[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I have been given a reason to think about violence this week. I’m reflecting on the children that I see who live with it. They are surrounded by it. In fact, it’s all they know. It’s what they do when they don’t know how to react. And they do this because it’s what they see. It’s OK to react in a violent way. It’s OK to threaten to kill someone. It’s OK to destroy stuff.

I know that it’s not OK to do this – but how did I learn that? My home environment. My friend’s homes, and their parents. So what happens if you don’t see a non-violent home? What happens if it’s all you know?

And how does this cycle get broken?

I’m not saying the way I was brought up was the best way. Or the values I have are the best. But I don’t think that violence solves anything. It has far-reaching consequences, and hurts not just the people involved, but sends huge ripples through lives. A huge boulder dropped in a lake.

Should we judge children who don’t know any better? Should we punish them? Will simply demonstrating love and compassion and kindness win out? Is that enough? Is there another answer? Is there another way?

If anyone knows another way, could they tell me?[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I am interested at how noise is affecting me at the moment…. Here’s my thinking. It’s not in any order, as these observations seem to bounce around my head.

I spend a lot of time in front of classes of children, and I willingly hand out all sorts of instruments. Mini-cymbals, bells, claves – you name it, I’ll hand them out. And kids play them – they test them out, they make noise. In fact, it gets really very noisy. And I don’t mind at all. What I really mind (in fact it drives me crazy!) is if two teachers are standing up the back of the room chatting quietly. And it drives me crazy because of the noise that they make – which is much quieter than the mass of tambourines jingling, bells shaking and triangles dinging. Makes NO sense, I know.

I was in a room the other week trying to sort out a new bank account. (I hate being a grown up.) In the same room was someone else speaking quite loudly on the phone. Try as I might, I could NOT filter out that sound and concentrate on the quite softly-spoken man helping me. Is this the lack-of-noise-filter that people on the autistic spectrum have? If so, it’s awful….. I found it exhausting and upsetting. This also gets worse if I am tired.

And I also get really upset by noise of power tools. Leaf blowers, lawn mowers, saws – you name it. I can deal with it for a bit, and then I find I get really depressed. ‘That’s what you get for living in the city, Rachel. You need to move!’ Ah, but it’s not that simple, is it? I know people who can tune it out – but it this sort of noise seems to drag me to a fairly dark place I find it hard to emerge from.

My favourite sound of all? A cello tuning up. Followed by bird song. And then Bach played well.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]So on Thursday, I was teaching at a school. Last lesson was a year five class, and I haven’t taught them for very long. From what I can gather, they haven’t had great music tuition, and are pretty disengaged with the whole music ‘thing’. Any music teacher will tell you that engaging disengaged kids in upper primary is fairly challenging. Actually, having written that, it’s probably fair to write that about any subject…. I’ve only experienced it with music, though.

But back to me and year five. A young boy drooped in and flopped down on the floor. He didn’t want to be there. He looked hot and over it. I started the lesson. I’m teaching them some drumming – not with djembe drums, but with drum sticks – and they’ll be drumming on upturned chairs. About five minutes into class, something happened to this kid. He stopped drooping and sat up. Then he started trying. Then he started succeeding. This was noted by both me and his very switched-on teacher. In the space of ten minutes, he had gone from doing nothing much to being the best drummer in the class. He looked really coordinated. He sat properly. He even smiled – a little smile, but a smile.

‘Have you done any drumming before?’ I asked. ‘Nope.’

‘Do you like this?’ ‘Yep.’

Total turn-around. He was engaged for the rest of the lesson.

I think I need to find him an electric drum kit and a teacher….[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]It’s March now, and I realised the other day that for most of 2017 all I have practised have been Bach Suites. It’s been completely fabulous, you know. When I went to study with Robert Cohen, my teacher in London, it was all I did with him for at least a year. No studies – just Bach. It was fabulous then – and it’s been fabulous now. (Too many fabulouses. Sorry.)

I’ve had to play them all differently, due to the programs they were in. One has been to link with the spoken word. So I found myself playing really freely. Speaking each phrase – where was I going? What was I saying here? One suite was with a percussionist. I practised that with a metronome. No rhythmic freedom there at all! It was very challenging to work around the problems of string crossings and being a melody-maker and a bass line with no real rhythmic changes. And the third one was with a painter. I had to be really dramatic and full of different colours for her to respond.

It’s been a great way to start the year for me. Ironed out lots of holes in my technique. And I’ve come to an excellent conclusion. None of these suites suffered. They didn’t change. And all of them held up to what I was doing. And each of them were enjoyed by the audiences I played them to. Herr Bach, you are really truly very excellent. Thank you for these suites. Thank you for your genius. You were one extraordinary man.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]I love singing. I have always been encouraged to sing from a really young age. I have a recording of me singing to my grandparents on  cassette – I think I was under the age of two. I’ve sung in school choirs, in vocal ensembles, in musicals (a few – not a fan of musicals. OK… I know a lot of people like them. They’re not really for me. Move on now.), in pubs, in buses, in many showers….

It makes me sad when I hear adults say “I can’t sing.” Actually, there are very few people who can’t sing. Some people can only sing a few notes – they may have a really low voice, or a really high one – but nearly everyone can actually sing. Some bastard music teacher has come around and told these now-grown-ups they couldn’t sing as a child, usually. Death to that music teacher, I say. I really do get sad. I actually want to hug whoever has just said that to me, and talk to them, and sing with them. Truly.

Last week, I had a number of moments that made me realise how GOOD singing is. You see, when you sing, with others, there’s all sorts of great health stuff that goes on. Dopamine is produced, your heart starts to beat at the same speed as those who are around you (true!), your brain starts firing…. It really is one of the best things you can do with others that’s (a) legal, (b) cheap and (c) doesn’t involve taking your clothes off.

Here’s a few great singing stories that have happened to me just in the last week.

At one school I go into, singing is all I do there. I have two huge choirs, and I’m very popular there (yes – the choir teacher is popular. Read that part again.). Kids love it. They will sing in parts, in rounds, with actions, without actions… and they will tunefully bellow. I look at kids having SUCH A GOOD TIME. Singing. I was working with 170 (yes, you read that right.) kids teaching them ‘The Band Played Waltzing Matilda’. They had been learning it for three weeks – and they got to the end. We stopped and I said ‘Well done! You’ve done it!’ Quick as a flash someone said ‘So can we sing it again now? All the way through?’ I said ‘Really? You want to do this all over again?’ ‘YES!’

At another school, a teacher who I love to bits said he’d had a really awful day. In fact, he’d had a really awful week. So I got his class to sing to him. He grinned and looked at me. “This is the first time I’ve really smiled at school all week” he said.

I’ve also just come back from a wonderful school in the country (I have to say it’s wonderful, as I know teachers at the school read this! Actually, it is wonderful – I’d write that anyway….) – and the high point for me this visit was the choir. After two days, a group of kids learned a song for ANZAC day. Not just the song though – also AUSLAN sign language for the words they sing. And they nailed it. Even little children. I saw children concentrating their damnedest. Kids who were shy singing proudly. Kids who are fidgetbodies sitting still. And everyone singing. And loving it. Really loving it. So they weren’t just singing, but they were excelling themselves. And they were completely inspiring to watch.

It’s so good, you know. Singing. You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to do it.

Do it.

Go on.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]