Why such negativity prevails in an art that aspires to truth and beauty is a mystery to outsiders, though not to those of us who grew up in strictly religious homes, where most things a child wanted to do were forbidden, and declared wrong. Look around any church, mosque or synagogue and you'll catch the withering eye of someone who is more devout, more meticulous, a better person than you could ever hope to be.
That's how it is in music. Not for nothing is the art referred to as a "discipline". The chastisement starts with your first lesson. In my day, it was a rap on the knuckles with the edge of a ruler if your fingers were not correctly aligned on the keyboard. Hitting is no longer permitted — except in Russia, where recent videos show old-school piano teachers still beating grown students about the head. But Western music teachers have more sophisticated methods of making you hate music.
Keep telling a student they are no good and they will start to believe it. Almost every successful musician has a story of a teacher who tried to kill their unformed talent. A conductor who works with Europe's top orchestras told me how, after he formed an orchestra at the age of 14, the head of music at his specialist music school told him he would never be a conductor. That former educator is now in jail for sexual offences against a girl pupil, a distressingly common occurrence in music schools. He got his sadistic kicks as much from teaching as from sexual assault.
In music, as in organised religion, the teacher (priest, mullah, rabbi) is the custodian of hallowed tradition. In music, as in religion, novices are taught that the past was always better than the present, and the future is a fiery Hell. Young musicians are filled from first scales with the message that they can never be as good as . . . No wonder many of them grow up frustrated and embittered.
Teachers are musicians who couldn't make it on stage. Orchestras are populated with failed soloists. The music industry is peopled with former music students who exploit their artists' feelings of inadequacy to hide their own incompetence. Music is a merry-go-round of dashed ambitions, a vicious cycle of lost worth.
Groomed from infancy to idealise the past, classical musicians are unable to break moulds or reject orthodox teachings. A classical guitarist would not dare play a pop tune as an encore, let alone sing, for fear of excommunication from the ever-shrinking pool of classical guitar fans. No point reminding the poor plucker that, in the instrument's Iberian heyday, all music was popular and players also sang. That would be heresy.
Against the backdrop of fear and denigration, it is nothing short of a miracle that, in every generation, music brings forth men and women whose goodness shines in every note they sing or play and whose mortal deeds have moral worth. Cellists like Casals and Rostropovich. Violinists like Nathan Milstein and Yehudi Menuhin. Pianists like Martha Argerich and Myra Hess. No sooner have I named these paragons than someone will try to tear them down. But that's music. Doncha just love it?
That's how it is in music. Not for nothing is the art referred to as a "discipline". The chastisement starts with your first lesson. In my day, it was a rap on the knuckles with the edge of a ruler if your fingers were not correctly aligned on the keyboard. Hitting is no longer permitted — except in Russia, where recent videos show old-school piano teachers still beating grown students about the head. But Western music teachers have more sophisticated methods of making you hate music.
Keep telling a student they are no good and they will start to believe it. Almost every successful musician has a story of a teacher who tried to kill their unformed talent. A conductor who works with Europe's top orchestras told me how, after he formed an orchestra at the age of 14, the head of music at his specialist music school told him he would never be a conductor. That former educator is now in jail for sexual offences against a girl pupil, a distressingly common occurrence in music schools. He got his sadistic kicks as much from teaching as from sexual assault.
In music, as in organised religion, the teacher (priest, mullah, rabbi) is the custodian of hallowed tradition. In music, as in religion, novices are taught that the past was always better than the present, and the future is a fiery Hell. Young musicians are filled from first scales with the message that they can never be as good as . . . No wonder many of them grow up frustrated and embittered.
Teachers are musicians who couldn't make it on stage. Orchestras are populated with failed soloists. The music industry is peopled with former music students who exploit their artists' feelings of inadequacy to hide their own incompetence. Music is a merry-go-round of dashed ambitions, a vicious cycle of lost worth.
Groomed from infancy to idealise the past, classical musicians are unable to break moulds or reject orthodox teachings. A classical guitarist would not dare play a pop tune as an encore, let alone sing, for fear of excommunication from the ever-shrinking pool of classical guitar fans. No point reminding the poor plucker that, in the instrument's Iberian heyday, all music was popular and players also sang. That would be heresy.
Against the backdrop of fear and denigration, it is nothing short of a miracle that, in every generation, music brings forth men and women whose goodness shines in every note they sing or play and whose mortal deeds have moral worth. Cellists like Casals and Rostropovich. Violinists like Nathan Milstein and Yehudi Menuhin. Pianists like Martha Argerich and Myra Hess. No sooner have I named these paragons than someone will try to tear them down. But that's music. Doncha just love it?
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