Our latest blog is from Nerissa Nields, a Suzuki mom of two and folk singer in the band The Nields. Nerissa confronts an important question in this post: How do family dynamics show up in her son's Suzuki lessons? Her response is refreshingly honest: while she expresses a lot of frustration with her son Johnny, she ultimately recognizes and respects his current limits.

Johnny has had four violin lessons and one group class. It’s so strange to see how different two children can be. After years of telling friends that my kids were more alike than not, as violinists at least they show their proclivities. Lila’s bow-hold was right-on from the start; Johnny grabs his fat marker in his fist and doesn’t comprehend that one does not wield it like a sword. We are supposed to be clapping out each of the six Twinkle variations to our new teacher’s words, but Johnny wilts after one-half of one, where Lila dashed ahead, graduating from her Twinkles in less than nine months. I take his fists in my two hands and tap them together for claps, but he says, “Dis gives me a stomach ache.” And more painfully, “Dis is my body and I get to do what I want!” Who can argue with that?

In Paul Tough’s new bestseller How Children Succeed (which I am supposed to be reading but haven’t started yet, but I did listen to half the This American Life piece about it) he argues that the skills most necessary to teach kids are self-control, to learn to focus attention, and to delay gratification. The exercises our teacher gives us are all about these skills. We start with a bow in which Johnny says, “Good morning” or “Good afternoon” or “Good evening,” depending on what time it is. We listen to the Suzuki Slow Twinkle CD and clap along, as I said above, and we listen to the Twinkles up to speed while he sways back and forth, his feet in playing position and his box violin on his shoulder. Then we do “Up Like a Rocket” with his pen-cum-bow and his bunny bow-hold. He wants to make up his own lyrics, but his teacher insists on hers. Delay gratification. He wants to make his pen go horizontally for “back and forth like a choo choo train,” but his teacher makes him keep it vertical. Self control. He ends each practice with “Thank you for the wonderful lesson,” and a bow. Nothing to complain about that. It’s teaching him good manners.

So why is this all so hard for me? Because he doesn’t always want to do any of it, and I feel foolish, frustrated, helpless, and most of all like a Tiger mom. A failed Tiger mom at that. We set up his foot chart (a 20″ cardboard with construction paper cut outs of his feet positions) and it can take 20 minutes for him to get in rest position and bow. Before he can do this, he has to fall on the floor a few times, balance on one foot and go, “Whoa! whoa!” and wave his arms around, ask for a drink, decide he has to pee, take off his shirt, roll up his pants legs, look out the window to see if Gulliver the Cat has come over, look out the window to see if his dad has biked home yet, set up his favorite cars to watch the practice, go get his ducky to watch the practice, count the marbles in his marble jar and then fall on the floor crying and insisting he hates violin and never wants to play again.

And we haven’t even picked up the actual violin.

Lila’s teacher Emily Greene says that whatever you are dealing with in terms of family dynamics will come out in the violin practice. As an author, and a teacher of writing, I notice that whatever is hard for me in life is hard for me on the page, and so it goes with my students. If a student doesn’t know herself, it is hard for her main character to be known. If a student is impatient and in a hurry, her scenes will skim by. If a student is fluent in the language of emotion but slow to take action, her scenes will be rich studies of humanity but lacking plot. And if a person cares more about being liked and well-thought of by teachers and other authority figures (but not little boys) and is the tiniest bit afraid of confrontation, violin practice sessions can turn into the Clash of the Titans.

Today I wised up. I looked at what we were being asked to do. Johnny can’t make it through even one Twinkle, either in the swaying exercise or the clapping one. Our teacher doesn’t know this because I haven’t told her. Instead I have brought her practice sheets covered with stickers (and let’s be truthful: the stickers are for me, not Johnny. I am the one who puts them on and gets a big hit from seeing them taking over the yellow lines of the paper.) But I will go in on Thursday and tell her we need to slow down, even though progress seems snail’s-paced to me as it is. And this morning, I got down a shaker of nonpareils which I used to bribe him to do each item on our practice sheet. I had Johnny bow, do one Twinkle variation for swaying, one for clapping and his up like a rocket. It all took five minutes. I hugged him and praised him and he bowed deeply. “Sank you for a wonderful lesson,” he murmured.

Our latest blog is from Nerissa Nields, a Suzuki mom of two and folk singer in the band The Nields. Nerissa discusses the importance of process in the Suzuki method: her kids' teacher, Emily Greene, considers the violin almost a "by-product" of the method.  

