Michael Joviala

Tag: selected feature articles

  • Freedom and Control

    When I work with Dalcroze teachers-in-training, the most frequent question I ask them is, “What are you teaching?” It’s easy to confuse what we are teaching (music) with how we are teaching it (Dalcroze teaching strategies). For most teaching situations, the goal of the class shouldn’t be Dalcroze teaching techniques like follows or quick reactions; it should be a musical goal like experiencing simple triple meter or syncopation. I named the blog (“Musical Subjects”) after this concept to help myself remember what my job—when I’m not training teachers— actually is: teaching music. But at the end of this school year I noticed myself pulling at the harness, and so I allowed myself (um, my other self) to loosen the reins. This took on two quite different forms in two different classes.

    In my 5–7-year-old class, I used a scenario about inhabitants of far-flung islands who don’t yet know that other islands and people exist. The children each demonstrate how they move in their world, gradually discover each other, and come together to learn about each other’s culture, which can involve things like flag making, pageants, peace anthems and musical and dance performances. (Yes, I’m creating the actual world I want to see. I can dream, can’t I?)

    I usually tie the different islands to specific rhythms. For example, if my subject is compound meter (like 6/8 or 12/8) ,one island may be the beat (i.e., dotted quarter notes), another is the division (groups of three eighth notes), another the long-short skipping pattern (quarter-eighth) intrinsic to compound meter, and so on. Students would move their assigned rhythms as the sun came up on their island, as indicated by what they hear me play. They would come together to form combination rhythm patterns as they discovered each other. Their ‘flags’ would be large notecards with their rhythms printed on them.

    But as I was teaching it this time, I suddenly dropped all of that and let the kids completely decide how they wanted to move. When it came time for ‘flags’, I let them create their own with crayons and paper. Though I definitely influenced their choices by the music I played to match their movement, I wanted them to feel ownership and agency in the direction the story took. We all improvised together at the end, each child with their own unique percussion instrument. I told them that after the islanders encountered each other, they decided to play so that they could hear each individual instrument well. They succeeded, much to my delight. The girl playing the finger cymbal let it ring instead of playing it as fast and loud as she could. This let us hear another child’s simple soft beat on the drum as well as another’s gentle repeating pattern on the xylophone. It needed little intervention from me once I decided that it was okay that the sounds they were making weren’t going to fit neatly onto a rhythm grid. If I were evaluating a student teacher, I might have been critical of this, but they were making their own music, not ‘teacher music’. Maybe their rhythmic inclinations did not align perfectly with my curriculum—but it was authentically and undeniably theirs. Of course, rhythmic precision and clarity are indeed essential musicals skill to learn. But who am I to say that the kids must do this all the time? The most important thing was that the kids were really aware of and listening to each other. That’s not a theoretical musical topic like beat and division, but it is an essential musical skill. I don’t think the result would have been the same in a lesson focused on an exclusive set of rhythm patterns.

    In another class, I went the opposite way: from creative freedom to more structure and accountability. These kids are older (3rd—5th grade), and they’ve spent quite a bit of time with ‘loose reins’ this year. We’ve done our share of straight nuts-and-bolts Dalcroze exercises, but have also done a lot of freer, exploratory improvisation as these kids seemed to really respond to that type of work. Over the year, engagement has been up and down, and the group lately has been a bit cliquish. So instead of planning a precise lesson with sequenced events, I gave them a practice list of things to figure out and perform, such as dissociations (hands, say, do one rhythm and feet do another), conducting patterns to execute, and rhythmic systems to move (such as stepping a rhythmic pattern with divisions that change position in each measure).

    I demonstrated each one and asked them to practice one thing with someone else, making sure they partnered at least once with every person in the group. I expected some resistance, but to my surprise, they were completely into this. One girl who had seemed intimidated by the older girls all year left the room with a big grin. Although my main goal was breaking down the social barriers that kids this age are prone to, I realized it also tied into the essential musical skill of collaboration: orchestra members must find a way to work with their stand partners; a comping jazz pianist should support the harmonic choices of the soloist, for example.

    Typical Dalcroze classes are focused on a single subject, and we aim to let the subject unfold so that, as much as possible, students discover what they need to learn on their own. At our best, the lessons gradually unfold, building skills and understanding in an artful way. But in this class I just dumped a bunch of stuff onto the table and let them work on their own. It seemed to bring them closer together and make them more independent. My takeaway from this is to question the value of any kind of rigidity, orthodoxy or dogma. There can be a time for freedom and a time for control. And given the state of the world at the moment, that may be even more important than building musical skill and understanding.

