Musicians Debate the Merit of Tiger Mother's Parenting Methods
This article originally appeared in the Houston Chronicle, on February 11, 2011.
by Colin Eatock
These days, classical music is trying hard to revamp its image. Stung by charges of elitism, it's bending over backward to give the opposite impression. Classical music is hip, cool, fun, creative, it's for everyone. Just pick up an instrument and play!
And then along comes Tiger Mom.
Amy Chua's controversial book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is, at first glance, about parenting, not music. Nevertheless, it's bursting with Chua's ideas about classical music. She makes it clear that, as far as she's concerned, it's hard work, demanding strict adherence to clearly defined goals and standards. It's fiercely competitive, and if you're not the best, you're a “loser.” Never mind pro football – in classical music, winning isn't everything, it's the only thing.
But these aren't complaints. On the contrary, these are the things Chua admires about classical music. That's why she insisted on piano and violin lessons for her two daughters. For years, Chua fought pitched battles with her kids about practicing – putting one of her girls (Lulu, at age 3) outside in the cold because she wouldn't take instruction, threatening to burn her kids' stuffed animals, and denying dinner until a piece was perfected.
On the phone from New Haven, Conn., where she teaches law at Yale University, she sounds a little less fearsome than she does in her book. And she explains why classical music was such a big deal in her household.
“It's important for Asian mothers, of a certain demographic background,” she begins. “I chose piano and violin because they were the two instruments that I played. They're very respectable instruments, and if you apply yourself, you can achieve an excellence of unlimited horizons. My kids were growing up surrounded by consumerism and materialism. But classical music is all about depth.”
Chua has been stung by negative criticism of the all-work-and-no-playdates ethos that dominates Tiger Mother, and she wants to set the record straight. “Both my children just love classical music,” she insists. “I put the most extreme moments in the book. But I wouldn't have put my second daughter through such misery if she didn't love music.”
That's a welcome relief. But are Tiger Moms and their methods really good for classical music?
Yes and no, says Jon Kimura Parker, who's been teaching piano at Rice University's Shepherd School of Music for 10 years. The 51-year-old concert pianist – the son of an Asian mother and a white father – grew up in a musical household in Vancouver, British Columbia, where practicing was central to life as he knew it. He recognizes something of his own childhood in Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.
“My own upbringing was strict in the sense that I practiced every day,” he recalls. “I would walk home from school during our one-hour lunch break, wolf down a sandwich, and getting in 30 minutes of practicing in before heading back. I grew up across the street from a baseball field, and I could hear the bat hitting the ball from my perch on the piano bench. I never joined them on the field – I had few friends until high school. I was a quintessential piano nerd.”
At Rice, Parker teaches college-age students working toward careers in music, not young children. But sometimes he can sense the presence of a Tiger Mom in a student's background.
“From a sheer technical standpoint, there is something to be said for the early discipline. The vast majority of professional musicians had strict training from a very young age. But those with very strict upbringings – if they've retained an essential inflexibility about them - have a hard time understanding the point of music. Music is about creating something moving, something expressive.”
He certainly doesn't see nose-to-the-grindstone methods as absolutely necessary. “I've worked with many of the country's top music students, and I've been surprised at how many did not have a Tiger Mom – but who decided, on their own, to get to work and improve themselves. It shows in the musicianship and artistry of their playing.”
Still, there's no denying the most intense methods can sometimes produce the best results. The Chinese superstar pianist Lang Lang had a Tiger Dad – and the biography How High Is the Father's Heart (published in China) contains a shocking incident from Lang's childhood. Once, at the age of 9, he was late coming home to practice the piano. His enraged father demanded that his son kill himself – suggesting either poison or a fall from their 11th-story window.
Then there's the Japanese violin prodigy Midori. She gave her first public recital at age 6. When she was 14, conductor Leonard Bernstein knelt and kissed her hand following a brilliant performance. And at 22 she almost died of anorexia, brought on by professional and parental pressures.
