Building Skills 8

More from Daniel Coyle: Tip#11 "Don't Fall for the Prodigy Myth."

 

Coyle makes the point that prodigies (talent expressed at an early age) aren't really predictors of ultimate success. He gives some examples:

Many top performers are overlooked early on, then grow quietly into stars. This list includes Michael Jordan (cut from his high school varsity team as a sophomore), Charles Darwin (considered slow and ordinary by teachers), Walt Disney (fired from an early job because he "lacked imagination"), Albert Einstein, Louis Pasteur, Paul Gaugin, Thomas Edison, Leo Tolstoy, Fred Astaire, Winston Churchill, Lucille Ball, and so on.

He then mentions Carol Dweck, whose research I profile here and here. Her work involves two mindsets, one that is fixed and where the individual assumes that their talent is fixed (and therefore failure is not a good thing); and one that she calls the growth mindset, where growth (and the failures that go with the attempts to do things one can't yet do well) is valued.

 

He also speaks of various sports "talent hotbeds," where they are, "not built on identifying talent, but constructing it."

 

While this feeds into our own skill building (and our willingness to explore things we don't yet do well and accept failure as a way to learn new things), I think it goes more to the development of our own singers'/students' skills.

 

It tells us that we must be careful not to assume too much from the current level of some of our students. We don't really know who will develop and who won't. It's our job to do everything we can to build the skills of each and every student. Coyle quotes Anson Dorrance, head coach of the University of North Carolina women's soccer team, who's led his team to 21 championship wins: "One of the most unfortunate things I see when identifying youth players is the girl who is told over the years how great she is. By the time she's a high school freshman, she starts to believe it. By her senior year, she's fizzled out. Then there's her counterpart: a girl waiting in the wings, who quietly and with determination decides she's going to make something of herself. Invariably, this humble, hard-working girl is the one who becomes the real player."

 

What does that tell us about how we treat our young singers?

 

Think about it!

Improving Skills 3

From Daniel Coyle’s The Little Book of Talent: Tip #5 - Be willing to be stupid.

 

The point, of course, isn’t to be stupid, but to be willing to fail, to take risks. Coyle uses the example of Wayne Gretzky falling in practice and says, “As skilled as he was, Gretzky was determined to improve, to push the boundaries of the possible. The only way that happens is to build new connections in the brain—which means reaching, failing, and yes, looking stupid.”

 

There is a great Nike ad with Michael Jordan, which you probably already know, but it makes the same point: without taking risks (and failing) you won’t fail . . . but you’re unlikely to grow either.

But what does this mean for the conductor?

 

It certainly means challenging yourself. How can you push yourself beyond your current boundaries, your current skill level?

 

Repertoire is one logical area—it’s the basis for all we do, after all. Eric Ericson always maintained that his choirs (and he) grew through the challenges of particular repertoire:

You asked how technique and proficiency developed, and I can almost mention certain pieces which were "rungs on the ladder" . . . because that's how I feel so strongly when we've learned a difficult and very good piece. I'm thinking naturally from the viewpoint of the Chamber Choir with [Lidholm's] Laudi from 1947, Fyra körer from 1953, then the big pieces of Stravinsky, Nono . . . Dallapiccola perhaps most of all, which is where we learned to read notes and rhythms. And then of course we have a Swedish piece, again by Lidholm [1956--Canto], that we struggled with for half a year. I have a certain sense that, when you "come out on the other side" after having done a piece like Lidholm's Canto, you are a better musician, a better conductor, a better chorister. Canto feels like a final exam for the '50s choral life . . . early pieces that were difficult tonally and rhythmically became less so. Canto combined all the difficulties one was thrown between.

What repertoire will push your musicianship, your conducting technique, your ability to teach a particular style? The risk of failure or looking stupid is there, but believe me, it’s worth it.

 

Coyle says, “Feeling stupid is no fun. But being willing to be stupid—in other words, being willing to risk the emotional pain of making mistakes—is absolutely essential, because reaching, failing, and reaching again is the way your brain grows and makes new connections. When it comes to developing talent, remember, mistakes are not really mistakes—they are the guideposts you use to get better."