    I was also reminded that my teaching is not always about the kids; it’s often about me. I needed to loosen up my own expectations about what a class should contain, about what constitutes ‘good teaching’. I wouldn’t have given either class in a public demonstration. If a student teacher taught similarly for a teaching exam, I wouldn’t have passed them. But I realized I needed to listen not just to the kids, but to myself. What do I need this week? What will prevent me from going through the motions of a lesson I know will ‘work’? I think our students, especially when they are children, respond well to us when we are being true to ourselves. They can certainly sense when we are not.

  • Invisible Subjects

    Sometimes, to see the whole, we need to look at the parts. But suppose some of the parts are difficult to see? This is one of the things that makes Dalcroze education so notoriously hard to describe.

    In one sense, the curriculum for the Dalcroze classes I teach is very straightforward. The list contains things you might find in any music theory, musicianship or ear-training course: rhythm subjects like beat, meter, duration, syncopation; for advanced students, maybe more eccentric topics, such as polyrhythm, polymeter, metric transformation and metric modulation. We also study pitched subjects like harmony, intervals, tonality and scales. For non-professional students (which includes children and most amateur adults), this is usually the reason they are there: to gain experience and understanding of music through the study of these elements.


    Most professional musicians or music teachers have already acquired a thorough understanding of this curriculum if they have gone to music school. Rather than wanting to learn music theory, they often come to a Dalcroze class to reconnect with parts of their musical selves they may have lost. Those who teach might wish to be able to connect more deeply with their students. Others are drawn to the work by its promise to strengthen areas that are not specific to music, but which good music-making requires: mental flexibility, the ability to function well in a group, a strong memory, excellent focus and concentration, expressivity as well as an active imagination and the ability to access it easily. There are also physical elements such as body awareness (both internally and in its relationship to other bodies in space and time), coordination and economy of movement that are addressed in a Dalcroze class. Professional musicians must spend long hours isolated in a practice room, and so often find the social interaction a powerful corrective. You won’t find these kinds of things in the curriculum of any traditional music theory course, nor do they appear on my own syllabus, but most would agree they are key ingredients for excellent musical performance, and they are what make a Dalcroze class a Dalcroze class.


    I can divide everything I teach into two categories. Category 1 can contain everything that is specific to music: rhythm, harmony, melody, form, etc. These items are the ostensible subjects of the lessons: a class on compound meter rhythm patterns, for example, or an exploration of functional harmony. Category 2 will have everything that is not specific to music, but that promotes optimal human functioning: things like adaptability, expressivity, imagination and cooperative skills. I constantly switch my focus between these two categories as I teach, even if I am only dimly aware of it in the moment. There is a kind of tension or dialogue between the two that I think may be common to all conscientious teaching of almost anything. When I can remember to place equal value on them both, these two ends of the magnet keep me oriented, even though category 2 elements are not the explicit “subject of the day”.

    Having recently become more aware of this, I noticed myself switching to category 2 at crucial times. For example:


    When children aren’t interested in the musical elements

    Children, especially young children, often aren’t directly interested in the mechanics of music-making (category 1). It is hard to motivate a 4-year-old to swing her arms on beat one of a four-beat measure just by asking her to do so, but ridiculously easy when she is a giant chopping down a tree to build a house. I can even get her to change tempos as the giant gets tired or as the tree begins to fall. Why? Her imagination is engaged (category 2).


    When activities aren’t working effectively for social reasons

    This can be as simple as a child becoming angry because he did not get the color scarf he wanted. He pouts or starts to cry, and I know that he needs to work with feeling disappointment, again category 2. If I remember that category 2 items are as important as category 1, I am more patient with him, knowing that he is learning exactly what he needs to learn. Unfortunately, the adults who accompany the child may become embarrassed or upset by his behavior, compounding the problem! I want to tell them (and sometimes do!) “Don’t worry, your child is learning about himself. That’s why we are here!”


