Abstract
This article critically examines the prevalent belief within music education that “music is for all,” highlighting the incongruence between educators’ intentions and students’ lived experiences. Drawing on personal positionality and scholarly orientation, the author explores how music teachers may unintentionally disaffirm students’ musicianship through language and practices. Through the lens of intent versus impact, this article encourages music educators to reflect on their beliefs and practices and emphasizes the importance of creating inclusive, student-centered environments that honor diverse musical identities. This article includes recommendations for aligning beliefs with practices to promote equity and affirm the musical potential of all students.
Photo of Amy L. Sierzega by Robin Giebelhausen
The field of music education can be an echo chamber of taken-for-granted beliefs; the belief that “music is for all” pervades conversations about music teaching and learning. 1 Yet, many preK–12 students leave music classrooms believing otherwise. 2 As part of a research study focused on adult self-perceptions of musicianship, Alexandra Lamont summarized the responses of adults who reflected upon their school music experiences and observed that “the fundamental outcome of their music education was to learn that music was not for them.” 3 When juxtaposed with the prevalence of “music for all,” the notion that music teachers are complicit actors in disaffirming students’ musicianship is striking. How is it that, in a profession that champions music “for all,” music educators might be communicating just the opposite? Framed within a critical examination of “music for all,” in this article I describe examples of incongruence between teacher beliefs and practices and make recommendations for music educators who desire to move toward alignment among their teacher language, practices, and stated beliefs.
My Positionality and Scholarly Orientation
I believe that my positionality—the ways in which my social identities position me toward or away from power and privilege in various contexts—shapes every facet of my daily life, including my scholarly pursuits. The ways in which I move through the world (e.g., as a nondisabled, cisgender, English-speaking, white, female teacher who is currently pursuing a graduate degree in music education) impact my assumptions and attitudes about the persons and places around me. Whether stated aloud, in thought, in gesture, and/or in writing, these assumptions and attitudes have the potential to powerfully impact Others. Therefore, in this article, I intentionally write from my personal experiences, positionality, and scholarly orientation. This includes (a) speaking from an “I” perspective to avoid speaking for Others, (b) acknowledging the range of complex opportunities, barriers, and belief systems involved in music teaching and learning in the United States that center Western music practices, and (c) engaging in critical discourses with a goal of upholding dignity and humanity in music education. Specifically, I critically examine a few commonly stated yet underinterrogated statements that music educators—both individually and as a profession—may be taking for granted.
“Music Is for All”
The “music for all” belief is one of the most commonly stated teacher beliefs I encounter as a music educator in professional settings. From peer-reviewed curriculum documents and mission statements to informal conversations with colleagues over lunch, the music-for-all belief appears to be a driving force behind advocacy models and classroom practices (e.g., curricular decisions). Yet, music educators can no longer afford to rely on the positive nature of music for all without listening to—and believing—students who report experiences that magnify an antithetical narrative: music is not for you. Deborah Bradley, a music education scholar who often writes from a philosophical orientation, reflected on “helping music educators recognize and understand how the culture that permeates systems and structures can negatively affect teacher–student relationships and cause harm to individuals.” 4 Naming the role of dominant perspectives and narratives (e.g., statements like “music for all;” pedagogy rooted in Western classical norms and/or Eurocentricity; valuing performance over process) contributes to “the recognition that music education is a system in need of both critique and change.” 5 Therefore, the impact of music for all and similar paradigms must be critically examined, considered, and reconsidered in music education praxis. First, I use intent versus impact as a frame to reconsider music for all. Then, I identify examples of teacher language related to music for all while naming areas of potential harm. Finally, within each of the following sections, I provide questions and suggestions for reexamining teacher language in the context of music teaching and learning.
Intent versus Impact
When examining and unpacking beliefs related to music for all, one might consider differentiating between intent and impact. Consider the intent that could be behind music for all. To me, this phrase clearly communicates positive intent rather than malintent. However, benevolent intent does not guarantee benign impact. It is possible to be a fundamentally good human with positive intent while negatively impacting or harming someone else. Just as well-meaning folks can perpetuate microaggressions while engaging in social justice and equity work, music educators can unknowingly cause harm without ever meaning to. Since “‘doing no harm’ requires first recognizing what causes damage,” 6 noticing and responding to the impact of teacher beliefs and actions is imperative in the process of reconciling intent, impact, and future practices.
