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Mus(ick)ing on Pedagogical Relations as the Art of Encounter

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Title: Mus(ick)ing on Pedagogical Relations as the Art of Encounter
Language: English
Authors: Anne Pirrie (ORCID 0000-0002-3141-3786), Kari Marie Manum, Nicole Besse
Source: Educational Philosophy and Theory. 2025 57(4):328-339.
Availability: Routledge. Available from: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. 530 Walnut Street Suite 850, Philadelphia, PA 19106. Tel: 800-354-1420; Tel: 215-625-8900; Fax: 215-207-0050; Web site: http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals
Peer Reviewed: Y
Page Count: 12
Publication Date: 2025
Document Type: Journal Articles
Reports - Evaluative
Descriptors: Music Education, Drills (Practice), Creative Activities, Discovery Learning, Discovery Processes, Creative Thinking, Instructional Development, Educational Philosophy, Sense of Belonging, Power Structure
DOI: 10.1080/00131857.2024.2438215
ISSN: 0013-1857
1469-5812
Abstract: This article comprises a lyrical exposition of the 'in-betweenness' that underlies pedagogical relations and musical practice. The latter comprises making, performing, teaching, and indeed listening to music, phenomena encapsulated in the term 'musicking', first coined by the musicologist Christopher Small in 1999. Improvisatory practice is inscribed into the very process of writing as a means of mainstreaming the power of connection; and troubling the notion of "seeking" as the hallmark of 'poor pedagogy' (Masschelein, 2010) or weak education (Ingold, 2018). Drawing "inter alia" on a scintillating improvisational performance by the musician Bobby McFerrin, we argue that pedagogical relations, construed as the art of encounter, are about "finding" rather than seeking. Finding implies experiencing a sense of connection, 'that feeling of landing in the present tense', of being immersed in whatever occupies you, paying close attention to the details of experience' (Tempest, 2020, p. 5). This is a far cry from education in a major key, the secure territory of understanding that is premised on codified knowledge that pre-empts attention or marginalises it altogether. We draw on examples from music education to explore the deleterious effects of power dynamics. We end with a rallying cry for education as a common chorus.
Abstractor: As Provided
Entry Date: 2025
Accession Number: EJ1467801
Database: ERIC
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  Value: <anid>AN0183940292;54l01apr.25;2025Mar25.03:05;v2.2.500</anid> <title id="AN0183940292-1">Mus(ick)ing on pedagogical relations as the art of encounter </title> <p>This article comprises a lyrical exposition of the 'in-betweenness' that underlies pedagogical relations and musical practice. The latter comprises making, performing, teaching, and indeed listening to music, phenomena encapsulated in the term 'musicking', first coined by the musicologist Christopher Small in 1999. Improvisatory practice is inscribed into the very process of writing as a means of mainstreaming the power of connection; and troubling the notion of seeking as the hallmark of 'poor pedagogy' (Masschelein, 2010) or weak education (Ingold, 2018). Drawing inter alia on a scintillating improvisational performance by the musician Bobby McFerrin, we argue that pedagogical relations, construed as the art of encounter, are about finding rather than seeking. Finding implies experiencing a sense of connection, 'that feeling of landing in the present tense', of being immersed in whatever occupies you, paying close attention to the details of experience' (Tempest, 2020, p. 5). This is a far cry from education in a major key, the secure territory of understanding that is premised on codified knowledge that pre-empts attention or marginalises it altogether. We draw on examples from music education to explore the deleterious effects of power dynamics. We end with a rallying cry for education as a common chorus.</p> <p>Keywords: Musicking; pedagogy as the art of encounter; poor pedagogy; weak education</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-2">Introduction</hd> <p>This article comprises a lyrical, polyphonic exposition of the various forms of <emph>in-betweenness</emph> that underlie both pedagogical relations and musical practice. Taking our cue from Bach's <emph>The Art of Fugue</emph>, we have opted for an 'open-score' format, with each of our voices on its own stave, as it were. First Author, on keyboard, signals the main theme, namely a lively, contrapuntal exploration of the resonances between musical practice and pedagogical relations. By the former, we are primarily referring to performing, teaching and listening to music. By exploring musical practice and pedagogical relations as variations on a theme, we foreground 'the idea of [the] special, affectively charged relationship' (Friesen, [<reflink idref="bib9" id="ref1">9</reflink>], p. 744) that lies at the heart of both pedagogical relations and musical practice. In short, we regard both musical practice and pedagogical relations as manifestations of the art of encounter. In the art of encounter, there is scope for all parties to 'experience ... "interruption" and "hesitation", and thus [to be] thrown back onto [their] own subjectivities, experiences and weaknesses' (Friesen, [<reflink idref="bib9" id="ref2">9</reflink>], p. 744).