 

Another worthwhile book I’ve written about is Mindset by Carol Dweck—the full post is here.

 

It deals with two different mindsets regarding learning. From that blog post:

Dweck says, "Everyone is born with an intense drive to learn. Infants stretch their skills daily. Not just walk and talk. They never decide it's too hard or not worth the effort. They walk, they fall, they get up. They just barge forward."

 

Somewhere along the line, though, some children learn that they are being evaluated and become afraid of challenges (and paradoxically, continual praising children as being smart or supremely talented can lead to the fixed mindset).

 

She tells of a study where they offered four-year-olds the choice between redoing an easy jigsaw puzzle or trying a harder one. Even at this age, kids who had a fixed mindset--that is, they believed in fixed traits--chose the safe one. They told the researchers, kids who are born smart "don't do mistakes." The other children with a growth mindset--who believed you could get smarter--couldn't imagine doing a puzzle they'd done before. One girl said, "I'm dying to figure them out!"

 

Again from Dweck, "So children with the fixed mindset want to make sure they succeed. Smart people should always succeed. But for children with the growth mindset, success is about stretching themselves. It's about becoming smarter.”

All of us have things we’re comfortable with: our conducting technique, rehearsal technique, our usual way of doing things. Sometimes in order to grow, we have to give up our comfortable ways and change our technique—in a very real sense, change who we are. This almost certainly will mean that for a period of time you’ll be uncomfortable and, in fact, probably won’t do as well. But you need the time to grow those new connections in your brain—and perhaps, feel “stupid” for awhile. But if you’re not willing to go through that process you won’t grow.

 

So, if you want to grow and improve, don’t be afraid of mistakes and failure: "be willing to be stupid.” Challenge yourself, put yourself in situations where you’re certain to struggle. And give yourself the opportunity to change and grow.

Michael Jordan: Failure is why I succeed

I'd read this quote from Michael Jordan about how many times he's failed (lost games, missed shots), but never seen this video. Or this one.

Powerful for all of us who rehearse, practice, and struggle every day to do better--and a reminder that our successes come out of our many mistakes and failures. See my post on Carol Dweck's Mindset: The New Psychology of Success about the differences between the "fixed" or "growth" mindset.

Summer Reading II

This recommendation is for two books, both approaching the same topic from a slightly different vantage point: Geoff Colvin's Talent Is Overrated: What Really Separates World-Class Performers from Everybody Else and Daniel Coyle's The Talent Code: Greatness Isn't Born. It's Grown. Here's How.

Both deal with the modern science (neurological, psychological) behind how we develop skills (and the nature of world-class talent). Coyle speaks a lot about recent studies of the development of myelin in the brain and how that works in the development of skills: myelin is the substance that forms a sheath around nerves. In the case of disorders such as Multiple Sclerosis, myelin is destroyed and nerve impulses can no longer travel, leading eventually to total loss of muscular control (Jacqueline du Pre is the best known musician who suffered from MS). In the case of skill development, myelin in the brain is deposited around the incredible mass of interconnections in the brain and speeds up the electrical impulses as we repeat tasks over and over. This laying down of more myelin happens because of what scientist Anders Ericsson calls "deliberative practice" (both authors use his work extensively). This is a focused practice of tasks that are challenging, to the edge, but not beyond, what is possible to do (and, much like moving progressively heavier weights will cause or muscles to get stronger and bigger, causes myelin to be laid around nerve fibers with many layers, improving the  conductivity of those nerves, and therefore the speed of impulses). Coyle calls this "deep practice" (a term I rather like). This is connected with other research that shows that extraordinary skill takes many hours (usually estimated at around 10,000 hours) to develop, but which only happens when the practice is of this nature (i.e., challenging, difficult). You can read Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers: The Story of Success for more about this. In a way, both authors take up Gladwell's style, which relies on many individual, anecdotal examples from different fields--and all three are superb writers.

Colvin's book was developed from an article he did for Fortune Magazine (he's a senior editor there), "What It Takes to Be Great," which you can find here.

