I recently held my first mandatory parent orientation. September isn’t the most ideal time to ask parents for yet another hour of their time but I felt it was important (even for the long-timers) to be reminded of their role in their student’s musical education. One point in particular– Your presence matters.
Here is the opening talk from that meeting:
Why are you here? Because more than any other discipline, infusing music into a young life is a family affair. It also requires a unique understanding of what we are trying to accomplish.
My first musical influence was my mother, a bunch of evangelical preachers and southern gospel music. Or to get fancy, improvisational chord work in major keys. My first piano was an out of tune upright at my Aunt’s old plantation house—she kept a John Thompson method book in the bench. I could read; therefore I self-taught from that method book.
I began performing in church and at family weddings around the age of 4. Or rather, I loved being with my dad (and still play hymns for him)—and being the preacher, he was always at church.
By the time I was 7, I regularly played and sang in church and member-oriented events. We never owned a piano. My pianos were provided by God himself (church instruments) and had the distinction of being truly beat-up uprights or beautiful grands (not unlike church members). My dad encouraged my music writing to pair with his sermon themes.
My second musical influence around the age of 10 came from my community— a church member who was a piano teacher. The lessons were free so my parents could afford them. Her old upright was facing a wall, covered in doilies and family photographs. I stayed with her long enough to perform Ode to Joy at recital. Then we moved. But I had learned to read.
The third way music wound it’s way into my life was school band. I played the trumpet. First chair under Mr. Joe. Joe only because he was so dull I can’t remember anything about him. Only that he solidified my ability to truly read music. This was followed by Ms. Looney in performance choir who taught me how to smile through rain, shine or sound equipment mishaps. And All-County Choirs where I learned the importance of sight-reading. (A plug here for School Music Programs. Without them, it’s unlikely I’d have found any musical momentum.)
We lived outside of Gatlinburg so Dolly Parton Entertainment provided local opportunity. By the age of 17, I had a job as a professional performer. This is where I met David—a tiny, eccentric, very flamboyant pianist who taught me that being off rhythm or pitch by even a ½ step will ruin an entire performance. We played rag piano & did pratfalls on the piano benches. There was LaVerne who infused a sense of musical chaos into every thing we did. Music became laughter and physical. Despite their moral disagreements with this din of sin—my parents knew I was growing as a musician.
In college, I came across a puffed up music professor who rejected my choral application on the basis that I was too much of a performer and lacked spiritual depth. I am forever influenced by that 5 minute discussion. I understand that music can be a mask and I never read a student at face value. It was my father who suggested I audition for all the music professors. The professor who did take me in was Dr. M—a director who accepted only perfection from his students. And Dr. B who sang children’s songs with me in dilapidated classrooms in the Ukraine. A professor who never spoke the way regular people did—but whose voice was constant melody. He infused my music with the warmth of low timbers and I still hear his voice when one my own students pushes my limits. I strive to create harmony for them with the tone of my delivery.
My music is a patchwork influences—always with my parents in the audience or encouraging or guiding or listening. And this is what you as parents strive towards with your own student. From early exposure to everyday music to school music programs to musical opportunities in the community to helping your child find the right mentors.
I am only a part of your child’s story. I will become a memory to them—but your presence will forever be vibrant. My father was tone deaf. My mother picked up a few chords on the piano to accompany backwoods choirs. They are the reason music exists in my life today. Not because of their talent but because of their unending presence.
That is why you are here. On a September Saturday morning. Listening to me share with you how to be a musical presence for your child. You matter.
A Music Room 