Ranger Rory

I remember camping and hiking with some of my Sinfonian Brothers years ago.  I chose the site, led the hike and other activities.  After all, I was the Province Governor.  They began calling me Ranger Rory after I contracted one of the most severe cases of poison ivy in existence… on this planet or any other!  I think they found it amusing that a Professor of Piano at Louisiana Tech University liked to go out in the wild, away from the comfort of his piano and his studio domain.  The juxtaposition of what they saw when they viewed me, and the Rory before them, canoeing, hiking and tent camping, was too much for them.  And of course, they didn’t contract poison ivy.  I led in that aspect as well.

My wife and I just returned from one of our annual and ritual sojourns to the north shore of Lake Superior.  We camp up there every summer at least one time.  We sleep in tents.  We live with the mosquitoes and bugs, and the threat of rain, because the reward is greater than the sacrifice.  The scenery and the hiking trails are something to behold.  This year we chose Cascade River State Park.  It might very well be our favorite.  It was our first north shore experience, and the combination of Lake Superior and the wild river is wondrous.

The trails at Cascade River State Park, near Grand Marais, Minnesota, are not beginner trails, and not for the faint-of-heart.  They are rough-hewn, with many exposed roots, downed trees, and glacial rocks strewing the way.  A three hour hike after breakfast can easily burn the calories from those eggs and Canadian bacon, and even in the cool air along Lake Superior, you should plan on drinking at least two 20 oz. bottles of fluid to replace the sweat that burns your eyes and floods your mouth.

Along the trails there are always options.  You can take the higher trail, or the one along the river.  I usually opt for the river trail, as the water sound is so like music to me.  When I’m lucky the trail is low, and I can even get out on the lava rocks in the middle of the river.  Cascade River is interesting because there is so much kinetic motion.  The rocks create the cascades and whitewater.  In other places the river is placid, and almost halted, like two contrasting themes in a Beethoven Sonata.  At other times the trail is perched high above the river.  Down below are steep cliffs and across the way you can see “potholes,” and “kettles” in the river bed, and even little caves in the side of the bluffs.  The textures of the river are interesting and compelling.  They seem like the fabric of a Debussy tone poem, with subtle changes and yet a continuity that makes the mind wander.

Yes, the natural beauty, to me, is like varied pieces of music I have known and loved.  I hear through my eyes when I experience these awesome sights.  But, I feel there is more to my attraction for hiking than the enjoyment of nature.  It occurred to me as I was hiking a couple of days ago that the challenge of a strenuous hike is so much like the challenge of practicing on a challenging piece.  I think back to the “exposed roots” and “jutting rocks” in the Liszt Sonata in B Minor.  Along the trail of that piece I could easily have tripped if I had not focused totally.  Like taking a wrong turn on an ambiguously marked hiking trail, many times I had to turn back to meet the challenges of Franz Liszt.  But therein lies the beauty.  A paved trail … a simply mastered piece of music … neither one holds much attraction for me. 

On the trail, you put one foot in front, incessantly.  You work to find your balance.  You alter your rate of motion to match the terrain.  Liszt demands the same.  When you learn to respond to the immediate demands before you, you begin to see the beauty of your endeavor.

My Life, As Seen Through The Eyes Of A Tuba

Let’s just start by saying that if I were you, I wouldn’t believe a word of what follows.  I don’t blame you.  I know, however, that every bit of this happened in real life, and then every bit of this was presented to me in the strangest dream ever.

First, I have never had a dream that could have been the script for and Indie Documentary film.  Until now, that is.  I witnessed a series of vignettes (I couldn’t call them scenes because some were rather brief and disjointed.)  The vignettes were a little confusing to me because they did not happen in chronological order.  The very end, like in a well-produced film, brought all of the scenes together and made THE POINT.  I will try to relate to you, in the dream order, what I witnessed of my life, as seen through the eyes of a tuba.