Intent and Impact in the Literature
Music education research has highlighted the glaring mismatch between stated teacher beliefs and students’ lived experiences. Across the literature related to talent and musical ability, study participants have pinpointed specific, negative school-music experiences—frequently involving direct interactions with music educators—that were pivotal in their acceptance of identities as nonsingers and, for some, as nonmusical or even tone-deaf. 7 The prevalence of these negative experiences and nonmusical identities resulting from interactions with music teachers are symptomatic of teacher language that is incongruent with the “for all” discourse.
Perpetuating Harm?
A few years ago, I remember questioning whether “music for all” beliefs were truly as damaging as I had perceived them to be. Could it have been that, in my own echo chamber, I somehow dramatized the malice I associate with the phrase? I quickly realized that this was probably not the case after bearing witness to three recountings of musically disaffirming experiences, each of which directly involved music educators. First, in a conversation with a parent of a student, I asked a question about the student’s instrument and the parent offered this (paraphrased and unsolicited) insight into their own music education experience: “My high school band director told me I wasn’t talented enough, so I quit. I loved band, but I guess I just wasn’t good enough to be there.” Participants expressed similar stories and sentiments in Carlos Abril’s empirical investigation of three adults’ singing anxiety. In Abril’s study, participants identified connections between these prior interactions with their music teachers and their own musical—or unmusical—self-perceptions. 8
A situation exemplifying Abril’s findings occurred while I was waiting for an appointment at a medical office. Someone nearby asked me a question about the wireless internet and subsequently asked what I did for a living. Smiling, I shared that I was an elementary music teacher. Without hesitation, this person—whom I had met only moments before—said, “Oh I used to love to sing! But I don’t sing anymore. My middle school choir teacher told me my voice was bad . . . in front of the whole class. . . . I never sang again after that day. . . . Now I only sing in my head.”
Finally, and most recently, I listened to the audiobook The Notorious RBG: The Life and Times of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. 9 About two-thirds of the way through the book, the now late Supreme Court justice referred to her grade school music teacher as “quite cruel.” Ginsburg recalled the teacher, who labeled her as a “sparrow, not a bluebird” because her voice was “monotone” and she “could not sing,” according to the music teacher. The book went on to express Ginsburg’s complicated self-perceptions of her musicianship. Following these negative interactions with her music teacher, Ginsburg shared that she listened to opera but never viewed herself as “talented enough” to do anything else.
These lived experiences demonstrate incongruence between teacher beliefs and practices, including statements made directly to students about their musicianship. Whether students were told they lacked talent like the band parent, had a “bad” voice like the person in the office, or were labeled as “nonsingers” like Ginsburg, individuals can carry these negative interactions with their former music teachers well into adulthood. The simultaneous widespread, research-informed, and colloquial nature of these experiences warrants further consideration, particularly on the part of music educators and music teacher educators.
Teacher Language and Preventing Harm
Music educators—both individually and collectively—must take steps toward congruence among beliefs and practices, and, at the very least, attempt to do no harm. A first step in this direction may be identifying the intent versus the impact(s) of teacher language. For instance, a well-meaning music teacher may intend to help a student identify the vocal quality with which the student is singing, but the impact of publicly labeling the student as a “monotone sparrow” or “nonsinger” may negatively impact the student’s self-perceptions of their musicianship, as was the case in Ginsburg’s shame-filled account of her own musically disaffirming experiences. However, musically disaffirming language can be far more covert. Becoming aware of one’s words—and the potential messages sent and interpreted as a result of those words—is crucial to upholding student dignity, rejecting shame-based narratives, and moving toward congruence among teacher beliefs and practices that aim to affirm student identities, including musicianship identities. In the following sections, I explore teacher language related to “music for all” beliefs and propose adjustments for teacher language with the goal of fostering affirming musical environments for all students.
“All Children Are Musically Talented”
Teacher beliefs, actions, and instructional decisions involving musical talent have immense implications for student identity development and, therefore, classroom practices. Foundational beliefs involving musical talent can be helpful for music teachers as they assist students to build additional skills and competencies as musicians. However, when positioned as the musical “experts,” teachers should use caution when responding to a child’s singing and/or general musicianship. 10 Phrases like “You’re all such talented musicians!” used to be among my favorite ways to affirm students and their musicianship. I felt that these phrases communicated exactly what I wanted to express: my genuine belief that all my students were uniquely musical individuals. I also used to think that this phrase was a great way to avoid attaching teacher judgment (positive or negative) to students’ musical responses. However, when I learned that musical identities could be dismantled through talent-based language and beliefs, I realized that I needed to reconsider my word choices.