    When professional musicians have only an intellectual understanding of the musical subject

    When I first came to Dalcroze as the product of a musical conservatory, I was desperate for category 2. I already knew the theory (or at least thought I did), but lacked physical coordination, connection to others and easy access to my musical imagination. Sometimes adult musicians and teenagers are resistant to expressive movement. When I see this I recognize myself. I needed a great deal of time to dissolve the barriers between my intellectual understanding and the physical realization of music, which seemed like a great risk to me at the time. When I am at my best, I can remember that it may be enough for a stiffly, awkwardly moving student to be merely accurate (category 1), knowing that with time their movement will exhibit more flow, grace and ease (category 2). When I am not at my best, I forget how vulnerable expressive movement can make us feel. I find myself pushing the students, or—much worse—taking disengagement personally. At these times I must become the student. Of course, it’s always me I’m becoming frustrated with, my own inability to be expressive, my own discomfort with my body. I have plenty more to learn from category 2.

    When things aren’t going well in the classroom, I first check category 1. Is the material too difficult, or too easy? If so, I can simply dial the level of difficulty up or down. The symptoms of this problem can be disguised as category 2 issues. Children unable to physically execute something that is too hard may begin to “act out” or “disrupt” (with or without “scare quotes”). So often the diagnosis will come from category 2. Maybe their imaginations are not engaged, or they lack awareness of each other. Maybe they need to express something (anger, frustration, sadness) that has nothing to do with the class. Students as early as 5th or 6th grade into adulthood may be generally self-conscious about their bodies, voices or abilities. Even if I cannot directly “fix” these things, I cannot ignore them, and I am a better teacher when I remember that this is why we are together in the class. Music becomes almost an excuse for working with the very things that make us human. Isn’t that why we play music in the first place?

    Over and over Èmile Jaques-Dalcroze describes the central goals of his method in his writings. Especially in his later writings, these goals extend beyond music or even music education. Music was the vehicle for much larger aspirations for humanity. It seems to have taken him somewhat by surprise:

    “In evolving the educational system of Eurhythmics some twelve years ago I certainly did not realize the great influence that this new system would have in restoring man to knowledge of himself. 1”

    I believe these aspects of being a well-functioning human being, my category 2, are what Dalcroze is pointing to when he talks about “knowledge of himself”. They are by no means exclusive to musicians. They are necessary in all of the arts, not to mention sports, the sciences, parenting, civic engagement… it’s hard to think of any area of culture that does not depend on this set of skills. Everybody needs category 2 to be a well-functioning human, and you can learn these things from almost any pursuit that stimulates, engages and challenges.


    But even understanding how important this is to my own teaching and having communicated it to myself (and now to you), I wonder about how to communicate this to my students or to their families. Am I a ‘self’ teacher? Are the students going to self-school? Is it measurable? How do I teach such a massive but nebulous thing? Where does it fit in my explicit curriculum? And if it is so important, why don’t we talk about it more? It is difficult enough explaining what we do in a Dalcroze class. How am I supposed to explain this to parents? “This year, your child practiced becoming herself. She has made great progress.” It is also a challengingly large thing to talk about with Dalcroze teachers-in-training, given the enormous amount of category 1 material that needs to be covered, practiced and mastered.


    We advertise Dalcroze as a great way to teach category 1, and it is. But the things everyone really craves are from category 2. Musicianship, theory and ear-training subjects will never be as big a draw as learning to play a Chopin prelude, writing a pop song, playing in a rock band. Nor should they be! These ways to musick’ are primary sources for category 2 growth. They do, however, become much easier with solid category 1 skills and understanding. Gaining these skills in an environment that stimulates our imaginations, fosters social connections (which are harder and harder to come by) while offering the some of the shared musical engagement that singing with a choir does seems to me to be a great two-for-one deal.

    I came to Dalcroze at a time in my life when I was really struggling to understand myself. I didn’t know what I wanted to be: jazz musician? Theater composer? Classical pianist? Turned out I didn’t want to be any of those things per se, and stripping away everything but the body, the voice and the ear really helped (forced?) me to see what was left.

    Now, how do we get all of that into a course description?

    1. Emile Jaques-Dalcroze, Rhythmic Movement, Vol.1 (Novello and Company, 1920), 1. ↩︎

  • It’s All a Charade

    The Classic Party Game as a Music and Movement Portal for 3rd–5th Graders

    Last week, I came across a passage in a book by Elizabeth Vanderspar that stopped me in my tracks. (The book was originally published as “Principles and Guidelines for Teaching Eurhythmics” and is now available as Dalcroze Handbook: Teaching Rhythmics.) She suggested playing charades with older kids who are new to Dalcroze to give them an experience of communicating through movement.

