Bite Me, Tiger Mommy.

When the Infamous "Tiger Mommy" memoir came out it was the subject of morbid fascination among many of the parents in my studio.  The report most pungent with the fumes of pure BS was that of  Tiger Offspring being chained to the bench with bursting bladder until she had, goddammit, "mastered" my old friend, "The Little White Donkey".  This was one of the first pieces I fell in love with as a kid, and I vividly remember my excitement discovering how cool the clippity-clops of the first few measures were and proceeding, in stark contrast to Tiger Offspring, to bury my nose in that particularly amusing musical story until I'd reached the end.  The only familial conflict was my brothers complaining that I had been excused yet again from doing the dishes because I was practicing.  Sweet! 

It's inconceivable to me that such a quirky, imaginative piece could ever be used as a form of "discipline".  The moral of this horror story is fourfold and serves to illustrate some of the the basic values underlying my own teaching philosophy. 

Firstly, like any piece, my sweet little Eeyore will only bray and defiantly kick your face in if introduced too early in a student's development.  In terms of technique, it's not very difficult.  Any intermediate student with independent practice skills (are there any other kind?) could enjoy solving the puzzle and play it with personality and verve. 

Secondly,  if your kid really doesn't want to take piano lessons, don't make them.  Life is rife with other opportunities for your child to be fascinated and challenged by something just as beneficial as piano.  Tuba, anyone?

Thirdly, music study does not need to be validated by supposed collateral benefits such as playing at Carnegie Hall as a strategic element for getting into an Ivy League law school.  Incidentally, it's not that hard to get to play at Carnegie Hall.  You can just rent it out like any other venue.

Fourthly, while excellence for the sake of excellence is an effective standard for objective subjects, like math, excellence in any creative field is a lot more complex and elusive.  While apparently it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become an expert at anything, I can assure you that even 10,000 reincarnations of 10 million lifetimes of mindless, enforced repetition will never, ever replace the intrinsic motivation, genuine expressivity and independence of spirit necessary to become an actual musician. 

I know for a fact that literally everyone is, to some extent or another, a real musician.  By which I mean capable of not only mastering basic skills, but of comprehending and communicating the emotional and musical meaning of what they play.  I'm not interested in training flying monkeys to fulfill the demands of tiger mommies by beating little donkeys to death.  And it saddens me that this paradigm is chronic enough to warrant such a book becoming a bestseller.