The Music Theory Experience: Reconciling the Average Student to Music Analysis
Abstract
This project aims to explore music theory pedagogy and how it correlates to the ways in which students learn and employ music analysis. The goal is to explore why students see music analysis and performance as separate. This gap reveals that the music theory classroom is lacking something that empowers students to value the structure behind classical music; the result is a generation of performers who question the importance of music analysis. Through this research I hope to explore the relation between music theory content, teaching style and practice, and environment, and use the results to inspect and develop teaching methods that will merge performance and analysis. The focus of this research will be the classrooms and practices of theory professors. During this project, I will be working with real students through virtual tutoring, with an emphasis on asking students to articulate their own experiences with theory.
Bridging the Gap
My Learning Experience
My relationship with music theory has always been one of wonder. Even thinking back to my days first exploring the viola in middle and high school, music analysis fascinated me. When I became a music major in college, I finally had the opportunity to explore analysis within the contexts of music theory and aural perception courses. My young classmates and I dove in head first, planning parties around preparing for quizzes and tests, making bets on who could get 100% on voice leading assignments (none of us ever did), singing intervals to each other as we walked around campus, engaging in dialogue with our theory professor on why augmented sixth chords mattered. It felt as if someone had switched a light on in my brain; the experience of so many musical concepts coming together and making sense within the structure of form and harmony was one of the most exciting and liberating times in my life, parallel to when I began playing music altogether. It was my rebirth as a musician.
As I progress in my own personal discovery of music, I can’t help but ponder: am I somehow predisposed to enjoy the process of analysis? Is my brain simply built for it, in the same way that some are born with “natural talent?” If that is true, why did most of my undergraduate colleagues also have such a great music theory experience? And, even more troubling, why do so many young musicians feel that theory is inaccessible to them? How can my experience of music analysis be so joyous when others experience so much difficulty?
I suspect that it is a result of theory education. It calls into question how students are introduced to music theory, how students today are learning, what elements students are tested on, how analysis connects to their sense of community and identity as musicians. It calls into question whether my experience can be recreated for others, whether theory can be redefined into just that: an experience, rather than just another school subject. What my theory professor fostered in me I believe can continue to be fostered in young musicians today; maybe it won’t be to my own level of unabashed passion toward analysis, but perhaps we could, at the very least, make sure students aren’t afraid of analysis. There’s a way to keep music students engaged, while at the same time providing accurate, clear instruction about essential musical concepts that the maximum number of students will retain and carry into their professional lives. The important question is, what is the way?
This research project explores the average student’s relationship to music theory and how to improve their overall experience and relationship with analysis. Through identifying the different ways students learn, exploring different learning environments, and pondering how to create a sense of community within analysis, my hope is to contribute to already established methods of teaching music theory. I feel strongly that if music theory is presented to students as an essential tool rather than just another class to endure, students will be more proactive in studying analysis and more students will succeed. Through showing the value of theory rather than simply instructing the material, students will pursue higher musicianship themselves. Another hypothesis to be considered is if theory professors are intentional about applying analytical concepts to pieces that students are working on, it will help to connect music theory to a student’s sense of identity as a musician. Finally, I think that creating a sense of community in a music theory classroom can help students engage with the professor and with each other, resulting in music analysis feeling more accessible to the average student. The goals of this project include exploring my own relationship to music theory, comparing my experience with other students, familiarizing myself with other methods of theory education, and testing my hypotheses through virtual tutoring.
Research
There are various ways to go about increasing student engagement in the music theory classroom. Anna Stephan-Robinson’s research addresses the ways that students feel that the different areas of music require different skill sets: “Music professors often bemoan students’ apparent inability to apply concepts taught in the classroom to other settings. Students seem to divide their knowledge into little boxes: in the theory classroom, they spell and identify chords; in the applied studio, they memorize scales and mark phrasing; in ensembles, they listen for and adjust intonation; and in the music history classroom, they remember dates and style periods” (Stephan-Robinson 2018: 112). This separation in thinking contributes to the notion that music analysis and music performance cannot coincide. Stephan-Robinson argues that theory professors can unwittingly perpetuate this idea in their classrooms through repertoire. Musical examples that are part of the traditional canon can easily illustrate points, but alienate students who don’t see their instruments, interests or identities represented: “it is vital for students and scholars to see themselves represented in order to imagine their professional futures in music” (Stephan-Robinson 2018: 113).
