2002 Robert M. Trotter Lecture, presented at the CMS National Conference in Kansas City on September 27, 2002.
Before beginning my prepared remarks, I wish to pay tribute to two musician/teachers whom I truly consider to be personal mentors. One is Michael Rogers (University of Oklahoma) who has been very active in CMS, and whose book, Teaching Approaches in Music Theory (Southern Illinois University Press), is a veritable treasure trove of pedagogical and philosophical truths, meaningful for any teacher of any subject. The other is the late, great, Janet McGaughey, who was my esteemed colleague for several years at The University of Texas. Janet, a musical giant if ever there was one, "mented" simply by being homespun and sophisticated, brilliant and humble, energetic and contemplative, and possessed of truly monster ears. It was both a joy and a privilege to be her colleague.
I am profoundly honored to have been asked to present this lecture, especially as I survey the names of previous Trotter lecturers. I am also mildly embarrassed about the title of this presentation, for two reasons. First, it does not begin to live up to the poetic and eloquent titles used by my distinguished predecessors in the Trotter series (this is vexing to one who considers herself a closet English teacher); and second, the title is something of a ruse. As I explored what I wanted to say and how it could best be said, I found myself harking back to articles and speeches which powerfully addressed issues concerning our profession. Many of these writers/presenters are individuals whom I have come to know personally, while others are folks that I have admired from afar. In every case, however, their thoughts and words have offered insights and observations that have guided my philosophy, my administrative work, and my teaching to a remarkable degree. As you see, then, my use of the term "mentor" as "a trusted counselor or guide" will expand well beyond the more current and frequently encountered version associated with teacher/student or "senior/junior" faculty relationships. I must crave your indulgence for this mild duplicity, but hope you will find my chosen mentors and their ideas to be worthy of your attention.
Excerpts from Robert Shaw's Speeches
One of my all time great heroes was Robert Shaw, the late, legendary choral conductor and conductor of the Atlanta Symphony. Shaw was what I consider to be a truly saintly man, endowed with an extraordinary talent, tireless energy, deep spiritual conviction, and an impish sense of humor. Sometime in the distant past (and from a forgotten source) I was fortunate enough to secure a copy of a speech he delivered at the Music Teachers National Convention in St. Louis, February 14, 1955. I would like to share a few passages from this speech that will give you further insight into the thinking of this remarkable and eminently lovable musician regarding the nature of music training. As part of the introduction to his talk, Shaw alludes briefly to a speech which he had presented in the same location ten years earlier, and goes on to say:
There are two differences between the present occasion and that earlier one. The first is the difference of auspices. That one was in conjunction with a conference of Music EDUCATORS, and this one I understand is with a convention of Music TEACHERS. On the flight out I was trying to figure the difference between the two, but since arriving, I have noticed the agendas abound in "critical-analytical orientations" and "diagnostic and therapeutic implications" and it has rather knocked my theories into a mortar board.
I figured that a teacher was one who taught that which he knew, while an educator was a person who was so well qualified that he could teach anything, even that which he didn't know. Education, in essence, is the science of getting there first—without necessarily anything at all. The reason Education is necessary is because some people just don't want to learn anything. A person who wants to know something can be taught, but a child who doesn't want to know anything at all has to be Educated.1
While these remarks were obviously presented in a humorous vein, one is nonetheless reminded of today's daunting canon of course requirements, tests, statistical analyses, state mandates, parental pressure, and other challenges presented to aspiring public school teachers, particularly in the field of music. It is therefore all the more encouraging to see truly talented young people pursuing this career path, in an effort to change the lives of young persons for the better.
Before bidding farewell to this musical giant, I must share one further anecdote. If you ever heard Shaw speak (as I hope many of you have), you know that he was an inspiring and captivating speaker. It appears, however, that this gift did not come easily to him since (in this same speech) he observes:
Some of you folks get chances to make speeches all the time, but in the life of a performer this is a big thing. The eyes get bigger than the butterflies in the stomach; and the mouth which always was large enough to accommodate the foot, now handles both of them nicely—with room enough to walk around in.
