By Flory Godinez
The Persistent Dr. Suzuki
Much has been written and discussed about Dr. Shinichi Suzuki’s kindness and patience, but what about his persistence? And what does that mean to us?
As his student for two years in Japan, there were times he reminded me of a pit bull dog hanging onto a stick with determination, albeit ever so politely. Dr. Suzuki’s main point in a lesson, and concentrating on that, was a hallmark of his teaching. By firmly sticking to one main point, technical skill can move from occasional accomplishment through habitual execution, to second-nature mastery.
The challenge for the teacher is to select one technical skill and work on it in each lesson until it is mastered. It can be so tempting to list a litany of deficiencies, and worse, to attack them all in a single lesson. It’s best to only concentrate on one technical point at a time. Studies show that when our brain is constantly switching gears to bounce back and forth between tasks, especially when those tasks are complex and require our active attention, we become less efficient and more likely to make a mistake.1
When presented with a student who has multiple technical deficiencies, the dilemma for the teacher is which one to address first. Which is the most important skill to master at this point in the student’s musical development? Once a teacher decides on this “main point” and communicates it to the student, the next problem is sticking to it until it is mastered. A helpful approach, after the first lesson on a problem, is to ask the student every week at the beginning of the lesson, “What is our main point?”
The student needs many repetitions before mastering the correct or new technique. As an undergraduate, I changed violin professors and my new teacher wanted a different bow hold. I had an opera rehearsal that night and decided to use the opportunity to change to the new bow hold. Every time I picked up the bow, I formed the new hold. By the end of that long rehearsal, the new bow hold was becoming automatic.
My own experience with Dr. Suzuki’s persistence was a period of seven months in which every lesson centered on a particular concerto movement. His main point was bow control. He embedded in me his approach to the fine nuances of bowing which have remained a part of me ever since. I have always loved that concerto movement and am grateful that he used it as a vehicle to instill technique and improve the expression in my playing.
Let us remember to select a main point for the lesson and be persistent in working on it until it is mastered.
Twinkle Again? Thoughts on Longevity
Fifty-seven years ago, I gathered up my confidence, took a deep breath, and walked into a classroom of my university music building. There waiting for me was a mother, a father, and a toddler. These were among my first Suzuki students. I was a terrified, green behind the ears—a college student very much aware that I was an only child and had little contact with other children until I entered grade one. How could I teach this child and his parents anything, let alone teach them music?
I explained to the parents that our opening bow was a sign of mutual respect and an indication that we were ready to begin. I asked them all to bow with me. The boy must have sensed mßy fear. He quickly dropped to the floor and started rolling and screaming. From that first moment of terror, a different emotion has developed over time: an ever-growing sense of wonder and delight in the Suzuki journey with each family.
Every child is a unique individual, and every family has a distinct dynamic in how they interact among themselves. Teaching a set repertoire starting with “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” s not, and has never been, a burden. Each person carries within them the seed that can blossom into personal musical expression.
In Japan, one day in the Kaikan (Institute) hall, Dr. Suzuki walked on stage and placed a particularly fine violin and bow on the grand piano. I knew this violin belonged to a fellow Kenkyusei (teacher trainee) who played with an exceptionally beautiful tone. I had assumed her lovely sound came from the quality of her instrument.
One after another, Dr. Suzuki had each of us stand in the same spot on the stage. We each used her violin and bow to play Bourrée by Handel. After my turn, I quickly scurried up to the balcony to hear the music. The results amazed me. It was as though each person was playing on a different violin. The sound was totally different from one performance to the next. Each Kenkyusei sounded exactly as they did on their own instrument. This event taught me a concept I’ll never forget: A distinctive musical expression lies within each person.
Twinkle is always different because each child is different. Adult students tell me that they come home from a stressful day at work and play the violin to relax. In those moments, they can truly express themselves through a channel of sound beyond words. When my young autistic son had a particularly difficult situation, I heard the sonorous tones from his cello as he improvised behind his bedroom door. He found emotional release in creating music.
Hearing students playing the same pieces year after year is not a burden. They are developing a musical language. That language is a treasure that the student can share with others. As Dr. Suzuki said: “Music is a language of the heart without words.”
Notes
1. Cleveland Clinic, “Why Multitasking Doesn’t Work.” Published March 9, 2021. https://health.clevelandclinic.org
/science-clear-multitasking-doesnt-work