What Kind of Teacher Do I Want to Be?

I am approaching the tenth anniversary of the completion of my formal education, and with that comes a lot of reflection about how I’ve changed and what is important to me. Many know that I followed an educational path that I no longer recommend for most musicians, and especially performers. I spent a wee bit more than 10 years pursuing my post-secondary degrees, eventually finishing my doctorate at the spry young age of 28. All these years later, I’m still a determined, organized cellist, but my career desires and what I care about in my own teaching have shifted dramatically.

When I started teaching cello lessons to young students, I had certain ideas about what kind of teacher I wanted to be, and what kind of students that teacher would attract. I was going to teach the “elite” young cellists, and I was going to be tough, like many of my teachers had been on me. Ten years later, I realize I could not have been more off base. I’m not a mean teacher; I demand excellence, whatever that means for each student. I’m not uncompromising; I teach the student in front of me. I’m not teaching exclusively tiny prodigies; my students range in age and ability level.

In the area that I live, All State Orchestra is used (erroneously, I think) as a standard of excellence. School orchestra teachers brag about how many of their students get into All State, seemingly ignoring the fact that all of those students take lessons with a private teacher with whom the student does all the work of auditioning for All State. Private teachers - myself included, sadly - tout their number of All State students as a measure of their teaching quality, even though some teachers concentrate exclusively on All State, while others inherit excellent students and simply do nothing to screw them up. (Admittedly, I fall into both camps, depending on the student.)

This used to be the most important thing to me, and for obvious reason: if my students are accepted to All State, then I must be a good teacher. This is FALSE. I’m not a good teacher because a bunch of my students are accepted to All State, but rather, I am a good teacher because ALL of my students know how to play the cello. They understand more-than-basic music theory; they’re well-versed in the complicated fingerboard geography; their right hand techniques include all basic and advanced bow strokes; they know how to alter intonation to create expressive music and understand how to check intonation using open strings, harmonics, and acoustic phenomenon like Tartini tones. All of this is the “why?” of cello playing. It’s the stuff I wasn’t taught as a young cellist. Ability level, be damned!

When I left grad school as a jaded, somewhat-young professional, I didn’t want to work with any cellist who wasn’t serious about music. This is true of many private instructors. They only want to teach the best. Just this morning, I heard that a colleague is moving to a new state and offering his full studio to another teacher. Part of the description of the studio - meant to encourage the new teacher to take over - is that “most” of the students are “good players.” When a student of mine is accepted to the Atlanta Symphony Youth Orchestra, I am fully prepared for that student to be recruited/poached by one of the Atlanta Symphony cellists who coaches the Youth Orchestra. Why? Because the kid is “good,” and the ASO cellist(s) want to work with “good” students. I have many colleagues who are excellent teachers, and others who aren’t so great, but have good reputations because their students do well in auditions. We all want “good” students, hence the reason they are so appealing to all of us. But does teaching “good” students make one a “good” teacher? I don’t think so. Working exclusively with “good” students is no longer the most important thing for me.

I have (and have had) some great students. I have been lucky enough to teach and work with some truly stellar young musicians. But, I no longer want to be the teacher who teaches a stable of thoroughbred cellists. They’re fun to work with, but boring to teach, especially when they show up late in high school. I enjoy solving puzzles. I’m good at planning ahead, often years ahead: I know what a beginner will do in their first lesson, what we’ll be working on in week 27, and in the middle of year six. While I won’t turn them away, I am no longer seeking out students who are “already excellent” just because I want to work with the best. I don’t believe that’s an indicator of a great teacher. I’m excited to work with three-year-old cellists, as well as adults who are returning - or beginning! - the instrument. The toddlers will eventually turn into knowledgeable, hopefully excellent, performers, and the adults will learn things they didn’t know before, leading to greater musical enjoyment.

In May 2022, my longest-tenured student graduated high school. We are finishing up lessons this month before he heads off to study cello performance at the University of Michigan with an excellent teacher. As someone who wants to give all credit to the student - and in this case, that is very much warranted - I can’t help but feel some amount of pride that this student, whom I’ve taught since he was a beginner, is the first example of the type of student I now seek to develop. He’s the first beginner-to-graduation student I’ve taught; seven years of lessons! Like it or not, he’s got my bow arm, my vibrato, and much of my analytical mindset. (Though the last thing is probably more a result of his incredible parents!) Unfortunately for him, he also has a few of my many weaknesses. I made and continue to make a lot of mistakes with this student, but my philosophy worked with him: tell them why, guide them along a prescribed path of exercises and repertoire, and they’ll come out an enlightened, talented performer.

Long after I graduated from The Boston Conservatory, I asked my former teacher, the amazing Rhonda Rider, why she accepted me into her studio there. Her succinct answer has stuck with me: “I saw what you were doing wrong, and I knew that I could fix it.”

This is the teacher I want to be.