Boyd Holmes
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Fast and Slow

10/27/2021

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Dear unrelenting music educators,

Sometimes tempo is everything.

One of the things I became cognizant on gigs when I was calling tunes was that you had to have a variety of tempos or blandness sets in. You learn that you always have to keep mixing it up. We called it “push and pull”.

Another thing you learn as an elementary music teacher observing students is that kids like to go fast. Really fast. It doesn't matter if they're on the driving a bumper car, strumming a guitar, or playing their Nintendo switch, they feel the need for speed.

Our society and culture have sped up thanks to technology and the compression of time. “Wall Street’s” fictional character Gordon Gecko’s “Greed is good” is the cliché “time is money” on steroids.

As musicians, we understand the dirty little secret that the general public doesn’t know: that playing slow is much harder than playing fast. Slow exposes a multitude of weaknesses, misunderstandings, faulty technique, and erroneous assumptions in the music.

But for the time being, let's walk away from the instruments and singing and focus on fast and slow in our professional life in the school system.

As musicians were trained to respond in nanoseconds and it's hard not to make a face or say something snarky or catty to a kid or supervisor when they say or do something that defies the limits negativity and we feel they deserve it.

That's the time when we really need to slow down and take a beat.

One of the greatest gifts we can give a kid is not reacting to their behaviors the way their parents do.

A teacher’s response that comes after a pause always carries more weight.

Have you ever noticed in movies that the crucial line is often delivered after a pause? Silence gives weight to what follows it.

An ingrained physical prompt that we can count on will help us put that little space in the moment.

For me, I would put my hands in my pockets.

The other one I did many times was make the sound “Mmmm, mmm, mmm” as in the old Campbell’s soup commercial where they sang “Mmmm, mmm good”. I could make those three short vocal sounds convey any emotion I needed to impart in my classroom. It is a great example of para-linguistics, where what you say is overshadowed by how you say it.

Many times, the best things we can say are these types of non-verbal utterances that carry the weight of our emotion. I made those sounds on other occasions when I was pleased, surprised, or vexed with what a student or class had done.

Another area where you have to be careful with the quality, quantity, alacrity, and severity of your response is when you sit with your supervisor in a post-observation meeting or a year-end cumulative evaluation meeting.


Instead of thing “fast and slow”, think “impulsive and deliberative”.

Simply know that administrators have to find something wrong or something to improve with your work. Their own supervisors demand it of them. The premise is that no one's perfect and that as observers, our supervisors have to be able to give us positive feedback in order for enrichment and improvement.

So if the high score is going to be five, do not expect all fives. Do not wince when you are presented with that four or a three in the meeting.

Practice beforehand saying phrases like that “sounds about right, thank you” or “I was thinking a similar thing after that class you observed.”

It's important not to be confrontational during these meetings.

Back in the day, year-end summaries for observation write-ups were on paper and slid across the table towards you like a new car contract at a meeting with the expectation that you would sign it on the spot.

I learned to say things like “Well, let me take this home tonight and study it because we might want to add some stuff to it to corroborate what you wrote”.

You can delay signing by saying “I'm really fighting a bad headache right now and I'm having a hard time reading so how about if I read this over tonight”.

If there are things in the document that are blatantly false or didn't happen, start making a list.

You are going to have to schedule another meeting with your supervisor and calmly convey that after further examination of the document, you found a few points that were a little off the mark in your estimation. If it's a mistake like you were singing “Are You Sleeping, Brother John?” and your boss called the tune “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”, bring it to their attention but nonchalantly say that it doesn't matter – they can leave it the way it is, it’s not a big deal to you.

Just that single act of willingness to go along with things will buy you miles of support and appreciation from your supervisor.

Whatever you do, make sure if you disagree with something in the final document, notate in the margin with pen “discussed and I disagree” with your initials after it. Hopefully it will never get to that place.

Within the first week after receiving an observation document, respond with an action plan to bring your threes and fours up to fives. Create an action plan. Detail in it how you are going to invite your supervisor back to your classroom to observe measurable improvement in those areas.

