I have tested this theory numerous times, and it always works, even on my most composed kids.  I think those magic words — one time, just one — somehow make your brain shut off.  Woo-hoo!  One more time, and then we get to have ice cream!  (Well, Music Mind Games is pretty close to ice cream, and that’s usually the carrot that’s dangling in front of them, to use a very badly mixed metaphor.)

So, although I haven’t nailed down the psychology of it just yet, I’m learning to say, “Again, please,” until it’s correct, and then to just stop asking.  However, you’d be surprised (or maybe you wouldn’t) how hard it is to strike a certain phrase from your vocabulary.  The more you dwell on not saying it, the more likely you are to say it in spite of yourself!

If you or someone you love might be interested in learning to read music, ever, there is no better place to start than with Music Mind Games.  They’re a series of interactive, cooperative teaching tools that enables anyone to teach or learn the basics of music theory in a completely painless and fun way.

I’m currently writing a series of posts at the Music Mind Games website about how to use the materials in the Puppy Packet, which I require that all of my students purchase as part of the program.  The materials are versatile, well-designed and gorgeous, but there are so many that it can be overwhelming trying to figure out where to begin.  I haven’t been cross-publishing each entry here because they are awfully specialized, but if you know any musicians or music teachers, feel free to pass it on!  And, of course, there are little glimpses into my teaching philosophy along the way:

Yesterday I told one of my students, “You’re a much better reader than I was at your age.”  It was the understatement of the year: at his age, I was hiding my books and wailing about how much I hated reading music.  He’d just played a round of Slap the C’s, D’s and B’s (yes, simultaneously!) and gotten 17 out of 18 right, all the while cracking jokes and carrying on a conversation with his father.

Every teacher should have the gift of a student who reaches higher than she ever could.  It gives you the feeling that somehow, the world really is getting to be a better place.

For many reasons, however, such a scenario is not possible for all of us.  I teach out of my living room, where the rug seats only 3 or 4 people.  My students come from all different directions and distances, and most have so many other commitments that I’ve never been able to successfully “sell” the group lesson concept.

So, how do I use Music Mind Games?  As part of my private lessons.  At the end of each 30- or 45-minute lesson, I take a few minutes to play a game with my students.  If they’ve brought friends or siblings, they’re invited to play too (I’ve gotten lots of new students this way!)  The focus, of course, is on the student, making sure he gets a good balance of review, new material and plain old fun.

For years, I simply grabbed something from my stack and went to town, not worrying about how long it had been since my students had seen it.  This is a great way to start, but over time I found there were certain things I gravitated toward, resulting in an unbalanced repertoire of games and a learning plateau for my brightest students.

Several years ago, I hit on the idea of focusing on one set of materials per month.  This corresponds roughly to the Puppy Packet of materials, though there are a couple of sets from previous incarnations of Music Mind Games.  There are nine months in the school year (my lessons are more relaxed during the summer,) so here’s how I divided them:

1. Alphabet Cards
2. Blue Jello Cards
3. Staff Slates & Grand Staff Cards
4. Tempo Cards
5. Music Symbol Cards
6. Notes & Rests Cards
7. Rhythm Playing Cards
8. Staff Slates & Do-Re-Mi Cards
9. Real Rhythm Cards

The order isn’t necessarily important, though I do feel pretty strongly about the first three — they’re very accessible for new students and loads of fun to review.

Last spring, Michiko was asking me about how I used her materials in my studio.  When I explained, she suggested spending two weeks on each set rather than one month.  This would ensure that each student saw each set of materials several times over the course of a year.  I’ve tried that this year, and it’s worked even better!

In the next few posts, I’ll write about what I do with each set of materials.  One more very important thing first, though: I strongly recommend each student have his or her own Puppy Packet.  Here’s why:

• People value something more highly if it belongs to them.  For a student, that means “it’s mine!”  For a parent, it means, “I paid for it!” This accomplishes both; the student will enjoy showing it off, while the parent will want to see it used often.
• There is an incredible sense of wonder and excitement that’s created when someone opens a package for the first time.  They want to take their time unwrapping it and examine every little piece.  The Puppy Packet is wonderfully designed for maximum enjoyment in that respect — colorful Magic Notes, Plastic bands, cards and a see-through box are enticing and mesmerizing to children.  And, in my experience, to teenagers and adults too!
• As a teacher, you’ll get more bang for your buck: by assigning “homework” (which should really be renamed “homefun” in this case) you can ensure the students are getting more exposure and practice than the few minutes you’re spending with them each week.  Think of your lesson as the teaser trailer for the feature film — the fun they’ll have exploring the games at home.

