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    STEAM, not just STEM Education Infographic
    Find more education infographics on e-Learning Infographics


    Blurred lines?


    How to practice mo' bettah'!


    Nao Kageyama, fantastic performance psychogist (and Hawaii ex-pat!)


    8 Things Top Practicers Do Differently




    We've all heard the phrase "practice smarter, not harder," but what does that really mean? What does "smarter" practice actually look like? A study of collegiate piano majors suggests that the key lies in how we handle mistakes.


    As my kids were (begrudgingly) practicing their Tae Kwon Do patterns not long ago, I caught myself telling my oldest that he had to do his pattern five times before returning to his video game.

    My goal, of course, was not for him to simply plod through the motions of his pattern five times like a pouty zombie, but to do it once with good form and commitment. But the parent in me finds it very reassuring to know that a certain number of repetitions has gone into something. Beyond the (erroneous) assumption that this will somehow automagically solidify his skills, it feels like a path to greater discipline, and a way to instill within my kids some sort of work ethic that will serve them well in the future.

    It's true that some degree of time and repetition is necessary to develop and hone our skills, of course. But we also know on some intuitive level that to maximize gains, we ought to practice “smarter, not harder.”

    But what does that really mean anyway? What exactly do top practicers do differently?

    Pianists learning Shostakovich

    A group of researchers led by Robert Duke of The University of Texas at Austin conducted a study several years ago to see if they could tease out the specific practice behaviors that distinguish the best players and most effective learners.

    Seventeen piano and piano pedagogy majors agreed to learn a 3-measure passage from Shostakovich's Piano Concerto No. 1. The passage had some tricky elements, making it too difficult to sight read well, but not so challenging that it couldn’t be learned in a single practice session.

    The setup

    The students were given two minutes to warm up, and then provided with the 3-measure excerpt, a metronome, and a pencil.

    Participants were allowed to practice as long as they wanted, and were free to leave whenever they felt they were finished. Practice time varied quite a bit, ranging from 8 1/2 minutes to just under 57 minutes.

    To ensure that the next day’s test would be fair, they were specifically told that they may NOT practice this passage, even from memory, in the next 24 hours.

    24 hours later…

    When participants returned the following day for their test, they were given 2 minutes to warm up, and then asked to perform the complete 3-measure passage in its entirety, 15 times without stopping (but with pauses between attempts, of course).

    Each of the pianists’ performances were then evaluated on two levels. Getting the right notes with the right rhythm was the primary criteria, but the researchers also ranked each of the pianists’ performances from best to worst, based on tone, character, and expressiveness.

    That led to a few interesting findings:

    1. Practicing longer didn’t lead to higher rankings.
    2. Getting in more repetitions had no impact on their ranking either.
    3. The number of times they played it correctly in practice also had no bearing on their ranking. (wait, what?!)

    What did matter was:

    1. How many times they played it incorrectly. The more times they played it incorrectly, the worse their ranking tended to be.
    2. The percentage of correct practice trials did seem to matter. The greater the proportion of correct trials in their practice session, the higher their ranking tended to be.

    The top 8 strategies

    Three pianists’ performances stood out from the rest, and were described as having “more consistently even tone, greater rhythmic precision, greater musical character (purposeful dynamic and rhythmic inflection), and a more fluid execution.”

    Upon taking a closer look at the practice session videos, the researchers identified 8 distinct practice strategies that were common to the top pianists, but occurred less frequently in the practice sessions of the others:

    1. Playing was hands-together early in practice.

    2. Practice was with inflection early on; the initial conceptualization of the music was with inflection.

    3. Practice was thoughtful, as evidenced by silent pauses while looking at the music, singing/humming, making notes on the page, or expressing verbal “ah-ha”s.

    4. Errors were preempted by stopping in anticipation of mistakes.

    5. Errors were addressed immediately when they appeared.

    6. The precise location and source of each error was identified accurately, rehearsed, and corrected.

    7. Tempo of individual performance trials was varied systematically; logically understandable changes in tempo occurred between trials (e.g. slowed things down to get tricky sections correct).

    8. Target passages were repeated until the error was corrected and the passage was stabilized, as evidenced by the error’s absence in subsequent trials.

    The top 3 strategies

    Of the eight strategies above, there were three that were used by all three top pianists, but rarely utilized by the others. In fact, only two other pianists (ranked #4 and #6) used more than one:

    6. The precise location and source of each error was identified accurately, rehearsed, and corrected.

    7. Tempo of individual performance trials was varied systematically; logically understandable changes in tempo occurred between trials (e.g. slowed things down to get tricky sections correct; or speeded things up to test themselves, but not too much).

    8. Target passages were repeated until the error was corrected and the passage was stabilized, as evidenced by the error’s absence in subsequent trials.

