A Musician afraid of sound? It is true and could easily happen if you are not cautious.....10/23/2015 As an educator and professional musician, this is a fear and a concern. I had the opportunity to sit in a presentation at the Ontario Music Educators Association conference about 20 years ago and heard Marshall Chasin speak about hearing concerns for musicians. At the time I was early in my career and did not understand or believe that this beautiful art form, Music, which was my life could also lead to the end of my life--teaching and making music. After seeing his presentation and getting the shock of the century, I promptly made an appointment with a local audiologist to get my own set of 'musicians ear plug' custom made for me. Since that day whenever I enter the studio for a rehearsal I wear them. In concert or in a large space I tend not to wear them simply because the sound is not as much of an impact but if there is amplification or I am among the ensemble playing clarinet or saxophone I will wear my plugs. It is noticeably quieter but not diminished in quality. As a conductor I need to hear all of the parts and with my plugs I can still hear all of the parts, just softer. If you are new in your teaching or performing career I strongly encourage you to get your hearing checked, keep the report, and then get the ear plugs and USE THEM. It will save your life. I am the first to admit that hearing your favourite symphony or chorus or pop band can be an up-lifting experience but I fear not being able to hear that same music in 10, 15, or 20 years will be even more devastating. John Kraus A Musician Afraid of Sound
How a professional cellist learned to live with a career-ending ear injury Herwig Prammer / Reuters JANET HORVATH OCT 20, 2015 It’s 2011, and my husband can’t kiss me, even on the cheek, because the slightest touch sets off ripples of pain in my head, my face, my jaw. Every noise is an assault—a car alarm goes off, a baby squeals, a group of giggling teens race into the elevator. The ping of an ATM machine. Cicadas chirping. The roar of a leaf blower feels like a knife rotating in my ear. In sympathy, my husband and son tiptoe around me and recoil with each ding. When I must go out, I stuff my ears with custom earplugs and wear Bose noise-cancelling headphones, but they don’t help much. It is impossible to predict when noise will bring me to my knees. I am a professional musician who can’t tolerate sound. * * * I should have recognized that my career was over that night. It was August 2006, an evening of Broadway favorites, and I was sitting dead center in my spot as principal cello for the Minnesota Orchestra, with the drum set, piano, electric guitars, keyboard, and conductor directly in front of me. Vocalists, three Broadway singers wearing brilliantly colored sequined outfits, pranced across the stage clutching their hand-held microphones, while speakers blasted the music back onto the stage toward us so the singers could hear themselves. During a typical non-classical performance, the stage would hold three of these speakers—but tonight there were eight, one of them no more than two feet from my left ear. There was no time to move the speaker, the stage manager told me, so I stuffed my ears with musician’s earplugs and swallowed my objections that it was too close. I’d be a bit shell-shocked, I assumed, but nothing more than a temporary annoyance. After an encore from The Phantom of the Opera, the program came to a close with thunderous applause. As I exited the stage, I suddenly felt an excruciating sensation in my ears, which radiated down my neck and into my face, neck, tongue, teeth, and jaw. Pain hardly describes it. Meanwhile, the fluttering sensation in my head was making me feel faint. I hurried out of the building to escape the backstage commotion—every noise, I quickly discovered, was making it worse, including the sound of my own voice—and drove home, barely able to see through my tears. Sleepless, I lay in bed praying the pain would simply subside overnight. The next morning, I showed up for work, a three-hour dress rehearsal of the opera Carmen, pretending all was well. I had spent hours preparing the cello parts for the entire section and perfecting my solos. But the voices of the singers, usually thrilling, was ear piercing. I had to wear earplugs for a classical program for the first time in my long career, too worried that my playing was off to actually focus on the music. I had loved the cello, the instrument whose sound is closest to the human voice, since I began playing at age 16—but now, with the world’s volume stuck on high, all I could think about was escaping to silence. * * * Over the next few weeks, I saw otolaryngologists and neurologists, heading from one appointment to another in a flurry of anxiety. The ENT exams, neurological assessments, and MRIs revealed no abnormalities—in fact, my hearing tests came back better than normal. I could actually be a spy, I heard so acutely. The specialists