FIVE MONTHS ago, I submitted my resume to the organization I am now employed by. YESTERDAY, I finally led my first program.
"So what is this elementary music program?" people have asked me. Well, I'd have to start by telling you what the organization as a whole is about. Aside from it first of all being one of the coolest places in the entire universe, this organization works with arts programs of all kinds in the community: jazz, folk, classical, blues, and a raft of others. But they also have a collection of instruments, which is where I do most of my work. This collection contains literally hundreds of instruments, all the way from the historic harpsichords, hurdy-gurdys, and harmoniums to the wildest modern electronic instruments you've ever seen. And this is where I work. Even though I've been there dozens of times now, I still have a complete sense of awe every time I walk into the gallery, surrounded by these instruments, that seem to be alive with their mysterious or fascinating stories, and the pieces of history they comprise.
An interpreter's job is to bring this collection to life for the general public, through general tours, elementary education programs, seniors' programs, and many other events that involve some or all of the collection to varying degrees. When I came on, the area of greatest staffing need was the Elementary Music Education program, which is geared towards grade 3 kids, who are covering a sound unit in their science class. So that's what I've started doing first. In contrast with the more historical, in-depth tours created for adults, the EME program is more hands-on, more high-energy, and more kid-friendly. We take them through a two-and-a-half hour curriculum discussing sound waves and sound production, using certain areas of the gallery, some cool equipment, and a few instruments that we use just to let the kids touch and experiment on. And that's what I do, in a nutshell! But the surface explanation hardly gets at what it's really all about. So I have to share some stories with you...
The last five months have been full of delays, delays, and more delays. Once things get rolling here, it seems, everything's really smooth. But submitting my application, resubmitting my lost application, calling, calling again, interviewing, preparing for an audition, auditioning, getting permission to train, training, getting permission to take shifts, and finally taking shifts was an extremely tedious process, which required massive amounts of persistence. But finally, I had completed the prerequisite training, and the next step was to launch into leading my own EME program! This part, let me tell you, was the scariest.
You see, all that my training consisted of was 'shadowing' other interpreters while they ran an EME program. And standing and watching someone teach material is horribly, horribly different than standing up in front of a class of children, their teachers, and their parent volunteers, and delivering the material yourself. I feared the day I would have to lead one of these programs since the day I first shadowed one. "Me? Teach 25 squirmy eight-year-olds about frequency, amplitude, and instrument families?" Oh no. I'm far more comfortable talking with adults, on an equal intellectual playing field. I tried to respectfully talk my way into doing general tours first, but my doom was with Elementary Music Ed.
Finally, I booked myself to lead my first program, which my supervisor would observe, which made it fourteen times more scary. Imagine having to give a two-and-a-half hour-long presentation in class, without any notes, during which you would be repeatedly required to perform on instruments you don't really play very well, while simultaneously being required to maintain the high energy and flow necessary to hold the attention of a couple dozen wiggly children, after which you would receive constructive criticism from your academic advisor. It's kind of like that. So perhaps you'll understand why I feared this day so much. I've done a heck of a lot of things in the last couple of years that have scared me spitless. Thankfully. Otherwise I don't think I would have had the guts to apply to this organization in the first place, to then audition for the job, and especially now, to muster up all the fake confidence I had, and put myself out there for these kids.
I came in yesterday morning, after having counted down the hours all day the day before, heart now racing a little, put on my new nametag and my best pretense of calmness and confidence, received some final words of instruction and reassurance from my supervisor, and then the school bus pulled up.
Before we split the two grade 3 classes up between the other interpreter for the morning and myself, we gave them all some directions and cautions. Or rather, Interpreter B gave them all some directions and cautions, while I stood there next to him, trying to make my smile look less shaky, and trying to figure out what to do with my hands. Arms folded? Too cross-looking. Hands in pockets? Too relaxed-looking. Behind back? Too nervous-looking. Darn it. I didn't have too long to worry about it, though, because soon we were handing out hand-outs, and splitting the group in two. So half of these young'uns were my charges now. ...Yikes.
My supervisor had graciously offered to come in after about fifteen minutes, so I could get to know the kids a bit, start teaching, and relax, before I felt scrutinized by her observations. Well, fifteen minutes flew by, and we were all well into the sound wave material, and discussing sine waves and square waves when my supervisor slid into the back. Grade three kids are still at an age where everything is a total thrill to them if you act like it's a total thrill to you, I learned. So, if you build up some suspense before you show them a high-frequency wave on the oscilloscope, you'll get a pretty sweet reaction out of them! The remainder of the first half of the program was all hands-on, where the kids got to see their own voice displayed on the oscilloscope, play a vibraphone, pluck, strum, and strike the insides of a partially-disassembled piano, and other such things. It had been fine.
The program's second half takes place out in the gallery itself, and includes a lot of demonstrating on the instruments in the collection. When you teach kids, you do the majority of your teaching by asking them tons of questions, and getting them to explore for the answers. If you just tell them the information, they won't learn it. So I'd show them instruments, and ask them to look for differences between them all, figure out how sound is produced on them, demonstrate them, and then point out other stuff they wouldn't know. They get to try a few things, too, like a hammered dulcimer, a harpsichord, and a synthesizer.