How you do it is up to you: you can include the cost in the tuition of lessons or ask parents to purchase on their own.  Just be sure each student can claim ownership of her own little box of magic.  You will be so glad you did!

Meanwhile, her father was cautious, bashful, but eager to work.  As we finished, his hands trembling from the effort, he breathed a sigh of relief.  “This is so hard!” he exclaimed. “It’s like learning another language!”

I told him he was right, explained the similarity: when you read something out loud, you don’t read each word individually; your eyes scan the page and give your brain a few moments’ warning before your mouth actually needs to form the words.  Reading music is the same, but there are numerous systems of denotation: tone, rhythm, pitch and expression all intersect in one glorious symphony of Unchained bliss.

He shook his head.  “It’s like taking a Spanish class or something.”

I laughed.  “I can’t help you with Spanish,” I said ruefully.  “I took French instead.  I probably should have taken Spanish.”  It was a lie of which I am ashamed: in truth, I am proud to know a language and culture as lovely as French, even at the expense of something far more practical.  The language itself can move me to tears, as it did once in a Solemn Mass at Sacre-Coeur or in the husky outpourings of Carla Bruni — so much so that reading it during Agape Vespers is difficult.  Even the word emouvant, moving, is far richer a concept in French than in English.

Rod Dreher wrote very beautifully yesterday about terroir, another French word that can’t easily be translated.  As I read his words (tres emouvant) I thought about my own terroir.  Here are the basic elements:

Books. I’m sitting next to a huge shelf of them.  This is a laptop, so I could be anywhere, such as in my bed upstairs, where Rob and my comforter are nestled in a warm, fluffy pile.  But if I leave this room, I won’t be able to grab something I need from one of my color-coordinated shelves, and that’s too much of a risk when I’m

Writing. It is the focus and bane of my existence.  I love it.  I hate it.  I’m good at it.  I suck at it.  These thoughts follow me throughout the day.  I cannot lose them, but I cannot stop, either.  For now, I’m here.

Maia. About five minutes ago  she moved from her perch beside my head, wedging herself into my lap in front of the keyboard.  I have to type haltingly, a few precious letters at a time, to avoid disturbing her.  But I do it, because a warm, fluffy kitty is even better than the warm, fluffy comforter upstairs.  Few people ever see this side of my snobby Siamese diva, but that makes it all the more precious to me.

Pain. She is digging her claws into my lap in ecstasy, and I am protected by only a single layer.  The pain is worth it.  It is my experience that this is true more often than not.

Pajamas. Covered with cat hair.  And my own hair is a mess, half-damp from my shower and uncombed.  But it’s my terroir.  And six days a week I get up early to put on a Catholic schoolteacher’s uniform, so today I get to languish a little in comfort with

Mexican Cocoa. Raw milk, heated just enough.  Sucanat.  Cocoa, cinnamon and a pinch of cayenne to stop my cough (the remnants of what I think is probably a developing mold allergy.)  It goes very well with

Mexican Gangsta Rap. Didn’t expect that, did you?  But it’s pouring out of the car across the street, and in spite of myself, I’m enjoying the beat.  It’s my terroir, but it’s not my world.

Music. Currently from Rob, who is now awake and drifting from David Bowie to Colin Hay and the Cars.  Snatches of his guitar drift downward, as does his strong, gorgeous voice.  Few people see this side of him; he doesn’t like to perform, unlike his fearless and choleric wife.  But hearing him strum away upstairs is one of the great joys of my life.

And sometimes the publication goes out of business, which is what happened when Topic Magazine asked for a submission about Music Mind Games.  You’ve heard me plug MMG here before, and I know I will again: it’s the best way to teach kids to read music, period.

Anyway, it occurred to me the other day that I now have my own forum to publish whatever I want, and I won’t blow myself off or refuse to answer my e-mails.  So, enjoy!