</p> <p>We also draw attention to the influence of power relations and hierarchies in music education, with a view to opening up a broader conversation on the value of music as a social and relational phenomenon that transcends a narrow, 'instrumental' focus on individual performance and institutional prestige. The emphasis on individual performance is an extreme case of a 'strong' vision of education as a process of transmission, that is to say, the 'hammering in' or 'plastering on' of beliefs, attitudes, practices and standards of performance by one social group on its less mature members. As we shall see, this has potentially damaging consequences for the quality of the pedagogical relation. These range from exposing 'its practical instability or simply, its fragility' (Friesen, [<reflink idref="bib9" id="ref3">9</reflink>], p. 748) to cases of ethical or physical violence perpetrated by the educator towards the educand.</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-3">Programme notes on the art of fugue</hd> <p>Now is the time to elaborate upon our main theme, to provide some 'programme notes' to guide the reader. Before we introduce the main players, we offer some brief observations on the form of this essay. The musicologist Joseph Kerman ([<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref4">14</reflink>], p. 31) observes that for Bach <emph>'learned display was inseparable from practical performance</emph>' (our emphasis). In the literary domain, this resonates with the American pragmatist George Santayana's ([<reflink idref="bib23" id="ref5">23</reflink>], p. 34) observation in respect of Lucretius, namely that 'we seem to be reading not the poetry of a poet about things, but the poetry of the things themselves.' The challenge we have set ourselves is to write about music in a way that invokes the art of fugue, with due attention to modulation, rhythm, texture, timing and tone. The text before you is 'loaded with strettos, diminutions, augmentations and inversions' (Kerman, [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref6">14</reflink>], p. 31) while adhering to the 'primary principles, propositions, semiotics [and] logical discourse' that characterise traditional philosophical writing (Morris, [<reflink idref="bib19" id="ref7">19</reflink>], p. 369). At times the writing may appear 'less articulated or segmented' than is usual (Kerman, [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref8">14</reflink>], p. 32). This is to ensure that 'the exposition presents the subject and answer uneventfully' (and in a minor key, metaphorically). Eventually, however, the surface does begin to ruffle' (Kerman, [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref9">14</reflink>], p. 32-33) and something new emerges. This 'something' 'is more like a kind of <emph>communion</emph> rather than a <emph>communication</emph>' (Fosse, [<reflink idref="bib8" id="ref10">8</reflink>], p. 2). As such, it does justice to 'the primordiality of consciousness and lived experience' (Van Manen, [<reflink idref="bib28" id="ref11">28</reflink>], p. 53) that characterises musical practice, pedagogical relations—and our collaboration as co-authors.</p> <p>Kerman ([<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref12">14</reflink>], p. 31) notes that what Bach aspired to in <emph>The Art of Fugue</emph> 'amounts to a kind of negative virtuosity'. This may seem extraordinary and paradoxical—until you consider that Bach opens <emph>The Art of Fugue</emph> with a fugue that evokes improvisation (Kerman, [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref13">14</reflink>], p. 31) while maintaining a disciplined core. The paradoxical notion of 'negative virtuosity' is a trope for the type of academic practice that privileges the art of encounter. This is explored by Morris ([<reflink idref="bib19" id="ref14">19</reflink>]) in an eminently contrapuntal essay published in this journal. Morris explores how the philosopher, poet and cultural critic Michel Serres dispenses with tradition by being against unity; against <emph>Bildung</emph>; against system building; against the apolitical; and against the One.</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-4">Contrapuntal variations</hd> <p>Drawing upon the seminal work of Iain McGilchrist ([<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref15">18</reflink>]) and Tim Ingold ([<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref16">12</reflink>]), and the notions of 'strong' and 'weak' education elaborated by Gert Biesta ([<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref17">4</reflink>]), we shall explore how pedagogical practices (including those relating to music education) have been colonised by forms of attention that foreground the static and the known; the explicit rather than the implicit; knowledge rather than understanding; and the disembodied rather than the embodied (McGilchrist, [<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref18">18</reflink>]). As Ingold ([<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref19">12</reflink>], p. 40) has suggested in relation to education, 'constancy, homogeneity and being' rather than 'variation, heterogeneity and becoming' have become the norm. We note that the latter might be considered to be the main attributes of music, particularly the contrapuntal complexity of the fugue; and that 'constancy, homogeneity and being' are more akin to a maddening white noise. The consequence of these developments is that that knowledge is increasingly commodified and the art of encounter neglected—in pedagogy as in music (Besse, [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref20">2</reflink>]).