In a subsequent address presented in 1996 at Commencement ceremonies at the University of South Carolina, he chose to carry this metaphor still farther by saying: "The secretary of the Music Director Emeritus of the Atlanta Symphony (Shaw) has a standard line which she uses to ward off unwary program chairmen who seek his services as a public speaker: 'Mr. Shaw' she says, 'only opens his mouth to change his socks.'"2
Remembering Robert Trotter
One great bonus of being invited to present this lecture today was the opportunity it provided me to learn more about Robert Trotter, whom I never knew, but who appears to have been the ultimate mentor to students and colleagues alike. My friend Ann McLucas was kind enough to send me some materials including a journal article, a deeply moving eulogy delivered by Barbara Reeder Lundquist at his memorial service in 1994, and a transcript of informal comments made at a workshop held at the Eastman School in June, 1969, dealing with the topic of Comprehensive Musicianship (or CM). In response to a student's question: "Isn't it too difficult to teach the CM way?", his comprehensive reply began as follows:
My answer has to be very personal. I can comment semi-impersonally on some substance having to do with the requirements for a teacher who wants to aim toward developing comprehensive musicianship; but I prefer to speak about the philosophical background to this question. First, let me answer the question directly by saying yes, it's difficult! But isn't it just as difficult to go on year after year teaching material that periodically turns to dust in our mouths, watching our students being less and less turned on to what we present to them? It is above all the initial commitment to continual self-renewal that is the most difficult.3
Surely I am not the only one among you who has watched (or heard about) a venerable professor picking up a tattered notebook and carefully turning brittle, yellowed, dog-eared pages to find "today's" lecture topic.
Recognizing the far-reaching and perhaps overwhelming implications of the CM philosophy, Trotter further defines his own goals by saying:
I try to develop in myself and my students "indispensable musicianship." This phrase means to me: developing modest competence in performance, composition, and perceptive listening, along with a desire and ability to relate all three to each other and to all of life. If we aim at developing indispensable musicianship in ourselves and our students, we can make it: to aim at less is to be irresponsible, bored and boring.4
My personal experience in teaching CM has been limited to an institution with which I was involved for a number of years. Like many music schools at that time, the undergraduate theory program moved directly (and perhaps almost dizzyingly) from a two-year musicianship curriculum based exclusively on the four-part chorale style and contrapuntal writing of Bach (combined with ear-training and keyboard harmony reinforcing the harmonic concepts) to a virtually unbounded array of styles, composers, genres, techniques, and terminology. The transformation, which required maintaining a judicious balance between information and skills, was a somewhat unsettling one for yours truly, who had become dangerously comfortable in "the old way of doing things."
In subsequent years, following my move to music administration, I frequently served as a consultant to other schools, where I had the chance to observe classes based on the CM model, revealing truly remarkable results in the synthesis of skills and knowledge. Clearly the concept, though not universally adopted, has had a far-reaching effect on the training of many young musicians.
Even as he championed the cause of CM, Trotter warned those involved in the project to avoid the "mess in the Messianic" complex by retaining an appropriate lightness of spirit in the effort. He was wont to remind them that zeal was welcome and useful, but confrontation was probably not.
The Teaching Philosophy of Emile Jaques-Dalcroze
As part of his philosophy, Trotter embraced the inclusion of other repertories in the curriculum, as well as the concept of kinetic and kinesthetic responses to musics, both those in the traditional "canon" and those from other cultures. The concept of responding to music not only with our ears but also in our bodies brings to mind the theories of Emile Jaques-Dalcroze, whose ideas sound remarkably current, even though his most prolific period of writing began in the 1920s (well after his initial appointment at the Geneva Conservatory in 1892 where he began his research) and extended well into the 1940s until his death in 1950.
The Dalcroze method is in many ways an earlier manifestation of the thrust toward comprehensive musicianship. CM courses have sought to synthesize and relate experiences in composition, performance, analytical listening, and theory. Jaques-Dalcroze saw the weakness in separation of musical studies clearly revealed by the persistent difficulties experienced by his students in taking dictation, and in performing with musical understanding. He formulated his whole approach to music education on synthesis of theoretical knowledge and skills and their application. Sensory and intellectual experiences are fused. He believed that the skills and understandings of both the least and most accomplished musician are built on active involvement in musical experience, and he planned for the development of a kind of musicianship that included not only accurate performance of the musical score, but a sensitive expression of all the interpretive elements of the music: dynamics, phrasing, nuances, and shading. Eurhythmics, the only entirely new subject in the Dalcroze method, has always been associated with Emile Jaques-Dalcroze and is frequently considered as the sole area of study in his method. The areas of solfege and improvisation were incorporated in his teaching of theory and harmony before eurhythmics was developed, however, and are considered of equal importance in Dalcroze training.5
It is apparent from Jaques-Dalcroze's observations that compartmentalism, especially in higher education, is no new phenomenon. Piano courses were not collated with those in harmony, nor those in harmony with those dealing with the history of music, nor was the history of music applied to a study of the general history of peoples and individuals. There was no cohesion among syllabi, although they were profuse in their subject matter, and each professor was confined to his own narrow domain, having little contact with his colleagues who specialized in other branches of musical science. Does that sound like a familiar scenario in 2002?