These examples are extreme, even by Chua's standards. “When I read the some of criticism out there,” she says, “I know what people are talking about. I've seen stern Korean, Indian or Russian parents at the Juilliard School, and I've thought, 'Something is not right here.'“
If Chua distances herself from crazy parents with professional aspirations for their kids, in her book she endorses the Suzuki approach to violin instruction. (Chua sent Lulu to a Suzuki teacher, and she credits him with fostering her daughter's love of the violin.) However, it's not clear that all teachers of the famous teaching method for children would entirely endorse Chua in return.
Suzuki School of Houston director Judy Offman supports Chua's basic premise. “Nobody enjoys something unless they're fairly proficient in doing it,” she points out. “Western parents are afraid of pushing their kids beyond the minimum – they don't want to damage the child. They keep asking the child, 'Do you like it?' That's why China is beating the pants off the USA in every area.”
As well, she thinks that Chua's no-nonsense attitude has found a receptive ear among her students' parents. “I teach a lot of children from low-income Hispanic families. Some of the parents have read about Chua's book and are really taken with it.”
But Offman, who has taught violin to thousands of children for 38 years, parts company with Tiger Mom when she becomes verbally abusive (at one point calling her daughter “garbage”). This, says Offman, is all wrong. “Suzuki philosophy involves constant praise for the child.” Similarly, she differs with Chua on the value of competition. “Dr. Suzuki believed that children should be in competition with themselves, not other children.”
It seems Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is about as controversial in the classical music world as it is in parenting circles. But, as Parker points out, regardless of what methods of instruction and motivation are used, there's no getting around the “10,000 hours of work” necessary to play any instrument well. If you want to be really good, there's nothing casual or laid-back about it.
However, there's more to it that just hard work: inborn talent and desire are also crucial factors. And, at the end of the day, not all who study classical music will attain a high level of achievement – or even embrace it as their favorite music.
“I love classical music,” Chua says. “But for my own relaxation, I listen to country music. That's what's on my radio.”
© Colin Eatock 2011
by Colin Eatock
These days, classical music is trying hard to revamp its image. Stung by charges of elitism, it's bending over backward to give the opposite impression. Classical music is hip, cool, fun, creative, it's for everyone. Just pick up an instrument and play!
And then along comes Tiger Mom.
Amy Chua's controversial book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is, at first glance, about parenting, not music. Nevertheless, it's bursting with Chua's ideas about classical music. She makes it clear that, as far as she's concerned, it's hard work, demanding strict adherence to clearly defined goals and standards. It's fiercely competitive, and if you're not the best, you're a “loser.” Never mind pro football – in classical music, winning isn't everything, it's the only thing.
But these aren't complaints. On the contrary, these are the things Chua admires about classical music. That's why she insisted on piano and violin lessons for her two daughters. For years, Chua fought pitched battles with her kids about practicing – putting one of her girls (Lulu, at age 3) outside in the cold because she wouldn't take instruction, threatening to burn her kids' stuffed animals, and denying dinner until a piece was perfected.
On the phone from New Haven, Conn., where she teaches law at Yale University, she sounds a little less fearsome than she does in her book. And she explains why classical music was such a big deal in her household.
“It's important for Asian mothers, of a certain demographic background,” she begins. “I chose piano and violin because they were the two instruments that I played. They're very respectable instruments, and if you apply yourself, you can achieve an excellence of unlimited horizons. My kids were growing up surrounded by consumerism and materialism. But classical music is all about depth.”
Chua has been stung by negative criticism of the all-work-and-no-playdates ethos that dominates Tiger Mother, and she wants to set the record straight. “Both my children just love classical music,” she insists. “I put the most extreme moments in the book. But I wouldn't have put my second daughter through such misery if she didn't love music.”
That's a welcome relief. But are Tiger Moms and their methods really good for classical music?
