Why we must ask the truly difficult questions in music education

Difficult questions in music education

In an earlier editorial for the British Journal of Music Education, the authors considered the varied ways music education appears in teaching and learning across different contexts. One of the BJME’s key roles is to document the evolving landscape of music education, as reflected in the articles it receives and publishes. Yet that does not mean we should avoid asking challenging questions about what the purposes of music education are — or could be. This becomes especially relevant given the international reach of the journal’s readership. What counts as music education in one country may look entirely different elsewhere.

Consider the case of generalist classroom music education. This term needs clarification because, in some settings, it does not even exist. Generalist classroom music happens in schools, from the earliest years through secondary education and beyond. It does not necessarily mean individual tuition on a single instrument (though it can), but instead aims for a broad understanding of music across styles and genres. Now contrast this with individuated music education — formal lessons that take place in a studio or dedicated practice room, focused on developing specific instrumental or vocal skills. Are these two poles on a music education continuum? Or do they represent distinct bright points in a constellation of possibilities? These questions matter because the very definition of “music education” may hinge on which of these models we prioritise. This is not an abstract debate; it becomes urgent during recessions and global financial tightening. Too often, behind both approaches sits an accountant with a spreadsheet. The question can quickly shift from “What kind of music education do we want?” to “What music can we afford?” or “Which music education should be publicly funded, and which should become the financial responsibility of parents and carers?” These dilemmas touch on who pays for music education, who should pay, and who ultimately benefits.

In some jurisdictions, generalist classroom music is downplayed, with group ensemble work occupying most curriculum time. In certain cases, these ensembles are the entirety of music education. They are often elective and focused primarily on performance. Supporters of this model sometimes criticise generalist forms for failing to produce instrumentalists of high calibre. Conversely, where generalist music is the norm, teachers argue they can foster creativity and composing skills that a tight performance focus may struggle to accommodate. Neither approach is inherently wrong, but each carries different emphases. A performance-centred model might need to ask how to nurture creativity and composition; a generalist model must consider how to build sufficient instrumental skill so that children can realise their creative ideas.

What is hard to determine is which form is “better” — or even why we should care about “better” at all. After all, what does “better” mean? Historical and cultural traditions are at play, and some jurisdictions are reluctant to abandon long-established delivery patterns. Alongside the global austerity that has tightened budgets across the developed world, music educators often find themselves arguing their case and “fighting their corner” more and more frequently. Advocacy consumes considerable time and energy. But this brings us to the central issue and the important question: What are the purposes of music education? No doubt there are many well-meaning answers that cite transferable benefits — “music makes you better at mathematics,” “music improves literacy,” “music enhances social skills,” and so on. The danger of this focus is that if music only exists to make you better at something else, why not just do the something else? After all, coarse and fly fishing with rod-and-line is said to increase patience and self-awareness, yet we rarely hear about schools where it is on the curriculum. Similarly, any claimed intrinsic benefits of music learning may mean little to those controlling budgets. Advocacy is fine, but with many subject areas competing for attention, the noise may not help those tasked with prioritising. As Wayne Bowman observes:

Debates over the relative merits of music’s intrinsic and extrinsic values have a remarkably long history in music education. For the most part, however, these debates have generated more heat than light. Zealous advocacy movements have recently breathed new life into tired old debates about the relative merits of music’s ‘inherent’ and ‘instrumental’ benefits, most often without questioning the legitimacy of their segregation into mutually exclusive (intrinsic/extrinsic) value domains.

Which suggests that rather than asking “Why teach music?” we should ask ourselves “Why am I teaching music?” — and that question cannot be separated from “What do my learners learn that is meaningful to them from my teaching?” After all, we may teach simply to earn a living. Does it matter what we teach? Does it matter how we teach? Does it matter why we teach? These are genuinely tough questions to answer properly. It is easy to get caught up in the busyness of daily life and avoid them. But worry we should. Here is Bowman again:

In short, ‘music’ names a tremendously diverse and powerful set of human practices that may serve ends both desirable and undesirable, both beneficial and detrimental. Whether the value of a given musical or instructional practice is good or bad depends on whether, how, and the extent to which it enables its practitioners or beneficiaries to thrive.

Simply claiming that music is intrinsically good will not “cut the mustard”, as the old British saying goes. Such statements carry little weight philosophically, ethically, or politically. Yet we keep hearing them. We also need to keep a close watch on ourselves in music education. For instance, we often hear that some forms of music education are preparing children and young people for an outdated model of society and music-making that no longer exists. Is that true? Are there systems designed to prepare learners for what Lydia Goehr called “the imaginary museum of musical works”? Are we aiming for a kind of living-history re-enactment? What does “authenticity” mean in that context? Or, at the opposite end of the spectrum, should we be preparing children and young people for 21st-century skills and jobs that may not yet exist? If so, what does that actually mean for music education? To answer, we must ask whether 19th- and 20th-century European systems of music education travel well across time and place, and what a 21st-century system looks like in practice.

So, from all of this, we must decide what our personal values in music education are, how they mesh (or fail to mesh) with the important features, foci, mores, and hegemonies of contemporary society, and what the potential impacts on our learners might be. These discussions will likely play out in the pages of the British Journal of Music Education, allowing us to interrogate them from our own perspectives.

In the current issue, we begin with Jennie Henley’s research using Cultural Historical Activity Theory (CHAT) to analyse the relationship between identity development, musicianship development, and transformative processes. Henley systematically critiques the two-dimensional model of CHAT and demonstrates how her more elaborate three-dimensional model can provide deeper insights into how experiences in music education can be understood. The exemplification of theory through relevant music education projects offers rich material for future research and the evolution of the model.

Addressing the perennial issue of confidence among primary generalist teachers, Michele Biasutti, Sarah Hennessy, and Ellen de Vugt-Jansena describe how an intensive programme for primary teachers from Austria, Italy, the Netherlands, and Slovenia had both immediate and longer-term impacts on teacher confidence and creative approaches to teaching. This intervention shows how intensive and timely professional development can positively contribute to teacher confidence and efficacy in music education.

Anna Ehrlin draws attention to music in preschools in Sweden. Although music education may serve different functions within an institution such as a preschool, Ehrlin observes that institutional leadership is crucial for enacting music education goals in practice.

The complexity of musicians’ working lives is illustrated through rich data by Adele Teague and Gareth Dylan Smith. As the authors report, music graduates begin their careers with a range of ambitions that are realised to varying degrees depending on performance, teaching, and other work opportunities. The resulting portfolio careers involve different levels of job satisfaction, work-life balance issues, and identities as musicians. The complexities of these experiences merit ongoing research to ensure higher education institutions are attuned to students’ future lives.

In examining what classical musicians can learn from working with actors, Ken Rea reports on a two-year study in which musicians worked alongside actors on two devised performance projects. The power of creative intervention is again demonstrated: even a year later, some musicians showed noticeable benefits in their mainstream playing, including greater confidence, creativity, and presence.

Finally, Anne-Marie L. Czajkowski and Alinka E. Greasley report on the development and implementation of a unique Mindfulness for Singers (MfS) course designed to improve vocal technique. Evaluation of the course showed benefits of daily mindfulness exercises on breathing, micro-muscular awareness, vocal tone, text communication, and problem solving. Moreover, a blind controlled study indicated that participating vocal students could be distinguished from their peers as a result of the course. The study highlights a growing body of research in mindfulness and suggests further tantalising research questions for its application in music education contexts.