Ideally, students navigate their school experiences knowing that they are readers, writers, scientists, and mathematicians, but what about their identities as musicians? Heather Shouldice explored this question, among others, in a study that investigated elementary students’ perceptions of “good musicians”:
It is a given in society, and thus in schools, that virtually all individuals have the potential for language and will develop a level of linguistic competence. This becomes a reality because it is believed to be true. What if the same were said for musical competence? If society were to believe that all human beings have the potential for music and will develop a level of musical competence, would this become a reality?
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Questions like these reveal the need for further study surrounding teacher beliefs and the impacts of those beliefs upon students’ self-perceptions of musicianship. While music teacher beliefs can certainly support student musicianship and acknowledge music potential “for all,” music educators must also consider the messages (implicit and explicit, positive and negative) that students receive and interpret in the classroom.
Talent-based beliefs negate the tenets of belief in musical ability by placing an emphasis on musical achievement. Paradigms of talent can uphold an all-or-nothing view of innate musicianship, communicating that either someone “has it” or they do not. While talent-based beliefs are common and seemingly widespread, the misnomer that musicality is reserved for the “elite, gifted few” is an idea that is unique to Western culture. 12 Ethnomusicologist John Blacking established the groundwork for this concept, dispelling the notion that the talent paradigm is universally accepted. 13 Citing his experience with the Venda people of South Africa, Blacking suggested the notion that “not all people are musical” is an idea constructed, taught, and disseminated by Western culture.
According to Shouldice, “beliefs in musical talent that result in judgments made about whether a person is ‘musical’ or ‘unmusical’ are an issue of social justice.” 14 Herein lies one of the significant issues related to embracing a talent-based belief system: “Placing inborn qualities such as innate musical ability at the forefront is equivalent to labeling an individual’s musical ability based on color of skin, sex or birthplace.” 15 As such, the very notion of talent normalizes hierarchical structures that promote racist, sexist, and similar “-ist” pedagogies.
Teachers must consider the potential ramifications of using language rooted in talent-based belief systems. With the intent to move toward musicianship-affirming congruence between my own beliefs and practices, I often ask myself:
What goals do I have for the students that I get to learn from/with?
Are my words and practices reflecting my belief that every child is fundamentally musical and can learn musical skills? How?
How might I be unintentionally disaffirming students’ musicianship? What are my go-to phrases and habits? How might those be problematic?
Who is reflected in the received curricula (e.g., posters, images, repertoire, musical examples)? How might those materials communicate who is “talented”?
Am I prioritizing space for students to express their unique musical ideas via creativity and improvisation? How? Why is this different from only recreating musical material that was composed by someone else? How might this relate to beliefs about talent and musical ability?
Am I truly centering students and their musicianship, or am I centering my perceptions of their musicianship? How will I know?
How do I value participatory, process-oriented musicking compared with performative or performance-based musicking? What could that mean for my practices in the classroom? What messages might I be implicitly or explicitly communicating to students?
“Music Is Student-Centered”
Upon entering a room where an ensemble is rehearsing, it may be reasonable to assume and expect that students will be participating in active musicking. Whether singing, playing an instrument, listening, moving, and/or audiating, an administrator’s write-up of a walk-through observation of such a rehearsal might reflect a student-centered setting where students feel engaged and are participating. However, just as benevolent intent does not guarantee benign impact, the act of student participation does not necessarily indicate the centering of student musicianship, identities, and/or cultures.
Conversations would be boring if all I were ever allowed to do was repeat what someone else had already spoken or written down; a child would not be considered literate if English language arts classes consisted of only reciting texts aloud with their peers. A musical equivalent looks and sounds like allowing students only to replicate others’ compositions. Whether learned through notation or by rote, the exclusive re-creation of work established by others constitutes many school music experiences. As a result, replicating songs identified as “traditional” or part of “the canon” becomes the focus of the instruction rather than centering students’ musical compositions and improvisational ideas.
Rather than center teachers’ ideas about what students’ interests might be, teachers have an opportunity to prioritize student musicking in ways that center students’ actual interests, cultures, and musical ideas. I believe that this way of approaching student-centered learning can help to avoid tokenizing—reducing a culture to a single experience and/or presenting that culture as a monolith. For instance, in a former elementary teaching position of mine, several students had family members who immigrated to the United States from Mexico. Instead of me, the teacher, making assumptions about what my students with Mexican heritage listened to, I chose to provide and prioritize space for students to share (privately in writing or publicly if they wished) their preferred musics for singing, moving, creating, and/or listening. Rather than seek out folk songs that I—someone not directly connected to Mexican culture—perceived as Mexican, the musics that students chose to share were purposefully centered in our classroom curricula. While some students with Mexican heritage listened to and actively performed “traditional” mariachi music with their friends and families, many listened to the Weeknd more often than they would ever listen to my idea of “their” music. As Jacqueline Kelly-McHale explained,
The source of the disjuncture is a classroom that is structured on the basis of the beliefs and experience of the teacher, in this case, the adoption of a color-blind approach to instruction. Freire (2009) cautioned that the worldview of the dominant members of society does not enjoin the diverse minority it oppresses and limits. If, as teachers, we learn to listen to the words, observe the actions, and seek the examples our students bring to the music classroom, we will become better able to expand our repertoire and curriculum and better serve the student instead of the tradition with which we most closely identify. We must be students of our students; we must become teachers who learn.
