything goes and never looks back, as we grow older and less strong.” Aging as subtraction. Every day we have less and less—energy, vitality, libido, you name it. We are retreating from the great game, casting off onto the ice floe toward our next incarnation.

And yet. There is more. There are great pleasures and rewards in eldership beyond the grandchildren and cruise ships. What so few speak of is aging as addition. 

Walking down the hall of my school to the kitchen, a trip I have taken almost every day for 44 years, I am in company with thousands of former students and hundreds of former teachers that I have shared this life with. With a mere moment of remembrance, each one is present, a tangible presence, not in flesh and bone, but in mind and memory. Each an indelible unerasable part of the grand ever-enlarging adventure. Like figures in the landscape of a Chinese scroll, they walk by my side, unrolled by memory’s invocation. 

The ghosts of those who I couldn’t love and couldn’t love me are present also, only now redeemed through the forgiveness the aging heart can finally know. We join hands in the dancing circle and lift each other up through lightness and laughter. The subtraction of loved ones we once held and heard and hugged is surely one of sorrow’s most heartbreaking burdens to bear. But the constant addition of each day’s dawn and those we spend the day with makes us larger and more grateful and less lonely, held in a constantly growing circle of mirth and miracles.

The addition and subtraction of aging. This is the math you can’t learn at school. 

Thursday, May 2, 2019

The Lightbulb Icon

Like many teachers, I have a lesson planning book. In the early days, I would write an outline of the classes before I taught and soon changed that to writing the outline after I taught the classes. I’d keep the structure in my mind, see how it would actually unfold with each class, and then at the end of the day, write down what I did. 

And so it has gone, class after class, week after week, month after month, year after year. And every single class is written down in some 44 planning books sitting in my closet. Haven’t done the exact math, but probably some 40,000 classes there. (Maybe I should think about selling the books on E-Bay to young music teachers?)

If a class is particularly inspired, I draw a little lightbulb next to it to remind me that something happened that’s worth remembering. For example, today’s theme in pre-school singing was nonsense word songs. I began singing a verse or two of songs they knew, like This Old Man and Pat Works on the Railway and John Kenacka and asked if they noticed what they had in common. One of the five-year-olds said, “They all have funny words.” Bingo! I told them that songs sometimes have nonsense words that don’t make sense, but are delicious to say. And often in combination with words that do make sense. Like “Knick-knack paddywhack, give the dog a bone.”

On I went to teach them some new ones— Sing Song Kitty, A Ram Sam Sam, Sarasponda— and then told them the story of a funny girl named Catelina Madelina Oopa Socka Wadaleena Hogan Bottom Loganand sang her song. That led naturally into the story of Tiki Tiki Tembo Nosarembo, Chari Bari Buchi, Pip Peeri Pembo. Next week we’ll review all the songs and then fold some into the story of Rumpelstiltskin. So now there’s a double theme of nonsense words and people’s names, two different threads to stitch songs and stories together. That’s lightbulb-worthy. 

In the past few years, there have been many lightbulb moments in my green planning book. I feel the day approaching—with the kids at school— when I won’t need to remember what worked well because I will have moved on. That will feel strange. But still there are workshops to consider. 

So Tennyson’s prophecy in his poem “Rabbi Ben Ezra,” seems to be true: 

Come grow old with me. My best is yet to come.