Freedom

Immediately after I finish teaching my Thursday class in Harlem–telling my students to check their bodies, to keep their voices at zero level, hands folded, tracking me or the speaker at all times–I take a train down to 72nd street, walk a few blocks to the Lucy Moses School and become a student in a Dalcroze class.  Dalcroze, for anyone who is familiar, is a way of approaching music in a very holistic manner, of engaging the body and the mind's ear, of improvising, moving, changing and exploring what one hears.  It's a very visceral approach to music.

I enjoy the class a great deal.  We always start by moving to an improvising pianist, trying to discern what teaching point they are trying to convey, using our bodies to show rhythm patterns, meter, register, dynamics, anacrusis, anything that we hear.  We talk about it a bit and move some more.  And then we use simple kids toys to show musical elements–balls, scarves, bean bags, hoops.  Again, it's full of exploration.

I found myself so intrigued by the scarves this evening.  My partner and I quickly came up with a solution for showing form in "Old Grey Mare" using scarves in different ways, and so I started putting them together to make different colors, throwing them around, twirling, and just openly playing with them while the other groups tried to make rhythm games with their bean bags and tennis balls.

Oh the joy of freedom.  What is the cost of it?  Why are my scholars not to move?  The truth is that I understand.  I understand that it makes it harder to have a focused class when students are moving and speaking as they wish.  So really, what is the cost? What is the cost of freedom and what is the cost of stifling it?