As we review the theories and writings of Jaques-Dalcroze (1919) and Trotter (1969), and then survey today's disparate college music scene, we are reminded of the old and perhaps apocryphal adage: "The difficulty of revising a college curriculum is roughly comparable to that of relocating a cemetery."
Further Reflections on My Own Philosophy of Teaching
Lest you somehow infer from my views thus far that I am on the cutting edge of varied repertories and technological advances, let me hasten to set the record straight. From this podium I can see my colleague Reginald Bain smiling indulgently, as he does whenever this topic comes up during one of our conversations on campus. While I consider myself to be a reasonably competent teacher of musicianship skills, and do my best to make sure that my students receive wide exposure to, and insights into, varied repertories, I am happiest when I am working with the music of Bach, arguably a dead, white male, but still a magical composer by any measure. As I luxuriate in, and rhapsodize over, a string of lush, diatonic seventh chords, I have been known to comment (perhaps seeking justification for my antique tastes), "You know, sometimes I think I should have been born 200 years ago." Out of the corner of my eye I can observe the students looking at each other with a wry smile, thinking to themselves "Perhaps she really was." I do, however, hold a number of cherished convictions about effective teaching.
First (and perhaps foremost), it is essential that we take each student from where he/she is and move forward from that stage. A concept frequently mentioned by Dalcroze teachers is one of seeking not so much to develop new abilities in the student, but rather to allow each student to develop those abilities which he/she possesses to the highest level possible. I have always admired the work of Carl Rogers who, in his book A Way of Being, makes the following observation:
When the teacher has the ability to understand each student's reactions from the inside, has a sensitive awareness of how the process of education and learning seems to the student, then, again, the likelihood that significant learning will take place is increased. This kind of understanding is sharply different from the usual evaluative understanding, which follows the pattern of, "I understand what is wrong with you." When there is a sensitive empathy, however, the reaction in the learner follows something of this pattern: "At last someone understands how it feels and seems to be me without wanting to analyze or judge me. Now I can blossom and grow and learn." Such a teacher can accept the students' occasional apathy, their erratic desires to explore by-roads of knowledge, as well as their disciplined efforts to achieve major goals. He or she can accept personal feelings that both disturb and promote learning: rivalry with a sibling, hatred of authority, concern about personal adequacy. What I am describing is a prizing of the learners as imperfect human beings with many feelings, many potentialities.6
Along the same lines, I must admit to priding myself on having been able to reach students who struggle with music theory, and to bring them to a considerably higher level of accomplishment than they initially brought to the course. In light of that focus, I was profoundly moved by a note I received from one of my students at the time of her graduation. Far from being a struggling student, this young woman (an excellent performer) was one of the brightest and most talented individuals I have ever encountered. She completed a double major in music and psychology in four years, summa cum laude, and went on to a prestigious graduate program. She was an engaged but self-effacing presence in my class, always attentive, but never seeking the spotlight. In her parting note, she penned the following generous tribute: "Your intelligence and knowledge are matched by your patience and enthusiasm for teaching. You go out of your way to avoid intimidating your students with your formidable expertise, using it as a helpful tool, rather than a weapon as some similarly gifted persons do." Surely, one could not ask for a more moving affirmation, and it goes without saying that this note will long be treasured.
Yet another of my prized convictions is that there must always be sound connected to the teaching of musicianship at all levels. Any description of interval and chord qualities, chord progressions, phrase structure, or musical style, is essentially sterile if there is no listening involved. No matter what the title of the class I am teaching, I consider it to be first and foremost a course in ear-training. A simple example might be illustrated by the playing of a harmonized major scale. As the scale ascends (at a stately tempo), you might indulge in a slight crescendo, thereby enhancing the sense of forward harmonic motion to tonic. Upon reaching the leading tone, you then lift your fingers from the keys and stand up. Your students will (we hope) squirm uncomfortably in their seats and beg you to "finish" it. This "felt" response represents an important component of effective ear training.