Vignette 1

I see myself on a riverboat, playing tuba in a traditional jazz band.  We embarked at a terminal point on the Mississippi River in Davenport, Iowa.  We left about 8:00 pm and will return at about 2:00 am.  The boat was chartered by the Lions, or the Elks, or some other lodge.  It is apparent that they are there simply to drink beer of the cheapest variety.  We are the “entertainment.”  In my heart I believe we are a surprise, an added and lucky feature. 

The audience seemed to like us.  One notable gentleman expresses his delight, partway into our round trip, by coming to visit my tuba and me.  I find myself totally surprised, and not at all happy, when the gentleman pours most of a pitcher of weak beer into the bell of my tuba.  My pique is nothing compared to the feelings expressed by my tuba.  Luckily I quickly found the “spit valve” and the tuba relieved himself, there, on the floor.

Vignette 2

It is the fall of my sophomore year in college.  I am a piano major, of course, but I still enjoy playing my tuba.  Fall means marching band.  I figured I could handle this task, although “sit-down band” is what I really like.  They tell me that if I want to play in a good concert band, I am required to march!  When I find myself marching at a football game, in the middle of South Dakota, and in a blizzard, I am somewhat less than a “happy camper.” 

When my lips freeze to the mouthpiece of the Sousaphone, I rebel.  If you know much about playing a tuba, you know that your mouth interfaces with the mouthpiece in a manner that evokes blowing bubbles in a toilet bowl.  This is a not-altogether unpleasant sensation.  However, the burning of the chill, the tear of the lip flesh when you try, unsuccessfully, to pry your mouth away, is a distinctly unpleasant experience.  Then and there, I decided that my tuba days were done… forever!

Vignette 3

My first tuba lesson!  Mr. Egli sat the beast on my lap.  “Hug it,” he said.  If I had not we both would have heard the crash of brass.  I was shocked how easy it was for me to get a sound from this huge thing.  I wonder if my background of making rude noises and blowing bubbles has prepared me in some way for this life experience.  I started tuba as a lark.  My sister had expressed interest in joining the band.  When she went to the meeting to meet the band director she chose the French horn.  My mother came back and told me that Mr. Egli would like me to begin tuba.  I felt neither heavily pro, or con, so I assented.  I could already read notes, as I had been learning piano for about two years. 

I was a little out of my element at the first band rehearsal.  I only knew a few notes, and they were semi-reliable at best.  The most exciting part of the rehearsal was the end.  The tuba and trombone players were required to take the school-owned mouthpieces out of their horns, and dip them into a two-gallon glass jar filled with a disinfectant.  I whipped my mouthpiece from my horn, swung it into the jar of purple liquid and shook!  Unfortunately the mouthpiece slapped against the inside of the jar.  A perfect, circular whole appeared in the jar about 2/3 of the way to the bottom.  The purple liquid poured out onto the floor.  The scowl of the band director was apparent, and the laughter of almost everyone else echoed in my ears.  Still does, evidently.  We never did get another jar of disinfectant.

Vignette 4

I really am not looking forward to commencement.  In the spring, the entire faculty of the university are required to process, complete with cap, gown and the little colorful thingy that makes it look suspiciously like a bad choir robe.  Some love the pomp.  I didn’t even go to my own commencements, not for any degree.  I figured that the actual diplomas were enough.  One, I had to go to the Field House to retrieve.  The other was mailed unceremoniously.  My parents didn’t seem to mind.  They came to my degree recitals and were sufficiently entertained, and reminded of my acquired genius!  So going to the commencement, as a faculty member, was anathema.  I must have mentioned this.  Of course I would never complain (where is that sarcasm font?) but I found out that the instrumental faculty played in the commencement band, and they didn’t have to gown.

So, after a few years of not playing the tuba, I held the beast one more time.  For rehearsal, and for gig.  Somehow I felt that I won, because I didn’t wear the gown.  I repeated this quite a few years.  Spring Commencement did offer one additional promise… my lips would NOT freeze to the tuba mouthpiece in May in Louisiana. 

