Making a Musician: Musical Identity in the Classroom
A musician is…
- a person that makes music
- someone who plays music
- someone who works with music
- a person that studies music
- a person who makes their own music and performs it
- a person that loves music
…according to my students, that is. I surveyed a small cross-section of my student body—ages three to eleven—and asked them about musicianship and their musical identities. It was a casual survey, entirely unscientific, so I can’t vouch for the generalizability of the results. That said, I was able to illuminate some patterns of thinking that exist in my school community, giving me an opportunity to reflect on the big-picture messaging and efficacy of my teaching as I wrap up my master’s coursework.
My students found a lot of different ways to define “musician.” Many were focused on performance: “plays an instrument,” “sings,” or both. Some placed more value on profession and training, categorizing a musician as “a person that studies music,” “works with music,” “is really good at playing music,” and “might make music for a living.” One child based their judgement on composition (“makes their own music and performs it”), and two noted common personality traits of musicians (“funny” and “cool”). The youngest child I surveyed hadn’t heard of a musician before. “What is a musician?” I asked him. “Um… I can’t say…” he said.
I was also curious to know who first came to mind for my students when I asked them to name a musician. There were a handful of popular musicians: Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Freddie Mercury, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, and Elvis (named, excitingly, by a kindergartner). One young Suzuki-trained cellist mentioned Schumann, and a six-year-old tentatively explained that the animated character Daniel Tiger did make music from time to time. A few students named people they know personally: “Mark” (a teacher at the school) and “my dad.” Two kids—yay!—named themselves. Most remarkably, though, eight out of the twenty-two students I surveyed named me, their music teacher, as the first musician that came to their mind. I’m sure they were biased by the fact that I delivered the survey, but even so, it served as an excellent reminder that the quality of my own musicianship matters to my students. As a recorder instructor once reminded me, I am the best singer, recorder player, folk dancer, et cetera that many of my students know. They will base their interpretations of music on my own musical behaviors, so I have an obligation to demonstrate strong, thoughtful musicianship at all times.
In the second half of my survey, I asked students five questions about their own relationships with music. “Do you like music?” All twenty-two students, as well as the five teachers that I surveyed for good measure, answered yes. “Do you listen to music?” All but one student answered yes, but even that one student’s negative answer was contradicted by his sister, who insists that they listen to music in the car every day. “Do you make music?” This question gave many participants pause. Ten students said yes, five said no, and six said “sometimes” or “sometimes at my house.” Up until this point in the survey, I had remained relatively unsurprised by the answers I received, but this one stumped me. I know for a fact that all of my students make music; they do it in my classroom weekly! “Is music important to you?” Three were unsure—“kinda,” “sometimes,” “middle”—and the rest resounding yeses. Finally: “Are you a musician?” Eight yeses, five unsures, nine heartbreaking nos. Even one of the students that said “yes” felt the need to diminish herself: “I am but I don't do it like a job, I just sing.”
As I reflect on these survey results, I am left with several questions. How is it possible that so many of them don’t believe they make music? Is there something about music-class music that feels different to them, perhaps less legitimate? Which classroom activities do they view as more or less “musical”? Do they attach differing levels of legitimacy to popular, classical, and music-class music? If they do, why are they able to identify me as a musician, but not themselves? Our school has had a rich performing arts culture since its founding, made all the more expansive and welcoming (in my opinion, at least) by my recent institution of an Orff-based, Montessori-inspired curriculum. My students sing in groups and on their own; play pitched and unpitched instruments; do folk dances and finger plays; read and write rhythms; experiment with thoughtful, informed creative movement; seek opportunities for dramatic and musical storytelling; and use their own artistic judgement both to make quick decisions and to inspire long-term creative projects. They constantly astound me with their musicianship and passion for the arts. Why can’t they see that?
