I’m absolutely thrilled that so many thousands of people are smiling at our rewrite of The Bare Necessities during these challenging times.
I’ve created a lyric and chord sheet which you can download here. It could be great fun to teach online or sing with your family. If we can all keep calm and have generous hearts, we’ll come out of this stronger and with a renewed sense of gratitude for all the good things we have. Keep safe friends.
For seven years, I lived and worked as a musician in South West France until an opportunity for my daughter brought us to Scotland where we now live and work. I had built a pool of pupils in France and was also planning to lead an A-Level student through her final year at an international school. It was important to me to maintain a link with these loyal and much-valued pupils. Since then I have given academic and instrumental lessons via Skype at least twice per week from our flat in Perthshire. The present COVID-19 crisis has presented me with an opportunity to share whatever expertise I may have with colleagues and friends and I am delighted to do so.
Latency is the short time delay between one party making a sound and that being heard by the other party. This means that it is near-impossible for musicians to play a piece together. When I am teaching face-to-face, I often play along with my pupil but, when I analyse this with honesty, I really wonder whether this is genuinely helpful to my pupil or just self-indulgence on my part. Removing this from my teaching style has had no noticeable impact on the quality of the lesson given. Also, if a teacher tries to play along with a student, the likelihood is that he/she will hear their own instrument for more strongly than that of their pupil, particularly if the pupil’s sound is coming from a phone or a PC speaker.
I have noticed that when my pupil speaks or plays, and I try to speak at the same time, the sound coming from my speaker tends to cut out, meaning that I am unable to hear the pupil. I’m unsure if this is in-built in the software or whether the technology is struggling to process two actions at the same time. At the end of the day, surely it is courteous to allow another person to speak or play before butting in.
This is the phenomenon of a device hearing itself through its own microphone and setting up a loop of sound resulting in an unpleasant, high-pitched squeak. This is not to be confused with early-years violin students. The wearing of headphones eradicates this difficulty.
For me, this was a question of trial-and-error. Our Wi-Fi box is in our living room. If my family are at home, I will teach in the kitchen and the quality of the connection drops notably. In my case, the issue is the stud wall between me and the box. The physical distance of separation is still only about five metres. I understand that physical barrier is not always the issue according to the frequency of the Wi-Fi signal. I did purchase and Ethernet cable to try to improve the connection but the difference was negligible.
A challenge is that a teacher is unable to physically point to a place in a score. For this reason, I always make sure that pupils send a pdf or photo of their music well in advance. I can’t over-estimate how important it is to have clear and accurate bar numbers. Nothing is more painful than spending 10 minutes trying to indicate exactly which C# you mean within a score. I tend to use a print copy of the music and communicate with my phone. The other option is to have a second device upon which one can see the score.
If teaching online, a pupil needs to tune their own instrument. My pupils all use free apps to do this (Guitar Tuna, Soundcorset…) I disagree with those who say that tuning apps prevent pupils from using their ears. I think that playing a consistently well-tuned instrument develops the ear and familiarises students with the sound being sought. Surely it makes sense for a pupil to learn how to tune their own instrument rather than a teacher doing so for them.
Placing the camera
I have a stand which I got with a CD player. I tend to use this to hold my phone. We must remember that if we use a phone, we can pick it up and go close-up on hands and fingers to show detail. There’s no need for the camera to be permanently fixed in one place. Be creative and flexible.
I have noticed that there is a certain intensity of focus when working in this way. I think we get particularly drawn in to screen interaction and zone-out the world around us. It seems less appropriate somehow to accept interruptions as you know you’ll leave your pupil staring at your living room wall when you disappear.
I am yet to try real-time group teaching online but I am certain that this will be imminent in the current climate. I have run trial sessions with the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland (where I teach) and I feel confident this could work, as long as everyone is prepared and engaged. This might though be more difficult with younger pupils. I am a guitar teacher at a small school in Scotland and I have used a technique which I feel has been successful. I make dozens of arrangements for my guitar ensemble and I tailor these for the mixed range of abilities I have in my groups. I then record them, film them and put the result on YouTube. I make sure the parents know about these films and use them as a learning aid for the pupils. I love the fact that a pupil can both see and hear their part in context at any time. I think the parents like to be on board with what’s happening too. Kids enjoy playing along with the video and I have actually made videos with my own pupils participating at the end of certain performance projects. Many people assume I am a technological whizz as I am able to create these split screen movies but the process is very simple and my kit is extremely basic. Exactly how this is done is a discussion for another day. Incidentally, teachers can sell their arrangements of copy-written material on Sheet Music Plus and some earn income!