Vignette 5

Oh boy!  Here I am, a freshman in high school, and I have just been promoted to 1^st Chair.  This is obviously a big deal.  I had no idea.  The entire band had to go through “challenges.”  We were all given legal-sized sheets of paper; on each side there were melodies written out in every major and minor key.  The rhythms got increasingly complex, and every member of the band were required to play melodies with 16^th notes, dotted notes, triplets of varying types, and even changing meters.  I was led to believe that these melodies were designed for the armed forces bands.  I think they were meant to be used as sight-reading for those musicians.  We were given a week to prepare and undergo an audition.  The band director would delete one point for each wrong note and one for each wrong rhythm.  The seating arrangement for each section was to be determined strictly by this audition.

I took my sheet and practiced every day.  I lived across the street from the school, so I could stay after school and make what progress I was able.  Of course, with a tuba, your practicing was normally done in the school building.  The school owned the instrument, and it was not easy to get permission to take it home, or to even carry the instrument unobtrusively.

I was a little nervous about some of the really tricky keys and rhythms, so I took the trouble to prop a door open in the school after I practiced on Friday.  Nobody found it, and I was able to get into the school on both Saturday and Sunday.  I had the band room to myself, and my tuba and me communed!  I remember running up the steps to the top floor to either get a drink or use the facilities.  When I was returning to the band room I took the stairs by twos or threes.  Unfortunately, I slipped and sprained my ankle.  That day I have invited a couple of my band friends to join me.  They just laughed at my enlarged ankle.  When my mother spotted my limp I convinced her that I was auditioning for a role in a play that required a limp.  I was just practicing.

On audition day I must have done pretty well.  When the results were posted, in order of score, I was at the top.  I didn’t miss any points.  The next in line missed three.  She was a junior clarinet player, and she assumed the 1^st chair of the clarinet section.  Her brother, the son of my former junior high social studies teacher, had been first chair tuba.  I don’t remember his score, but he remembers mine to this day.  His only comment:  “You cheated.  You practiced!”  So it goes, Randy!

Vignette 6

I am in Germany, under the big top of a tent at one of Germany’s ubiquitous beer festivals.  Tuba in hand… or, if you prefer, wrapped in my arms.  The Army Band I am playing with has been using me as an assistant to the Warrant Officer in charge of the band.  I was brought on to keep the top players busy.  I acted as the piano accompanist to men playing every conceivable Hindemith Sonata, as well as other literature.  I arranged and directed a men’s chorus, using songs that I had learned through Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia professional music fraternity.  I played piano in a jazz trio.  We gigged at the Officer’s Club, and the Holiday Inn of Sindelfingen, W. Germany.  AND… I played tuba in the “German Band” segment of our concerts.  We played just about every evening from April through October at some Festival.  We offered segments of traditional American band music, specialty segments and our own German Band.  I got to play tuba many nights in the German Band.  This was really fun.  Much to my shock, after I had retired permanently from playing tuba and freezing my lips, I learned the traditional versions of Alte Kammeraden, and other German drinking songs.    The greatest fun was smuggling out all of those liter and half-liter ceramic German bier steins in my tuba case.  I still have some.  I do feel slightly bad, since all of the bier was free to the band.  All you wanted, all night long.  I came back to the US weighing 190, and brought back many steins!  Thank you, tuba.  Thank you, Germany!

Vignette 7

My high school band director just telephoned my parents.  The Superintendent of my high school had called him with some pointed questions.  “Why,” he expostulated, “was a school-owned Sousaphone seen being marched down the middle of the street in broad daylight?”  Mr. Egli was undoubtedly at a loss for words. 

I had been allowed to take my Sousaphone home over the summer.  The band director, despite the disinfectant incident, liked me and knew that I would make good use of the instrument.  Who would have thought that recruiting your friends, who played trumpet, trombone, clarinet and drums, would NOT make a pleasant noise with their own, personal parade.  We played all of the school songs.  We marched in straight lines.  We played in tune.  We were the best musicians in the band.  When the Superintendent saw us, he didn’t understand.  It now occurs to me that there is no law that prevents a school district from hiring a true Philistine as the Superintendent. 

