Abstract
“…” “Lil’ Darlin’” (piano solo section) Performed by William James “Count” Basie (1904–1984) Composed and arranged by Neil Hefti (1957) Lyrics by Jon Hendricks (1958) Appears on The Atomic Mr. Basie, Roulette Records (1958)
Ahh, summer. I do love this time of year. I’m sure I’m not alone. Like all professional educators, music teachers spend their spring seasons managing a sea storm of culminating activities. Parent meetings, updating inventories, proctoring final exams, so many items to check off your end-of-year to-do lists. But these things are all behind you now, aren’t they? Your last April concert is a million miles away, budget reconciliations have been submitted, even the mystery surrounding that missing alto saxophone has been solved (it had been on the school bus the entire time, of course!). Grades are entered, computers are darkened, and the school building is blissfully empty.
I always enjoyed the natural pause of the summer months. Unlike the way teaching is sometimes portrayed in the media, I never considered this interim to be some sort of paid vacation from our teaching duties. Rather, much like the seasons in the natural world, the summer break serves a crucial function in the yearly professional teaching cycle—an equal partner to the excited newness of the fall semester, the hard work of the dark winter, and the frazzled silliness of the spring. The summer interim isn’t an escape. It is a seasonal period of rejuvenation and restoration. It is a time to reflect on the successes (and failures) of the prior year and a time to adjust as needed for the start of the upcoming cycle. Firefighters and policehumans are not just paid hourly wages for the time they spend spraying down brush fires or directing traffic. They are paid salaries because they must be able to spring into action when the call comes. Similarly, teachers are not nine-month hourly employees who are paid only when we work with students. We are year-long salaried employees who are paid to be prepared to teach as the need arises. We are not paid for our actions; we are paid to maintain our readiness to act. The summer hiatus is needed to maintain our level of preparation.
Part of summer’s preparation is looking forward as well as backward. Developing curricula in a music classroom is always an ever-changing process. What new trends are emerging? What musicals or marching band arrangements are hot right now? Should I try du-de rhythm syllables instead of takadimi? Are there new software updates or guitar stompboxes on the horizon? What new policies will be enacted by our administration or lawmakers that we will need to account for? There is an analogy here as we emerge from the temporary state of hypervigilant pandemic readiness that accompanied the early days of 2020 to “the new normal.” Zoom meetings, masking, social-distancing concerns, and vaccine boosters are likely here to stay in some form or another, as are the (sometimes heated) discussions surrounding whether or not such measures are appropriate. We are called during this period to integrate the old into the new. All art, even the art of teaching, thrives in these modulations, sometimes in surprising ways.
To illustrate, in 2022, The Atlantic magazine published an online opinion piece titled “Is Old Music Killing New Music?” Ted Gioia, author and pop culture commentator, pulled data from music analytics firm MRC Data to make an interesting case about the state of the music industry—namely, that the recursive and algorithmically driven system was no longer interested in or able to promote innovative musical trends. New musicians were having difficulty breaking past a system that favored sounds and songs that had previously demonstrated monetary value, leading to a landscape of increasingly homogeneous aural inoffensiveness shoved into the very peak of the populist bell curve. Instead of investing in new artists, labels, or bands, the music industry was spending its capital on purchasing, repurposing, and monetizing the catalogs of older musicians that they knew people already liked. Like, really old . . . like David Bowie old. Ancient by today’s pop culture standards.
As it turns out, our current generation of students, “Generation Alpha,” seems to love this trend. This was a surprise for me to discover at first, given that we older folks have been encouraged for some time to believe that younger students are somehow all radical futurists who, by definition, are fed up with the “old ways” and disenfranchised by the type of music that might otherwise be considered traditional or classical. As it turns out, Generation Alpha seems to be seeking out the icons of earlier years, idols for whom longevity equates to authenticity. It may be that the views held by middle-age radical futurists are themselves becoming passé. We may have reached a point where it is no longer cool or desirable to disavow the old forms simply because they are those that came before, nor are novel approaches to teaching or art to be lauded simply because they are new. Perhaps Generation Alpha’s desire to connect with the past shouldn’t come as such a shock. The post-digital-native student population has been bombarded with transient micro fads the length of TikTok videos for nearly a decade. It is probably no wonder they are starved for a bit of artistic stability.
Longevity and transition have been on my mind of late because this column and the issue it precedes represent my final farewell to you from the Academic Editor’s desk. It has been an honor and a delight to be able to offer my voice and assistance from behind the scenes, but like any good solo, there comes a natural endpoint. After over a decade of involvement on the editorial boards of the Music Educators Journal, I now hand the reins over to my esteemed colleague Doug Orzolek, who will almost certainly spend the first few weeks just trying to decipher my handwriting. I also leave you in the extremely capable hands of Juliet Hess, who has done an exceptional job curating our Equity columns. I owe these two tremendous thanks for both their past service and for their efforts to come. Diversity, equity, and inclusion have been on our collective minds, as evidenced by the number of submissions that have come to our desk exploring these themes. Both Doug and Juliet are content experts in these matters and will be shepherding a Special Focus Issue to your mailboxes in due course. Finally, I want to thank the tireless and always amusing Chief Editor for NAfME publications, Ella Wilcox, for her guidance, good spirits, ability to “lightly buff” pieces into shape, and overall skill at keeping the trains running on time. For my part, I shall hop into the back seat for spell and take a short breather. There has been a whole lot of life that’s happened over the past two years.
So, what then for you, fellow educators? Summer is a time for reflection, renewal, and regrowth. There are so many options for what you can do with your summer breaks now that (at the time of writing) masking requirements are easing! Maybe today you’ll casually stroll by your room to restock your mini-refrigerator and replace your whiteboard markers. You could register for a professional development course or two or maybe take advantage of the only time all year when there are no lines at the photocopier. (Oh, who am I kidding? There are always lines at the photocopier.)
Then again, maybe you’ll do none of those things. Teachers sometimes have difficulty taking breaks, especially music teachers for whom long hours, exhaustion, and self-sacrifice are normalized. There is an underlying belief that if we aren’t awake grading performance exams at midnight every day of the week while simultaneously running three summer camps that we are terrible educators. Anything short of being the sort of inspirational fictional hero figure Hollywood could make a movie out of is tantamount to a personal failing. Challenge this notion. I am not advocating laziness or shirking your responsibilities, but you signed on to be a teacher, not a martyr. In class, we spend so much time maintaining musical balance, ensuring that no section, no part, no individual overtakes any other. Why would it be acceptable to allow such imbalance in our professional/personal lives?
It is all right to pause for a moment. To breathe. If music has taught us nothing else, it has demonstrated the importance of a rest.
So maybe, just maybe, this summer you will decide to dedicate your summer break to yourself for a change. Taking the time to refill your compassion tank is the sign of a good, proactive educator, not a failed one. You will be more able to connect, engage, and spark joy with those in your charge when you are content.
I extend my best wishes to you, fellow educators. I’ll see you all in line at the photocopier in the fall.