    The second I read this I knew I would try this with a 3rd–5th grade Dalcroze class I have this year. Most of the students have been studying an instrument for a while and most of them are new to Dalcroze this year. They are basically affable and game to try anything, but after our first month together I did not feel that many of them really understood the point of the class. It’s a good question: just why are we moving again?

    There are many possible answers to this question, and my own answers have evolved (and multiplied) over the years. The one most often cited–to learn music theory primarily through direct kinesthetic experience–still holds up. But simply telling someone this, especially a 5th grader, is not very effective. “I signed up to learn to play the piano. Why am I running around a room without my shoes?”

    Vanderspar’s suggestion seemed perfect for this age group. They love rules (they can be lawyer-like in their execution to the letter of every utterance from me); they are highly competitive; they love to problem solve; and most of all they love any excuse to laugh and get completely silly. What better way to experience communication through movement than with this classic game of, well, communicating through movement? Brilliant.

    So we tried it.

    To save time, I decided to bring in the words myself that they would guess rather than let them select. I used a random charades generator (thank you, internet) set on ‘easy’. I let them self-select their teams (predictably it was boys against girls). And I let them play one regular round: 3 minutes per team to guess as many words as they could, no talking, only gesture. They enjoyed themselves. The girls did much better than the boys (also predictable).

    We played another round, and this time I accompanied the gesturer on the piano whenever I thought it might help. I tried to follow their lead and complement their movement, sometimes making verbal suggestions if they were stuck. If a team was having trouble guessing, I asked the mover to listen to the piano and reflect more closely what they heard. This often led to a more conscious use of weight, space or time, and it seemed to facilitate more accurate guessing. (The boys did slightly better on the second round.)

    In between rounds, we talked a bit about what elements went into successful communication of a word or idea through movement. I was not able to elicit much in the way of thoughtful analysis: how, for example, a rhythmic slicing of an imaginary pizza made use of weight, space and time, and just why that facilitated quicker guessing than just drawing a triangle in the air over and over with an exasperated look on your face.

    So we played a third round. This time, I intervened more often to give direct assistance. One boy was having trouble communicating ‘snow’. The music I played lightly in the upper register of the piano (actually a pale imitation of Debussy’s “La Neige Danse”) gave him a bit of assistance, but then he began trying to mime the making of a snowman and ended up just confusing his team. He quickly drew a few circles in the air and was stymied when no one could figure out what he was trying to communicate.

    I understood, so I butted in. I bent down to roll a heavy ball of snow. I made another, slightly smaller, and bent my legs with my back straight to slowly lift it and place it on top of the other. I did it a third time, with a smaller ‘snowball’. The students instantly guessed “snowman” and then it was a short trip to elicit the word ‘snow’.

    This was paydirt. The clear use of weight, time, shape and effort made for clear communication of an image. It was not hard for them after that to make the connection to music performance. When you are playing an instrument, the sound you make is entirely dependent on your movement (unless you are programming a digital instrument). Loud and soft, fast and slow, short and long all depend on physical precision, and the connection between the imagination and this fine motor precision is what give music its expressive power.

    All of that took up the full 45 minutes. We discussed no music theory directly. There were no quarter notes or eighth notes on the board, no time signatures.  But I think it was worth it. We talked about the value of using your imagination to translate ideas, feelings and experience from one medium to another: sound to movement; movement to sound; something heard to something visual; a feeling to a phrase of poetry…

    I think we opened some doors, and most importantly, I got a clearer picture of how they conceive of both movement and music.

  • Picturing Music

    I’ve been thinking about representation lately.

    No, I don’t need a lawyer. I’m talking about how we ‘picture’ music. As an experiment last week, I asked my kids to draw a picture of rhythms we were working with during the session. I didn’t ask them to use notation. Some of them are too young to know any notation anyway (the older ones have basic reading skills). I just said, “Draw a picture of the two’s on one side and the three’s on the other,” which had been the focus of the day’s activities.