My niece, with her band, has recorded her first single, which she wrote, sings lead on and plays bass on. It’s a rocking song called “Speak Up!” and my kids just got their mitts on a CD of it.

"Speak up, stand up/Don’t let anyone tell you what to do… " sings my 6-year-old daughter, along to her beloved cousin’s vocal. Her little brother mimes playing the descending bass line on air guitar. We’ve listened to the song four times in a row. I am blown away by the confidence, the mastery, the reedy sweetness of the eleven-year-old voice. And, to make matters even more delightful, the song is about music itself, and the deliciousness of coming into one’s identity as a young musician:

"In music there are no lines to cross/In your own song you are always the boss."

Ah, the freedom of the pop musician. Tom and I just came from a Suzuki parent class, a two-hour affair held for all parents of Suzuki kids of all instruments. I felt tearful – in a good way – by the end of it. Other parents shared their reasons for taking on what is the equivalent of a college class (and we’re talking about just the parents’ role here!):

- "It gives my son confidence and something he can be proud of."
- "It teaches my daughter that if you practice something, you will get better."
- "If I am there to guide them, it keeps them from laying down the wrong neural pathways."
- "This is an opportunity to give my child the ability to master something."
- "She whistles the themes of the music all day long!"

Interestingly, none of the parents said, "Because I want my child to be the next Joshua Bell." Everyone present was more interested in process than product. In fact, the teacher (Emily Greene) even referred to playing the violin as a by-product of the method. The real fruits are compassion, frustration tolerance, self-control, appreciation of beauty, self-esteem and a closer parent-child relationship.

Even though I, like my niece, have relished the freedom I have had as a folk/pop/rock musician to be the "boss" of my own songs and my own music practice, I am all for Suzuki, especially the fruits listed above. And the above are the reasons I show up day after day to the practice sheet our teacher makes, and insist Lila pick up her fiddle and play her repetitions of "Allegro" and "Witches’ Dance," even when she responds by becoming boneless and falling onto the floor.

We parents also went around and shared what is hardest for us about Suzuki. Most said the conflicts arising around practice. I added that for me the biggest fear is the thought that plays in my head when Lila doesn’t want to practice and I am making her: I am destroying her love for music! And: how will she become the boss of her own musicality? (Most specifically, will she have the courage to compose?)

Why do I have these thoughts? Because sometimes I hear from other rock musicians that they were forced to take music lessons when they were kids and they hated "that classical sh*t."(Of course, they went on to become professional drummers… ) Or because my father said he hated having to practice his cello growing up (of course he plays guitar now, all the time, whenever he can get his hands on it, and no one makes him… ). Or that my daughter herself says, "I’m sick of practicing!" (But if I tell her she can quit, she immediately goes running for her instrument.)

Music is hard. There’s no getting around the fact that in order to play half decently one has to put in some hours. And most musicians have some kind of internal struggle with practicing. (Some don’t. My friend Pete Kennedy told me he still practices 3-5 hours a day, and I can’t imagine he "makes" himself do this. His guitar seems like an appendage of himself.) But anything worth having a lifelong relationship with takes time and perseverance and has hard spots. Somehow we (I) get the idea that music should be all pleasure. Nothing is all pleasure. Everything that matters in life takes work: getting to see a great view from the top of a mountain. Having an incredible relationship with another person. Writing a beautiful poem. Painting a picture. Creating a garden from a patch of weeds. 

At the outset of lessons, neither parent nor child counted on the struggles that can often come between them during practices. First lessons often start after children have seen other children performing – or perhaps playing games in group class. The parent-child duo takes up an instrument with beautiful images of working together happily to produce delightful sounds. There’s usually a honeymoon period, but before long, parents begin to realize that the work of practicing resembles gardening with your bare hands more than arranging fresh flowers in a vase. (And don’t be fooled: even the parents who appear that have practices as graceful as an ikebana also run into a thorn now and then.)

An important truth from gardeners can help parents who practice with theirchildren: you can’t tug on a play to make it grow. You have to trust the process. But there’s nothing wrong with fertilizing, watering, and generally caring for a plant. That’s what gardeners do. Parents need to do it as well. In the process of tending beautiful flowers and nutritious vegetables, gardeners also encounter weeds. And pests. They also get some dirt under their fingers. In their own way, so will parents. (from “Building Violin Skills,” Ed Sprunger)

This beautiful quotation from the Suzuki teacher, violinist and psychotherapist Ed Sprunger hit me where I lived yesterday when Emily read this to us. As a writer and a teacher of writing, I realized the universality of this thought. You can’t tug on your writing, either. You can’t tug on your relationship. You are not the creator, and as a certain president recently said, no one is really self-made. We all need each other.