Playing Right Into Their Hands:

How Games Help Kids Become Better Musicians

Think back, for a moment, to the way you learned to read.  In all likelihood, it began the moment you were born, when you were surrounded by cooing voices that issued from adoring, blurry faces.  Other humans spoke to you constantly until you learned to speak yourself, bungling your first pronunciations to the delight of everyone around you.  Your friends and family read you books, and sometimes they’d point at key words on each page: “ball,” “cat,” “mommy.”  You learned to speak in short words and phrases, each memorized for the effect they had on others (Remember what fun “no” could be?)  You began school, and your teachers made signs for everyday objects: “door,” “desk,” “goldfish.”  Gradually, slowly, you began to understand the way these sounds and symbols worked collectively, and you pieced together a language of communication.

It would have been absurd, on your first day of life, if your parents had placed a book in front of you and expected you to learn how to communicate.  As the black print swam on a white page before your eyes, you probably would have burst into tears (and not just because you were hungry.)  Yet for most music students, their introduction to reading is just that harsh.  Up goes the theory book; intimidating black notes stare out at them, and they try to make some sense of the signs, symbols and words that must all translate into artful, passionate sound.

My students are lucky.  By the time they see their first theory book, they have the tools to break down a line of music into something more easily digestible.  They have traced the treble and bass clefs with tiny fingers and placed them on the staff, paying careful attention to the way the dots of the bass clef sit on either side of the F line.  They have dropped colorful plastic dots onto a staff, calling out gleefully, “Space!  Line!” as the notes land in their places, and collected them with a “magic” magnetic wand.  They have curled up into tiny balls on the floor, whispering “pianissimo” amid stifled giggles, and gradually stood as their voices swelled: “mezzo forte . . . forte . . . FORTISSIMO!”  On this last one, they leap wildly into the air, acting out the dynamics with their whole bodies.  They have practiced rhythms with fun, silly words like “pineapple” and “gooseberry,” forming abstracted shapes with their fingers as they learn to keep a steady pulse while they repeat the words. So, when they see a piece of “real music” for the first time, they’re ready, and even eager, to put this knowledge to good use.
Students of Music Mind Games don’t just read music; they absorb it.  They act it out, sign it, speak it, and play it – and this last verb most accurately describes their state of mind as they learn some of the most difficult and complex musical concepts in existence.  For them, it’s all a game.

(Read the rest below.)

Inspiration strikes at odd times.  For Michiko Yurko, it was during one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movies. She had been using games to teach her Suzuki students to be better, faster readers of music, and was on the verge of publication of a book and accompanying materials, but she lacked a name that was simple, easy to remember, and identified her philosophy about learning. During a movie, her youngest son, Andrew, started to make noise in the theater, and she took him outside to quiet him.  “I walked back in, and Shredder said something to one of the turtles about ‘mind games.’  I was standing at the back of the theater, and I thought, ‘That’s it!  Music Mind Games!  That’s what it’s all about.’”  Music, because that was the framework within which learning takes place.  “But it’s not just learning music theory; it’s about helping the child to learn how to think better, how to learn information more smoothly, and how to recall it more quickly . . . and all of that is camouflaged by games.  The children think they’re playing games; they’re really not.  They’re playing little tests.  Every one of the games is a test for me to see, as a teacher, how they’re doing.  So it’s all sort of a trick, in a way” – here she laughs – “but it works, because I’m constantly evaluating; I don’t have to wait for the exam.”  By judging how quickly they move their pieces or place their cards, by reading their expressions and hearing their dialogue, you can judge whether they’ve got a good grasp of the material.

Take the musical alphabet, for example.  At a child’s first lesson, I always ask if he can recite the alphabet for me; it’s an easy success experience.  But when he reaches “G,” I say, “Stop!  That’s all you need to know to play the piano.”  His eyes widen in surprise.  “On the piano, those seven letters repeat over and over.  Here, let me show you,” I say, and I take his finger and poke the keys one by one, starting at the bottom.  By the time we reach the top, he is shouting out the letters with confidence and pride.  Seven letters?!  This is going to be so easy.

The thing is, it’s not.  Ask a trained musician to go through the alphabet backwards, and she will most likely stumble.  Ask her to do it skipping every other letter (in musical thirds) and she will look uncomfortable for a moment before haltingly proceeding.  We don’t know our musical alphabet nearly as well as we think we do.