I imagine that some of my students’ preconceived notions about music—the ones that I’d like them to unlearn, or at the very least add to—come from other musical experiences in their lives. After all, while I am my students’ designated music teacher, they interact with and learn about music in countless other ways. It seems to me that, for my students, one of the main deciding factors as to whether someone is a musician is their level of productivity and perceived success. I see this in the musicians they named, the two most common answers being a popular musician or myself. Taylor Swift and I are both musicians, but we engage with this identity very differently; our main similarity is that we are both paid to make music. Olivia Rodrigo writes, records, and performs music; I teach music and, in doing so, write and perform it as well. Freddie Mercury sang about love, death, and the human condition in a rock band; I sing about birds, fruits, and the sun with a ukulele, guitar, or pair of bass xylophone mallets in hand. And all of us were named as musicians. So maybe the issue is not that my students don’t see music-class music as legitimate; instead, it is that they do not see themselves as legitimate musicians—not as legitimate as me.
How can I break this habit of thinking in my students? It is true that I am supposed to be a model, and that I am technically more skilled than my students in some areas. But my training is not meant to elevate me above them; it is only meant to inform my teaching as I guide them through musical experiences. I do pride myself on empowering my students. I make a point of encouraging them to be independent thinkers, giving them creative outlets, and allowing them to bend the rules for the sake of good art. I welcome feedback on my teaching and suggestions for future activities. When their performance ideas are outside the scope of what we can accomplish in a given time period, I explain why, but when their ideas fit, I change the show to add them. We are not quite equals—I don’t feel that I can ensure a quality music education if I completely hand them the reins—but we are certainly collaborators. Despite my best intentions, though, I do often place my own musical judgement above theirs. On a few occasions, as my Elementary II students and I prepare for their spring showcase, I have challenged them to build the form of a piece themselves. Each time, I became overwhelmed at how long it was taking, how much tension it created in my classroom, and I gave up. I made the form myself, and while I did use some of their ideas, the messaging was clear: “I am better at designing forms than you.” This is a weakness of my teaching brought on by tight scheduling; as I look towards the next school year, I plan to leave space to pause in these moments, and to support my students as they create musical pieces all on their own, no matter how long it takes.
Actions often speak louder than words, but words are important, too. I wonder if some intentional, open discussion about music and musicianship might benefit my students. I am reminded of the three-year-old who didn’t know what a musician was. When I asked him if he made music, he didn’t place any limits on what that might mean. Instead, he gave me an example. “I can do this,” he said, and then sang, “Old broken down pickup truck…” Shortly afterwards, I asked him if he was a musician, and he smiled proudly as he told me that he was. It took about one minute of conversation for him to take on an identity that he had not previously understood. What if my students and I were to have this conversation over the course of the school year, or even several years? We could explore what music really is, what it can be, and what we want or expect it to look like in our classroom. We could rewrite the definition of “musician,” ensuring that it applied to each one of us, and we could base our own standards of effort and energy on that definition.
I suppose it’s only fair if I answer the opening question myself. “A musician is a person that makes music.” I think this is the definition that I would have given if someone had asked me before I embarked on this project. I like the open-endedness of “makes”; it leaves room for any type of creative musical activity, from singing, playing an instrument, or performing in general to improvising, composing, or producing. With an expanded conceptualization of music itself, “make music” could also capture movement and dramatic play, whether organized or creative, rhythmic or free-flowing. Even so, the definition is missing something. One of the teachers I surveyed said that a musician is “a creative, out-of-the-box thinker that sees the world differently, hears the world differently, and can see and reach beyond words.” I love the fluidity of this definition, so broad that it doesn’t even say the word “music.” Much more succinctly, a third grader wrote, “A musician is someone that loves music.” Isn’t that all it really takes? Not study, ability, or capitalist achievement, but simply a dedication to and passion for music. If you ask me, a musician is a person who brings music into the world. A musician is a person with music under their skin. A musician has access to music and can choose to give it to other people. A musician has music in their back pocket. A musician has found a way to fill their heart with art, and they seek that art out again and again. A musician is affected by a special type of joy. A musician is anyone who wants to be a musician, and a musician is anyone who sets foot in my classroom.