The power of the senses

Passionata – Music lessons make all the difference

When I recently visited a school and sat next to a simmering lasagne for forty people during music class, I knew: I have to write about the power of the senses.

In my role as a mentor for new teachers in the subject of basic music education, I regularly visit schools and thus gain insight into many music rooms. Some are spacious and inviting, others are at least functionally furnished.

But time and again, I encounter teaching situations in which the room is cluttered with unrelated materials: cleaning supplies, stacked chairs or office supplies are in the way. Sometimes my young colleagues have to dance and make music with the children between dining tables and toys because the after-school care centre takes over the room immediately afterwards.

So it came to pass that during a music lesson, staff members filled a large chrome-steel heating trolley, whose loud fan spread the aroma of lasagne throughout the room.

The third educator

Of course, the cause of these conditions is not the ill will of the school administration, but simply a lack of space. And yet it would be inconceivable for any other school subject to have to take place under comparable conditions.

Anyone who works in education knows the guiding principle: the room is the third teacher. A good learning environment appeals to the senses – it must not disturb them.

Music has been a source of support for many people and has helped them through difficult times.

Apparently, certain people in positions of responsibility are unaware that basic music education cannot fulfil its educational mandate if the third teacher smells of lasagne.

This motivates me all the more to write about our profession and why we need space for the senses. Music can transform us, distract us, cheer us up or disturb us. It has been a source of support for many people and has carried them through difficult times. Including a former student of mine.

Goosebump moments

Little Zahra* was quieter and more reserved than the other girls. Her father was ill and died when she was in second grade. From the outside, I could hardly tell how she was doing. She showed little emotion and never told me anything about herself.

But when I asked the group who would like to sing a verse on their own, Zahra was happy to volunteer. Together with her friend Arjin, also a passionate singer, she composed songs that they performed together on the small stage in the class's singing hall.

Zahra sang with incomparable beauty. The children and I repeatedly got goose bumps. Yet she did not put on a show. Her face remained relaxed while singing, and her petite body stood almost motionless as the most beautiful sounds emerged from within her. I often thought: this child sings for herself. She experienced something beautiful, and we were allowed to share in it. Through the music, I felt connected to Zahra, even though we had never had an intimate conversation.

After completing her basic musical training, Zahra joined our school choir. The years passed, and when she was in fifth grade, she was one of the last to leave after a rehearsal. She said, «You know, I love music. People may leave me, but I always carry music with me.» She explained how singing melodies gave her a feeling she couldn't describe.

The senses are our windows to the inner and outer world.

Gudrun Gierszal, choir director and podcaster

We lack the words to describe sensory experiences: a familiar voice, a scent full of memories or a sight that fills us with wonder.

Gudrun Gierszal, choir director and podcaster, said the beautiful sentence: «The senses are our windows to the inner and outer world.» She goes on to describe her techniques for using the power of sensory perception to create a space in which everyone «is accepted in their diversity and yet dedicated to a common cause.»

Profound experiences

Gierszal reminds us that this positive experience of community that children can enjoy in music lessons is of social significance. By harnessing the power of the senses, we not only create better learning conditions in music lessons, but also deeper experiences for the children.

But what would have happened if, instead of my lovely singing room, I had had a room like the one I had during my last visit to school?

I imagine Zahra as a first-grader having to compete with the humming of the oven with her voice, or how, in the middle of her solo, the beeping of the timer would have attracted the staff from the next room to check on the lasagne.

Zahra would probably never have known how not only the music, but the whole class carried her at that moment. She might not have returned to that room for six years. And I would never have known how happy the melodies make her, which she will carry within her forever.

*The children's names have been changed by the editors.