How does a music theory educator navigate picking musical examples that resonate with all students, but can also apply to the concepts that are covered during class? Stephan-Robinson concludes that it is worth asking the students themselves; hence, the mini-lesson. Each semester, Stephan-Robinson requires her students to participate in at least two mini-lessons, during which the student will select a piece of repertoire that demonstrates an analytical concept. Both the other students and the teacher evaluate each mini-lesson, so that the other students are held accountable to coming to class on time and paying attention. Students are allowed to branch out from classical music into other genres that interest them. Stephan-Robinson commented, “Some students enjoy presenting popular music; I have had students discuss mainstream songs like the Beatles’ ‘Yesterday’ and ‘Guns and Ships’ from Hamilton, as well as fairly obscure ones like Twenty-One Pilots’ ‘House of Gold’” (Stephan-Robinson 2018: 118).
Benefits that Stephan-Robinson has observed included increased student engagement and participation, presentation experience for the students and exposure to repertoire outside of the Western classical music canon. She reports that this exercise brings “serendipity into the classroom” (Stephan-Robinson 2018: 117); “indeed, the score study, listening, and presentation involved in mini-lessons all represent the kinds of active learning that many professors aim to foster” (Stephan-Robinson 2018: 117). These lessons can serve to bridge the gap between analytical knowledge and applied concepts through performance. Finally, mini-lessons help to equalize the experience of music students and adequately connect all students to the music that is being examined: “A conservatory student knows different music than does a liberal-arts or community-college student; all three deserve a suitable experience in the theory classroom” (Stephan-Robinson 2018: 114).
Continuing the theme of combining different skill sets in the theory classroom, Lynne Rogers’ approach includes intentionally preparing students for analytical essays through workshopping questions. She emphasizes asking the right type of questions to encourage student engagement and curiosity, and imparts these skills to her students through what she refers to as the preparatory assignment: “The assignment involves three tasks: listening to the chosen work; making note of first impressions, which frequently provide fertile ground for questions; and acquiring accurate analytical information about the basic elements of the work” (Rogers 2017: 97).
The assignment begins with the students listening to a work outside of class and conducting a “play-by-play;” that is, describing initial reactions and how they relate to the general form of the piece. Rogers remarks, “‘Describe’ should be taken quite literally here; at this stage, students are not expected to analyze what engages them, but rather to portray it verbally so that what they’ve noticed is clear to others in the class. Students are encouraged to value their intuitions and the feelings evoked by the music; how one reacts to a specific moment often provides an effective starting point for further study of a work” (Rogers 2017: 97).
I admire this technique because it connects pivotal points in the music to the human experience. I first encountered this idea in a Susanne Cusick’s piece related to interpreting music through the lens of pleasure: “For when I encourage students to receive music ‘on their backs,’ paying the closest attention to what in the music gives them pleasure, I am conscious of doing so to allow the music her own voice (and to allow the student theirs), her own wholeness of utterance, before analytical or cultural-historical interrogation” (Cusick 1994: 76). It is the act of marrying the theoretical vocabulary to the initial reaction of the student that allows them to connect the traditional analysis to the experience.
Next, students then discuss their reactions with each other in class, allowing opportunities for other interpretations to inform how students engage with the piece. They take turns submitting questions that require further exploration through analysis: “The class and I examine and—if necessary, suggest modifications to—each proposed question with the following criteria in mind: Is the question’s meaning clear? What tasks must be performed to answer the question? Given the time allowed for completion of the assignment, does the question require a reasonable amount of analysis or research beyond the answers to the play-by-play? Can the question be answered effectively in an essay of the specified length? Is the question appropriately focused, implying a suitable scope for inquiry?” (Rogers 2017: 104) This kind of active work encourages students to move beyond simply “finding the right answer for the test,” into both individual and corporate observation, explanation and investigation. What is emphasized on homework assignments, essay prompts and tests communicates to the students what kind of thinking is required in order to succeed.
On the subject of communication, Cora S. Palfy’s research focuses on the idea of a “hidden curriculum” underlying the experience of students in the music theory classroom. Palfy defines it as “the concept or idea that is implicitly taught through the way courses are structured, content is communicated, conceptual examples are chosen, or by the personal biases of the professor” (Palfy-Gilson 2018: 81). This curriculum doesn’t have to be intentional in order to be communicated to students; the mere presence of these unspoken ideas affects how students perceive music theory.
