Abstract
During my youth in England, it was impressed on me by my violin teachers that achieving balance was the best way to improve on the instrument. Having taught violin and chamber music to all age groups and talent levels during the past 25 years or so, I have always attempted to impart this philosophy to my students.
The balance between musical and technical work in violin studies is something that should concern all teachers. While I am sure there are many music educators who successfully incorporate as much musical training as possible into their teaching, I too often observe teachers who seem unable or unwilling to teach anything other than the tools of violin playing.
“Posture. Feel the ground through your feet. Balance the bow on the string. Balance the violin in your hand. Balance the violin on your collarbone. Balance the bow in your hand. Find the point of balance of your bow.” These important instructions clearly only refer to the physical side of playing the violin. I wonder how many of us have dared to think outside of the box and consider some of life's other attributes as an essential part of our teaching efforts?
My violin teachers included Emanuel Hurwitz, Richard Deakin at the Royal Northern College of Music, and Walter Verdehr at Michigan State University. All three were very concerned with the idea of balance, but communicated this in different ways. The balance between music and technique, along with physical comfort, was a constant theme. Verdehr, violinist of the internationally-acclaimed Verdehr Trio, was intent on helping students find the physical ability to play easily through an understanding of the natural relationship that exists between body and instrument. Yet, this was always combined with an immediate attempt to aim for the sound or musical character that was implied in the composition.
My undergraduate years were spent with the chamber musician and former concertmaster of the Orchestra of St. John Smith's Square, Deakin. I remember many hours being spent on my physical setup and how to feel balanced on my feet. But, like my other teachers, nothing was discussed in a vacuum without some greater purpose. Deakin always had such a reasonable approach to musical and practical problems. For example, when I was concerned about possible job-hunting in my final year, he told me to remember that the following 10 years were of the utmost importance and I should not worry about settling down in my career until I was at least 30 years old. This was the type of encouraging advice to put a young violinist at ease.
At 16, I was fortunate to study with Hurwitz, a great musician whose career covered every facet of London's musical world over seven decades as leader of the Melos Ensemble, Aeolian String Quartet, English Chamber Orchestra and Philharmonia Orchestra. Like his career, his approach to teaching was balanced. He had a lovely understated way of making a serious point. He would often teach through storytelling, relating something in the music or a weakness in my playing to that time he had played quartets with Nathan Milstein or Mischa Elman (colleagues in the United States have described lessons with Josef Gingold as very similar to this). Hurwitz had a great sense of humor, and, despite his vast experience with the great artists, he always demonstrated the utmost respect for his students. He seemed to understand the nature of things and he displayed a remarkable ability to talk and listen at the same time, to find common ground between two apparent polar opposites, yet to play in a fashion that left those around him in no doubt as to how the music should sound.
In my string pedagogy class at the Hugh Hodgson School of Music at the University of Georgia, we usually start the semester with a reading of the first few chapters of a book by Herbert Whone, The Integrated Violin, which begins by guiding us through a brief understanding of how the ancient Greeks approached education. Once a teacher opens the door to the idea that we should be looking at body, mind, heart and spirit, violin lessons immediately lose that feeling of being rather one-dimensional. A new world of discovery can be introduced to student and teacher alike, as long as both are receptive to the idea that they are there to experience life through music. It then becomes possible for students to discover, or rediscover, the truth about their inner feelings, their instinctive love for music itself, their abilities to think and so decide for themselves, as well as many more virtues involving confidence and communication.
Can we imagine fostering this approach in our students? Why not? Surely the music itself makes these demands of us. When a student approaches Beethoven's String Quartet, op. 132, for example, does the teacher not have a profound duty to introduce matters of religion, spirituality, struggle, philosophy and deep intellectual matters involved in such a masterpiece? We need to stretch our music students far beyond “play in tune and play in time.”
I feel strongly that if teachers think about the implications of all this they will very soon become conscious that their approach to individual students can change or perhaps even save lives. This can been seen in action today through El Sistema in Venezuela and in many other areas of the globe where there are teachers who appreciate that music is not just about rising to the top, but a place where all people are welcome. As a society, we tend to be rather obsessed on competition and results and, despite my apparent personal passion for a more holistic approach to education (blame Socrates), I do actually understand the importance of goals. Many violin students have an honest need to see and understand their own improvements in order to be convinced about their particular level of playing.
But for a brief moment, imagine that there was a way of grading violinists on the richness of their souls, or their abilities to express something personal through a phrase, or even on more specific qualities such as how many colors they produced in a Mozart sonata. When a student is appreciated for something they themselves have discovered, confidence grows in leaps and bounds, which, in turn, can add to that person's feeling of health and happiness. If adopted, this approach would, of course, also transform our whole education system.