This cannot be a baloney document. It's got to have real teeth and meaning if you expect it to work and bringing up your future evaluations.

Eventually, you'll get to a place where I was with many of my post-observation meetings. My administrator basically said “On a scale of one to five everything I saw was a six, what incredible class. I'm at a loss, I have to give you a four in something. Throw me a bone. What do you think would be something good to give you a four in?”

And then I'd say something innocuous like “develop better sight lines in the classroom to cut down on student distractions” or “re-visit new technology advancements and their implications in the music room”.

All these ideas slowly spring from a place of deliberation and not from an impulsive response with snappy answers or quick quips.

There's a time for fast and there's a time for slow.

Don't give your boss the bum's rush in a post-observation meeting. Offer them the benefit of the doubt even, if you don't have a spare one with you at the time.

Understanding fast and slow will enhance your control over situations with both administrators and students.

Try presenting fast music to pump up a tired or listless class and using slow music to bring down tensions, emotions, heartbeats, and respirations. If you are working with severely disabled kids, try watching their nostrils and monitoring their muscle tone to get a more accurate read on what tempos will benefit them. Linking your music’s tempo to a student’s respiration and gently increasing or decreasing your tempo will affect their breathing tempo.

You can do the same in meetings with your supervisors.

Never lose sight of your training: you're trained to be a musical director, a conductor. Subtly change the tempo in your meeting for mutual benefit between you and your administrator and in the end, you'll both be pleased with the results.
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You might even give each other a high five and a standing ovation!
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Things I Miss From My Music Room Days - Number 29

10/27/2021

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Things I Miss From My Music Room Days - Number 28

10/27/2021

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Things I Miss From My Music Room Days - Number 27

10/25/2021

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​Pavlov’s Cat

10/25/2021

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Don’t be Pavlov’s cat.

If nothing else, be memorable.
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Things I Miss From My Music Room Days - Number 26

10/20/2021

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Finding Your Voice.

10/20/2021

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As musicians, we often call it “finding our voice”.

Other people describe it as finding their calling.

Some say hitting their groove.

The phrase “self-actualization” has been appropriated as well.

I was fortunate. I found my first voice when I was in elementary school. I mean, I didn’t just find it. I nailed it.

I wasn’t looking for it. It found me.

As a musician, finding your voice is critical.

It transcends technique. It doesn’t require vocabulary, a degree, or a teacher. It relies on intuition and can be lost as easily as it can be found.

The day you find it is like another birthday.

  
As a musician standing in front of a room full of kids, if you haven't found your voice, it's really impossible for you to provide any guidance to help them find their voice.

As Harvey McKay once said, “Beware the naked man who offers you the shirt off his back.”

Oh, you’ll be able to teach a lot of music product. Interesting facts, complex theories, speed and dexterity.

But if you don’t find your voice, it’s all just so much aural posturing and posing.

Oscar Wilde said that people could be divided into two groups: charming and tedious.

I believe that it’s actually three groups: people who find their voice, people who find multiple voices, and people – for whatever reason – who do not find their voice.

I fall into the second category.

(For the record, I have heard many talented, photogenic, and efficacious musicians who have yet to find their voice. They can perform extremely complex and athletic music.  Finding your voice is not a prerequisite for success. That said, I have heard many third graders who have found their voice.)

The first voice I found was my singing voice. As a little kid, I was singing all the time, usually by myself or with the radio, and especially in church.

I didn’t even realize that I had found my singing voice nor did anyone tell me that they heard it. I assumed that everyone was the same. You breath, you talk, you sing.

I thought everyone could do it.

I had great range, could match vibrato with any recoded singer, and could memorize long Paul Desmond alto sax solos and scat them perfectly.

The first voice I tried to find was my piano voice. I was basically trying to replicate the melodies that I was singing, only now using my fingers on the keyboard. I wasn't too worried about harmony, just melody. It was all linier.

Like I said, I tried. I was on the right path but far from where I wanted to be on piano.