Alongside statistician Eric Gilson, she conducted a survey of over 100 undergraduates and asked about their experience. The survey includes questions such as who can be defined as a composer, which composers students think are most influential, and which composers outside of the Western canon are emphasized in the classroom. Two particular questions prove or disprove their hypothesis of the existence of the hidden curriculum: “These questions, which asked, ‘Q12: Identify three (or more) composers that are representative of the music you study in your music theory classroom.’ and ‘Q13: Which composers do you identify as most influential in the music theory classroom?’, respectively, were used as the statistical data set which, when measured against each other, could answer the hypothesis proposed, thereby evidencing the presence or absence of a hidden curriculum through student perceptions” (Palfy-Gilson 2018: 89).
What I find particularly interesting about the survey findings are the students’ answers to “Relatability of Diversity of Music Theory.” I easily could have predicted the most popular answer, which was that diversity in the theory classroom “gives a better perspective on how different groups of people create music.” However, tied for the most popular answer was the idea that diversity discussions “should be included in musicology or ethnomusicology, not theory, which should only study structure” (Palfy-Gilson 2018: 93). This reaction from students calls into question the primary function of music theory in the first place. Separating topics of diversity, inclusivity and intersectionality from music analysis only ensures that analysis remains lifeless and irrelevant to the expression of the human experience through music. This idea of sectioning different facets of music into unrelated realms becomes the overwhelming message of the hidden curriculum; it is communicated that there is a time and a place for conversations about diversity, and the field of music theory is hostile to that kind of analysis. Palfy concludes by explaining possible solutions to the hidden curriculum phenomenon: “Many of the participant comments mirror Jane R. Martin’s four solutions to hidden curricula—she suggests doing nothing, changing, abolishing, or embracing the identified hidden curriculum” (Palfy-Gilson 2018: 104). Each approach can be appropriate depending on the context, and is up to the discretion of each educator.
In Jeffrey Lovell’s article about improvisation exercises in the classroom, he makes the argument that building significant space for improvisation allows for more student creativity and engagement. He notes that often theory professors do not find improvisation an activity worth investing in. Lovell combats this notion by referencing the theorist and pedagogue Steve Larson, who wrote about incorporating fun and creativity in theory education: “He correlates ‘fun’ with ‘a sense of play,’ and suggests that one meaningful way in which a sense of play is achieved is through improvisation” (Lovell 2019: 103).
In order to incorporate improvisation into his aural curriculum, Lovell uses improvisation checkpoints to assess how well his students understand the function of solfege. These checkpoints include: “1) tonal pitch patterns in the major mode, 2) tonic triad leaps in the major mode, 3) leaps to “ti” and “re,” and 4) tonal pitch patterns in the minor mode” (Lovell 2019: 106). He also uses “jam sessions,” which appear for a few class periods before each exam. Lovell “vamps” a chord progression on the piano and the students all take turns singing melodies on solfege. Lovell remarks that the primary goal of these exercises is to connect hearing and singing to accuracy:
“When I evaluate these activities, solfège accuracy is a principal factor. It is not enough for students to hear and sing the right pitch while incorrectly applying the solfège. Students hear and sing a pitch and they instantly demonstrate that they know and understand its function by singing the correct syllable. Students may already have an implicit sense for scale degrees and rely on their ear for the correctness of a pitch, but immediate musical understanding is the objective” (Lovell 2019: 106).
At the end of his article, Lovell concludes that the increased outlets for creativity and the “sense of play” lead to stronger solfege fluency, improved test scores, and higher levels of student engagement (Lovell 2019: 115). Lovell’s results quantifiably show that fun in the theory classroom through improvisation results in students feeling as though the material is more accessible to them; the question now is, what other tools can be used to encourage student participation in this way?