The Alphabet Cards were Michiko’s first development.  She had just returned from Dr. Suzuki’s institute in Japan; he was pioneering a new method of teaching that revolved around ear training and a deep, profound love for both children and music.  Students of the Suzuki Method were able to play far above their age level in terms of musicality and technique.  The one criticism was that they sometimes weren’t as proficient in sight reading, a necessary skill for any musician.

In Japan, Michiko explains, children learn to read music in school, so private teachers don’t have to spend much time keeping up with that skill.  So many European and American teachers, observing that Dr. Suzuki himself didn’t spend a lot of time teaching students to read, falsely assumed that it wasn’t important.  “But I wanted my students to be good readers,” says Michiko. “Everyone was so uptight about [how to teach theory], and I just thought – huh!  Well, let’s use some games.  Maybe that will help people relax . . . and because Suzuki himself had more of a playful attitude toward life, that sort of gave me an entry point.”

The Alphabet Cards helped her students to have a more fluent knowledge of the musical alphabet. “I sat through so many college classes where we just didn’t know our alphabet well enough,” she remembers. Next, she attacked dictation.  She had encountered it for the first time in college, when she realized it was just a simple memory exercise at which most children could excel.  Listen, repeat; and later, listen, repeat, write.  Her first dictation slates were lines on which pennies could be placed to represent notes.  Later, these were replaced by the bright, plastic pieces she calls “Magic Notes.”  The “magic” part is that each one has an almost-invisible wire around its edge, so that a “Magic Wand,” containing a magnet, can lift them off the page in a second.  This has nothing to do with music, but everything to do with the pleasure of play.

There are many more aspects to her method that incorporate a child’s natural love for games.  One is her approach: unhurried, unrushed, completely at ease.  Michiko remembers an encounter with Dr. Suzuki in Japan that taught her the value of such an attitude: she was with a group of other violin teachers, and Dr. Suzuki was making the rounds, asking each teacher to play a passage from the Vivaldi A-minor Concerto.  Though she had been an excellent violinist in her childhood, she hadn’t played for years, and she had never studied that particular piece.  As he drew closer to her, she started to panic, sensing imminent disaster.  But when he got to her chair, “I stood up and started playing, and I could sense two things: he was going to stand there until I got it right – he wasn’t going to pass it off by saying, “that was close enough” – and he was not going to put any pressure on me; it was going to be a very relaxed moment.  He was going to wait  – not patiently, because patience implies restrained frustration – but just wait until I got it.  So within that space of those two things, I was able to totally relax and do it, and in the end, my turn was really no longer than anybody else’s.”

Another playful feature in many Music Mind Games is the concept of a surprise.  The first time I asked a child to close her eyes while I switched two cards, I expected resistance – distrust or cynicism at the worst, uneasiness at the least.  What I found was exactly the opposite: students will obediently, even delightedly, close their eyes in anticipation of a surprise.  When they open them, I have made the puzzle harder – just hard enough for them to have to think for a moment before they can fix it.  When they do put it right, they are thrilled with themselves and beg for more turns, more games, more fun.

The materials themselves are fun, too.  A meticulous designer, Michiko uses the psychology of play even in her color selection: she prefers bright, fun colors in small quantities, usually as a border, which helps students focus.  The cards are clear and simple, not fussy and distracting, putting forth only necessary and relevant information.  Often, she’ll use a coding system: warm colors for sharps, cool for flats (because hot air rises, as sharps rise in pitch); blue cards for treble clef notes, green for bass clef (representing the sky and ground, the way the clefs sit on the staff.)

Several years ago, she moved from larger group-oriented materials to smaller, personalized sets.  Now each of her students has his own set, which they bring to class each week in a plastic carrying case.  They take great pleasure in manipulating the materials: unfolding the staff cards, shuffling the decks, and even cleaning up the pieces at the end of class.  In addition to providing visual and oral stimulation, the materials appeal to the kinesthetic sense as well.

A study of Michiko’s past reveals several key factors that led to her development of Music Mind Games.  One was the love of working with her hands; she always loved crafts, she says, creating villages out of sugar cubes and knitting with toothpicks to create clothes for her dolls.  And, since her siblings were much older, she lacked a constant source of social interaction from her peers – the framework from which most games arise. “[My siblings] would occasionally indulge me, but not very often,” she remembers, “So usually I spent time playing Solitaire games, and I would also play Monopoly by myself.”

