I remember a time when vinyl and 8-track were the only method of personal music immersion. In our cars, plastic on plastic, sliding under the floor boards, large colored capsules, holding within them, the reels of history: Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Elvis Presley. I would kick them out of the way as I climbed in my parents car. The shoddy tape organizers, always sliding to the floor and sending the contraptions sprawling. They felt durable to me, a kid, but actually they were fragile. More often than not, they became cracked and the tape, exposed, ended up in the garbage. But, soon, I would see a new one appear, like magic. As a child, music was very important to me. It was a connection with the many, that I lacked with my peers. It was an anchor. I would race home from school to listen, to ABBA, Journey, Fleetwood Mac, to name just a few. It was a time when my voice became music and music became my voice.
These vessels of rock, classical and blues they embodied my generation. At home I placed the needle, gently on the spinning plastic, anticipating the first note, creeping in from underneath the crackle and static of the record. Each album, a story. Each track, a monologue just for me. Music spoke to me, as if the performers, band or solo, were in the room. It wasn't just the tunes, it was that sound, that underlying hollow presence, beneath the vocals, it was almost another instrument. It was a cadence that I heard throughout my childhood. Then with the onslaught of cassettes, Cd's and iTunes, that intimacy, that rhythm of imperfection, even if remote, vanished. The crisp, studio quality performances - that is what we hear now. There is no more standing in line outside of Tower Records, for one of the first copies of Purple Rain. Now I can download it in seconds. Again, that intimacy, that personal connection, lost to a world of technology.
Texts and Emails
I remember when my birthday cards would come in the mail. My grandparents would send me, my age in cash. As a five year old, five dollars was like a million. My parents would take me to Albertson's and let me buy my weight in candy. I remember the smell of the envelope, usually bright in color, the stamps in the upper right corner, each a different design or emblem. That moment, where I gently ripped the envelope, trying desperately to keep it in tact, that sound, it still resonates. Those envelopes and cards, still in a trunk in my closet. I still envision myself running to the mail box, warm pavement beneath my feet. I have an August birthday, so they would arrive in deep summer. It is the tactile memories, that have stuck with me most. The interaction of my hands with paper, the smell of the post-office, the gravel on the driveway.
Those times, were built around phone calls and letters. Not text messages and emails. Not to say that, speedy communication is necessarily bad, but they are removing something from our society, interconnectedness, eye contact, the sound of a voice. That hidden track behind the tone, pitch and vibrato of human speech. We seemed to have lost the ability to listen, while we listen. To pay attention to the subtleties of facial expressions. How often do we pause and take notice of the intonations, modulations and articulations of the emotions of sound? How often do we hear these same qualities in conversation? Words are letters with meaning, but emotion is truth, even if we do not always recognize or acknowledge it.
Listening While We Listen
We have all been guilty of it. Making eye contact, nodding our head, but simply waiting for our turn to speak. We have all been on the receiving end as well. Students, children, they want to share their opinions and ideas, but are often placated with a "That sounds good," or "Tell me more." But are often, put into a situation where, an adult is listening, genuinely caring about what they are saying, but have no follow-up conversation. They as students, were herded, like many conversations of the day into one giant conglomeration, of words and thoughts. But, in actuality they were not heard, not really. How can we prevent a herd mentality and adopt one of hearing- a heard approach?
How can we as educators, pause and hear our students, even those who do not speak outwardly with words, but with emotion? We have to listen for the hidden tracks, that crackle, hollow presence underneath the sound. We have to listen while we listen. Hone our senses on the sound: the quiet hum of the microphone, the reverberation of frustration that overwhelms quietly. We have to find the discrepancies between what they say and what they feel. This can be challenging but not impossible. We will never be able to identify with our students if we fail to remember the sounds of our own childhood. Those vibrations, memories, are eloquent gestures, memorials of our youth. If we can, as the saying goes, "put ourselves in someone else's shoes" we will be able to understand their motives, actions and experiences. If we can listen while we listen, hear the acoustic melody all the while picking up on the harmonic refrain- we will be able to find the hidden track.
How can we find the hidden track? It is hidden right?
- Do not ignore the static- it tells a deeper story than the notes do
- Concentrate on the minor key changes, they are the underlying story
- Clear your mind, for when you do, every bridge, every chord finds its purpose
- The brass, percussion and wind, of every conversation softens and becomes louder when necessary- they are the clues
- Every moment we speak, we are the gentle strum of a guitar for one student and the cymbals for another- it is our choice of intensity that makes all the difference
- The hidden track is there, always, like the needle bobbing at the end of a vinyl album- just waiting to be picked up and moved to a new position
Let's not be the headphones, narrowing the sound or the speakers amplifying it. Let's be the fan, the audience. The spectator that hangs on every note because they know the chorus is going to blow them away. This is how we listen while we are listening. With anticipation that within the ensemble of instruments, the meaning and expression, there will always be a melody and this melody is why we listen in the first place. Music is the story of our lives- these conversations we have with students, they are the music of the future.
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