The let me keep the tuba, but we weren’t allowed to march in the streets for the rest of the summer.  Bummer!

What, you may ask, is the thrust of this epistle?  Why does a mind-mannered piano teacher, a retired college professor, have to do with the tuba as a life-guide?  Glad you asked.  When I auditioned for my job, ultimately as Associate Professor of Piano at Louisiana Tech University, I was joined by hundreds of other candidates.  I prefer to think that I was hired because I simply outplayed all of the rest.  There may be a shred of truth in that, but I was told a few years into my tenure that the Department Head put in the deciding vote.  He was a brass man, himself, and he told the committee that he didn’t want some “practice room nerd” as a new faculty member.  He loved my playing, thought I would contribute to the department as a whole, but the final, deciding factor was… the TUBA.  He thought that anyone that played German music, traditional New Orleans Jazz, and the tuba probably had had the rough-edges knocked off.  My whole career as a pianist and a piano teacher might very well owe itself to my love for the tuba.

There.  If you can’t believe that, I know I’ll never be able to sell you that Brooklyn Bridge.

Skulls Full of Mush…

You really have to love Netflix and some of the other streaming video sites that abound today.  Not only can you catch up on movies you might have missed, but they also have whole seasons of TV programs from the days when “reality TV” meant the news.

I recently introduced my wife to the movie and then the first season of the TV series, The Paper Chase.  The show was set in an Eastern-elite law school that was undoubtedly a thinly veiled Harvard Law School.  John Houseman starred as Professor Kingsfield, the Professor of Contract Law.  Kingsfield famously taught by the Socratic method, where he posed questions and the students answered.

I was so taken by Kingsfield and his demeanor that I undertook to teach a Form & Analysis course purely by the Socratic method.  The preparation was immense, as I had to structure an entire term in the form of prepared questions that would steer the students through the basics of musical form, and prepare them to dissect works as small as Baroque binary dances and large as Brahms Symphonies.

Since I was not Professor Kingsfield, I prepared a massive “script” of questions each week.  The key was teaching the students how they had to prepare for class.  No lectures!  No explanations other than the excellent materials that I chose to support my adventure.  Students were given class participation grades every day.  They only received points when they answered correctly and complely.  If they answered no questions, they received no points.  It didn’t take long to train each student to read the material, work their exercises, and volunteer vociferously to answer my questions.

My job was to have the students, themselves, explain and demonstrate musical form.  The explanations had to meet my criteria:  succinct, clear and pertinent.  By the use of many pieces of music, I could insure that each form would become clear to the entire class by way of varied, detailed and creative analysis.  This project not only worked well, but I taught it in the same format several times.  I loved teaching this way.

So, what did I gain?  I think it is all summed up in Kingsfield’s famous quote:  “You come in here with a skull full of mush and, if you survive, you leave thinking like a lawyer.”  The fictional Kingsfield supposedly had the most brilliant college students in the country.  How could he compare his brilliant student’s minds to mush?  Was he crazy? 

I think he saw the potential in all of his students.  They had raw potential, but were too undisciplined to become the lawyers he saw in them.  He taught them HOW to think, rather than what to think.  That phrase still gives me the chills.  This is what we teachers strive for. 

So, how does this impact my life as a piano teacher?  Glad you asked!  I will try to explain by telling you about three students that I have known and taught.  The first is Daniel. 

When Daniel graduated from college with his engineering degree he was hired by Honeywell, presented with a very nice salary, and sent him wherever Honeywell needed him.  Daniel was brilliant.  He designed switches and controls… think of the controls in a modern thermostat, similar to what you might have on your furnace thermostat.  But Daniel designed controls for the aerospace industry, in which Honeywell is a mainstay. 

