I’ve developed an accidental sideline teaching teachers. I think it’s because of how much I enjoy teaching recorder technique. If you’ve never received formal instruction on an instrument, it makes teaching technique more difficult, so I have a number of experienced musicians and teachers in my studio who have sought me out to help ground their recorder instruction and fill in technical gaps.

I love all teaching, but I especially enjoy teaching teachers because they are interested in, and very thoughtful about, the learning process.  I inevitably come away from my lessons with teachers having learned something new.

Case in point: A few weeks ago, I was having a FaceTime lesson with a teaching colleague who is looking to improve her recorder skills.  I was introducing her to long tones, that staple of recorder practice, explaining how the ultimate goal of long tones the goal of long tones wasn’t so much length as beauty- each one was a chance to practice producing your most exquisite tone.

My student looked thoughtful.

“So you call them long tones, but length isn’t the most important thing?”

The question stopped me in my tracks.  Length was definitely not the most important part of long tones, so why did I call them that?  The answer was simple: tradition.  I called them long tones because my teacher did, and her teacher before her, and because they are called long tones by other teachers all across the country.

But my student’s question was insightful.  By calling something a “long tone,” I was priming students for prioritization of length, even though tone quality was the more important learning goal.  And sure, I could explain and elaborate, steer students away from taking enormous breaths to squeeze out notes for as long as possible, but why was I using a word I would subsequently need to spend energy fighting against?

I’m going to rename “long tones.”   I haven’t figured out the perfect thing to call them yet, but I’m determined that it will be something that more directly primes my students for what the exercise is about.  “Tone work,” maybe, or “smooth tones.”  (If you have any brilliant ideas, let me know!)

Because if you’ve managed to become an adult, you’ve long since realized that the old playground adage “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me” is false.  Words are powerful.  They can hurt you, but they can also help you.  And thanks to my student, I’ve been thinking a lot about how changing the words we use can help us be better musicians.

Another substitution I’m planning to make is swapping “fast” for “fleet.”  “Fast” conjures forward-leaning effort, and tends to lead to tension and fear.  “Fleet,” on the other hand, conjures lightness and ease, which is much more what I’m usually after.

And I routinely substitute “challenging” for “hard.” Challenging carries with it implicit effort, and the idea that effort can surmount difficulty.  “Hard “ is just….hard. I also use “emerging” in place of “poor” when describing sight reading, because we are never, ever stuck where we are.

How can you shift what you say to improve how you play?