I think both books are superb and have much to offer the musician, conductor, and teacher. Coyle speaks a lot about places where extraordinary numbers of talented people originate (and more importantly, why): soccer players in Brazil, KIPP (Knowledge is Power Program) schools, South Korean female golfers, etc. He also looks at teachers and coaches who have had special success, from John Wooden (former UCLA basketball coach) to Linda Septien of Dallas, who's had extraordinary success teaching/coaching pop singers.

These books offer a glance into the world of "genius," which science is now showing is much less of an inborn/genetic thing, and capable of being developed more than we've ever thought before. They're also a guide to developing your own, or others', talent. As with Carol Dweck's Mindset: The New Psychology of Success (written about in an earlier post here), they're well written and, in fact, "easy reads," although both will repay repeated readings and study to translate into just how you will adapt this information to yourself, your students, your teaching, and your choirs.

Mindset

I've started reading an interesting book on learning & success: Mindset--The New Psychology of Success, by Carol Dweck (she's a Psychologist at Stanford).

The basic premise is that there are two basic "mindsets" about learning (this came out of her research on how people cope with failure) and these affect profoundly how you lead your life: the fixed mindset sees tests and challenges as measuring your ability (which is fixed), whereas what she calls the growth mindset sees tests and challenges as ways to cultivate growth and change (and are not judgmental of your intelligence or talent). As she notes, Darwin and Tolstoy were considered ordinary children, Ben Hogan (one of the great golfers) was completely uncoordinated as a child, etc. In other words, genius doesn't always show itself early (and we all know many prodigies burn out).

Dweck says, "Everyone is born with an intense drive to learn. Infants stretch their skills daily. Not just walk and talk. They never decide it's too hard or not worth the effort. They walk, they fall, they get up. They just barge forward."

Somewhere along the line, though, some children learn that they are being evaluated and become afraid of challenges (and paradoxically, continual praising children as being smart or supremely talented can lead to the fixed mindset).

She tells of a study where they offered four-year-olds the choice between redoing an easy jigsaw puzzle or trying a harder one. Even at this age, kids who had a fixed mindset--that is, they believed in fixed traits--chose the safe one. They told the researchers, kids who are born smart "don't do mistakes." The other children with a growth mindset--who believed you could get smarter--couldn't imagine doing a puzzle they'd done before. One girl said, "I'm dying to figure them out!"

Again from Dweck, "So children with the fixed mindset want to make sure they succeed. Smart people should always succeed. But for children with the growth mindset, success is about stretching themselves. It's about becoming smarter."

What does this have to do with musicians and conductors?

In another story from the book (it's an easy read) she tells of Nadja Solerno-Sonnenberg (one of the world's great violinists) who was a child prodigy, making her debut with the Philadelphia Orchestra at age 10.

Yet when she arrived at Juilliard to study with Dorothy DeLay, the great violin teacher [teacher of Itzhak Perlman, among others], she had a repertoire of awful habits. Her fingerings and bowings were awkward and she held the violin in the wrong position, but she refused to change. After several years, she saw the other students catching up and even surpassing her, and by her late teens she had a crisis of confidence: 'I was used to success, to the prodigy label in newspapers, and now I felt a failure.'

This prodigy was afraid of trying. 'Everything I was going through boiled down to fear. Fear of trying and failing . . . if you go to an audition and don't really try, if you're not really prepared, if you didn't work as hard as you could have and you don't win, you have an excuse . . . Nothing is harder than saying, 'I gave it my all and it wasn't good enough.'

This haunted and paralyzed her. She had even stopped bringing her violin to her lesson!

Then one day, after years of patience and understanding, DeLay told her, 'Listen, if you don't bring your violin next week, I'm throwing you out of my class.' Sonnenberg thought she was joking, but DeLay rose from the couch and calmly informed her, 'I'm not kidding. If you are going to waste your talent, I don't want to be a part of it. This has gone on long enough.'

The upshot was that Sonnenberg, who was terrified of losing DeLay, finally began working again. She says, "This is something I know for a fact: You have to work hardest for the things you love most. And when it's music you love, you're in for the fight of your life."