I realized during reading this article that the focus of my summer tutoring sessions was more heavily involved with written skills; yet, I find this article fascinating, because it prompts me to further explore the intersection between hearing, seeing and writing in music. Steve Larson’s work focuses on developing collaboration between the senses in the young music student; in his diagram depicting multiple ways of “knowing,” he draws connections between the eyes, ears, hands, voice, mind, and heart, “drawing on research from the fields of perception and cognition” (Lovell 2019: 104). Daphne Leong’s writing also touches on this concept of knowing: “In our endeavors as theorists and practicing musicians, there are different kinds of knowledge: if I may borrow German words, wissen (knowing that), können (knowing how), and kennen (knowing, as in knowing a person)” (Leong 2016: 17). How do these different ways of “knowing” translate to the process of music analysis, and how is this approach displayed in the classroom?
In a personal interview with Jason Heald, a music theory professor at a community college, he spoke with me about this idea of knowing: “A teacher should ask themselves, what does the student already know? Do they have strong aural skills naturally, or strong written skills? How do we encourage them to put their natural skills to use?” (Heald 7 July 2020). One method that Heald uses in his classroom is utilizing the students’ skills to grade homework together during class. Students are called on to share their voice leading assignments and other students provide feedback; this practice ensures that all students are an active part of the teaching process.
All of these approaches intrigue me because they remind me of my own experience in the theory classroom. Though my professor did not utilize these exercises explicitly, they all resemble each other in that they allow the students to be active participants in communication of concepts. Whether it’s criticizing the significance of the Western canon, the exchange of relevant repertoire, or challenging the students’ idea of “play,” students are challenged to expand what they know and understand about music. These practices better connect students to the educator, students to other students, and students to the field of music theory itself.
The Tutoring Project
Method
Two graduate students (both vocalists) who had previously struggled in a music theory course agreed to participate in this tutoring project. Our sessions took place over nine weeks on Zoom, in preparation for a theory diagnostic exam that both students had to retake. I used the annotation feature on Zoom to annotate on scores as we analyzed them. I also used flat.io, a free online notation software to create a few short voice leading assignments.
The focus of my tutoring was on written skills (particularly as it pertains to form and harmony). My faculty mentor for this project, William Hussey, provided musical examples for analysis. These examples did consist of only notable male composers in the Western canon, so I was aware of the hidden curriculum communicated to the students through this choice of repertoire. However, my intention was to use the fourth strategy presented by Palfy of “embracing the hidden curriculum:”
“Music theory pedagogues can choose to be transparent with students, fully disclosing that there is a hidden curriculum present and, thus, allowing the students the chance to consider the structure, design, and messages of valuation within the curriculum to which they are exposed. This option encourages students to question the curriculum freely, think critically about moments of erasure, and potentially highlights the role of history and culture in the music they consume and study” (Palfy-Gilson 2018: 105).
I aimed to incorporate elements of the different teaching techniques from my research into my practice. In my original lesson plan, I included time every week to discuss topics of music performance in order to connect them to our process of analysis. I arranged for us to ponder the whiteness of the canon, embodiment, identity, persona, improvisation and linguistics as it relates to both theory and performance. I also utilized Jason Heald’s method of students teaching students, allowing for the transfer of skills, knowledge and confidence between the two students. Through incorporating elements of the mini-lesson, “play-by-play” listening exercises, improvisation, and discussions about the purpose of music theory, my goal was to create an environment in which exploring the concepts felt not only possible, but fun. Finally, I integrated time for the students to communicate what they felt they needed more practice on, so that I could change the schedule as needed.
Execution
The project began successfully, with the three of us quickly moving through key signature relationships, scales, and movable do solfege. We also spent a bit of time discussing how concepts in music theory can be applied to performance, beginning with a dialogue about different collaborators involved in music performance (the composer, poet, analytical tools, audience, etc.). However, soon after we began, the students requested that we spend the majority of our time building fluency with harmonic analysis. Both students didn’t seem to find as much value in music discussion. Instead, they insisted that they were ready and able to move forward quicker than I anticipated, and so the majority of our time was spent listening to and analyzing musical examples. Instead of waiting until the third week to introduce harmonic analysis, and waiting until week five to introduce chromatic chords, we jumped into analysis during the second week.
In making this adjustment to the timeline, my plans began to lack structure and organization. We moved from piece to piece, covering different kinds of chromatic chords as we went. I did my best to order the music examples in a coherent timeline (least complicated to most complicated), and made sure to incorporate the “play-by-play” listening exercises. During the second half of the timeline, I allowed the students to work together without me while I made observations about speed and confidence. I also pushed the mini-lessons to the last week of our schedule, in order to allow more time for the students to prepare.
