It’s essentially a truism, but the way we view and conceptualize things has a strong bearing on the way in which we approach issues surrounding them.
Through my studies in anthropology, I’ve read researchers’ accounts of cultures all over the world. These accounts tell of all sorts of customs, societal structures, and of course, conceptualizations ranging from how we define our family structure to what qualifies as music. As is often the case, coming into contact - even if only through a book - with another culture, opened up my eyes to ideas I had previously taken for granted in my own culture. My views on music were not immune to this.
This led me to pursue the question "what is music to us, anyway?" as independent work for my junior research project. Being trained almost exclusively in the classical tradition, I decided to tackle that genre in particular. Additionally, talking with musicians, non-musicians, friends, and mentors, and reading the range of comments on articles and blog posts, I realized that there are so many ideas of what “classical music” is (or should be, as the case may be) that it became clear pretty quickly that there is nothing created by humans that really has an absolute, “pure” form.
For example, there are all sorts of culturally specific connotations with the genre that are not necessarily tied to the way the music itself sounds. That it is “highbrow.” That it is elitist, esoteric, and costly, only available to those with leisure time and money, and thus an inappropriate genre to be attempting to popularize in a democratic society. That it is essentially “useless.” (I had a friend who told me that the only reason classical music would survive in the future is for use in movie soundtracks. That, of course, negates the “useless” argument, but does go against the views of those who believe music should be a stand-alone drama, not tied to any other art forms.)
Interestingly enough, these kinds of connotations were not always the norm. Earlier in the 19th century, there was no distinct division between the classical genre and more popular ones, in conceptualization by the general public or programmatic choices by performing ensembles. As the century went on, a few key players in the classical music world contributed to a change in the way the genre was perceived. Classical music came to take on that kind of pristine aura it is (in)famous for today through the process of “sacralization": Works were performed in full, with more attention paid to proper instrumentation and “authentic” reproduction; conductors of orchestras separated subscription (strictly classical) concerts from “pops” concerts; and the public understood the separation of genres accordingly. Classical music was no longer such a popular genre, in the general sense.
And this is largely the legacy that we’ve inherited, for better or worse. Some opinions I read brazenly stated that this is how things should be - that classical music’s widespread popularity has never been guaranteed, and so we shouldn’t see any sort of elitism as a liability, but rather an asset: It ensures high quality. Others almost don’t acknowledge the decline in popularity, claiming that the industry could be in better shape if only management were more sensitive to musicians’ needs. Others claimed that the public - being composed of living, breathing, feeling humans - could learn to love the music, if only they would open their ears, listen, and allow themselves to feel.
I am inclined to agree with the third opinion. Despite my deep love for music, I am not one to believe that appreciation of music is a trait we are born with, not even that of our own culture. Appreciation of certain genres is certainly an acquired trait. This is why music education is an important force for the preservation of less widely popular genres.
“Well, why should we teach kids to appreciate or play music of a genre that no one listens to? What’s the use in that? It’s a waste of resources.” But this isn’t what music education is all about. Music education, yes, at one level, is about introducing certain kinds of music to train ears to be accustomed to them. Thereby children can learn to appreciate the art form. But maybe more than that, it’s about learning how to listen carefully - to a piece being played on the radio, or to a fellow musician. It’s about opening up your ears and understanding the meaning and emotions behind sounds. I believe this can lead to a greater enjoyment of not only music, but life through music. Music allows us to experience both rarely-felt and all-too-familiar emotions: It has the power both to rile us up and calm us down, to fill us with joy and bring us to tears. To be a little trite (but truthful, nonetheless), it feeds our souls.
But listening doesn’t have to be (and shouldn’t be!) limited to just enjoyment of music - being able to listen carefully for details in everyday life is a skill that I think is useful but perhaps not encouraged enough. I speak from personal experience when I say that learning music and playing with others has taught me much in how to effectively listen to others to work together towards one common goal. Listening, through music, can also bring people together in other ways. I had the opportunity last summer to interview French pianist Guillaume Vincent while he was in Kanazawa, Japan, performing with Japanese pianist Mutsuko Tajima and the Orchestra Ensemble Kanazawa under conductor Marc Minkowski. Despite not speaking a common language, Guillaume and Mutsuko worked together on Poulenc’s Concerto for Two Pianos to deliver an absolutely electrifying performance. Such circumstances created an environment in which it was essential for close and careful listening. How many activities are there in the world that can be done with people who can’t communicate in the same language?
At least in my experiences, with so much of the rest of the approach to education of children being focused on teaching the ability to speak or act rather than to really listen, I believe that balancing that with a music education that teaches one to listen is incredibly valuable for raising conscientious people who are able to lead just as much as they are to follow and work within a group. And the fact that it’s fun, personally rewarding, and allows you to become a part of and make your own mark in a long cultural tradition? All the better.
Perhaps if we could repackage “music education” into something more like this, we might stand a better chance of keeping it available for public schools and the general public. Doing our part to work towards this goal, the IfCM's teaching artists expose program participants to new ways of conceptualizing, appreciating, and creating music, as well as facilitate the development of attentive listening and teamwork skills by providing hands-on experiences in music making and creative thinking. We hope to spread and expand this approach to music education as much as possible - for the betterment of all people involved.
- Kai Shibuya
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