The Sound of Music
Written By Rani Arbo
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How does a musician mom get her toddler in tune with the joy of making music? She puts down her fiddle, grabs a plastic drum, and joins him in a beginners' class.
My 2 1/2-year-old son, Quinn, is the victim of an uncommon affliction: two parents who make music for a living. The poor kid has averaged one U.S. state for every month of his life and has endured countless rehearsals, shows, and babysitters. He likes to set up Dad's drum set, which is charming. My husband and I have been making music with him since the day he was born. Did we hope he'd learn to love it? Of course. Has he? That depends entirely on the packaging.
Here's a snapshot of our living room on one rainy afternoon:
"Put the fiddle down," Quinn orders.
"What if I play a really fast song?" I offer. "And you can dance?"
"No fiddle. No guitar!" he escalates, stalling my arm on its hopeful way.
"Do you want to sing?" "No singing. Help Froggy watch me play with trains."
I give in without argument. Half an hour later, Quinn flashes me a coy grin and says, "Should we make music?"
Moral of the afternoon: Let him run the band. Ditch the fiddle, which perhaps to Quinn plays only one song: "Mom Is Working." Watch him, copy him, lob him ideas — but do not make him put his fingers over the holes in the recorder. Find a way (how?) to play music with Quinn and let him own it. Find help.
A music class, I thought, might be the tonic we both needed. Not an instrument-centered one, like the classical cello lessons I'd slogged to beginning at age 7. (The best thing about those days was that on the way to music school my mom and I passed a bakery that made a mean raspberry jelly doughnut — my reward for hauling my cello five New York City blocks every week.) Quinn was way too young for formal lessons; without a longer attention span and basic music skills, he'd just be frustrated. Instead, I thought we'd try one of those folksy classes I'd been hearing about ever since I became a mom: playful, no-pressure sessions that partner kids 5 and under with their parents for music and movement.
Friends had shared good reports on local teachers of both Kindermusik and Music Together, the two big national programs; unfortunately, I'd also heard some of the take-home CDs at playdates, and frankly, they terrified me. Much of the music was alarmingly twinkly, with wobbly sopranos, glockenspiels, and lots of barking, chirping, and meowing. The songs themselves, however, weren't so bad (it's hard to argue with "Li'l Liza Jane"), and I was up for anything new: new music, new space, new kids, new moms, new teacher, new ideas. In a leap of faith, I signed us up for both Kindermusik and Music Together classes. What can I say? I like music. Opening Notes
We were late for our first Kindermusik class, so I carried Quinn into the community center. We were greeted by the teacher and half a dozen mothers with children on their laps, tapping knees and singing a melodious "Hello" song. I thought it was lovely, but Quinn clung to me and refused to let me sit down, so we stood to the side until the song ended. "Take your time," said Mrs. Tresner, a 17-year teaching veteran. "He'll join when he's ready."
She then launched into a song about a train called the Allee-Allee-O and invited the kids to hop, fly, and tiptoe down the tracks. This was too much for Quinn to resist; he slithered from my arms and started flapping his wings, and we were on board the "Zoo Train" (the name of the class). The hour flowed easily; Mrs. Tresner picked up on suggestions and signals from the kids at every turn. She'd mimic an 18-month-old's hand gesture and say, "Oh, let's fly, then," or take a cue from Quinn's manic stomping to call for a hippopotamus march. Occasionally, she'd divulge a hidden motive. "We're working on developing a steady beat here," she said to the parents, "and an understanding of fast and slow tempos."
Like most Kindermusik classes, ours included kids in a relatively narrow age range, from 18 months to 3 years. Overtly, the kids ignored each other, and they didn't talk or sing much. But under Mrs. Tresner's invisible wand, they moved in unison like an elaborate toddler symphony, rioting and quieting by turns — moms in tow. Second Movement
Arriving at Music Together, we saw a familiar sight: Our young teacher, Carrie, sat cross-legged in a circle of mothers dandling children on their laps. This time, however (and in defiance of statistical odds, since Music Together classes mix ages from birth through 4), the kids were all babies. So this class was quieter and more halting. For starters, the moms were managing babies, not 2-year-olds, so they weren't making such wonderful fools of themselves. And the babies were, well, babies; while Carrie beat her red drumsticks enthusiastically on the floor, the babies mostly sucked on theirs.
As a result, Quinn's attention wandered mightily. He ran around, investigated the pipe organ by the door, climbed on me, and paid no heed to Carrie's choreography. I didn't push him — after all, the whole point of being there was to sidestep that. I let him ignore what didn't interest him (such as repeating tonal and rhythm patterns, dancing in any sort of organized fashion, following directions in general). And I noticed that he always came around for what did interest him: a favorite song, the mountain of free-play instruments, putting the instruments away (which he did with the ritual of a Japanese tea ceremony), and, surprisingly, lying down for the lullaby.
Still, I worried whether Quinn's attention span would last the summer. Luckily, a bewitching 5-year-old with blond ringlets and very pink dresses joined her baby sister in class. Quinn copied her every move. From Chorus to Harmony
By the time our classes were over, Quinn and I had gathered a bevy of new songs and games, and our musical relationship at home had deÞnitely improved. I was allowed to sing at times other than bedtime, and Quinn occasionally joined in. I stopped feeling dorky about being a pared-down (and far less proper) version of Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins. We spun the CDs regularly over breakfast, and when Quinn grinned like a madman (plastered with cereal) at the first strains of a favorite song, I forgave every twinkle. We dove into our instrument basket more often, with more creative results. Quinn even put on "shows," with Froggy and company in rapt attendance.
Time and again I was reminded of the biggest lesson of the summer: What hooked Quinn about music class had nothing, overtly, to do with music. It was, instead, the hour of my undivided attention. It was getting to be his 2 1/2-year-old self, with Mom at his heels, playing along.
I've since checked out a couple of other national early childhood music programs, and here's my conclusion: Given a good teacher, even a picky parent can't go wrong with any of them, since all are based largely on the same golden rules.
One: Children can learn to sing in tune and keep a beat, given the right environment.
Two: You are your child's most important music teacher, and your home is the aforementioned key environment.
Three: The best music instruction is tucked gently around the edges of a playful experience that lets kids be kids.
Last week, at home recovering from a 1,500-mile band tour of Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming, Quinn crawled onto a living room chair, picked up his tiny guitar, and began strumming and shouting "No More Pie," one of his favorite tracks on the Music Together CD. He wailed away, out of time and out of tune (since tuning pegs are the guitar's main attraction), and didn't stop or protest when I joined in. This CD is getting good play around here these days. But what I'm really hoping to spin, in the end, is an idea I'd love Quinn to keep in his heart: that music is wildly fun, it's good for the soul — and it's all yours, baby. Ready to Sign Up?
The most important thing about music class is the teacher, not the curriculum. And there may be a fantastic music teacher doing her own thing at your library or working through Parks and Rec. So gather some parent reviews, ask questions (age limit and groupings, schedule, cost), even sample a class.
For more information about the four most widely available early childhood music programs, go to their websites:
kindermusik.com
musictogether.com
themusicclass.com
melodyhounds.com
You'll hear lots of fiddle and not even a hint of glockenspiel when Rani Arbo plays with her band, daisy mayhem. Their third CD is due out in June from Signature Sounds.