Interaction over Information
Feedback I have seen from RCS students is that they want interaction rather than information. I have noticed that class notes I upload to an online platform for our students’ benefit are, somewhat depressingly, rarely downloaded. When the interaction is two-way though, it is a different story. Even if real-time interaction is impossible, having a video of me speaking a few words and giving a deadline appears to create far more engagement. It gives the documents a sense of purpose and even consequence. We must remember that young people (I am talking undergrad students here rather than schoolchildren) have grown up with technological tools as their primary point of contact for information and advice. One-way sharing of information is fine but it is no substitute for expert interaction.
There are a whole range of little-explored safeguarding questions which this style of teaching will bring into question. Firstly, it makes sense to use a platform hosted by the institution or an email account within this. By coincidence, the COVID-19 outbreak coincided with some face-to-face grading assessments which I was due to give to around 20 students this week. Many of these are international students and they headed for home while they were still able to do so. Consequently, I carried out many of these discussions via my own personal social media platforms which was rather uncomfortable, but we were caught out by the speed of events. Music-teaching colleagues will recognise the experiences of all-too-painful staff meetings where we argue until we’re blue in the face whether it is appropriate to touch a pupil’s hand or not in order to make a correction. That’s one issue solved at least! One could argue that the physical separation between pupil and teacher offers greater protection. Other suggestions include the automatic recording of sessions (to protect both pupils and teachers) and/or offering parents the possibility to monitor events. Big Brother perhaps…? It’s all in discussion.
At home or in the office?
It seems obvious but if you’re meeting a student online, it is appropriate to dress as you would if you were meeting them face-to-face. It would be horribly unprofessional to be wearing pyjamas with bed-hair and a bowl of Weetabix at one’s right hand. Brass teachers – you’ve been warned! (A joke…) Also, think of what is also in the shot. Pictures of family, posters of rock bands whose material some may find offensive (that;s you AC/DC fans) a pile of washing up… just use some good sense. Remember, the hang-up button is not always effective. Please, avoid doing something socially inappropriate the second you press that red phone icon. Belches, sighs, breaking wind or even worse, clapping one’s head in ones hands and uttering ‘Oh my days, save me dear Lord’ could be inadvertently shared by your pupil and their mum…
When I was a teenager, I remember the Musicians’ Union had a campaign called Keep Music Live. This was due to the MIDI revolution. Many believed that MIDI would put working musicians permanently out of work which was proved not to be the case. I think technology can be our friend. It is cultural ignorance and a lack of value placed on the arts which puts musicians out of work rather than technological advances.
Wouldn’t it be incredible if, after this crisis has passed, we had learned that we could halve the traffic on our roads and increase the time we have with our families at home doing the things we love through the intelligent application of technology? Who would refuse that opportunity?
Wham! The ZX Spectrum, The Miners’ Strike, Atari, Neil Kinnock
stumbling on a beach… Who remembers the 1980’s? It was a peculiar decade – one
of transition driven by Thatcher’s profit- and efficiency-driven government,
often at the expense of culture, tradition and community. I also remember the
ascent into the public consciousness of the marathon. Twenty six miles (and a
touch more, as if that weren’t enough) was a distance which held mythical
status. It was a domain ruled by the elite, or the insane, depending on how you
looked at it, yet this was all to change. More-or-less overnight, the marathon challenge
was thrown open to the masses. Television viewers – particularly a young
budding guitarist in South Wales – became transfixed by the sight of thousands
upon thousands of ordinary people pounding the streets of London in a bid to
earn the ultimate badge of athletic honour. For many, the only run they had
undertaken in the previous 10 years had been a 100-yard sprint to the chippy to
purchase the last battered sausage of the evening. Suddenly, every man and his
dog identified himself as a sporting giant, participating in endurance runs
across the UK.
As our country’s leaders had yet to recognise the money-making
potential of what we now call ‘Health and Safety’, people were allowed to act
with impetuous freedom, and to accept the consequences. Participants indulged
in ever-more bizarre stunts: running in fancy dress, running backwards,
three-legged marathon running, often with little or no training. Cardiff, the
home of the aforementioned young budding guitarist, also got in on the act.
Within a few weeks I had made a decision: I was going to run a marathon. I was
fourteen years old.