recommended psychiatric tests. Perhaps meditation, relaxation exercises, or therapy would help, they told me. No TV, no radio, no telephone—and worst of all, no music. Finally, one of my many doctors offered me a diagnosis: I had sustained an acoustic-shock injury to my left ear. Ear trauma is permanent, with no real treatment. The best I could do was load up on vitamins, abstain from caffeine and alcohol, and keep my life as silent as possible to see if the pain subsided. I spent the next three months in near-solitary confinement. I avoided social situations. All communication was restricted to email and texts. No TV, no radio, no telephone—and worst of all, no music. Cut off from life outside my home, isolated from human contact and from the thing I loved most, the monotony became nearly intolerable. The silent exile seemed to help, though. I returned to my position, with a major compromise: I would always have to wear a left earplug, and for the time being I would be excused from performing in any amplified programs. Soon enough, my brain and my life adapted themselves to this new normal. My playing hadn’t deteriorated, but as a precaution I kept all noisy activities at bay, even avoiding the car radio. At home, my husband did the vacuuming and the dishes as quietly as possible. My son kept his friends out of the house when I was home. We all stayed away from the television. But beneath it all ran an undercurrent of worry: What kind of a musician was I now? Would I be able to maintain a high level of playing if I couldn’t even hear myself fully because of the earplugs? And most worrying of all, what if it got worse, to the point where I had to leave music entirely? In 2009, the worst-case scenario arrived: My right ear, like my left, could no longer tolerate normal activities. The orchestra had scheduled several massive works for the upcoming year, and walking into the orchestra hall for rehearsal without earplugs became intolerable. After a second months-long round of doctor-hopping, I finally met an ENT who seemed to understand my condition. I had developed a noise-induced ailment called hyperacusis, he told me, an auditory injury caused by repeated exposure to high decibels or a single acoustic shock. It was characterized by abnormal sensitivity—in other words, the total breakdown of tolerance to all sound. As the doctor ran through his explanation, my first reaction was one of relief. So, I thought, I’m not going crazy after all. The severe pain, the dizziness, the fear of sound, all were caused by my brain processing noise as much louder than it actually is. I left a note with my goodbyes and promptly sunk into depression. I had decades of hearing ahead of me, the doctor told me gently, but prolonged exposure would only make things worse. It would be best if I left my job and did something else, something quiet. Right away, I knew I wouldn’t listen. Giving up a 34-year career was unthinkable; playing cello was at the core of my identity. And besides, that summer, the orchestra was set to embark on a three-week tour of Europe’s most prestigious concert halls—London, Berlin, Amsterdam, Vienna. I couldn’t miss that. Surely I would be able to hang on at least a few more months. But the programs on the tour included Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, with its famous Ode to Joy, which calls for massive forces onstage—a 250-voice chorus, vocal soloists, and more than a hundred orchestra members. I writhed through the concerts; in between, I hid in hotel rooms. The worst pain came during one of the last performances, which took place in London’s Royal Albert Hall in front of more than 5,000 audience members. Weeping afterwards in the recesses of the dressing room backstage, I knew I was done. When we returned to the U.S., I made an appointment with the maestro and the upper management of the Minnesota Orchestra and resigned my position of 31 years as associate-principal cello. Unable to face my colleagues, I left them a note with my goodbyes, returned to my cloistered existence, and promptly sunk into a deep depression. For months, getting out of bed was a feat of willpower. Taunted by a closet full of elegant black clothing, the uniform of orchestra members, I donated it all to Goodwill. My cello sat unused in its case, a reminder of what I’d lost. My normally animated personality changed as I became subdued and soft-spoken. I spent a lot of time wondering how athletes deal with career–ending injuries, about how they rebuild their lives after being carried off the field for the last time on a stretcher. My own sense of identity crumbled. It was excruciating that what I loved so much could bring me so much pain. * * * The ear has 20,000-30,000 hair cells, the nerve endings responsible for carrying the electrical impulses through the auditory nerve to the brain. These delicate receptors bend or flatten as sounds enter the ear, typically springing back to normal in a few hours, or overnight. But over time, loud sounds can cause more