    A few drew groupings of lines or shapes, but most simply drew whatever it is they liked to draw. There were human figures, airplanes, even a well-shaded piece of fruit. I asked them to hold up the side that matched the music they heard, and I improvised music in two or in three. In most cases, I would have been unable to discern which drawing was which by merely looking. I needed an explanation from the artist. When it seemed to me to that there was an identical piece of fruit on both sides of the paper, the student explained to me that the one with more empty space was for the two’s. Of course, the words ‘draw’ and ‘picture’ naturally send kids into a particular mindset. Interestingly, this mindset is usually representational in some way. We don’t always draw what we really see.

    Our minds are built to associate meaning with symbol, and musical notation takes advantage of this proclivity. All of the words and symbols on this page are mostly arbitrary. We have agreed on their meaning, and so I am able to communicate with you. It has without question made possible some profound and glorious combinations of sound throughout its history, and yet I find myself wary of placing too much emphasis on it in my teaching. Notation creates a hierarchical grid that is not part of my experience of so much of the music that I make and that is important to me. Making things worse, the names in American English are highly problematic. Four-quarter time? Sure, makes sense. One quarter is 1/4th of a measure of four beats. So how can one “quarter” note stand in for 1/3rd of a bar in three-quarter time? And on and on. (In naming their rhythm units after knitting needles, the British have an advantage here.)

    I experience a rich interplay of pulse levels and even meters when I listen to, for example, a Sonny Rollins recording. There is great pleasure to be found in the play of two’s and three’s (on many levels) as my perception shifts from one to another. The musicians communicate through a dynamic, flexible and somehow simultaneously precise and ambiguous rhythmic language. Of course, students learning a Haydn Sonata need to be able to decode the shift from eighths to sixteenths to triplets and then to thirty-seconds, but I am loathe to lock them into that too soon via notation.

    When a quarter becomes the de facto representation of a beat, something is lost. Anything can represent a beat: a quarter, an eighth, an apple… In the Dalcroze classroom I try to split the difference between my natural inclination to avoid reducing music to representation too soon and my responsibility to make sure my students are prepared for their music lessons. I want to create musical experiences that will be solid, tangible, lived, felt and authentic. If I am doing that, I can feel more at ease showing them a quarter note and telling them that it represents—or can represent—a beat.

    I made the drawings some time ago to help myself visualize a couple poly-meters and cross-rhythms. Some will be easy to see, some less so.

    But I’m ok with that.

  • Subdivision, Simple Meter

    In music education we talk of dividing and subdividing the beat. But when I play, I don’t really think of dividing anything. It feels more like simply playing faster or slower and often in the context of the prevailing beat and tempo. Dividing is a physical act: we divide a pie into pieces. Or it’s a calculation: everybody gets two pieces. But I don’t really experience those aspects in time, as such.

    Though the metaphor of division is strained, I still use it since it is so widespread. I say division (in both simple and compound meters) to mean a primary level (e.g. 2 eighth notes with a quarter-note beat) and subdivision to mean a secondary level (e.g. 4 sixteenth notes with a quarter note beat). (A quirk I picked up from my colleague Jeremy Dittus in his quest for specificity!)

    Subdivisions in music are often too fast to move by stepping. They can be performed by speaking or with smaller body parts like fingers.

    Children can experience subdivisions as a single event, lasting a beat, or as a continuous event, that is, a kind of continuous shift. Even young children are very sensitive to this. I can see by the way they respond that when I play with subdivisions the music feels faster to them. It is, but technically, as long as there hasn’t been a tempo change at the beat level, it actually isn’t! I look for ways to draw this truth out.

    Even the young can hear one set of subdivisions if played the right way. The easiest way to test this is to play an inhibition game: they move with the music when they hear one set of subdivisions, and hold when they hear another set, toggling back and forth. (I avoid saying ‘freeze dance’, which has become popular, because I don’t want them to freeze, just hold themselves still.) By changing the character, tempo, style, abd mood of the music, the game does not become tiring. The children can even suggest ways to move, though at some point you will have to ask someone for “a slow way”. I imagine that even youngest children can feel the relationships between beat and subdivision when we do this. There will be plenty of time to articulate it later when their math skills have caught up. Hopefully I am making the lives of their private teachers and band directors that much easier when they begin to encounter “1-ee-and-ah” in their written music. Older children (late elementary) love this game, too. They love to be right, and they love to detect things according to rules. This gives them both, plus the opportunity to stand still, which they value much more than their younger counterparts.