I have always had an obsessive personality. Perhaps my temperament is particularly suited to the necessary repetition required to become genuinely technically proficient at the guitar. I’m a sucker for a hero. When at music college, I’d enjoy the daily ritual of arriving early in the cell-like practice rooms in order to perform a 45-minute cycle of scales in all keys, using every possible right-hand combination, all to the steady beep of a metronome which would be increased in speed by one beat per minute each week. As well as developing my finger dexterity, I felt heroic. I suspect there was an endorphin release going on somewhere and I soon became a guitar-nerd of epic proportions. So, the fourteen-year old guitar player started running. I was rubbish at sport in school. We played rugby of course, and my only redeeming quality was an unquestioning willingness to leap onto a pile of writhing teenagers in pursuit of a ball – even if said ball had departed the mass of limbs some time earlier. Personal injury was a likely outcome; in fact, to be unsullied and uninjured was a disappointment. We wanted to be heroes. The quantity of mud, and hopefully blood, sported by our clothing at the end of a match was a measure of contribution to the collective effort. I recall rolling in a filthy puddle in the dying moments of a match, some fifty yards from the action, on at least three occasions in order to be recognised as a warrior. I had no idea of the score; the aim was hero-points.
As the months went by, I ran and ran, usually every other day. I did this alone and without really discussing it with anyone. The first inkling of a sense of payback came during the school’s cross-country competition. In previous years, my friends and I had retired to a pal’s house conveniently placed a moment’s stroll from the school gate during timed, competitive runs. There, we spent an agreeable afternoon playing cards and drinking Panda Pops fizzy drinks before joining the returning party in an unsuspiciously mundane mid-pack position so as not to draw attention to ourselves. I believe we poured water over our heads and sprinted the home straight to imitate a degree of physical exertion. In early 1984 though, I was up for it. I recall the look on the PE teacher’s face when I ran around the corner in 5th place – out of a field of about 90. He was nearly as shocked as I was. I then made the somewhat rash decision to enter the Western Mail Marathon, held on September 9th 1984. In those days, one popped a cheque or postal order in the post and a few days later, a shiny number came back, complete with safety pins. I still have mine in our attic in France. I was fifteen years old when I set off from Cardiff City Centre. Incidentally, the same PE teacher was also an entrant. I didn’t bump into him. I can remember surprisingly little about the race. With no little discomfort, I recall running alongside Jimmy Saville for a couple of miles. He seemed like such a great guy and judging by the cheers and whoops of the watching crowd, most of the world agreed with me. How powerful is hindsight… I recall feeling utterly dreadful at about 22 miles but I kept running – never once resorting to walking – and finished the course in a respectable 4 hours and 8 minutes. I still have my medal in a case which was imprinted with the date, my name and the time.
As the years passed, I continued running half marathons,
10km races and others. My late father dutifully and uncomplaining me drove me
around the country leaving me to pound the roads as he somehow occupied himself
for a few hours before returning his panting, stiff and sweaty offspring to the
bath back in Cardiff.
It was in 1992 that I entered music college. I had worked
for five years and experienced family life. My son Matt was born but my
relationship with his mum ended. My success in gaining a conservatoire place
was vitally important for my self-esteem, as well as my future career. I ended
up spending 18 years there; firstly as an undergraduate, then as a postgraduate
before gaining employment in the Junior, Academic and Guitar Departments. My
running days had more or less disappeared but the discipline instilled in those
youthful road-pounding days remained.
So how can endurance sport help the classical guitarist?
Firstly, there is the physiological aspect. Guitarists spend hours upon hours in
classical position. This involves placing the body in a low, seated position
with the left leg raised about seven or eight inches to lift the instrument.
The position places considerable strain on the lower back and injuries were,
and remain, commonplace. Self-medicating, beer, painkillers and soft drugs are
‘solutions’ I’ve witnessed being employed by players wishing to overcome their
difficulties. More thoughtful techniques employed include stretching and The
Alexander Technique. I’ve come to the conclusion though that most guitarists
are simply unfit. Running keeps the body strong, supple and active. It is a
powerful antidote to the fixed, seated posture in which we spend countless
How on earth does this relate to endurance running? Well,
despite being a reasonably mature and rational adult, I made the somewhat
questionable decision to run another marathon this year. I have just reached a
significant birthday (half-century, not out) and being unable to afford neither
a sports car, nor a powerful motorbike, I rashly entered The Dublin Marathon in
response to the callings of my mid-life crisis. My son, Matthew, also a keen
runner, entered as well. We made a pact to stick together in the likely event
of me slowing down in the later stages. I decided to publically announce an
ambition to beat the time I set in my youthful years. Oh dear.