permanent damage as hair cells lose their resilience. Frequent and intense exposure to noise will cause these receptors to flatten down, stiffen, and eventually break. The damage can interfere with the ability to determine the location of a sound, cause extreme sensitivity and pain, and make it impossible to discern language with background noise. One in 20 Americans, or 48 million people, report some degree of hearing impairment. An alarming statistic, but hearing protection isn’t a health habit that’s often discussed. The National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health (NIOSH) and the Centers for Disease Control cap the continuous exposure to decibel levels at 85 decibels (dB) for an eight-hour day. Decibels work logarithmically: Permissible exposure times must be halved for each increase of three decibels. Any exposure above 115 decibels, even for a few seconds, is risky. But life is noisy—city traffic can reach 85 dB, restaurant racket exceeds 100 dB. In crowded spaces like a stadium or an orchestra performance space, the sound can hit around 120 dB—and the exposure time and the proximity to the sound exponentially compound the risk of damage. But still, people willfully jeopardize their hearing every day. Sound exposure is cumulative, creeping up on those who listen to music or cellphone conversations with ear buds for hours at a time or multiple times a day. According to the American Medical Association, one in five teens now suffers from hearing damage and cannot hear whispers, raindrops, or consonants. Noise, not aging, is the leading cause of permanent hearing injury in the U.S.—and even a small amount of hearing loss can have a profound, negative effect on comprehension and social development. Untreated, hearing impairment can affect brain function and is associated with early-onset dementia. * * * The doctors didn’t know what else to tell me—research about my condition was scarce, and it seemed there was nothing more I could do. But still, my husband researched tenaciously for months, until finally, late one night, he stumbled upon a clinic that specializes in hyperacusis and tinnitus, at the Oregon Health and Sciences University in Portland. It would be three months before they could fit me in. When the time came to make the trip, I boarded the airplane with the heaviest-duty earplugs I could find. In a tiny examining room at the clinic, my ears convulsed every time they were touched. After two days of 12-hour appointments filled with tests and exams from multiple specialists, the clinic staff fit me with modified hearing aids that I could control with a remote. The specially programmed devices, I was told, would lower the volume of sound without altering its clarity. The final step was to test them. The doctor banged on a glass dish with a spoon, and I recoiled in anticipation before he even made a sound—but it didn’t hurt. We ventured out to the common areas of the hospital, even passing by the noisy cafe. No pain. A woman wearing high-heeled shoes clattered by. Nothing. With the protection of my new hearing devices, they told me, I could embark on the next phase of treatment—a desensitization strategy to teach my brain to accept sound again. I would need to learn to tune out the noise around me. In other words, I’d need to un-learn my musician’s ability to pay close attention to sound. The specialists gave me an armload of CDs of ambient noise—rainfall, wind blowing, ocean waves—that I was to play several hours a day for the next few months, as low-volume background noise to all my normal daily activities. I should take it slow, perhaps a year or more, they warned me, gradually increasing the volume, and eventually my tolerance might start to improve—but because it was already so low, they added, it was unlikely that it would ever return to normal levels. Then I asked the question I’d been steeling myself to ask since I arrived: What about music? The answer that came back was crushing and hopeful at the same time. I would never be an orchestral musician again, they said—but while the retraining program couldn’t guarantee success, it was possible that in time, I might improve enough to someday play the cello. This time, I became a perfect, zealous patient. * * * Months later, I was able to tolerate moderate levels of sound. With my hearing devices in, my husband and I could once again go to quiet romantic films, dine in restaurants if we avoided the weekend crowds, and invite a small group of friends over. But my fingers itched to play. Two years after my trip to the Oregon clinic, gingerly at first and with the left earplug in, I started to play the cello again, but it no longer came as easily as it once had. My muscles ached, my fingers chafed against the slender metal strings. I sounded like a complete beginner. Almost a decade after my trip to Oregon, I can comfortably play with three or four other musicians in a modest-sized room. It’s not an orchestra, but it’s enough. Life is unthinkable without music.