Yes and no, says Jon Kimura Parker, who's been teaching piano at Rice University's Shepherd School of Music for 10 years. The 51-year-old concert pianist – the son of an Asian mother and a white father – grew up in a musical household in Vancouver, British Columbia, where practicing was central to life as he knew it. He recognizes something of his own childhood in Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.
“My own upbringing was strict in the sense that I practiced every day,” he recalls. “I would walk home from school during our one-hour lunch break, wolf down a sandwich, and getting in 30 minutes of practicing in before heading back. I grew up across the street from a baseball field, and I could hear the bat hitting the ball from my perch on the piano bench. I never joined them on the field – I had few friends until high school. I was a quintessential piano nerd.”
At Rice, Parker teaches college-age students working toward careers in music, not young children. But sometimes he can sense the presence of a Tiger Mom in a student's background.
“From a sheer technical standpoint, there is something to be said for the early discipline. The vast majority of professional musicians had strict training from a very young age. But those with very strict upbringings – if they've retained an essential inflexibility about them - have a hard time understanding the point of music. Music is about creating something moving, something expressive.”
He certainly doesn't see nose-to-the-grindstone methods as absolutely necessary. “I've worked with many of the country's top music students, and I've been surprised at how many did not have a Tiger Mom – but who decided, on their own, to get to work and improve themselves. It shows in the musicianship and artistry of their playing.”
Still, there's no denying the most intense methods can sometimes produce the best results. The Chinese superstar pianist Lang Lang had a Tiger Dad – and the biography How High Is the Father's Heart (published in China) contains a shocking incident from Lang's childhood. Once, at the age of 9, he was late coming home to practice the piano. His enraged father demanded that his son kill himself – suggesting either poison or a fall from their 11th-story window.
Then there's the Japanese violin prodigy Midori. She gave her first public recital at age 6. When she was 14, conductor Leonard Bernstein knelt and kissed her hand following a brilliant performance. And at 22 she almost died of anorexia, brought on by professional and parental pressures.
These examples are extreme, even by Chua's standards. “When I read the some of criticism out there,” she says, “I know what people are talking about. I've seen stern Korean, Indian or Russian parents at the Juilliard School, and I've thought, 'Something is not right here.'“
If Chua distances herself from crazy parents with professional aspirations for their kids, in her book she endorses the Suzuki approach to violin instruction. (Chua sent Lulu to a Suzuki teacher, and she credits him with fostering her daughter's love of the violin.) However, it's not clear that all teachers of the famous teaching method for children would entirely endorse Chua in return.
Suzuki School of Houston director Judy Offman supports Chua's basic premise. “Nobody enjoys something unless they're fairly proficient in doing it,” she points out. “Western parents are afraid of pushing their kids beyond the minimum – they don't want to damage the child. They keep asking the child, 'Do you like it?' That's why China is beating the pants off the USA in every area.”
As well, she thinks that Chua's no-nonsense attitude has found a receptive ear among her students' parents. “I teach a lot of children from low-income Hispanic families. Some of the parents have read about Chua's book and are really taken with it.”
But Offman, who has taught violin to thousands of children for 38 years, parts company with Tiger Mom when she becomes verbally abusive (at one point calling her daughter “garbage”). This, says Offman, is all wrong. “Suzuki philosophy involves constant praise for the child.” Similarly, she differs with Chua on the value of competition. “Dr. Suzuki believed that children should be in competition with themselves, not other children.”
It seems Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is about as controversial in the classical music world as it is in parenting circles. But, as Parker points out, regardless of what methods of instruction and motivation are used, there's no getting around the “10,000 hours of work” necessary to play any instrument well. If you want to be really good, there's nothing casual or laid-back about it.
However, there's more to it that just hard work: inborn talent and desire are also crucial factors. And, at the end of the day, not all who study classical music will attain a high level of achievement – or even embrace it as their favorite music.
“I love classical music,” Chua says. “But for my own relaxation, I listen to country music. That's what's on my radio.”
© Colin Eatock 2011