Another idea that seems to enliven the initial class meeting of a freshman theory course is that of bringing in a tape or CD, consisting of snippets (one or two minutes in length) from a wide variety of literature. The first selection might be the opening of a Brandenburg Concerto. Ask your students to talk about it. Can they describe what they are hearing? Try to get at the issues of rhythm, melody, counterpoint (being careful to avoid emphasis on technical terms, especially in a class with mixed levels of preparation), instruments used, perhaps even a guess at a composer. You might follow this excerpt with a brief selection by the Beatles. What has changed about the melody? The rhythm? The instruments? Has anything stayed the same? Subsequent excerpts might include a work such as Penderecki's Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima, in which the previously discussed parameters give way almost totally to considerations of timbre and texture. This type of activity, particularly early on, provides tremendous benefits. It exposes the students to a wide variety of musics. It also gives those with more extensive background a chance to "show off" and get it out of their systems, while at the same time showing others what a long way they have to go. Perhaps most important, however, especially if one is careful to stay away from highly technical language, it lets students begin to articulate their responses to the music—to describe, or try to describe, what they are hearing and/or feeling—to "analyze," as it were.
Along with these observations which have characterized my own teaching philosophy, I would also offer this caveat: a teacher should always teach to his/her strengths and in a style that feels comfortable. While it might be tempting to try and precisely replicate the teaching techniques of a master teacher you have observed, you will probably be less effective in the classroom or studio than you would, were you to select or devise particular techniques and/or approaches that resonate within you and cause your own creative juices to flow. The more comfortable you are, the richer the experience will be for your students.
Recollections by Harold Best and Others
The following citations include musicians with whom I have worked, primarily in connection with my years spent in music administration. Harold Best, a former president of NASM and also former dean of the Conservatory of Music at Wheaton College until his recent retirement, has become a revered and beloved mentor of mine since I first began my work with NASM in 1986. A thoughtful and insightful administrator, he has always embraced the idea of musical diversity, even long before he understood what it meant, as revealed from these excerpts from his book Music Through the Eyes of Faith.7
I remember an upright piano in our living room on which I made the plinking and plunking music of little children. Sometime before I could read music very well, I was trying to make it up. I didn't know that this was called improvisation—I just thought that was one of the things you did with music. At home the music we listened to was classical music. My father did not find popular music acceptable and continued to remain puzzled and uncomfortable over my enthusiasm for the many kinds of popular music that I had eagerly come to embrace.
I fell in love with this music, not even guessing that it could be separated out from Bach and Brahms and Beethoven. I also heard what we now call ethnic music, without any idea that it could be separated out into classes and hierarchies. I simply knew that I needed all of these kinds of music as much as I needed the classical music that my father had personally singled out. To me, it was all one enchanting world, each part merging with the rest.
Best goes on to describe his dilemma upon learning from his preacher father that this popular music was not spiritual, but rather "music of the world," and therefore of worldliness. Thus his once all-inclusive world became divided into two opposing camps.
The music I heard in church was, of course, "good" music, but even within this world a significant split occurred. Sunday morning music turned out to be different than Sunday evening music. Sunday morning and its music was for tried-and-true Christians. It was connected to worship and topical Christianity. Sunday evening was for those who needed the Lord. Beginning in a "song service," its music was almost inevitably linked to promptings, warnings, sadness for sins, and repentance.
This divided loyalty, allowing for precious little middle ground, continued throughout his musical and academic training, where the "good" music was found in the works of the great masters, along with John Thompson's red piano books and newly minted sheet music. The "bad" music included low-quality classical music and almost everything else, such as popular, jazz, gospel, and country. Best describes his dilemma as follows:
For far too long, I lived openly in the sophisticated world of the classics and privately in the musics of the "other side," not fully knowing myself anymore. I began to wonder if I was a musical hybrid or hypocrite, publicly and pedagogically touting the party line while inwardly drawn to so much more."