My training regime was strict and disciplined. I had no
problem with that. As the months passed, I decided to attempt my first major
run – a distance of about 18 miles. All was going swimmingly until mile 17. I
suddenly felt like death. In fact, if death really feels like that, I want to
live forever. I staggered home and was unable to mount the ladder-like
staircase at the entrance to our flat. My concerned family watched on as I used
my arms to drag myself up to the landing, like a Gore-Tex clad Day-Glo slug,
before lying inert on the bathroom floor for some hours.
Predictably, I was worried. After some reflection on the
incident, I decided to fight fire with fire (and energy gels) and set off on
another big run – this time 19 miles. On this occasion, the agony kicked in at
18 miles. I kept on upping the distance and, time and time again, I would
experience near-collapse on the last lap.
I began to wonder. Was I experiencing a kind of physical breakdown, not
only because I was physically spent (which I truly was) but because I was
mentally giving permission to my body to cease functioning a little too early?
I scoured podcasts on the topic and to my amazement, discovered that this is a
known phenomenon. In endurance races, athletes commonly collapse yards from the
line. It is believed that had the line not been present, they’d have been able
to keep going. So, one Saturday night, I set out on my final big pre-marathon
run – 21 miles – armed with more energy gels than a Kipling trifle factory. As
I ran along the A912, approaching my village, I felt a familiar sense of
near-panic. ‘Almost there… come on… you’ve got this…’ and noticed that I was
actually trying to speed up to get this darn thing over and done with. I
focused hard on my individual steps and realised that I didn’t feel so bad
(relatively speaking). I found myself singing ‘Ten Green Bottles’ starting with
a bottle count akin to that undertaken by a stock controller at a Heineken
The body has a strange ability to anticipate the resolution
of a much-needed task before the ideal moment. If you are of a sensitive
disposition, you may do well to turn away now as going to the toilet is another
excellent example. Who has endured the experience of mildly needing a wee (or
indeed, a Number 2) while walking home – not so much as to be desperate but to
certainly feel discomfort – only to turn the key in the front door and the body
to shout out ‘Yippee! We’re home! Let it go baby!’? One is obliged to indulge
in an odd sprint-waddle to the bathroom, all the while praying one’s teenage
daughter has completed her morning routine, and hurl oneself onto the lav,
trousers having been discarded on the landing and ‘making it’ with
micro-seconds to spare. Such events are clearly in the consciousness of the
Dublin marathon-watching public as I saw at least ten supporters holding
warning placards reading ‘Never trust a fart after twenty miles’. Humour or
I had put such things down to middle-age, but it seems that
the brain is releasing too early, just as the marathon runner collapses on the
little mat with that big yellow clock ticking above them, only to be hoisted to
his/her feet by well-meaning co-runners, and just as the guitarist completing
the Gigue of a Bach suite mysteriously fluffs a few notes in the final cadenza
of an otherwise flawless performance.
So on October 27th 2019, Matt and I completed the
Dublin Marathon. How things have changed. We still had numbers attached with
safety pins, but now a micro-chip was taped to the back so that my family back
in Scotland could track me by GPS. My estimated finish time was fed to them
(notably elongating as the race progressed) so that they could watch my moment
of glory as we plunged over the finish line via a live YouTube feed. Bizarrely,
as we were crossing, the producer decided to interview a spectator, there to
support her husband who was running the race to honour their yet-to-be-born
baby (she was pregnant). Despite such setbacks to my dangerously-swollen ego, I
broke my youthful PB by 15 minutes completing the race in a respectable 3 hours
and 53 minutes. Matt and I crossed the line together in a moment of true glory,
arms aloft although he would clearly have broken 3 hours 30 had he gone full
pelt. The moment was captured by a photographer and was emailed to me courtesy
of facial recognition technology. I looked like a man who’d been trampled by a
herd of Highland bulls but it was SO worth it. In the later stages, I felt
truly dreadful, but my experience as a guitarist made me concentrate on the
rhythm of my feet and the moment in hand. The incredible Dublin public were
just wonderful – genuinely inspiring and encouraging. What an extraordinary
city. It was magic.
I was raising funds for Number 3 One Stop Shop in Perth and
was supported by Perth Strathearn 200 Round Table who are giving an
extraordinary gift to augment my total. Our Co-op in Bridge of Earn also hosted
a collection pot into which the lovely community of our village chipped in most
generously. Watch this space for a total…
I’ll be playing a number of concerts in Scotland in 2020. I’d love to see you there! Also, if you live in the Perth area, or in the Dordogne where I pass much of my time, drop me a message if you fancy going out for a run.
Dan is the author of Extracting Goats from Jean-Claude’s Kitchen, available here from Amazon.