    What’s the common thread that ties these together?

    The researchers note that the most striking difference between the top three pianists and the rest, was how they handled mistakes. It’s not that the top pianists made fewer mistakes in the beginning and simply had an easier time learning the passage.

    The top pianists made mistakes too, but they managed to correct their errors in such a way that helped them avoid making the same mistakes over and over, leading to a higher proportion of correct trials overall.

    And one to rule them all

    The top performers utilized a variety of error-correction methods, such as playing with one hand alone, or playing just part of the excerpt, but there was one strategy that seemed to be the most impactful.

    Strategically slowing things down.

    After making a mistake, the top performers would play the passage again, but slow down or hesitate – without stopping – right before the place where they made a mistake the previous time.

    This seemed to allow them to play the challenging section more accurately, and presumably coordinate the correct motor movements at a tempo they could handle, rather than continuing to make mistakes and failing to identify the precise nature of the mistake, the underlying technical problem, and what they ought to do differently in the next trial.

    The one-sentence summary

    "Success does not consist in never making mistakes but in never making the same one a second time." -George Bernard Shaw

    - See more at:



    Zing went the string...


    Listen up, everybody!

    I liked this article so much I'm pasting it below the link... very good advice!

    Young students must learn to listen if they are to practise effectively

    String students who struggle in the early stages of learning often don’t know how to listen. Patiently help them to train their ears, says Peter Quantrill, and practice sessions will become ever more fulfilling

    Monday, 25 August 2014 


    Learning to play an instrument is learning to practise. And learning to practise is learning to listen.

    My nine-year-old son has just passed his ABRSM Grade 1 cello exam. He has an excellent teacher at a state-funded London school, and he has the advantage (even if sometimes he doesn’t see it that way) of also learning how to sing and play the piano. But his teachers can’t be there when he does his daily practice, and neither can his parents all the time. When we are there, we wrestle with various impulses. Do we leave it up to him? Do we instruct him, in a quick and dirty way, to make the changes (longer bows, adjust fingering here, pay attention to dynamics there) that will bring a quick improvement? Or do we make the performance of practice more open-ended, and attempt to be a sounding board for what he’s doing?

    We all know, in personal and professional contexts, how depressing it can be to receive intervention from a higher authority only when a transgression or inadequacy has been detected. My efforts with my son’s practice are directed towards a combination of those strategies outlined above, always motivated by the invitation to listen.

    The conductor Claudio Abbado died in January this year, leaving a trail of monosyllabic interviews, recordings of ineffable beauty and the lasting affection of those musicians (especially young ones) who had worked with him. ‘Many people learn how to talk,’ Abbado once remarked in a rare moment of public candour, ‘but they don’t learn how to listen. Listening to one another is an important thing in life. And music tells us how to do that.’

    Unless a student learns to listen, how can they improve? ‘How was that?’ I ask my son. ‘It was OK.’ ‘Do you think you could have improved anything?’ ‘I don’t know.’ Enclosed here is a strategy of disconcertion, no doubt designed (whether consciously or not) to frustrate me and get me off his case. And if a student does not care what they are doing, is there any answer to that?

    Inspiration can be sought elsewhere, from listening to others make music. But concerts, in the standard classical format which I habitually attend, are not geared towards nine-year-olds. DVDs and books with CDs fill the shelves with well-meant intentions: here’s a nice story about Beethoven and a funny picture – now listen to the Fifth Symphony. But reading and looking aren’t listening. Multimedia content and performances have eroded our abilities to just listen, and the opportunities to do so become ever rarer. Discussing the futility of a private language, Ludwig Wittgenstein observed how no one can feel your pain, and listening is in the same position: no one can hear you listen.

    Learning to listen is learning to care. Scales and arpeggios are the daily diet of musicians great and lowly because it is comparatively easy to hear when they go well, and what to do when they don’t. This tuning of the ear can take time and might take more time now than it used to, when listening was more of a habit. When learning an instrument, we’ll always care more about getting right those pieces we’re drawn to. ‘Don’t force it,’ my father would say. He was referring to doors and hatches, bottles and lids, but the principle applies to music. I might want to listen to my son do Purcell’s Hornpipe, but if he wants to play March of the Stegosaurus instead, then Purcell can wait.

    For those who make it through the painful early stages – for students and maybe their parents too – there should be that magic moment when the door opens, and there, in front of you, is a wealth of music not just to learn but to love, and maybe for ever. (For me as a young cellist, that moment came with Bach.) That’s when we start to correct our tuning, go over a vexing string-crossing time and again, not because our teacher told us to, or a parent is breathing down our neck, but because we feel the sense of responsibility towards a higher authority, the music itself. That’s when we’ve begun to listen.