Findings
Analysis
My original intentions in participating in this project were to explore various teaching methods that would help connect performance and analysis in the minds of students. The practices that I found were fascinating to me, and I was eager to execute them through the tutoring sessions. There were many exercises that the students seemed to respond well to; they enjoyed the “play-by-play” listening exercises and improvising melodies over established harmony. In addition, they seemed to value the opportunity to provide feedback on my methods, and appreciated that I changed the timeline often to accommodate them.
However, almost immediately, it became apparent that there was a disconnect between what the students thought was essential and what I thought was essential. Instead of engaging with the musical discussions and spending adequate time preparing for the mini lessons, they requested that we keep the conversations literal and relevant to particular musical examples. The two students were constantly stressed that they were not fast enough at harmonic analysis, as they had both struggled to finish tests on time in the past. They were concerned with having the right answers, instead of having a fundamental understanding of the concepts. In the end, they wanted to be able to pass an exam, not connect theory to their experience as performers. Of course, I want them to be able to pass exams, too; but I also wanted to impart theory as an experience, which is how it was presented to me. Because our fundamental intentions were not the same, the ways we approached the format of the sessions clashed.
When I originally planned the timeline, I felt proud that I had included time to listen to the students and adjust as needed. Unfortunately, this decision might have had the opposite effect of what I intended; the space that I gave to harmonic analysis left very little time for form and discussion, and led to the mini lessons being quite narrow-minded and “exam-like.” The students felt ill-equipped to lead discussions and execute their mini lessons. I failed to ask them the kind of questions Lynne Rogers asks her students to prepare them for analytical essays, because I chose to prioritize their motivations instead. If I were given the opportunity to conduct the project again, I would have stuck more to my original timeline and insisted upon the musical discussions. This would have better prepared the students for the mini lessons at the end of the sessions.
I realize in retrospect that by changing the timeline to accommodate what the students thought was important, I changed the message of the hidden curriculum. Emphasizing harmonic analysis led to the implication that it was important that they understood the content, but not the function. They received the message that having the right theoretical answers is more important than understanding how the answers function in music performance. Nevertheless, the test they were preparing for didn’t ask them about function; therefore, that was not their concern, and they had no desire to invest time into how the theoretical content fit into the larger picture of music. This calls into question the nature of the exams we use to assess student progress. If it does not show up on the test, students will question why it is worth investing in. The exams themselves communicate a hidden curriculum. Do our exams ask them the type of analytical questions that prompt a deeper look into the function of analysis?
As a current graduate assistant in music theory, I make use of the “play-by-play” exercise in tutoring Musicianship II students. Other than that, I don’t feel that I have many opportunities to use these practices. This is due to the fact that I assist Musicianship I and II classes; the students in these courses are still learning the basics of rhythm, harmony, and form. However, are these practices only for more advanced students? Do educators have to wait until the last class in their theory sequence to introduce these practices? How early is too early to ask students about purpose and function, and give them tests that prompt them to ask these questions themselves?
These questions cause me to reflect on my early days as a student. Was I specifically looking to experience theory? Is my romanization of theory practice connected to my professor's exceptional pedagogy, or is it innate in my own music making? Is it the job of an educator to tell students what they want to know in order to be successful (i.e. obtain good grades), or to introduce students to new ways of thinking and simply hope it sticks? Perhaps I was too optimistic as a theory enthusiast, and assumed that I could teach passion. But it is the job of the educator to help students discover and achieve their passions, not to impart their own onto the students.
I still firmly believe that bridging the gap between performance and analysis is important, because it has made such a huge impact in my own music making. However, do all students need to think this way in order to be successful as performers? While I would have loved to see my own music revelations take place in my students, I must remember that my purpose is leading them to their own music revelations. What matters is that they are taught to think critically and broadly about music, in order for their thinking to serve them in their music making. It is a worthwhile endeavor to make sure performance students find value in music analysis; understanding music from as many facets as possible can only make a student stronger and better equipped for their future as a performer.
Further Questions
The process of tutoring, conducting the research and summarizing the information has left me with many more questions than when I started; it is only through starting the work that I have begun to realize how much work there is to do. I didn’t have the time during this process to examine my core questions for every possible angle. Yet, there are a few concepts in particular that linger with me, and that I plan to explore further in the future.