</p> <p>Below we explore the notion of 'musicking', drawing on examples from lived experience and on the seminal work of Christopher Small ([<reflink idref="bib26" id="ref21">26</reflink>]). In what follows, musicking is a trope for multiplicity and unpredictability, and for the forms of 'in-betweenness' that lie at the heart of pedagogical relations. For now, it will suffice to note that we view both pedagogical relations <emph>and</emph> the experience of music as inflected by <emph>responsiveness</emph> and <emph>care</emph>. They are forms of encounter in which the conventional educational distinctions between those who can and those who cannot are elided; in which the 'stupid pathology of division' is subverted so that all those involved in educational processes can 'live, speak, or think with all their organs' and not feel constrained to 'cut a dark half out of the whole' (Serres, [<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref22">24</reflink>], p. 4). We conclude the essay with some brief reflections on the implications for conceptualisations of pedagogical relations.</p> <p>By their very nature, these contrapuntal variations call into question the persistent dualisms between affect and cognition; aesthetics and reason; ego-centric and eco-centric thought (Morris, [<reflink idref="bib19" id="ref23">19</reflink>], p. 362). How can one challenge 'strong' education, or rather the form of education that privileges 'the volitional principle [that] sets ends before beginning' (Ingold, [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref24">12</reflink>], p. 33) without diverging from 'strong' forms of writing? For the divisions referred to above not only blight pedagogical relations, but also scholarly practice (Pirrie, [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref25">21</reflink>]). By mainstreaming the art of fugue into the very process of generating this article, we celebrate the complexity and vitality of in-betweenness. As Ingold ([<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref26">12</reflink>], p. 37) has pointed out, the minor key is more suited to a form of inquiry that embraces exposure. It is more attuned to a way of proceeding that does not shy away from all that is 'anxious, unsettling and inquisitive', all that eschews the 'confident, assertive and affirmative'. The art of fugue is an artifice that represents what Ingold refers to the 'principle of habit', which, like the unfortunately named 'weak education', proceeds as follows. Rather 'than starting from ends, [it] produces beginnings. Its creativity is that of doing undergoing, of <emph>agencement</emph>, in which beings continually forge themselves and one another in the crucible of social life' (Ingold, [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref27">12</reflink>], p. 33).[<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref28">1</reflink>]</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-5">Let's get vocal</hd> <p>This essay is lyrical in the obvious sense that it comprises words. (<emph>These are the words to our song, as it were.</emph>) And yet our subject matter requires that we practise an altogether more difficult art: that we engage in a radical and more dangerous form of lyricism—with all the risks that entails. Michel Serres, the troubadour of knowledge <emph>par excellence</emph>, reminds us that 'the most difficult art is that of infinite melody' (Serres, [<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref29">24</reflink>], p. 100). This is especially true when it involves the art of fugue, the pursuit of a melody that '[is] not predictably given to the right hand but passed from the right to the left and back, split into multiple voices that [straddle] the staffs' (Singer, [<reflink idref="bib25" id="ref30">25</reflink>]). The art of fugue serves as a place-holder for relationality, for answering to the presence of the other, for a tumbling and complex form of going along together, in silence and in song, across lines of difference. We consider these the hallmarks of both musical practice <emph>and</emph> pedagogical relations. On that note, it is worth pointing out that this text emerged from the spirited engagement between a musician-who-cannot-play-a-note (on 'keyboard', on this occasion) (First Author) and two accomplished musicians and scholars (Second Author and Third Author). For those involved, this particular instance of in-betweenness had a magical quality that continues to resonate.</p> <p>The form of 'just playing' that gave rise to this article recalls how the jazz musician Derek Bailey ([<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref31">1</reflink>]) referred to the process of improvisation. In respect of the arguments advanced below (and to the very process of writing), 'just playing' encapsulates the 'dialectic between having the courage to let go of control and follow an as yet-undetermined experience, and a creative meeting of narratives in which both parts become new' (Ollson, [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref32">20</reflink>], p. 174). In embracing the art of fugue, we engage in an improvisatory form of 'just writing' that is consonant with the array of themes and variations that we address here.</p> <p>We begin our exploration of a more affirmative vision of the pedagogical relation with an example from lived experience. This amply demonstrates the creativity of social life, a phenomenon that emerges from what people <emph>undergo</emph> as well as do. Like most outstanding pedagogues and musicians, Bobby McFerrin is hard to pin down. A composer, conductor and a vocalist with an extraordinary range, he is blessed with a four-octave voice, lightning reflexes in improvisation, and a talent for mimicry. As one critic has pointed out, he can pass effortlessly 'from an opera bass to a Charlie Parker bop solo <emph>via</emph> the sound of a car shifting gear'. Above all, McFerrin has an extraordinary gift for 'connecting' with an audience. He reminds his listeners 'that all humanity carries the same instrument as him—and that music's roots are communal'.