You have to leave space for the serendipitous, like your 11-year-old-budding-rock-star niece lighting a fire under your 4-year-old pre-Twinkler. For as soon as he’d finished listening to his cousin’s single (5 times in a row), Johnny, who just had his first lesson last Thursday, grabbed his tiny 1/16th size violin and started playing her pop song’s rhythm on the E string. We waited until the next day to inform him that, as a pre-Twinkler, he can’t actually touch the violin yet (this produces tears, but it also builds a powerful desire). So now, the violin’s hanging on the wall, next to his sister’s; under my guitar.

We're grateful to have Lucy Lewis, a trained Suzuki teacher and doctoral student in musical arts at the University of Iowa, share a series of blogs about her experiences at American Suzuki Institute at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point. Every summer, the Suzuki Institute hosts a teacher training session at Stevens Point, and this summer Ms. Lewis was one of the teachers-in-training. This entry is Ms. Lewis's third and last about her training at Stevens Point, and we'll certainly miss having such a thoughtful and wise voice as Ms. Lewis's on our blog. Ms. Lewis shares quite a few insights from her teacher training, but we were particularly drawn to this gem: if we have a sincere love for our students and our goal as teachers is to develop their character and musicianship, we also need to tend to ourselves by "recharging and reconnecting with colleagues." Simply put, we can give more to our students when we persist in our lifelong development as teachers. please leave a comment below thanking Lucy for her blogs or send her an email at lucy-lewis@uiowa.edu. 

Christian Howes shares a terrific new blog entry with his top three ways to keep practicing when you're not in the practice room. Leave a comment below with your own "downtime" practice tips!  

Good musicians practice.

Great musicians practice better. And they gain an extra edge by using their time wisely outside the practice room.

We're grateful to have Lucy Lewis, a trained Suzuki teacher and doctoral student in musical arts at the University of Iowa, share a series of blogs about her experiences at American Suzuki Institute at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point. Every summer, the Suzuki Institute hosts a teacher training session at Stevens Point and this summer Ms. Lewis is one of the teachers-in-training. In her first entry, a reflection before she begins the training (to be followed by two more blog entries, one during and one after), Ms. Lewis explains her love of Dr. Suzuki's method and her high expectations for the training. Ms. Lewis admires Dr. Suzuki's commitment to every child's musical development and hopes that by observing the master teachers at Stevens Point she'll become a better teacher herself. By the end of the blog, Ms. Lewis confirms that she sees the Suzuki method not only as musical training but as "life training." 

As I am writing this blog, I am currently en-route to the American Suzuki Institute at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point (with eager anticipation!) to do Suzuki violin teacher training for Volumes 5 & 8 of Dr. Suzuki’s “Mother Tongue” method. This summer will mark the fourth year in a row that I have been attending the American Suzuki Institute to do Suzuki violin teacher training and I have grown to look forward to these two weeks out of my summer more than anything else. “Why?” you might ask.

First, let me share with you a bit of the history of this particular institute. This institute was founded in 1971 by the late Marjery Aber, who was one of the first to study with Dr. Suzuki in Japan. This is the first institute that Dr. Suzuki visited in the United States and under Ms. Aber’s leadership (and currently that of Pat D’Ercole’s), it has since become a flagship model for other institutes that have spread across the nation.

Every summer world-class faculty, along with students, siblings, parents and teacher trainers gather together to play, teach, grow and learn from each other in this little town affectionately known as “The Point.” The atmosphere is charged with positive vibes and I firmly believe that one would have to go a long ways to find a happier group of people than “Suzuki-ers.”

We were overjoyed to read this guest blog from Melinda Rice, a violinist and teacher for the Youth Orchestra Los Angeles Program at EXPO (which is a partnership between the LA Philharmonic, Harmony Project, and the LA Department of Recreation and Parks) and Harmony Project. Not only does Ms. Rice's entry convey her passion for music and teaching, it makes a compelling case for learning American music through the O'Connor Orchestra Method. When Venezuelan musicians visit the LA Philharmonic and honor the musical traditions of their homeland, Ms. Rice realizes that through the O'Connor Orchestra Method she is teaching her American students their own native musical language.    