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Therefore, it is worthwhile to ask the following:
Who is participating and how?
Who is being excluded from “traditional” school ensembles? How and why?
What are the power dynamics in a school music classroom? When do these power imbalances occur and why?
Who contributes to decision-making, both musically and otherwise?
Are students engaging in replicating music or reimagining music? How?
In what ways are students active co-creators of the musical environment?
How are students’ musical ideas and identities centered, prioritized, honored, and shared? If students are not being centered, who—or what—is?
How might I be prioritizing Western classical ideas and techniques? What shifts could I make in the genres, styles, and techniques that are presented and represented in our classroom?
As I reflect on these questions, I think about my own work to decenter and deconstruct my perceptions of student musicianship in order to center student musicking, support student identities, and embrace a progress-oriented mindset alongside my students.
“Music Is Inclusive”
Student cultures, identities, and modes of creating and interacting with music are complex and multifaceted. Just as positive intent does not equate to positive impact, the fact that a student is present in a space does not guarantee they will feel included in that space. I believe this is especially true of music classrooms. With the intent of co-creating safe and/or brave spaces, I find it worthwhile to wonder the following:
Is this music classroom inclusive? To whom? Whose voices/experiences are centered?
How am I positioning the music I am teaching to the music I am not teaching (or not teaching yet)?
Who or what is framed as “normal” in my teacher language?
Who are the students I get to teach and learn alongside? What assumptions might I be making about students?
Am I centering students, or could I be centering my assumptions about students? How might I be representing and/or misrepresenting a people group?
What is my positionality? How is my identity positioned related to the identities of the students I teach and with whom I learn?
As someone whose positionality often aligns with dominant culture, how might I be unintentionally othering lived experiences that differ from my own?
The ways in which these questions manifest in my classroom is closely tied to my positionality. I have frequently heard teachers refer to white male composers as simply “composers,” while female composers are referred to as “female composers” and Black composers are referred to as “Black composers” and so on. Using language in this way positions composers who are white and male as the default or the norm. The addition of qualifiers for folks whose identities do not align with the dominant culture in a Western-centric colonialist society paints a powerful and undeniable portrait of elitism authored by white supremacy. Similarly, referring only to pieces of music in Western notation as “compositions” places an exceedingly specific value on what composing means and who can—or “should”—access it. Instead, I label “composing” with the students as anything they have created and have preserved through either writing, memorizing, and/or recording. This slight yet significant language shift has the potential to decenter the dominant culture (e.g., white, Western, classical, Eurocentric) in US music education and, potentially, honor students’ ways of musicking and being.
Conclusion
Words, thoughts, and actions hold immense power. According to the “responsive classroom” approach to teaching and discipline, “What we know and believe about our students—individually, culturally, developmentally—informs our expectations, reactions, and attitudes about those students.” 17 Whether toward congruence or incongruence, teacher language has the potential to reflect teacher belief systems writ large, including beliefs about students and their musicianship. Music educators must prioritize applying critical lenses to the potential messages conveyed by their words, actions, and practices. Although admittedly challenging, I have found this work to be both honoring and humbling. While guilt, shame, and/or embarrassment from realizing discrepancies between my own beliefs and practices—past, present, and future—undeniably stings, fragility is a place to move through, not a place to dwell. With each learning opportunity, I move forward with an intent to know better and to do better while learning to navigate the complex, colonized society in which I have been conditioned and to which I have contributed. Teachers must engage in wondering critically about the world while inviting, guiding, and encouraging students to ask their own critical questions. In the words of poet and activist Amanda Gorman, “What just is isn’t always justice.” 18 If the voice of what “just is” resides at the fore, curiously lean in and wonder why. As teachers, the act of problematizing our beliefs, practices, and language does not diminish our integrity or our character; rather, in doing so, we might dare to interrupt the patterns that create, re-create, and sustain systems of oppression and incongruence in music education.