Daniel had great difficulty in learning to play the piano.  He was so detail oriented that he tended to try to process each note, each finger, each rhythmic duration, as a unit.  I worked very hard trying to get Daniel to decipher patterns, to understand the spatial relationship between notes, and how that impacted his hand.  I worked with Daniel on the topography and geography of the keyboard.  We made great progress, but Daniel struggled with musical notation and piano playing because he approached it so much like a design project.  I was never able to train that brilliant mind in the way a musician needs to think.

The second student is Stan.  Stan is now a full professor of bio-medical engineering.  He acquired his bachelor’s, master’s and doctorate in five years.  I remember Stan informing me that he worked at the piano faithfully for 30 minutes every day.  He apologized about the brevity.  But Stan learned to accomplish as much in his 30 minutes as many piano majors did in hours.  I helped him to understand how practice was much like isolating and solving an engineering problem.  Stan was able to back up, see the broader demands of his music and approach his work not only in a strict engineering sense, but also in a creative manner that allowed him to win a competition to play with an orchestra and perform in a Master Class for the great John Browning.

Here we see two engineering students, both brilliant.  One succeeded at the piano and one struggled.  I could even say that both came to me with relative minds of mush.  Thinking like a pianist took a little extra effort.

The last student is Stefan.  I hired Stefan every summer to mow my lawn, and sometimes to water our gardens when we were gone. I thought of Stefan this past weekend as I was mowing my parents’ yard.  When I lived at home their yard was a simple, unadorned lawn.  It didn’t take long to mow then… or I never took very long with it.  How changed it is now, with birdbaths, feeders, little islands of plants and gardens.  The yard is a geometric splash of interesting and beautiful things.  And it is a challenge to mow.  So many angles, and so many details.  One has to think about how to approach the lawn efficiently and carefully. 

I remember distinctly a comment Stefan made to me one summer after I had created little planting areas, with stone borders, around many of our trees.  We built a little garden path with limestone, put in several gardens, an arboreal arch, bird feeders, etc.  I asked Stefan how it was to mow the yard after all the additions.  He said, “it’s a little tricky, and it takes while, but I guess that’s the price you pay to have a cool yard!”  Stefan, who now has a fantastic job at Facebook and previously at Google, designing software for them, learned through practicing the piano how to be a detail-oriented person… how to be a creative problem solver.  Like wading through the technical and musical demands of the most intricate piano piece, Stefan learned to negotiate the lawn, with all its impediments, and to do a marvelous job.  Now, he does the same for tech companies!

None of these students really had minds of mush; but I do know that the work that we all did together has impacted their lives in many ways.  Becoming skilled pianists and consummate musicians changed them.  It helped them to see how a mind can be disciplined and used to its brilliant capacity.  Let’s just say, “You’re Welcome, Honeywell.  You’re welcome, Google.”  When they left me they were thinking like musicians.

If I Can’t Be Tiger Woods, Why Should I Bother?

This morning, like almost every Friday morning, my first student greeted me at 7:15.  He is an adult with a full time job, and is obviously at the top of his profession.  He is one of those people that are sent out to clients as a consultant and trouble-shooter, and I think he is highly valued at his workplace.  He comes to his lesson at 7:15 so he can work with me when his mind is fresh.  He then drives another half hour to work.  Pretty devoted, wouldn’t you say?

I was impressed with one of his pieces this morning.  He did not attend last week, as we had one of our grand Minneapolis April snowstorms, and my street was more intimidating than a gauntlet.  The week before I had assigned him a new piece, and it was that piece that impressed me this morning.  My student accomplished everything I heard, with no input from me!  He is obviously learning things that allow him to process an unfamiliar work, and play with reasonably accurate pitch, rhythm and style.