    To introduce the subject to my early and late elementary classes, I used the first movement of Mozart’s Symphony No. 1, whose theme is built on a very declaratory 1-3-5 statement, ending with two sets of subdivisions. I gave the kids a movement task (“find joints in your body and move, and mirror your partner”). I asked them to change partners whenever the theme appeared, which provided some hilarity as the theme kind of sticks out like a sore thumb each time. (Give him a break — he was eight when he wrote it!) I wish the theme emerged just a bit more for this purpose, but it was fun anyway and primed them to listen for both subdivisions and the major tonic triad.

    Target Skills:

    Early Elementary:

    • Recognize one set
    • Experience as continuous event
    • Associate with
      • a rhythmic language
      • notation in simple meter, with quarter note beat
    • Create patterns
    • Improvise with

    Late Elementary (all the above plus):

    • Understand the relationship to the beat and division
    • Perform on command in movement that travels and movement in place
    • Notate in at least two different meters
    • Read patterns

  • Infrequently Asked Questions About Early Childhood Dalcroze Classes

    Aside from one or two perennials, I don’t get asked too many questions during my Dalcroze classes for young children. With busy toddlers demanding attention, there just isn’t a lot of time for chatting. (There is one question I am commonly asked. See if you can guess what they are – I’ll include them at the end.) But here are a few questions I imagine some might have:

    1. What’s the goal of the class?

    I know that seems like an obvious question, but the answer may not be so obvious because we don’t really have time to talk about it. My hope is to immerse the children in music as much as possible. I sing, tap, clap, walk, move and play in music, and hope to encourage an environment in which everyone feels fully comfortable and free to do the same. For musicians, this is a more or less natural way of relating to others. For those with less experience in music (whether formal or informal), this may be new. I hope that everyone leaves the class inspired to try the activities at home – or make up their own ways of relating to each other through music.

    2. My child is not ever asked to do anything special, and sometimes does not even seem to be paying attention. What is she really learning about music?

    Children’s ability with language (speaking, reading, writing, etc.) is closely correlated with the amount of language they have heard from infancy. Music works the same way. (I would also argue that we learn this way at all ages.) We don’t have to teach children what a noun or verb is, or what order to put them in before they can fluently communicate. Children are actually capable of using quite sophisticated grammar from a surprisingly early age, all without formal instruction. If we want musical children, we surround them with music. We make it irresistible. We make it as natural as speaking, and we do this by simply being musical with them as often as possible.

    3. Why does Michael discourage me from talking to my child in class, and yet he talks all the time?

    For children, being musical is no more unusual than anything else they encounter minute by minute. It’s all new! For the adults, who perhaps are not as accustomed at this point in their lives to being musical on a regular basis, it is sometimes unclear: What am I supposed to do? And then: if I don’t know what to do, I am sure my child doesn’t!

    My goal is always to make the room move and breathe in music together. I model with movement, or a ball, or a scarf, and I hope to look out and see uninhibited musical expression and experimentation. If I don’t see it, I keep working until I do. Sometimes I am successful, sometimes not, but my verbal coaching is entirely for the adults. The kids don’t need it! Children absorb by their own combination of being and doing. The best mode for the adults to be in is to ‘be the music that you want to see’. Just know that you may not see that music right away, just as they don’t utter every word they hear the first time they hear it.

    What’s the most frequently asked question? The winner is: “When can my child start an instrument?” My answer is always the same: 1) when the child asks for it, and 2) when you think the child is ready to sit down and play every day. But what’s the rush? The cello, the piano, the violin are instruments for musical expression. What needs to be developed, nurtured and fed (at all stages of musical life) is the need – the hunger – to express and engage musically. Then, the rest is easy.

    I hope you will be encouraged to try some of the things we do at home. You might want to play some of the recordings I have used in class. Many of these come from larger sets of music. It’s great to play the whole set (in the car, in the background at home, etc.) Get out the balls, the scarves, the stuffed animals; walk/gallop/tiptoe/dance as the louds and softs, fasts and slows of the music change.

    Make it a part of your everyday life, and your child will enjoy the gift for life.