I want to tell you about something wonderful that is happening with children who want to play a stringed instrument. If you are a string teacher who works with group classes and orchestras, like I am, then I think you’ll want to know about this. If you are a private teacher, like I am, then I think you’ll want to know about this. If you love classical music, and long to internalize theory more, then I think you’ll want to know about this. If you are an adult learner who always wanted to play the violin/viola/cello, then I think you’ll want to know about this.

It was two-and-a-half years ago that I was introduced to Mark O’Connor and to his method for teaching string playing through the classics of American music. The method seemed simple and logical – foundational instruction in string playing using songs from the rich American heritage of old time tunes, negro spirituals, jazz, mariachi, and songs from composers from Europe inspired by America. Simple and logical is exactly what I strive for in teaching, and I was inspired to start using the method right away. It has only been two and a half years, but I want to share what I have learned as I taught foundational skills through the American music tradition.

I started off working with two beginning violin classes of about ten students each, and each of these students received a Level 1 book and CD. We met bi-weekly. The kids really liked learning the violin, and many of them started coming to both classes. Most of them got to class early, stayed in the building late, or played music with each other outside in the courtyard after their group class was done. These students are part of an orchestra program, and when they started orchestra, the skill of reading translated into reading skills in orchestra. The skill of adjusting pitches in class while listening to accompaniment translated into adjusting in orchestra. Before rehearsal, I often saw a few of them jamming on either an orchestra tune, or jamming on a tune from the Mark O’Connor method books. Even now, when many of them have moved to other group teachers (this is part of the structure of our program), I still hear them playing improvisations on tunes like Boogie Woogie in between orchestra rehearsals.

As an American, I appreciate that this method begins with a song first sung and played by African Americans who were slaves in this country as recently as 150 years ago. Not only is Boil ’em Cabbage Down a terrific song and a piece of our history, sharing it with students communicates a message of transcending circumstances, and living with our history. I also appreciate that the method continues with pieces from across the genres of music developed in America – from old time tunes and bluegrass to negro spirituals to boogie woogie to jazz to American composers like Joplin and Europeans like Dvorak writing with the influence of America. The music that this method draws on is a unique American heritage, a blend of styles that come from the convergence of African, European, and Native American tradition in one place, communicating with one another in the language of music. I have been richly rewarded with a more colorful and nuanced understanding of the country I live in as I teach from the O’Connor books, and my students get excited to find out that some of the people who signed the Declaration of Independence were playing tunes that they are now learning.

This past semester, I lead a beginning string orchestra in playing Mark O’Connor’s arrangement of Boil ’em Cabbage Down from his orchestra series that corresponds with the method books. Students worked on their parts in group classes, and came together to play in orchestra. We talked about structure, melody and harmony, and root notes in I, IV and V chords through this one piece – the arrangement made it easy for the students to demonstrate these concepts within their parts.

The students are also building foundational skills in creativity. They practice improvisational soloing in class, and they get to make simple and small choices about dynamics, rhythm, and pitch. In parts of the American tradition (and in fact in many traditions around the world), a piece of music can be arranged authentically in different ways, depending on how the musicians want to communicate the music, including factors like the instrumentation available. This is reflected for the students as we listen, practice, and talk about the piece in different ways.

At the site in Los Angeles where I work with these young musicians, we have been given the gift of inspiration and aspiration by the LA Philharmonic’s conductor Gustavo Dudamel and by Venezuela’s El Sistema. Our students hold memories of and treasure the mentors who join us from the Phil, and our visitors from Venezuela. As a teacher, I am inspired by the joy and vivacity and virtuosity of our visitors from Venezuela. When our orchestra plays arrangements of a Beethoven symphony and of Gerardo Matos Rodriguez’s La Cumparcita, we are exploring different musical languages together, striving to understand what each is communicating. Our own musical experiences are our preparation for understanding these languages. When two violinists learning fundamentals pick up their violins and arrange the classic Oh! Susanna as a duet, choosing the number of repeats, who will play the melody when, and who will play the chords when, they demonstrate tools for engaging with structure and harmony that can develop their love of music from around the world, from many times in the history of the world. At the same time, they are following in the steps of other musicians who have honored the musical traditions of their homeland, just as we have witnessed in the Venezuelan youths who visit and perform around the world.

I am taking a moment away from working with the young musicians who are my students to write this because I want to share what I have witnessed. I am grateful for the tools for training that I have been given from so many generous musicians, and especially from Mark O’Connor. I am sharing this because it has been truly wonderful in my teaching and musical practice, and when something is wonderful, it is important to share.