WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED:

After she drank a glass of water Jennifer seemed calmer and we sat down together. I said, “From what you've told me, I have a sense that you have serious musical potential but are clearly—and understandably—blocked. Suppose we try a couple of things that could be really fun, rebuild your confidence, and in no way remind you of your previous lesson experience?” Jennifer seemed to like the idea—even gave it a half-smile— so I framed a couple of activities: one that relied on her musical ear, and one that relied on her creativity :

  • We tried a piano duet using only the black keys where I played a constant bass and she improvised a melody on top. (On the black keys, everything sounds “friendly”) Jennifer was tentative at first, but gained confidence as she realized that were no “wrong” notes, and her improvisation became more imaginative and playful as we went along.

  • I gave her a 3-note “menu” for “Hot Cross Buns” and to her apparent surprise, she was able to figure it out by ear on the first try. I was surprised that she was surprised, but somehow, she’d never tried figuring out a song before! OnceJennifer realized that she could do this, she challenged herself to figure out more complicated songs, and each success made her giggle.

We continued with this type of activity for the next couple of sessions, and after a few weeks, Jennifer told me that it felt as though an “iron bar” was melting. As she continued to shed old baggage and open up, she revealed herself to be exactly the person I’d first spoken to on the phone: enthusiastic and inspired. And it also became clear that forJennifer's life to be complete, she had to make music. During the year that she studied with me, she returned to singing and songwriting, and was able to reconnect with the joyous feeling she had known as a child.

Consider: 
All children are born musical. The challenge is to remain musical as we grow up.
—Sir Ken Robinson

Jennifer’s situation is not unique. Other than those trying lessons for the first time, pretty much every adult who comes to me displays extreme anxiety, from trembling hands to rigidity to tears. And for every Jennifer, there are far more who are so traumatized by their early musical “enrichment” that they never to return to music making. Yet as young children, every one of these people was musical—we all were! Children spontaneously incorporate music into everything they do. How often do we hear children on the street singing “The Alphabet Song” over and over, making up little tunes, chanting jump rope rhymes? It’s hard to stop children from exhibiting a natural affinity for music making! But adults not only disconnect from these behaviors—they seem to forget that they were those children! So the real puzzler is not so much how to help music lesson dropouts find their way back—important as that is—but why does this happen in the first place?

There’s no question that for some people, music lessons are a gift. But for a great many more, lessons snuff out that childhood musical spark. The reason for this is easily explained: The intention of music lessons is not to help learners develop their musical side; it is to develop one particular kind of musician: the performer. The premise is an exclusive one, firmly rooted in the belief that certain musical genres, types of music making, and ways of learning are superior to others. Where does this one-way-to-do-music approach leave children who are innately and passionately drawn to singing, composing, improvising, conducting, dancing, learning music history, experimenting with sound? The message is clear: It is more respectable to become a performer on the concert stage than it is to engage in any other type of musical activity. If that statement does not seem strange, this is part of the problem—that we accept this judgment as a truth. It does not take into account that the amateur, untrained banjo player may feel as musically gratified and enriched by his music making as the trained professional virtuoso, or that the 8-year-old budding songwriter experiences the essential, soul-feeding joy of music as much as the diligent 8-year-old technician. Charles Seeger, the noted musicologist and father of Pete Seeger, said, “One must not judge the musicality of a nation by the number of its virtuosos, but by the number of people in the general population who are playing for themselves.” Why do we value virtuosity over doing something for the love of it?

Until relatively recently in our history—only 150 years or so ago— art forms and musical participation of all types were appreciated democratically. Due to certain influences toward the end of the 1800s things began to tilt, and over the years, left us with the hierarchical perceptions that we now see as truths. For example, these days, when we hear the word “amateur,” it’s almost impossible not to react with a collective curl of the lip and upturned nose. The word evokes an image of someone who doesn’t play very well, wishes they could, but doesn’t have the talent or perseverance to do better. But the original meaning of “amateur” simply meant doing something for the love of it. For a fascinating and accessible read that elaborates on this complex subject, I cannot recommend this book highly enough: Highbrow/Lowbrow by Lawrence Levine.

If you tried music lessons and they didn’t go well, what do you recall was the problem? What happened to your musical development when the lessons failed? Did you find your musical path on your own, or give up doing music altogether? Suppose you knew that you had been denied the opportunity to connect to music—not because of a particular teacher, but because of an inflexible music learning model. How would you feel about that?

What would you like to do for the love of it but don’t? And why don’t you?