I was totally “on alert” because he began, like many adults, explaining to me everything he thought was challenging.  Adults are not acclimated to being students.  This man is accomplished and highly skilled in his profession, and he thinks of himself in those terms.  He is a leader, a problem-solver, and a mentor to younger colleagues.  And… when he comes to me he struggles with the intricacies of playing the piano, an activity that several years ago he might have thought to be a simple process.

Like many adults my student struggles with what pianists think of as “a feel for the keyboard.”  Much of this “feel” has to do with relating the musculature of the hand and the spacing of the fingers to what forms are seen on the music itself.  For a couple of years we have been working on reading music as patterns…real, physical patterns.  It is tempting for beginning students to react to each note as an entity, without relationship to any other notes around it.  This leads to badly formed muscle memory, and inconsistency.  That inconsistency is the recurring complaint of adult piano students, and it is caused by the failure to process music as patterns, and the failure to place the hands, always, in a hand position. 

The thing that impressed me so much this morning is that my student was totally aware of the shapes and spacings of his chords, and award of how his hands moved from one position to the next.  I hope I was effusive enough in my praise that he understands what a breakthrough this is.  This is why teaching is so rewarding. 

But lets talk about beauty, for a second, because we all want to play beautifully.  That is certainly one of the things that draw us to the piano.  The idea of controlling a beast that weighs 1000 pounds, having the physical, tactile joy of manipulating all 88 keys, and hearing beauty, at our beck and call.  Who would not love that??  But the truth is, few adult beginners will ever sound as smooth as a professional.  Many adults sound more like they have studied the Karate method of playing the piano… Hyah!!  So, why do they bother?

It occurs to me that no one ever says that about his or her golf prowess.  Imagine your neighbor giving up golf because he suddenly realizes that he will never play like Tiger Woods.  Ridiculous?  Of course.  But somehow playing a musical instrument less than artfully will often become discouraging. 

I have been thinking about this phenomenon in relationship to myself.  I have a sort of hobby that I don’t often talk about.  It is something that I do, something that I find joy and challenge in.  But, it is a hobby that yields a product that might be thought of as amateur, at best.  Since it is a musical hobby, I have a hard to being proud of any achievements I make.  I invent little tunes, sometimes with words to match.

You notice I didn’t say I compose.  No, I am NOT a composer.  To me, a composer is… Beethoven, or Brahms!  Someone to be revered, studied, and performed!  Literally, they are gods to me because their music transcends what any mortal should be able to create.  But they did, repeatedly, unfailingly!  I am not allowed into their hallowed circle.

I am also not a songwriter, even though most of my products are songs.  Cole Porter was a songwriter; the Gershwins were songwriters.  My God, even Barry Manilow is a songwriter, and I confess, here and before everyone, that I like Barry Manilow’s songs.  We don’t even need to mention Sondheim or even Willy Nelson.  They craft songs that touch us, communicate to us, and their songs will defeat the cruelties of time and space.

The best I might be able to do would be to tell people to listen to something “I made up.”  That’s the way children might express a piece that came of their doodlings at the piano.  “Mom, listen to what I made up!”  Yes, that expresses it fully.  My creations are made up, and on the level of a musical child.  This all because I am used to being thought of as a professional.  When people hear me play the piano, I trust they do hear beauty, and through my playing, they are touched by those lofty composers and songwriters that deserve to be called as such.

I read something the other day by Rob Deemer of SUNY-Fredonia.  He was discussing pianists and piano teachers that attempt composing.  I quote below:  “…most of us look at professional composers in the same way that the sports world looks at specialists such as fencers: we can understand the basic concept of the sport (once it’s explained to us every four years during the Olympics), but very few of us ever get the chance to try such an activity. Most of us don’t meet fencers at parties or in the grocery store, and while there are fencing clubs around the country, the sport does not have the popularity of golf or tennis or even chess. I suppose what I am doing is asking why composing can’t be more like golf or chess. Very few will ever hope to reach the level of true masters, but the activity itself is still seen as an enjoyable pastime.”

