luded, are now taught through a “modified” Suzuki method in which notion is introduced early even as the student is learning to play songs by ear. This approach starts learners out with an extremely simplified notation that they use as a mnemonic device while playing, and gradually adds complexity to the notation over time. The progression goes something like this:
1. Initially, the student plays with her hand in a fixed position on the piano while looking at a series of numbers telling her which fingers to use in what sequence (1 to 5 corresponding to the numbers on each hand from thumb to pinkie).
2. The numbers are then juxtaposed with whole-note symbols that move up and down on the page vertically to indicate whether the notes in the song are going up or down.
3. Rests, half notes and whole notes are introduced in turn, as the students learn pieces that have different rhythms.
4. The notes begin to appear on a traditional staff, but still with the familiar finger numbers next to them.
5. Numbers are only given for notes at the start of phrases.
6. The numbers go away.
There are two things about this approach that I think are clever. The first is that the notation is made useful. Young students need help remembering the pieces they are meant to play, and the notation provides this. As a result, the student sees the notation as an aid, rather than as something difficult that must be learned. Traditional music lessons, like a lot of old-fashioned education, push students to learn a lot of things in advance of being able to put them to use, and the lesson here is that it is better to wait until the utility is manifest.
The second, related point, which is somewhat more subtle, is that nothing is introduced in the notation that the student has not first learned by ear. For example, the student learns to hear and play half notes before they turn up in the notation, so that when the new notation is introduced, it relates to something they already understand. This seems to make all the difference in comprehension and ability to put theory into practice. It may be the case that, in effect, Self 2 can benefit from some technique, but only when that technique relates directly to something Self 2 has already learned through practice.
When she was younger, my daughter took gymnastics lessons at a training center in southern California that is, strangely enough, one of the best educational institutions I’ve ever seen. (Sadly, we’ve moved away from the area, or she would probably still be taking lessons there.) Some of the reasons why are identical with what I’ve said above: students spend most of their time performing skills, instructors keep discussions of technique to a minimum, and so on, with all of the same beneficial results. But there are a couple of other things about it that I think are worth noting as well.
The first is that in gymnastics, form is a major issue, and the instructor is generally the only one with the expertise on hand to judge form. This means that the instructor has to provide the feedback as well as the coaching, and in general when that is the case there is an enormous risk of mixing the two roles up. For example, if the coach wants to build a child’s confidence, there is a real temptation to tell her she executed a skill well even if she didn’t. What I find really interesting is that the instructors at my daughter’s gymnastics center never do that. Instead, they invariably give the kids straight feedback. That takes a lot of discipline, but the net result is that the kids, who can tell real feedback from fake at a very early age–are extremely motivated by the praise they get, because they know they earned it. To be a sympathetic coach while at the same time providing objective feedback is a serious skill that the instructors in my daughter’s gymnastics program somehow seemed to have gotten exactly right.
My other point is that gymnastics is notable because it consists of complex skills that seem to have an “all or nothing” quality to them. If you attempt a back flip, for example, you’d better complete i