My students will tell anyone—perhaps with a sense of exhaustion by now— that my one favorite question is, “What is technique?” Since arriving in the United States in 1989, I have always struggled to come to terms with this question. I had never even truly considered the concept of the separation of music and technique before then. While I discuss bow changes, shifts, tone production, colors, intonation, vibrato and finger placement, I also strive for my students to know their ultimate goal: to clarify a phrase, to let the music breathe with a great sense of timing, to speak through the music with a beautiful voice, or simply to project a story.
Over time, I have come to realize that many students have actually never had to decide what it is they are doing with the violin in their hands. Why are they playing? What do they want? Some years ago I took on an extremely advanced player who started the first lesson by playing Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto for me. It was beautifully presented; very accurate, good strong tone, good timing. But I felt it sounded rather stiff, musically, and, even worse, it was lacking in depth of soul and true personal commitment. So I asked her what she felt about the opening and how did she imagine the audience should feel when the violin ends its first phrase. I will never forget the look of utter bewilderment on her face followed by, “You mean I get to choose?” The lesson was extremely exciting for both of us.
I remember the famous French cellist Paul Tortelier in a master class in the late ‘80s describing what it is that musicians do. “Athlete, poet, painter, architect, sculptor, storyteller, actor, thinker, philosopher,” he recited. The list is clearly rather extensive. Add to that the need to balance the learning of all these activities and incorporate them into a performance and it becomes easy to see how an hour-long lesson may just not be enough time.
Teachers need to find a way to balance technique and music in lessons. We need to balance the involvement of the head and the heart, thinking and feeling. An early memory of mine was playing a charming little piece by Edward Elgar entitled “Mountain Climbing.” It started on an open G in first position, went up two octaves, and then came back down. It was only much later that I realized I had been practicing technique with such imaginative material. Today, I try to have all of my students comprehend that scales and arpeggios can be the most wonderful phrases, to be played with nobility, strength, feeling and color changes. After all, one hopes they would never approach the Beethoven Violin Concerto as if it were a series of bowing and fingering exercises. If a student can play a scale in tune, with a wonderful sense of line, bow distribution, tone, pulse and musical communication, isn't THAT technique?
We should remember that children's natural instincts for learning are also essential facets of being alive. So why do we look around at older students and observe so many of them without much sense of imagination or adventure? Is it their fault, or are they simply products of a society that has forgotten how to nurture these same instincts in playing for fear that something might be out of control or, worse, wrong? We should try to balance the types of music a student learns, from orchestra to chamber music to concerto. We need to balance the learning of scales and studies with that of pieces. Beyond that, I would add that we should balance the way in which those same scales and studies get played.
Many experienced violin teachers remind me that young players need clear and definite instruction as to how to practice. I could not agree more. But these teachers don't always follow through with the courage of their convictions when it comes to musical development and tell students: “Now go home, and, before you play this particular phrase aloud, sing it and write down a story about how it makes you feel. Then play it without thinking and just try to feel your way through it. Paint pictures in your head. Let go of the controls, and do this as a regular part of all your practice sessions. After you have played through, ask yourself if that is how you really imagined it.”
The study of violin can teach all of us so much. Here are 10 specific points to be considered along with Paul Tortelier's artistry list:
Some may ask whether it is even a violin teacher's responsibility to address these questions with their students. All too often I hear a colleague in the field tell me how it is simply their job to give the students the tools with which to play the instrument. It is up to the student to make music. If they are musical it is going to happen anyway, right? Maybe so. But, the truth is many of our students are at that time in their lives when they are not sure what they want, and I, for one, am not prepared to write anyone off based on a false presumption.
Having an understanding of how we can reach violin students psychologically reminds us all that honest encouragement is the essential tool for healthy development. As teachers, we have great power to build and also to destroy. Don't forget that there are many successful professional musicians who were themselves encouraged at the right time by the right person.
In my opinion, the practice of music is the most complete tool available for a broader understanding of life and oneself, and it is the attempt at a mature, balanced approach that makes any lifelong journey of music and learning, music and teaching, so worthwhile and fulfilling. Many have already written off classical music as irrelevant, but I believe nothing could be further from the truth. Those people who teach children that feeling in music is somehow less important than technical excellence are missing the point. When the expectation becomes that practicing the violin should be a celebration of the soul, everyone with any interest in classical music will benefit.
Footnotes
Michael Heald is an associate professor of music at the University of Georgia's Hugh Hodgson School of Music where he teaches violin, chamber music, and string pedagogy. He received his master's and doctorate in violin performance from Michigan State University and his undergraduate diploma in violin from the Royal Northern College of Music, United Kingdom. In addition to his teaching responsibilities, Heald is an active clinician and performer.