Three Hits and a Near Miss

If your experience of higher education was anything like mine, you probably took courses that sounded great in the catalogue, then failed in small or huge ways to live up to the promise. History of Jazz was like that for me, a course taught, it turned out, by a non-musician, and aimed at non-musicians. I learned little I didn't already know from being in jazz ensembles. It wasn't until I took Doug Goodkin's Jazz Course that I developed a true appreciation for the history and literature of jazz. I had appreciated jazz for most of my life, but it took Doug's unique Orff twist to make me love it. 

You may also have had the experience of reluctantly enrolling in a class to fulfill a requirement, or because nothing you want is open, and having that class transform your life. Such was the case with a class I took during my final year of seminary on the theology of Reinhold Niebuhr. My eyes were opened, and suddenly I understood why the world works the way it does. 

Today I attended four workshops. The first, on Cajun dance, was a rousing way to start the day, but fell far short of what I'd hoped: a true Orff approach to introducing this music to children. Instead, I got a boilerplate folk dance class: fun, but not that useful. This was followed by a workshop with Lorna Heyge, an early childhood expert who turned my expectations on their head. Apart from showing me techniques for reaching my feral kindergartners, Lorna said this: "The child's answer is never wrong. The teacher's question is frequently wrong." Right there I had a learning-centered platform from which to teach all my students. 

The afternoon had me in a session on rounds and partner songs that I will put to use immediately, but it wasn't especially revolutionary.  What followed, though, again shifted my perspective on what I do very day. Rick Layton was one of my Level II instructors at the San Francisco School, and I remember him saying and doing many things I wanted to incorporate into my teaching style. Unfortunately, it took me three years to get back into an elementary classroom, and much of what I learned then faded. When I arrived at his session, and realized it was going to be on teaching middle school students to improvise on the alto recorder to Renaissance melodies, I briefly considered looking for something more applicable to my situation. My oldest students are fifth graders, and I've only got toe more months with them before I change schools--barely enough time for the soprano recorder unit I'm starting next week, let alone introducing altos! Something told me to stay put, though, and I'm glad I did, as Rick reminded me of just why those kids keep playing mallets when I need to talk to them: they're practicing. Sure, it's frustrating at times, but do I really want to stop them from making music so I can dictate how to do it right? Well, actually I do, but I clearly need to give them more time to play, experiment, explore, mad create. That is, after all, one of the things that sets Orff apart. 

It's been a long, wonderful day. I've got more to say, but not now. This first timer needs some sleep. Tomorrow is another day. 

Viva la musica!

Wake Up Singing

(POSA Veep Mark Anderson blogs about his first AOSA National Professional Development Conference, Rocky Mountain Rendezvous, Denver, November 13-16, 2013)

I didn't sleep well. The altitude, the flight, the strange bed, Dax coming in at midnight (not his fault, and he was as quiet as a kindergarten at nap time), and just the expectancy of something new, of being in a place with hundreds (as opposed to dozens) of kindred spirits--all told, I got maybe four hours of sleep. I finally gave up at 5:45, had an overpriced bran muffin for breakfast, registered, and was in time for the 7:15 singing session.  We sang two songs: a spirited gospel number that, toward the end, coaxed our bleary eyes into Orffland; and then the sacred Austrian yodel, which despite its amusing (tommy ears) name is hair-raisingly gorgeous when sung in the multiple parts Orff-trained teachers can improvise at a moment's notice. 

This is one of the things that sets an Orff gathering apart from any other music educators' event I've been to: how quickly, how often, how beautifully we sing together. Yes, a gathering of choral directors would naturally have some lovely reading sessions. Many of those directors can sight sing anything, and most likely improvise harmonies with ease. What's different about Orff teachers is the instant musical community we create with our voices and bodies.  It's not that we wear our hearts on our sleeves, though many of us do; nor is it that we all know each other, though there is for me (a first timer) an amazing sense of reunion with people I've never met. No, what binds us all together is how deep land sincerely we believe in what we do. This is not just a job for us. It's who we are: people who know, deep down, that teaching music this way will change the world for the better.