    Here’s a list of some of the pieces I have used recently:

    1. The Old Castle by Mussorgsky, from Pictures at an Exhibition

    2. Rockin’ in Rhythm and Daybreak Express by Duke Ellington

    3. Des pas sur la niege (“Footprints in the snow) by Claude Debussy from Preludes for Piano

    4. Prelude to the Mother Goose Suite by Maurice Ravel

    Happy playing… And keep those questions coming…

    Michael Joviala

     

  • A Basic Structure for Dalcroze Classes for Ages 4-5

    Here is an outline of the structure I use for my classes for young children. Though I do follow this basic plan for most of my classes, this represents only what works for me – there are many possible ways a lesson can go. However, I have found that not having to think about what kind of activity is needed (floor work, movement in space, improvisation) allows me to more easily fine tune what we are doing to the ways the kids happen to be responding.

    Floor work/body warm-up

    This is an opportunity to bring the group together. Kids enter the class in many different physical and emotional states and they seem to benefit from a sensitive transition period from ‘out there’ to ‘in here’. We start in a circle on the floor with simple body warm-ups that might introduce a musical focus point for the day, often through a new song.

    Movement in place

    Standing in one place for long periods of time is not something that comes naturally to many children (though there are exceptions!). Whenever possible, I like to find ways to engage the children musically as they ground themselves in one spot – another way to experience the day’s musical focus. Arm swings, body shapes and sculptures requiring quick reaction, waiting and watching as soloists move can all build this ability which will be required of many of them if they begin the study of an instrument such as the violin.

    Movement in space

    Once the children get to know my routine, they know that they will soon be moving around the room with abandon (though always with a listening ear!). The transition to moving in space looms large as they are standing still. I include many kinds of locomotor opportunities, taking suggestions and cues from them as often as possible. After a month, most can recognize and respond appropriately to music that walks, runs, skips and all the rest. I may use images here to focus or inspire movement (trains, horses, taxis, a previous week’s story..). As the year unfolds, I find ways to have them move in different size groups – solo, duos, trios and full ensemble. I often build the movement to a high point, and then invite a rest and relaxation transition.

    Story

    The story is often the heart of the class. It is hard not to take advantage of the children’s hunger (well – all right, and my own) for image, story and drama. With the right chemistry of elements, they fully invest themselves in the action. Many musical subjects can be explored this way: meter, phrasing, duration, dynamics, tempo…

    Cool down/relax

    Another relaxation period follows. I usually play a full piece during this time without speaking. I have used short pieces by Schumann, Chopin, Ravel Debussy. If they are especially restless, we might do some quiet relaxing movements on the floor (snow angels, limbs slowly up and down, quiet singing).

    Different seated activity

    After the story, I try to take advantage of the quiet focus that comes after a lot of physical activity and a good rest. I might use symbol work on the board, drawing, a ball passing experience, or the exploration of an unfamiliar instrument to attempt to tie our experiences to whatever musical concept or element has been the focus of the class.

    Improvisation

    Every class of mine includes some kind of improvisation – to say nothing of all of the improvised movement that has gone on up to now – using percussion, voice, xylophone or tone bells. This is a time for us all to observe and learn from each other’s musical responses and ways of playing. I rarely have all of the children playing the same instrument. Through individual musical interaction with me, I sometimes encourage children to discover new ways of playing, or attempt to steer them toward a desired musical goal. (I always hope that it emerges unbidden, however!) Often, I find myself affirming something I have heard in their playing by reflecting it in my own musical response. It is a time to see how our experiences are influencing musical development.

    Songs

    Though I do not use goodbye or hello songs, I do like to end the class singing. I often ask, “What should we sing?” or “Who’s got a song?”. If no one pipes up, I’ll offer one that we’ve done in the class, sometimes playing just the rhythm on a percussion instrument to see if they can recognize it. (A variation on the Mystery Tune, see Farber, Anne for more details!) I often try to adapt favorite class songs to the day’s musical focus.

    And then, “See you next week!”

    I’d love to hear about your own basic class plans. I’m sure there’s lots of variation!

    Michael Joviala

  • Leading and Following

    Because music is often a social activity, the Dalcroze classroom is a great opportunity for kids to experiment with roles that will also be important for them as they move through life. From early childhood on, I like to give them experiences of leading, following, working with a partner and being a member of a large group, all roles good musicians navigate with ease.