“I guess the question at the heart of the matter is what is more important: the act of musical creation or the final product. For those of us whose livelihoods are intertwined with the success of our creative work, then the final product is, of course, a very high priority. But one might suggest that allowing and encouraging others to partake in the act of creation–whether or not the final product is performed publicly, used as an exercise in a classroom, or simply listened to in private–is both worthwhile and important for the future of our art.”

This makes so much sense!  This is why my adult students study.  They have not set their bars too high.  They play for the sheer joy of musical creation.  Their requirements are not necessarily the absolute quality of their final products.  Yes, they do seek beauty, and most will accept their progress the way it occurs, little by little.  I can look at my oeuvre of songs, and I do see some that I am more proud of, than some others.  Occasionally I will find something in a song that even impresses me.  I struggle to get to the point that I see myself as a songwriter.  This is probably why most of my songs are “novelty songs”, cute musical jokes.  It’s a defense mechanism, because songs like that don’t have to be taken seriously, do they?

For now, we shall leave me with my own personal struggles with this issue.  To my adult students, you all have my admiration!

Sucking the Joy…

Last Friday I was reminded of something I hadn’t thought about for a long time.  As usual this led to my thinking laterally about other important things that seem (at least to me) to relate.  These thought-fugues always end up relating to piano playing and piano teaching, so try to follow along.

What I was reminded of was a telescope that I got when I was in 6^th grade.  It was a real telescope, and I liked standing on our porch and looking at the moon, and sometimes, Venus, which was one of the more present celestial bodies.  In 1962 AT&T launched Telstar, one of the first satellites that I could see with my little telescope.  I remember a little paperback book that I had that discussed the constellations, planets and more prominent stars that would be visible, the times of year that I would be able to see them, and other totally stimulating things about astronomy.  Astronomy stimulated my imagination.

When I entered the University of Northern Iowa I signed up for Astronomy for my first semester.  Astronomy had nothing to do with my curriculum as a piano major.  I wanted to take that course because it gave me… joy!  I could actually hear the sound of my joy being sucked from my soul when I looked into the Introduction to Astronomy text, rife with formulas that a physicist would recognize, possibly admire or even be attracted to.  But physics and math were not what had endeared me to the stars.  I was probably lucky to get a “C” in that course.  I skipped lots of sessions, and I never looked back.

What, you might ask, led me to ponder a college course taken fifty years ago?  Marian and I were enjoying the start to our weekend.  We were sincerely hoping that the snow would really, really melt.  Late April… really??  Minneapolis has seen a huge growth in microbreweries in the last two years.  We have reveled in this fact, and we had decided to try out a taproom that we had never been to.  As we were reading about their offerings, we noticed a series of numbers affixed to the beer descriptions. 

ABV is the most obvious:  Alcohol By Volume is the one that Marian sees first.  She has quite a low tolerance for alcohol, but has grown to love the tastes of different varieties of beer and ale. 

I like to look for the IBU.  This is the International Bitterness Unit.  Bitter probably sounds a little negative if you are not a beer lover, but it is a perceptional factor in the tastes of chocolate and coffee also.  Bitterness is important. 

The little acronym that we saw Friday night that neither of us had seen before was SRM.  We “Googled” SRM and found that it meant Standard Reference Method.  What?  So, let’s read a little bit, here. 

“…one of several systems modern brewers use to specify beer color.”

 Oh, OK.  That’s cool.  Beer comes in so many colors other than ‘Budweiser!’  So what is there beyond a Pilsner yellow, or an Amber-amber and a nice, rich brownish-black Stout or Porter? 

“Determination of the SRM value involves measuring the attenuation of light of a particular wavelength (430 nm) in passing through 1 cm of the beer, expressing the attenuation as an absorption and scaling the absorption by a constant (12.7 for SRM.” 

What???  This was getting to sound like Physics, or something.  I can taste the IBU, so I care.  Marian can feel the ABV, so she chooses wisely.  I’m going to give this SRM one more chance.