First, I have fixated on the idea of connecting the different senses during music making. How do educators best connect reading, hearing, writing and singing in the minds of the students? How does the human brain bridge these senses, and what sets up the mind to function best during both music performance and music analysis? Are some brains better “built” for music? Do teachers who have struggled to comprehend music theory personally inherently make better teachers, or is the “theory brain” required to be an effective educator?
I’ve also recently encountered the “flipped” model for the theory classroom. This is referring to the idea of students acquiring “a basic understanding of the material outside of class so that class time may be used for active engagement rather than lecture” (Duker, Gawboy, Hughes, Shaffer 2015: 1). Unfortunately, it is far too late for me to examine this idea closely and how it translates to teaching music analysis, but the method seems especially relevant for the current COVID-19 crisis and the rise of online learning.
Finally, I learned so much during my two short weekends at the Society of Music Theory conference this year. I left with so many new impressions of what music theory education can be, just by being in the (virtual) room while different professors shared their ideas. From Toby Rush’s theory comic book pages, to Malia Jade Roberson’s theory Instagram page, to Kent Cleland’s YouTube channel, so many educators are putting themselves in the minds of their students. They are taking the initiative to adjust not only to their own classroom, but to the music community at large. I feel compelled and inspired to explore their ideas further, to become a music theory student again, and rediscover what it means to be a music student in 2020.
Conclusion
I feel convinced that through my research, the materials and perspectives that I’ve gathered, and my tutoring experience that my original hypothesis was correct: bridging the gap between music performance and music analysis in the classroom is critical in helping students use their theoretical skills in their music making. However, the most important takeaway from this project for me is this: there isn’t one way to bridge the gap. There isn’t a single way that fits every institution, every professor, every circumstance, every student. It takes creativity, consideration, ingenuity and awareness on the part of every educator to do what works best for their own classroom. It takes mindfulness of the hidden curriculum, well defined and demonstrated connections between the senses, and an ability to observe and adjust. It takes feedback from students, paired with intentional decision making by the faculty, to build a curriculum that encourages students to become the most equipped and developed musicians they can be.
Works Cited
Brett, Philip, Elizabeth Wood, Gary Thomas, and Suzanne G. Cusick. “On A Lesbian Relationship With Music: A Serious Effort Not To Think Straight.” Chapter. In Queering the Pitch: The New Gay and Lesbian Musicology, 67–82. New York, NY: Routledge, 1994.
Duker, Philip, Anna Gawboy, Bryn Hughes, and Kris P. Shaffer. “Hacking the Music Theory Classroom: Standards-Based Grading, Just-in-Time Teaching, and the Inverted Class.” Music Theory Online 21, no. 1 (March 2015).
Guin, Elisabeth Le. Boccherini's Body: an Essay in Carnal Musicology. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006.
Heald, Jason. Personal interview, July 7, 2020.
Leong, Daphne. “Analysis and Performance, or Wissen, Können, Kennen .” Music Theory Online 22, no. 2 (June 2016).
Lerner, Neil William, Joseph Nathan. Straus, and S. Timothy Maloney. “Glenn Gould, Autistic Savant.” Essay. In Sounding off: Theorizing Disability in Music, 121–36. New York, NY: Routledge, 2006.
Lovell, Jeffrey. “We Know It’s Important, But How Do We Do It? Engaging Beginning Aural Skills Students Through Meaningful Improvisation Activities.” Journal of Music Theory Pedagogy 33 (2019).
Palfy, Cora S., and Eric Gilson. “The Hidden Curriculum in the Music Theory Classroom.” Journal of Music Theory Pedagogy 32 (2018).
Rogers, Lynne. “Asking Good Questions: A Way Into Analysis and the Analytical Essay.” Journal of Music Theory Pedagogy 31 (2017).
Ronyak, Jennifer. “Meeting Barthes at Fischer-Dieskau’s Mill: Co-Performance, Linguistic Identity, and a Lied.” Journal of Musicology 34, no. 1 (2017).
Stephan-Robinson, Anna. “The Mini-Lesson: Active Learning and Engagement in the Undergraduate Classroom.” Journal of Music Theory Pedagogy 32 (2018).