Like most guitarists and guitar teachers, I work in a school
one day per week where I have individual pupils and a guitar ensemble class. I
have come to love running the ensemble and I now see it as being central to my
work as a teacher.
Learning guitar can be a lonely pursuit. My wife, Kirsty, is a violinist and she often reflects on the great days she enjoyed as a teenager, when orchestral playing was at the hub of her musical and social life. There’s every reason for guitarists to take the same approach.
Much of what we teach is done to develop the technique and
musicality of our pupils. A good tutor book will contain pieces which develop
both hands without strain. Pentatonic-inspired pieces are particularly good for
this as they are easy to sing and memorise, as well as tending to be idiomatic
for the instrument.
One of the obstacles is finding ensemble repertoire that serves a pedagogic purpose. It is for this reason that I tend to make my own – many of which are published on SMP press. I’d like to show some which have been particularly successful.
I tend to arrange music which is popular and timeless. This
often translates as ‘pop’ melodies. I see no problem whatsoever in making
interesting arrangements of music in any style. Why should we be hostile to
pop? I once saw a collection of classical period music for guitar quartet where
the editor had divided parts of simple Sor studies across several instruments.
For the average pupil, this was about as motivating as a three-day Health and
Safety seminar in a cardboard box factory. I pity the poor kid who played open
E for 16 bars in one particular arrangement.
Firstly is my arrangement of Hallelujah. The careful
listener will hear that I have created parts in harmony to the main melody.
There is also call-and-response contrapuntal writing added at the chorus.
Finally, the Guitar 3 part is intended for beginners but due to the key
selected, they get to play the main tune. I tend to add chords to my
arrangements as I have some pupils coming to the class with a strong technical
ability but having only ever played chords. As I address their weaknesses in
their one-to-one sessions, I put their strengths to use in ensemble.
Nearly every guitar teacher has pupils of a wide range of
abilities. Therefore it makes a lot of sense to vary the difficulty of the
parts. The challenge lies in making them stimulating for all.
Next is my arrangement of The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel. The listener will notice that the melodic parts are again spread across the guitars. The original key of E flat minor (played with a capo) has been replaced for a far more friendly A minor. Chords are again included. The challenge was creating musical variety in the absence of the lyrics. Varying texture, octaves and rhythms was, I hope and believe, the solution.
My arrangement of Imagine by John Lennon is quite new but introduces a number of concepts to the learner. Firstly, a key of four sharps. The melody is limited in range so the learner approaches this by playing in a fixed position rather than worrying about remembering the sharps. This is the approach taken by professionals as you will know so why not introduce the concept now? The two main melodies are shared across the guitar 1 & 2 parts. Guitar 3 is for a beginner in my group and guitar 4 for a player who also plays bass guitar so the challenge I’ve written is rhythmic. The slides and slurs in Guitar 2 sound tricky but have been fingered in areas which make them easy and exciting. I have many primary-school kids playing this part with no difficulty.
I have also taken popular folk melodies and treated them to
classical procedures. My arrangement of Carrickfergus for guitar ensemble uses
modulation, chord substitution and counterpoint.
Finally, we live in an age where our learners are very comfortable with technology. With an investment of less than £50, I have taught myself how to make split-screen films. My learners can access these when they are practicing. Parents like to see a teacher engaged in the process at all hours of the day too!
You can find the films, downloads and audio excerpt of many arrangements here. Let me know your thoughts.
Dear Friends! A brief post today to welcome one-and-all to my new website. Over the next few months I will be offering a wealth of advice, lessons, thoughts, recordings and many other snippets which I hope will be both helpful and inspiring to all musicians. I will also be posting details of my forthcoming concerts in France for the summer period. I’m enormously excited to say that I have a packed diary, playing solo recitals, sharing concerts with L’Ensemble Arisan, providing bespoke music for the wedding days of several couples in the beautiful chateaux of The Dordogne and both performing and teaching at The Cardiff Guitar Festival. It promises to be a fascinating and exciting few months.
I have also enjoyed a new and highly fulfilling project over the last nine months. As many readers will know, my family and I moved to Scotland in the summer of 2017. We had lived in South West France for seven years where we developed a fantastic lifestyle performing, teaching, keeping animals, growing vegetables and integrating into a new culture. As a means of recording these memorable years and also to satisfy my passion for creative writing, I have written a book (as yet untitled) which leads readers through the trials, victories, moments of joy and wonderful incidents of surrealism which can only be encountered when living in such an environment. I will keep you posted in my plans for publication!
In the meantime, keep an eye on the site – sign up for my blog and newsletter and enjoy a quick browse. Best wishes, Dan