Then we came to the Theatre Organ: one of the highlights of the gallery, in my opinion. This instrument is absolutely unbelievable. It's huge - gosh, probably about ten meters long, although I'm a poor judge of length, so it could be a bit more or less. The thing that makes it so huge is that not only is there a complete set of organ pipes, but there are dozens of other instruments hooked up to the blower: drums, tambourine, triangle, wood blocks, xylophones, glockenspiels, orchestra chimes, and even a little oil can that creates a bird-call sound effect when used. The overall effect of all this being operated simultaneously by one performer from one console is completely mind-blowing. And ridiculously loud. The lights dim when you fire this thing up, and it's played using dozens of stops, two manuals (keyboards), and a foot keyboard. But the kids don't know any of this when you sit them down in front of it! Which means the interpreter can have a really good time with it.
First I asked them what instruments they could see. They named lots of them, and got a few more with some help. Then, when I told them that all this as actually one instrument, their eyes were about as big as loonies. So I asked them for their help: "If I wanted to play ALL of these instruments at the same time, how do you think I could ever do it?"
One boy stuck up his hand, and said, very sincerely, "Um, you could make it all really small..."
"Well, yes," I said, thoughtfully, "If I could make this all really small, it would sure help! But, since I can't do that, what else could I do?"
"You could get a lot of people to help you!" said another child.
"If I had a lot of help, that might be a good way to do it! But there might be a way I could play all of these instruments by myself. Can you see what it might be? I think it would be pretty hard to run back and forth and play them all with mallots..."
"You could run really, really fast!"
Well, eventually, you need to point out the console to them, all hooked up and ready to go, then fire up that blower, and prepare them to be awed. That organ is so loud that you can seriously scare the socks off anyone if you pull out enough stops to start with. But they absolutely love to watch all the different instruments going at once: dozens of little xylophone mallots, rattling percussion, different pipe voices, and the whole nine yards. Last night, I added the opening few bars of the Phantom of the Opera theme to my little repertoire of snippets for use on that organ. That piece is just meant for a giant organ. Oh yes.
There's a ton more material in between, but the last stop we get to make on a GV program is usually at the Theremin. For those who have not seen one, the Theremin is a pretty wonky-looking electronic instrument, with one antenna sticking sideways out of the left side, and another antenna sticking straight up out of the right side. Apart from the black box in the middle, and the wires running out of it, that's all there is to it. The left antenna controls volume. The closer you are to it, the lower the volume. The right antenna contols pitch. The closer you are to it, the higher the pitch.
Now, if I were to explain the Theremin to a group of adults on a general tour, I might say something like, "The Theremin has two radio frequency oscillators, which are normally operating outside the range of human hearing. The human body's capacitance property is capable of detuning them, resulting in changes in pitch or amplitude." Well, okay, that's the really scientific explanation, which some people don't get anyway. But a kid doesn't exactly care about how it all works, they just think it's weird-looking...so it's really cool! A kid also has no idea how you'd play an instrument like a Theremin. So you can toy with it a bit, to make it even cooler for them.
I started with my left hand resting on the left antenna, completely muting the sound. And then I asked them what they thought I should do to play this strange-looking instrument!
"Hit it!" came one suggestion.
They all expected it to work, and stared fixedly while I tapped the centre box firmly with my right hand. Nothing. They all looked comically disappointed.
"Awww. No, that didn't work. What else should I try, guys?"
"Rub the antenna!" I obliged, pretending to listen very closely as I rubbed the vertical antenna. Nothing, of course! The kids wanted to figure it out so badly, and started squirming around while they tried more ideas.
"Turn the knobs!"
"Blow on it!"
In the middle of all this, I 'accidentally' moved my left hand away from the volume antenna, and quickly replaced it, producing an eerie "wwWOOOooo" sound. Eighteen pairs of eyes as big as saucers stared alternately at the Theremin, and at me.
"What HAPPENED??" "How did you DO that??" they all inquired.I had them guess for a few more seconds, until I moved my hand again, and they all started to catch on. Theremins are notoriously difficult to play any sort of song on, because the pitch is all controlled in empty air, but you can make some really great sound effects on it. Aliens. Motorcycle engines. Howling. The Theremin is also great because kids can play it without even touching it. And they love it, too. They all took turns standing up behind it, waving their hands wildly, and making crazy faces, before dashing off to collect their coats, reunite with the other class, chatter madly, and get back to the bus. The gallery's pretty quiet after they all clear out!
At the end of it all, I realized I had really, really enjoyed myself, and was in fact looking forward very much to leading another one on Wednesday. I got great feedback from my supervisor, and from the teacher evaluation form, too, which was awesome. I never thought I'd really be cut out for doing stuff with a large group of kids, because I tend to be more serious and down-to-earth about stuff, and always claimed that I didn't really 'get' kids, because I couldn't think and talk down to their level, or with their imagination. I guess I was wrong. Not that it all went perfectly - I know there were definitely things I can change to explain better or more imaginatively next time. But I can only improve things each time, right?
As an off-beat postscript to all this, the giant contrast of the day was my immediate move from this job to my office job. From a gallery of fascinating history-come-to-life full of bright-eyed children, and the chance to step outside my usually-more-reserved self and become an explorer/teacher; I transitioned immediately to...hours of putting cheques in numerical order. Yes, folks, I know, the excitement of that prospect is overwhelming. Not to bash that job. It pays well, it's professional, it's...well, the corporate world. And I know there are people who work there who love the quiet atmosphere, the business-like-ness, and the energy industry itself. It's not my thing. It never will be, I'm pretty sure. I've always felt like processing financial stuff for an income-oriented oil giant is a pretty meaningless existence. But I guess it all goes to show that we need all different types of people. I intend never to commit myself permanently to a job that I'm doing just for the paycheque, though, even if it means my lifestyle is way less extravagant.