Here I begin to laugh.  I’ve heard this story before, and it strikes me awfully sad and sweet at once.  “I really thought everybody did this,” she says, smiling.  “You’re laughing, but this was totally logical to me.  So I would set it up, and I would sit on the floor or at a table, and move from chair to chair – and I would play myself.  There would be four of us.”  She laughs with me now.  “And I promise, I wouldn’t cheat.”

“And now the inner child in me is so happy, because all these little children come and play with me, all the time!  And teachers come and play with me!  And the parents sit down and want to play with me, too!  So the fact that I can combine a worthy career, that’s going to help these children, and play games with them – how much more fulfilled could I be?”

It is, despite some frustrations, a wonderful career.  Once when I was young, I asked my mother to take me somewhere and was turned down.  I don’t remember the circumstances, or even my age, though I was probably somewhere in those magical middle-school years when I hated myself and everyone around me.  What I remember is that my mom said no, she had to work.  I remember this because of my response: “Mom, you don’t work.  You stay at home, and little kids come over and play with you all day.”

I meant to be patronizing, and probably to hurt her feelings – that’s what middle school is all about, right?  But the delicious irony is that, like her, I am now a piano teacher, and kids come to play with me all day.  And it’s wonderful.

I try not to roll my eyes when I hear this.  Of course it’s important!  I wouldn’t advise any aspiring musician to learn only by ear.  The fact is, though, that many of my students begin very early, aged 2-5.  At these ages, they are often not reading their first language yet, so to try to teach them to read music would be foolish.  In the case of older students, I like to give them a period of six months to a year to get established in my studio before I give them a separate music book besides the one for their repertoire.

I have a secret, though: I trick my students into learning to read music from their very first lessons.  My secret is a wonderful set of materials called Music Mind Games, developed by my good friend and colleague Michiko Yurko.  They focus on just one area of music reading, like interval recognition or rhythm accuracy, and they teach through interactive, cooperative games that are just loads of fun.  I often say [half-] jokingly that if it weren’t for the games we play at lessons, I wouldn’t have any students at all.  And I confide in the parents that I occasionally feel guilty for “tricking” them into learning; they are having so much fun that they don’t realize they’ve been taught, analyzed and assessed in the same ten-minute span.

Below: A guide to the Music Mind Games website, plus a warning about an extremely addictive game for online musicians!

Every music teacher should seek out the opportunity to watch Michiko at work.  Her studio in Kensington is a busy place.  Despite her growing list of accomplishments, she’s constantly changing and adapting her methods and coming up with new ideas — she is endlessly flexible, the mark of a great teacher.  Yet she remains incredibly focused while teaching, connecting with the students while continually assessing their knowledge and familiarity with the concepts they’re working on.

My parents are somewhat familiar with the store on her website, having been there to purchase Puppy Packets (a convenient combination of the most popular materials, transportable from home to studio) when they began lessons with me.  If you have an older Puppy Packet or just aren’t sure about all of this, a good introduction would be to purchase the Student Handbook, a valuable resource that has charts and definitions for all of the unusual-looking symbols and words on your card sets.  Here’s a few more highlights:

Classic Games: a list of games that can be used with just about any set of cards.  These include favorites like Five Hiding and War, but also some newer ones like 21 and Play or Pass (a group game, especially fun for families!)  This is a good place to go when your kids say there’s “nothing to do” in the house.

Rhythm Solitaire: this free online game comes with a warning.  It’s addictive!  Remember the rules for “regular” Solitaire, and ask your kids if you’ve forgotten the note and rest values.  They’ll be very happy to set you straight.

Past Workshops: Michiko’s still working on getting the photos up, but once they’re there you’ll be able to see me in the August 2005 and August 2006 photos.  The second one also has a picture of Freddie, Michiko’s adorable dog who guest-stars on several materials.

Videos: There is an amazing repository here; to navigate, use the pull-down menus at the top, starting from the “Curriculum” tab.  Each one clearly illustrates one of the dozens of games Michiko uses with her students.  This is one of my favorites: John, the fourth child in a Suzuki family, began lessons when he was just eighteen months old, and at two he is signing Blue Jello like a pro. Here’s another good one of some children in Iceland learning the notes with the Blue Jello puzzle.  I love hearing their words for the note names!

Enjoy, and be sure to tell me which page is your favorite!