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This quote as well as Churchill's comment about how he would fund the war--by cutting support for the Arts--'Life without Art, then what are we fighting for?', both lay the foundation for much of what our society and civilization acknowledges about the role of Art in our life, whether we recognize it or not. I commonly challenged my high school students to try and go a day without music in their life and all of them said that they would have trouble going an hour without it. Art is what takes us away from the stress and turmoil of our individual reality, what inspires us to take that next step, to stretch our wings and our personal limits, to love someone that we deeply care for, to screw up enough courage to take the chance that just might be the beginning of something we could never have imagined could be a part of our lives. Art is that which can change our mood in the blink of an eye, the sound of one word or note or rhythm, the touch of one object. Without Art we can not be human because it is the only part of our personal 'reality' that can truly change us, make us feel that which our being desperately wants to experience at that moment; beauty, peace, angst, passion, tension, release, understanding. Thanks to Art, we all live life.
Who Actually Quits Musical Instrument Instruction — Children or Their Parents?
How many times have we heard from adults that they wish their parents didn’t allow them to quit their musical instrument when they were younger? There comes a time in a large percentage of music students’ lives when they want to quit their instrument — and more often than not, parents allow them to do it. But is the child quitting … or is the parent? I remember wanting to quit the trombone when I was in middle school. Honestly, it’s hard to remember why. It could have been peer pressure, boredom, or something else — but I had my mind made up. I shudder to think of what my life would be like now if my mother had decided to quit as well and give in to my pleas. Ultimately, it is important to understand that when it comes to music education and other transformative activities that require some grit in order to succeed, most children go through a period of time where they must succeed despite themselves. They must be encouraged and supported through the tough times, not given a pass. It is only at a certain point that children — and parents — can make an informed decision to quit their musical instrument, and that point is usually much later, not sooner, than one may think. Here are a few ways that parents are the ones that quit music instruction, and some thoughts on overcoming the tough times with our children that are bound to occur: “I can’t bug my child to do one more thing”. I have heard this line so many times as a teacher and administrator. A parent tells the teacher that their child will be discontinuing music because they haven’t had any luck getting their child to practice, and the “child doesn’t want to play anymore.” In addition, the parent says the child “seems to be over-scheduled and is overwhelmed with the demanding school curriculum.” This parent has clearly given up. There are many things that children need to do that they do not want to do. They don’t want to bathe, do homework, brush their teeth, or do their chores oftentimes. But we as adults understand that we would be teaching them to be irresponsible if we gave in. We also understand that children are not old or mature enough to make many life decisions — but when it comes to quitting music instruction the rules somehow seem to change. The truth is that we caninsist our child do “one more thing,” and if that’s really not humanly possible, a curricular activity such as music should not be at the bottom of that list. Parents have overcommitted their child. Our children are growing up in a time where the U.S. has turned into a society of “overachievers”. Downtime or activities that are perceived to be “fun” (i.e. music and the arts) are considered wasted time because concrete results are not being measured and money (and a job) is not at the end of the equation. Children have so many choices of ways to “enrich” their lives that quitting has become an easy response to frustration or boredom. Most adults regret many of the things in life that they quit, especially because they could have had stuck it out, reached a good level of proficiency and found that enjoyment that seemed to elude them earlier. Parents need to remember this fact and encourage their children to stick with music instruction for at least two years, if not through middle school. Parents must remember what their goals for their child’s education is. Perseverance, commitment, loyalty, and grit are all values I hope that I — and my schools — instill in my children. Learning to endure something even when it temporarily becomes boring or unpleasant or when the teacher isn’t the most engaging person in the world is a lesson truly worth teaching. I would argue that the time you let your child walk away from something