    Very young children (3 and 4) delight in performing an action that causes a reaction from the whole group. In our classes, they participate with an adult. After a story about a cat that pounces on a mouse, I can ask the group to watch a single child jump, then clap just as she lands on the ground. The expression on the child’s face when she realizes the power she has is absolutely priceless. 

    At ages 4 and 5, children are such natural followers that, when asked to become the engine of a train, they will very often simply end up following the caboose. I gently direct them to create a winding path in the room, so that the train actually goes somewhere. As they go, the music matches their movements as closely as possible, giving them a more concrete experience of their own tempo choices. Of course, when they speed up, it is easy for many children to lose track of the ones following them as they become caught up in the thrill of the moment. If their train falls apart, we regroup and I encourage them to carefully lead the cars so that the train stays together, and the passengers safely arrive at their destination.

    Once they become skilled at this, they are ready to lead a partner in a room full of pairs making independent choices. We become taxi drivers and passengers. An observer stepping into the room would see (on a good day!) many different things happening: taxis driving alone and with a passenger, stopping for red lights, going slowly in traffic or on the expressway, and many other surprises the children come up with on the spot. This might be done without music at first, so that I can narrate what I see, helping the children become aware of possibilities other than their usual favorites. Later we can all synchronize the game to music to give us the experience of phrase.

    Beginning around 6 or 7, children become more interested in—and capable—of working in pairs or small groups. I want them to experience the difference between working alone, working with a partner and working with the whole group. One simple game we might play is to walk alone when they hear a single melody from the piano, move with a partner when that melody is harmonized with another line, and move together as a group when I play with full chords. For older children (7—9), this can be extended into counterpoint. When the two voices are parallel, they maintain the same distance from their partner; when the two voices move in contrary motion, they move away from or toward their partner. To perform the activity well, they must be attuned to each other and make many subtle movement choices together. This is actually the essence of playing music with others. 

    I also make time to improvise freely with different combinations of non-pitched percussion instruments in solos, duets, trios and whole ensemble configurations. While I do make time to play specific rhythms we might be working on in class, I also want the children to be able to experiment freely. At 5 or 6 years old, I start with duets with me, allowing the child to choose a preferred percussion instrument (triangle, finger cymbal, claves, etc.). I turn this into a leading/following game with simple prompts such as, “Play only when I am not playing,” or even, “Play only when I am playing.” If I allow freedom, I must accept what they play, but by the time we’ve gotten around the circle, each child has given us an opportunity to hear different kinds of music: loud, soft, fast, slow, careful, reckless… I consider this expression a way of leading, too. 

  • For Parents: Classes for 4-5 year-olds

    Parent: “What did you do in class today?”
    Child: “I was a cat.”
    Parent: “Oh.”

    It is difficult for young children to express exactly what they are ‘learning’ in a Dalcroze classroom. What happens in the room after we take off our socks and shoes and close the door?

    Of course, in the mind of the child, the most important thing we did probably was that he became a cat. And not just any cat, but one who plays, prowls, chases mice and catches one for dinner. The class attempts to take every possible advantage of a child’s passion for drama and role-play. While he was busy being a cat, he was also moving to music that moved very softly (the prowl), music that moved very quickly and lightly (the chase), and music that slowly crescendoed to a loud accent (the pounce).

    Experiences like these are meant to align the child’s sense of music with the way she naturally moves. This will, hopefully, inform the way she perceives and responds to music, and the way she might engage a musical instrument.

    In a eurhythmics class, sound equals movement, and vice versa. Many initial experiences are meant to help the student begin to discover this for himself. The child may hear music that walks, runs, skips, gallops or marches. Most children do not need to be asked to move appropriately to what they hear – it is often their natural impulse to do so. To give them a more personal experience, the students also are given opportunities each week to have the piano match as closely as possible their own improvised movement. You can try this at home. Put on music that walks, runs, skips, sneaks, slides, rolls, marches… and see what your child does!

    In the first semester, the 4-5-year-old groups will have classes built around basic oppositions: slow and fast, long and short, heavy and light, for example. In the first 30 minutes of class, we experience the subject in as many ways as possible: songs, stories and games requiring the students to follow changes in what they hear on the piano or drum. In the last 15 minutes, the students might have opportunities to create the music themselves. For example, if they have experienced soft walking and loud pouncing, individual students can try these sounds out on the drum while the class responds to what they hear. Or student conductors will create gestures for loud and soft, while the class responds on percussion instruments.