And spare me the “it’s a journey, not a destination” platitudes. I didn’t give a damn about the journey, the cost, the shoe leather – at the age of ten, I would have bequeathed anything to understand the mysteries of the piano. I wanted to get there. I wanted to arrive.

By fourth grade I moved on to trying to find my voice on the trumpet.

The first few months on trumpet were exceptionally ugly given that I couldn't figure out the overtime system and that my buck teeth kept cutting into my lips and creating a cerise tide pouring out of my spit valves. I could hear my parents futile attempts at stifling their laughter downstairs when I practiced in my room.

But as I matured through junior high, I did find my voice on trumpet.

I was figuring out solos by Louis Armstrong, Bix Beiderbecke, Chet Baker, Snooky Young, Thad Jones, and Herb Alpert trumpet parts. Eight measures here, eight measures there.

It adds up.

I was able to copy on trumpet what I sang and visa versa.

When I wasn’t playing trumpet but was thinking about my trumpet tone, I heard it in darker shades rather than brighter ones, which didn't help with a lot of classical approaches in college.

High school was a turnaround time for me. It was a time of huge discovery in finding my voice.

The instrument where it all clicked was double bass.

Now, I was abysmal as far as a classical technique. But I put in the hours with bowing and started to hear the sound that morphed the sound in my head with a sound I had never experience before.

I was beyond the sound I heard in my head.

Pizzicato.

I didn’t know it at the time but what I had discovered was “the pocket”, that magical place where notes exist in time.

When I started playing jazz and pop stuff on upright, it was like a musical denouement . All the parts of the puzzle came together – including piece I had never known existed before -  and I was putting the right notes in the exact right places for me.

While I had experience similar sensations singing, this had a more mature inevitability about it, as if I was meant to play these notes at these exact times and places. There was a momentum to my playing, a visualizing of the notes and lines when I wasn’t playing as much as when I was.

It was something I had never previously experienced.

That newly found confidence expanded like compounded interest. It affected my trumpet and piano playing. It influenced everything else I was trying for the first time in music at that point of my life.

Especially orchestrating and composing.

My vision was becoming vertical as well as linier.

I had started to study scores. String quartets, symphonies, jazz charts, Broadway orchestrations -  by dissecting the printed pages of other composers and getting an idea of how they found their voices, I was able to start to find my own on manuscript paper.  With each pathological autopsy, I was getting a better understanding of how the sum of the parts created the whole.

I didn’t play electric bass or guitar until I graduated from college.

I had my double bass background to keep me grounded on the electric. So many electric bassists are frustrated guitar players and have a tendency to treat the bass part as one big opportunity to solo or constantly embellish (the brits call it wanking off). I was grounded in jazz and knew how to stay in my lane and sonically on my shelf.

The last voice I found was on guitar. It took me fifteen years and thousands of hours of playing and practice time.

Don’t get me wrong. I was playing guitar all the time at school and on gigs. I had a sound in my head, though, that I wasn’t finding.

It took a lot of time and I sometimes thought it would never be like it was when I was playing double bass.

But I found that guitar voice and, in another post, I’ll tell the story of why that voice was so elusive for so long.

By now, you realize that my approach is that of a polymath in a specialist’s clothing. I put in Malcom Gladwell’s 10,000 hours at an early age but oddly realized that when I found my voice, it told me to continue looking for others. Without going all Siggy Freud on you, that could have been the subtle product of being an only child looking for someone to sing with.

In my small child’s world, one voice became a duet became a trio until I came to the realization that I didn’t have a single voice or several multiple voices: I had a chorus of voices, each with its own particular role and strength to support and amplify the sound I heard in my head before I ever made a sound outside of my body.

To this day, all the music I play, sing, or write is just an amplification of that sound in my head - that first voice.
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In the end, your voice finds you.
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More on finding your vice in future posts.
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Things I Miss From My Music Room Days - Number 25

10/19/2021

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Things I Miss From My Music Room Days - Number 24

10/18/2021

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Things I Miss From My Music Room Days - Number 23

10/15/2021

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    Boyd Holmes, the Writer
    musician, composer, educator, and consultant


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