just because at that moment it doesn’t suit them is the last time you may have any credibility with them about endurance or resilience ever again. Parents, teachers and students have a misguided view of passion. Parents often talk about helping kids find their passions. When parents allow their children to quit music, we often hear excuses such as, “Music is not where my child’s passion lies, it seems.” But most of the time, passions do not always appear out of nowhere; they are often a result of hard work and dedication — the happiness that comes from doing something well over a period of time. I have spent most of my life reaping the rewards of a life devoted to music, yet in 7th grade I was begging to quit. And there are thousands upon thousands of other children who were not allowed to quit who have gone on to rewarding lives in many fields that would never have been possible if not for their musical education. Parents need to embrace the struggle that their children are facing. The reward of performing a piece of music after overcoming obstacles during practice is a great vehicle for parents to teach their children that true growth occurs when we struggle a bit. Learning to deal with struggle yields some of the greatest benefits imaginable over time when applied to other areas of life. But a child’s struggle is a parents struggle as well, of course. There are bad days — and some really frustrating days. There may be tantrums and miserable practices and screaming scenes where you may feel as if you are at the end of your rope. But if you stick with it, your children will have long, enduring relationships with instructors and classmates who will change and enrich their lives. Don’t forget to reach out to your child’s teacher for extra help during these challenging times — I promise you that they will pass. Your child’s experience with their music studies will shape their adult lives more than you will ever know. They will be different people in the best way imaginable — people who would be far poorer intellectually without music in their life. Let’s not kid ourselves — children quit things all the time. Sometimes it’s even the right thing to do, but sometimes they are simply bored or don’t like the teacher or would just rather do nothing at home — and that is not acceptable or in their best interest over the long-term. Deciding when to let your child quit is a difficult problem that never goes away, but it is safe to say that one year is simply not enough time for anyone to decide whether to stay with musical instrument instruction or not. Maybe you didn’t study music. Maybe you quit prematurely and you didn’t even realize it — but the road is open to your children, so steer them down it. They will never tell you later in life that they are angry at you for not letting them quit. I recently have come to have much more 'free time' in my days because of an employment change....a long story over a cold beer, a wee dram or a lovely port. At any rate I reconnected with some acquaintances who are participating in the New Horizon's Band program in the community and I was amazed. The 'introductory' band was made up of about 30 some people of all shapes and sizes, ages and backgrounds, who were learning or re-learning a band instrument. Some were younger-mid fifties or so, and then there were the older folks-some well into the 'golden years'- 70's and 80's I am sure. They were all at different stages of their discovery with their chosen instruments, but they could all play. The strongest element for me to draw from was the fact that they were like giddy school kids so excited to be making music as an ensemble. Some of them were getting every note and others got most of the notes and then even fewer of them were getting the odd note and rhythm. But the key is that they were there, working hard and participating. At break, to hear them chatter about the first half of rehearsal was inspiring as they reviewed what had happened and how 'I got more of the notes this week than I did last week'. All of them were having so much fun, enjoying each others company and the chance to make music. I am quite sure that many of them know the benefits about keeping active and participating in something that will keep their minds alive and firing on all cylinders. It was obvious to me because the product was really worth celebrating.
I hope that our younger generation and the current leaders, political and educational, take note of the research and the studies that indicate the positive impact that music education, like no other creative art, has on the young, developing mind. I am a firm believer, that Music Education, should be available for every child. If it starts in school, think what a benefit it would be to society down the road. It is never too late to start, so why not start at the beginning? What do you think? |
I invite you to come by......This section is composed of observations or impressions I have, or others I value, share about music and its power. Archives
August 2019
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