Illustration by Alex Deadman-Wylie
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Elementary school music teachers are a feisty, energetic and hungry bunch. So, when I learned about a bakery’s promotion that promised a sweet treat for well… a song, I was one of many educators who descended upon their local franchise. The deal? Play Hot Cross Buns on any instrument and receive a freshly baked pastry of the same name.
I don’t know if any trombonists or bagpipers marched through those bakery doors but, according to reports, hundreds of freebies were given to people, including myself, who played that very plastic and very portable instrument with which Hot Cross Buns is practically synonymous: the recorder.
I hate Hot Cross Buns – the musical version, not the baked one (which was warm and sweet and helped me forget, for a moment, that wretched tune that has, for decades, tap-danced on my skull). But here the conundrum becomes ironic: just because I hate the one-a-penny, two-a penny lyric, does not mean I hate the recorder.
In fact, I adore it and am unmoved by the insults, dubbing it Satan’s flute or sneering at its uselessness. (One meme I saw online noted: “I’m so glad I played the recorder at school. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to resolve a situation with a blast of Three Blind Mice”.)
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Snicker if you will. But if anyone asks, “Wherefore the recorder?” (not that anyone has), let Ms. Graham explain.
When I was a full-time teacher, I liked to think of my music room as a giant buffet. After all, the quickest way to alienate kids was to offer them one item from a set menu. I encouraged children to sing, move, play and listen and, within those guidelines, there were numerous options. Students played the ukulele, bucket drums, xylophones and experimented with my fascinating collection of percussion instruments. They danced, composed, chanted, improvised and experienced music from many cultures. I told the children, “Surely everyone can find something to like. You don’t have to love everything but listen for something that feels like you, that feeds you. Music belongs to everyone.”
When it came time to study the recorder – after luring them in by playing a concerto by Bach and rock songs like Stairway to Heaven and Ruby Tuesday that feature this instrument – I set about showing the children how it helped them drive down all eight lanes of the musical highway at once. Rather than memorizing pitches on a staff, students have a reason to read a score – and understanding music’s language helps them decipher the songs they want to play. They develop breathing skills, learn about elements such as dynamics and tempo, learn to follow a conductor and play as part of an ensemble.
In my classes, they were also introduced to the concept of disciplined practice. I asked them to play for 10 minutes at home, five days a week and have an adult initial the practice log. (Oh, how the parents loved me for that one!) I tried to make it easier by posting my lessons on a private YouTube channel. Hopefully then the daily sessions would be focused and not consist of chasing the dog around, blowing their instrument like a referee’s whistle.
Sure, it never took long before some kid discovered they could play a pretty good version of Smoke on the Water by shoving the mouthpiece up their nose. And I had to watch out to not say things like, “Put your middle finger over the A hole.” Despite this, the recorder remained a serious aspect of my music teaching. I even completed a summer course in technique to improve my playing, which enabled me to model a pleasing sound. Once that happened, a few minor musical miracles started to occur.
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Many children who disliked singing were delighted to create melody with the recorder. They could make music, regardless of how they perceived their own voice and astonish themselves with improvisations, thanks to the magic of the harmonious pentatonic scale. Best of all, they could play alongside their friends on other instruments. One child looked up at me after finishing a piece that featured pitched percussion, voice, drumming and recorder and said, “Ms. Graham! We’re a band!”
This is when the recorder works and a music program succeeds; when tenacity and co-operation intersect with joyful artistry. It provides both pedagogic process and fulfilling product for children, especially when guided by a nerdy teacher who beams while tapping the beat with a drumstick and singing a ridiculous song to remind them of the correct fingering.
That said, it’s not as if I never resorted to earplugs or pain relief for the banging headaches. As for that bakery contest, I truly felt sorry for those employees sheltering behind the bread-slicer from all that recorder racket. But Satan’s flute and I had a pact; if I treated this medieval instrument with respect, in return my students – and their teacher – would be rewarded with community, rich in song and satisfaction.
Even if one of those songs was Hot Cross Buns.
Maribeth Graham lives in Port Credit, Ont.