You might have an idea where I'm headed with this now.

Talking to the grad students at UNT, I said, all of you are talented and have had some success (if you didn't, you wouldn't be here). Some of you have had a lot of success. You've succeeded on the basis of the (gestural) conducting skill you came in with, the rehearsal skills you came in with, the ear and analytical skills you came in with, the vocal skills you came in with, etc.

However, to really succeed, especially long-term, you have to be ready to give up past "successful" habits (like Sonnenberg's way of holding the violin) and go through the struggle of taking away what is comfortable and do something new. This means you will be worse for awhile (a new gesture, new way of rehearsing) and feel awkward and uncomfortable. But unless you're willing to go through that "failure," you will cap how much you can grow and how much you can achieve.

I see this resistance to changing something you like, something you're comfortable with all the time. I understand it. But you have to know that you're hobbling yourself if you aren't willing to struggle with something that is difficult. In a sense, you have to be willing to throw away anything from your past that may be getting in the way of your getting better.

From a personal perspective, I know that when I was an undergraduate, there were many people more "talented" than I am, with much more background. However, I have ended up where I am not because I'm more talented, or even because I worked harder--but because I have kept working and challenging myself in different ways and have been willing to change at any time, no matter how uncomfortable. This is still happening and my coming to UNT (back to academe) has allowed me to see certain things I do in a different light (from conducting technique to rehearsal technique to creating a certain "culture" in a choir) and begin to change them.

And I also know that if I look back at the big career decisions and changes in my life . . . that if I was scared of failure--if failure was a real possibility--that was when I grew most. When I took the position at PLU, Maurice Skones had been there 19 years and was very much a "guru" (and a wonderful musician as well). At the 1982 ACDA national conference, the PLU choir sang and Maury changed the last piece on his program to one of his signature pieces. My friend Bruce Browne, who was sitting with me, turned to me and said, "Maury's leaving PLU--he just announced his swan song." The next night a group of Northwest conductors got together for dinner and everyone was talking about Skones leaving PLU, with the consensus being, "I wouldn't touch that job with a 10-foot pole--no one will succeed immediately following Maury."

Of course, I ended up getting the job at age 33, with exactly three years of college teaching experience (although seven years experience with my Seattle Pro Musica groups, having conducted 40 or so of Bach's cantatas, all of his major works, the Mozart Requiem and C Minor Mass, Beethoven Symphony #1, etc.). Failure was a frightening possibility (in fact, I asked the chair of the department point blank, "Are you looking for the next person to head the program or a sacrificial lamb?"), but the truth was, it resulted in enormous growth for me. I hadn't conducted a choir that toured as this one did. I hadn't done a huge amount of a cappella music (but more than most with orchestra). I hadn't run a large choral program. I wasn't from the Lutheran tradition. The choir had a large alumni base that was very curious (and skeptical!) of this unknown guy who had been chosen to follow Skones. All of this provided challenges where I could have failed. There were, of course, things that didn't go well (especially at first), but what absolutely happened was that I grew enormously as a musician, teacher, and conductor.

It doesn't mean we like failing (in fact, the dislike of it motivates us to work hard), but we're willing to take the chance and also willing to "upset the applecart" over the short run to get better results over the long run.

So, my advice to the UNT grad students, "Please don't take the safe road. Take on challenges of whatever kind you can. If you're asked to change a conducting gesture or long-held (and perhaps cherished!) habit, rather than fighting it, figure out how you can do that, no matter how uncomfortable in the short run. Annoying (and scary) as it is, take video of yourself at every opportunity so you can really see what you look like and whether it helps or hinders. Challenge yourself to dig deeper into the scores you study. Think carefully about your rehearsal technique (or whether you really have one!) and be willing to change the way you do things. Challenge what you know about choral sound. Listen, listen, listen (and listen some more!) to other choirs and recordings, discuss important issues with each other, with me, with Dr. McCoy. Take books out of the library that no one is requiring you to read which stretch your knowledge of choral techniques, performance practice, a particular composer, etc., etc., etc.--and read them!"

An interesting book, indeed!