“The SRM number was originally, and still is, defined by "Beer color intensity on a sample free of turbidity and having the spectral characteristics of an average beer is 10 times the absorbance of the beer measured in a 1/2 inch cell with monochromatic light at 430 nanometers." 

Well, now you have really lost me.  In fact, you probably have maxed out your lose-ability, right!

“Using Beer-Lambert again gives the mathematical definition of SRM in the general case as:  SRM=12.7 x A₄₃₀ where D is the dilution factor (D = 1 for undiluted samples, D = 2 for 1:1 dilution etc.) and A₄₃₀ the absorbance at 430 nm in 1 cm.”

Oh. God. My. Brain. Just. Farted!

 I had to shut down the Google app, go back to my beer and decide I didn’t care what color it was.  I just wanted to enjoy my beer, in the moment.  This is when my mind shot back to those who sucked the joy, for me, out of the entire field of Astronomy.  They were desperately trying to show me how scientific, how important the measurement of color is to the field of brewing.  Maybe, they seemed to say, if your mind is too small to understand our system of measuring, recording and grading the color of our lagers and ales… just maybe you should try a nice strong cup of tea!!  They were trying to squeeze the joy out of loving the beer.

Now, you are probably saying, “Yes, Rory, this is mighty interesting, although more than a slight departure from the central premise of the Fingers Dancing blog.”  But is it?  Are piano teachers above squeezing the joy of music making out of their students?  Here is the connection:

As a pianist, I know that playing the piano beautifully is a complex enterprise.  I know that reading music is a high level function of pattern recognition.  I have endeavored, over fifty years, to hone my reading into a true science.  Composers, such as George Crumb, have developed graphic notation formats that challenge professional pianists.

I have learned enough, and read enough, about the art and science of practicing that I could write books on the subject.  I might if I had time… but I’m usually practicing.  Luckily there is a recent body of writing on piano practice that clearly allows those interested to become experts at acquiring professional levels of performance.

I know that there is a great body of knowledge on the performance practices of individual composers and their eras.  Universities offer doctorates in that area.  I know that building a piano technique can take a lifetime.

As a piano teacher, I have learned is that, as excited as I might be about knowledge and skills that I acquire, my students need time to absorb every element of knowledge about the piano.  I have learned that my students don’t have to learn everything at once.  We can overwhelm them with detail, and suck the joy of playing the piano right out of their souls.

The human animal wants to learn… wants to do better, and wants to enjoy the process of learning.  My job is to get my students started on the path.  I have to find that fine line between satisfaction and dissatisfaction.  If I am alert my students will give me signals.  They will ask pointed questions about a barrier that they have failed to break through.  This tells me that they are ready for a subtler layer to their learning journey.  My job is not, however, to wait passively for their questions, for those famed ‘teaching moments.’  My job is to manipulate my students into just barely crossing that line from satisfaction to dissatisfaction.  At that moment I have a chance to serve them up with another helping of joy.

One last story...  One of my daughters, when she was in first grade, suddenly became interested in writing stories.  They were quite imaginative.  I wanted to encourage this for many reasons, among which was the fact that she was having some trouble with reading comprehension.  I thought that writing her ideas might help her make the connections we need when we ponder what we read.  I think the first grade teacher had the right ideas about these stories, but the way she implemented the project was greatly flawed.  I noticed that the assignments started to come home, marked in red, noting spelling and grammar errors.  Rather than let this child revel in the pure joy of creation, of using her imagination and expressing her ideas, the teacher opted to suck the joy.  We all know that spelling and proper grammar are important, but… I think you know how this ends.  One less child interested in a joyless activity.

As for me, I shall continue to look up in the sky and try to spot planets and constellations.  I will drink my craft beer, hold the glass up to the light and marvel at the color and taste.  I refuse to let my joy be sucked from me, and I resolve to allow my students the pure joy of playing, of controlling that huge machine.  That machine has a soul of its own, and when paired with the soul of a human, the beauty that ensues is a miracle.