So as I sit here in the waiting room above the local music shop waiting for my son as he takes his drum lessons—and unless I record it, I can’t properly share the mind-aching cacophony of bad notes and good intentions from kids learning to instruments—I’ve observed a few things about a world in which I don’t have a lot experience … the music industry!
Okay, more like the not-so-hidden world of local music teachers. Still, be warned: observational comments ahead!
And I should say that although I’m having some fun here, absolutely every single teacher around here is unquestionably more talented than I am. To put it simply, when it comes to musical virtuosity—I suck. Bad.
That being said—
• Music teachers are a gregarious lot. Everyone at the place is incredibly friendly, and pretty much every teacher who passes me—even if they teach guitar, piano, trumpet or glockenspiel—will say hi or engage me in conversation (even if I have my head down and I’m typing!).
In addition to being a musician himself, the co-owner of the music shop is a big Jets fan, and after I wore a Jets hoodie one of the first times I brought my son in, we have a conversation about the team every week, which normally I enjoy, but at the end of last season, when the topics included butt-fumbles, it was just painful.
My son’s drum teacher is an exceptionally nice guy; I wonder if maybe all that constant repetition that comes with drum play hasn’t loosed a little of the gray matter, you know, like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. “All drum play and no work makes Jack a dull boy.” Like, no one normal can be that happy, can they?
• Music teachers are a casual bunch. Pretty sure they all are mandated to wear jeans, and unless they are coming from a regular day job that requires it, none of them own a shirt with an actual collar. I also tend to think that none of them own an iron.
• Music teachers all play in local bands that will never make the big time. Which is okay because they all absolutely love music and live to play. Or so they will tell you.
• Speaking of being in the band …
NEEEERRRRDDDSSS!!!!
That’s right—they were all band nerds in high school, and incredibly proud of it. And as we’re finding out, nerds are pretty much now ruling the world, so there’s that.
• Music teachers are all about Old School. They know the new music because their students listen to it, but every single one of them would rather play something from before the 21st century or the last time Axl Rose weighed under 230 pounds. The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Rush, Stevie Ray Vaughn and all manner of well-traveled bluesman are among the favorites, as well as dozens of musical geniuses that I’ve never heard of thanks to the hours and hours during my formative years that I wasted listening to Billy Joel, Joan Jett, KISS and Olivia Newton-John—er, I mean, Def Leppard!
[*sniffs, puffs out chest*] I actually saw them at the old New Haven Coliseum back when they were all alive and the drummer had two arms! Now get off my lawn!
• Music teachers are incredibly patient. Obviously, I’m not one of those parents who look at their children through rose-colored glasses, and I realize that my son, although enthusiastic, is not exactly what I would call “musically gifted.” How his teacher can sit there week in and week out listening to him miss strokes and fail to hold a steady beat, is beyond me. (Sort of goes back to that borderline insanity thing maybe?) And no matter how frustrated or upset my son gets over his performance, his teacher just stays positive and encouraging, whereas I might’ve been tempted to say, “When it comes to music, you might want to stick with buying it rather than playing it.”
But at least my son has a generally good attitude. I recently witnessed this one young boy (probably about 7 years old) come running in by himself and jump up on a chair until his overweight dad puffed up the stairs, cell phone in one hand and a violin case in the other, and shooed his progeny down. (To be fair, the dad almost even looked up from his phone while doing it.) While the ADD-afflicted youth was being herded the into the room for his lesson, he loudly announced, “When I’m done with the violin, I’m going to play drums!” To which the music teacher—a woman who told me that she’s taught in public school for 2o years—laughed, “It takes a long time to be ‘done’ with the violin.”
A few minutes later, she opened the door and gently called, “Hey dad, can you come in here?” and then proceeded to very kindly suggest that maybe the young man might not quite be “mature enough” for violin or music lesson in general. The father mumbled something about his wife and that the boy would “try harder next time.”
I’ve seen the kid twice more, with pretty much the same scenario playing out each time. The teacher constantly stays positive but very firm, never raises her voice and tries to keep the crazed ferret boy focused on the violin. Sisyphus had an easier task, but she undoubtedly has his patience.
• Music teachers are not flush with cash. Apparently, trying to learn snot-nosed kids how to play music is *not* a path to a deluxe apartment in the sky as I overheard one teacher talking about having to keep teaching to help pay his massive debt.
But based by the cars I see them arrive in, the same 3 to 5 concert T-shirts that most of them wear and the general lack of association with anything resembling glitz, I tend to think there’s not making it rain any time soon.
• Music teachers may (or may not, although I’m leaning toward *may*) smoke copious amounts of marijuana. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I’m just saying from what I’ve observed that I wouldn’t be surprised if there was no drug screening to get the job. I mean, this isn’t brain surgery, right?
Play on, dudes!