Now, in the later years of his profession, Best is recognized as a champion of incorporating diverse musical repertoire in academic training, and observes, in his inimitably poetic manner: "I find myself laughing and whole again, musically happier than ever, celebrating this vast expanse of sonic creativity. . . . I find myself wanting to dance through a Pentecost of Musics, excited as never before. . . "
Hypothetical Predictions of Donald Harris
We are seeing, probably not for the first time, that many good, "new" ideas are not necessarily that new, and "old" problems seldom fade away. Donald Harris who, before his retirement, was Dean of Fine Arts at Ohio State University, gave a talk in 1989 to the membership of NASM. It was called "Predicting the Future" in which he postulates a fictitious NASM meeting that might have been held in 1787 (200 years earlier). The deans of music schools who were attending the meeting would likely be in their fifties, and would have not only experienced the improvisation of the great J.S. Bach at the Thomaskirche, but also the premiere of Don Giovanni in 1787. As they met to discuss issues relative to their programs and curricula, questions would undoubtedly have been raised about the problem of putting clarinet teachers on tenure tracks, since no one had any assurance that this instrument would stand the test of time; what should we do with students demanding to be taught the piano, when we had so many tenured but under-subscribed harpsichord teachers on the faculty; how might we solve the unending problems of equal temperament; and should we be teaching our students to write fugues and cantatas, or symphonies and sonatas.
Harris (a student of Nadia Boulanger), alluding to the clear analogies to be drawn, suggested: La plus ca change, la plus c'est la meme chose ("The more things change, the more they stay the same."). He then concluded by observing that rather than trying to predict the future (which we of course cannot), "we should rather fulfill our responsibilities as educators to provide a willing, receptive, and comfortable climate for learning, one that is neither prescriptive nor preemptive. Far more important than predictions of what will take place in the future is the simple fact that we need to provide forums for the free investigation of creative thought, the very nature of which is unpredictable."8
Joseph Polisi on Arts for Human Understanding
Joseph Polisi, President of Juilliard, was the invited speaker at an Honors Awards Ceremony at the University of Connecticut, in May of 1987. I found his presentation to be deeply moving, and profoundly relevant in today's arts climate. The disturbing tendency of our society to equate art with entertainment, achievement with fame, and quality with profitability, is still widespread, and Polisi offers the following observations:
Great works of art are a summation of the human condition. The understanding of these artworks represents a cultivated intellect, a sharpened perception, and a sensitized emotion, all attributes which represent the highest goals of our educational system.
It should be understood that all entertainment is not art and not all art can be expected to function as entertainment. As individuals who bring the art of music to our society, we must clearly understand the primary place which art has in preserving our culture and quality of life. The arts help us to better understand ourselves and to more clearly focus the experiences and ideas that give value to human life.
Recently I saw the award-winning movie Platoon, which graphically depicts the war in Vietnam at its greatest intensity. What we see in the movie is humankind at its most brutal, irrational level, devoid of human sensitivity and compassion. Ironically, the musical leitmotiv in Platoon is Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings. The Barber is played during moments when the battle scenes end and the viewer can examine the incomprehensible horror of war. Within this context, the Adagio for Strings represents civilization at its best; the rational, beautiful elements of human existence. Each time the music interrupted the violence on screen, I began to understand what the world would be without music, without art. A barren landscape indeed for those who understand the true meaning of art in our lives.9
Polisi's words for those of us engaged in teaching the arts are deeply meaningful, in that they remind us of the over-arching power of the arts as a path to personal fulfillment and self-realization in all walks of life. Ideally, they may inspire us to find ways to model, for our students, the powerful influence that music has in our own lives.
Samuel Hope's Position on the Power of the Arts
I wish to continue and conclude this presentation with some words from Dr. Samuel Hope, Executive Director of NASM. Indeed, his administrative domain includes the accrediting agencies for art and design, dance, and theatre. In his more than twenty-five years at the helm of NASM, Sam, a gifted pianist and composer, has guided the process of bringing together music administrators for the purpose of sharing information, experience, ideas, and concepts regarding the training of musicians. He has defined his responsibility as that of facilitator, always keeping the peer-driven process and the service role of NASM at the forefront of its work and its accreditation activities.
I consider Sam's Executive Director's Report to the Membership at the 1996 Annual Meeting of NASM to be a masterpiece, dealing with many relevant issues in today's society, and offering unique insights. He begins as follows:
We have only to look around us every day to see manifestations of high expertise and genius. In every field, there is an abundance of people with the capacity and will both to make things and to make things happen. Given this cornucopia of rich and often-realized potential, why is there so much anxiety, so much distrust and anger, so much fear, faction, and fragmentation in our society as a whole and in the various parts that constitute it?
I would suggest that we are opposed most by the prevailing regnant faith in manipulation technique as the basis for human interchange. This faith is so deep, so pervasive, and so persistent, one wag has suggested that the motto of our times be, "Fallor, ergo sum," which means, "I am deceived, therefore, I am."
