You Play What You Are

“Tone, tone, tone.” We hear this word all the time in the Suzuki world. Tone is a personal sound that resonates individually with each of us. From my youth, I had always equated tone with talent, full of overtones, depth, and resonance. When I heard it, it would fill my heart with longing.  

When I went to the first International Suzuki Conference in Hawaii, I was shocked to hear every one of the Japanese students playing with that tone I wanted. In all my years of lessons, no one had ever mentioned that tone was taught. Sitting in that hotel ballroom, I was filled with happiness hearing all the fine playing, yet resentment that no one had ever tried to teach it to me. The possibility that many teachers don’t know how made me rethink a lot of things. One can only learn so much at a conference with hundreds of people, so I had to go to Japan.

A long international airplane ride and a long train ride to Matsumoto were just the beginning of the journey. Dr. and Mrs. Suzuki met me at the train station, as they did with many new students, and told me to drop my luggage at my lodgings and report to his studio to play in an hour. I went to my lodgings, met my roommate, Judy Weigert, and went to the school as instructed. Still groggy from jet lag, I played in a stupor. Dr. Suzuki tilted his head and said, “so,” and gave me the next time to come for a lesson.

My violin lessons were fun. I played, he made comments, changed things, told me alternate phrasings, and told me what teaching points were required to play La Folia well. I watched everyone else’s lessons and I learned from my peers in the studio. And then, I realized that it wasn’t just technique that Dr. Suzuki was teaching me. When someone couldn’t attack a phrase with conviction, he said “you must learn to be strong.” When someone was pounding away, he said ‘you must learn to be gentle.” When someone was scratchy, he said, “you must learn to be more sensitive.” I watched, and as I got to know my fellow students, I found that I could predict who could and who couldn’t do certain things because of their personality. Oh no, I thought in horror, everyone can tell who I am by the way that I play!

I left Matsumoto at summer’s end with the determination to practice harder and wiser. I also left with the determination that no one would ever hear me play a solo again because it would be giving away too much. Quartets and orchestral playing would be fine.

For years, I held to this resolution. Then, one summer when I was teaching Unit 4 in Montana, I told the story to my teacher training class. One of my teacher trainees said that she could see how that was true; she was a part-time bagger at the local supermarket and before she asked, “paper or plastic?” she would already know the answer because of the way a customer spoke, dressed, and acted. Does everyone know who I am even if I don’t play a note? I pondered. This was much more frightening than I initially thought!

As usual, Dr. Suzuki says it best: “If a musician wants to become a fine artist, he must first become a finer person. If he does this, his worth will appear. It will appear in everything he does, even in what he writes. Art is not in some far-off place. A work of art is the expression of a man’s whole personality, sensibility, and ability.”

A lot of things changed after that surprising revelation in Montana. If everything I did gave me away, it didn’t matter what others thought about me from my playing. So began more learning and more contemplation. I even got braver; if everyone knows you from your actions already, there is nothing to lose. What mattered was becoming my best so I could project the things I valued. 

Now, I finally understand that “Nurtured by Love” doesn’t mean teaching sweetly so as not to hurt a student’s feelings. It means that we have to care enough to teach so that our empowered students know that they can make a difference in the world, that they have perseverance, empathy, love, the inclusion that signifies true caring. These are all qualities that help to live a fulfilled and happy life.

In Japan, I truly learned to listen. I can hear a wounded heart, rebellion, arrogance, or resignation in my students’ playing. It is not only the notes on the page that need to be heard; it is a student’s soul that needs validation and their heart that needs an ear.

Dr. Suzuki always said that “you become music” when you played something particularly well.  I had always thought it was his mangled English meaning, “you played beautifully.” But he meant exactly what he said. Music isn’t just notes. Music is a good person, one who embodies the good in humanity. Music is what we all strive to be because it’s the only way to ensure the “happiness of all children.” Carrying on Dr. Suzuki’s legacy is our goal and mission. The shoes that we have to fill are huge. And in order to make this world a better place, we must begin by changing ourselves into the best people we can be in order to let the very best sound go out to influence the world.

So become music. The world is listening.