He cites the widespread use of psychological techniques that tend to drive political campaigns, commercial advertising, policy-making, and corporate dealings. Most important, as he points out, these techniques regularly substitute images for fact, technique for content, and knee-jerk reaction for thought. In pursuing this line of thought, he coins an intriguing new category of individual called Attila the Bun, described below:
The goal of all this manipulation is to create as many Attila the Buns as possible. We are all familiar with Hot Dog Buns and Hamburger Buns, but what and who are these Attila the Buns? Well, Attila the Buns are Everyman, when reduced to carrying and covering the meat of whatever message they are given, thoughtlessly, passionately, often violently. Attila the Buns are militant advocates full of self-righteousness and zero tolerance, loathe to listen to others, much less compromise. Attila the Buns operate across the spectrums of professions and political persuasions.10
Following a thoughtful and compelling discourse regarding the implications of these dehumanizing trends, as well as the power of music, and the collective power of those actively involved in the teaching profession, Sam continues on a hopeful note:
I know you join me in taking great courage from the fact that what we do has lasting value. A word I overuse is "transcendent," but it is the only word I know to carry the meaning, purpose, and result of the activities we engage on behalf of music and people and both together. I believe we understand that the power in this room represents far more than what might be described as "an advocacy army." The power here is the common dedication to power in music rather than power from it or over it. The power here is the power of ideas, the combined power of common trust and the synergy that it generates. The power here is the power of art.
In the words of Shaw, Trotter, Jaques-Dalcroze, Best, Polisi, Hope, and others, I find some underlying themes that (I hope) characterize my own philosophy and goals as a teacher, including that of accepting and appreciating a student's honest efforts at any level; seeking to relate various specialized areas in the music curriculum to one another so as to develop a cohesive body of knowledge and skills; reminding students (and, for that matter, yourself) of the seminal role played by the arts in developing the "whole" person, one who is prepared to make a significant contribution to society whether or not he/she chooses to pursue music as a profession; a willingness to take chances with new ideas and approaches; and (perhaps most important) maintaining a sense of humor and the determination not to take yourself too seriously.
In conclusion, I have chosen to "borrow" Sam Hope's somewhat inscrutable but eminently memorable anecdote which served as the conclusion of his speech to the membership:
Given all those potentials for trouble, we must proceed carefully, with much forethought and strategic planning regarding our responses. We must be like the duck that waddled into the bookstore at 4:00 p.m. one day, looked at the proprietor and asked, "Have you got any grapes?" The proprietor said, "No, this is a bookstore; we sell books—not grapes." The duck waddled out. The next day at 4:00 p.m., the duck waddled into the bookstore, looked at the proprietor and asked, "Have you got any grapes?" The proprietor again answered, "No, this is a bookstore; we don't sell grapes." The duck waddled out. On the third day at the same time, the duck waddled into the bookstore, looked at the proprietor and asked, "Have you got any grapes?" The proprietor was furious at this point and answered, "Look, you've come in here for three days and asked for grapes, and I've answered you three times that this is a BOOKSTORE. We sell BOOKS—not grapes—BOOKS, and if you come in here one more time asking for grapes, I'm going to nail your feet to the floor." The duck waddled out. The next day at 4:00 p.m., the duck waddled into the bookstore, looked at the proprietor, and asked, "Have you got any nails?" The proprietor, in desperation, yelled "NO—THIS IS A BOOKSTORE." To which the duck replied, "Have you got any grapes?"
1Robert Shaw, unpublished lecture presented at the Music Teachers National Association meeting in St. Louis, February 14, 1955.
2Robert Shaw, unpublished address presented at the Commencement exercises at the University of South Carolina, August 10, 1996.
3Transcript of informal spoken comments at a meeting of students and faculty during a workshop held at the Eastman School, June, 1969.
4Ibid.
5Polly Carder and Beth Landis, The Eclectic Curriculum in American Music Education: Contributions of Dalcroze, Kodaly, and Orff (Reston, Virginia: MENC, 1972), pp. 7-9.
6Carl Rogers, A Way of Being (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1980), pp. 347-348.
7Harold Best, Music Through the Eyes of Faith (Harper: San Francisco, 1993), pp. 2-3.
8Donald Harris, Proceedings of the 64th Annual Meeting of NASM, pp. 30-35.
9Joseph Polisi, unpublished lecture presented at the University of Connecticut on May 7, 1987.
10Samuel Hope, Proceedings of the 72nd Annual Meeting of NASM, pp. 184-187.