[<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref33">2</reflink>] In a series of deft strokes, and with extraordinary grace, humility and good humour, he troubles the notion that there are those who can and those who can't; those who perform and those who are merely spectators and listeners; or, with reference to education, those who <emph>transmit</emph> knowledge and those who <emph>receive</emph> it. In short, he delivers an object lesson in musicking and underlines the point that 'education is really about attending to things, and to the world' (Ingold, [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref34">12</reflink>], p. 2). McFerrin demonstrates how music is an intersubjective, perceptible feeling of connection that nourishes the soul, a form of 'co-partnership in a shared learning environment' (Ingold, [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref35">12</reflink>], p. 5). Take the following example, captured for posterity on YouTube.[<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref36">3</reflink>]</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-6">Playing it by ear</hd> <p>In 2009, McFerrin was one of a panel of experts at the World Science festival in New York. One of the themes for discussion was music and its relation to the brain. Suddenly, McFerrin leaps from his chair to illustrate the point that music resides in all of us. He jumps up and down on the spot, singing a note and inviting the audience to sing along. He then skips to the left and gets the audience to sing a higher note. Before long he is skipping back and forth across the stage, orchestrating a room full of people (at a World <emph>Science</emph> festival), filling an auditorium with melodic sound. He achieves this purely through gesture, finding a common chorus in a remarkably short space of time and giving an object lesson in poor pedagogy in the process. 'I was just displaying how the pentatonic scale—that's basically the black keys on the piano—appears to be hardwired into every culture on earth', he explained later. Note the illocutionary force of the word 'just'. We now have 'just displaying', in addition to 'just playing' and 'just writing'. 'I've always wanted to break down the line between performer and audience', McFerrin tells us. 'We're a roomful of strangers and music is the one thing that binds us together, makes us an <emph>instant community'</emph> (see note 1) (our emphasis). In the video, we may not be able to see the audience, but we can certainly hear them. We can watch the reactions of the four panellists seated behind McFerrin. They are also part of the audience, albeit that they have different responsibilities (hosting the show, representing the neuroscientific perspective). They begin to smile, initially without altering their posture as experts. But before long movement begins to course down their bodies, in one case causing an involuntary movement in the arms that seems to mimic one of McFerrin's gestures. All four panellists are deeply attentive. Their body language indicates that the connection between them deepens as they undergo the experience together.</p> <p>McFerrin provides us with a memorable example of what Masschelein ([<reflink idref="bib17" id="ref37">17</reflink>], p. 49) calls a 'poor pedagogy', that is to say 'the art of waiting, mobilizing and presenting'. He offers an immediate sensory experience, an invitation to (collective) attentiveness—'instant community'. The footage of the emergence of that common chorus is a powerful illustration of the power of connection described by the poet and performer Kae Tempest ([<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref38">13</reflink>], p. 5):</p> <p>Connection is the feeling of landing in the present tense ...[being] fully immersed in whatever occupies you, paying close attention to the details of experience. Characterised by an awareness of your minuteness in the scheme of things. A feeling of being absolutely located. Right here. Regardless of whether that 'right here' is agitated or calm, joyous or painful.</p> <p>As Ingold ([<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref39">12</reflink>], p. 35) observes, 'poor pedagogy' or 'weak education'</p> <p>... is about exposure rather than immunity; it renders us vulnerable rather than powerful, but by the same token, it values truth and wisdom over knowledge. Whereas strong education seeks to instil what is desired, weak education is a search for what is desirable.</p> <p>However, McFerrin's example suggests that a poor pedagogy, or a weak education, is about <emph>finding</emph> rather than seeking. It is that feeling of landing in the present tense, becoming absorbed in that 'instant community'. But here we are, back in the more prosaic universe of academic debate. How do we relaunch ourselves onto the path that the melody invented for us? It is not without irony, nor by accident, that we occasionally move in the shadows of giants (and we're not only talking Bobby McFerrin here). We may do our best to refrain from standing on their shoulders. However, like the well-trained classical musicians that some of us are, we cannot entirely ignore the repertoire. Nor, if we want our voices and our song to be heard, can we completely disregard scholarly convention. But standing on the shoulders of giants entails the risk of falling from a great height; succumbing to the pressure to dive in more deeply and more narrowly; or being deemed not to meet the expected standard, whether in academic practice, musical and/or educational performance. These are themes to which we return below, in our consideration of particularly destructive examples of 'strong' educational practices.</p> <p>Second Author rolls her eyes and raises her bow, signalling the emergence of another contrapuntal variation. 'We are treading perilously close to the realm of the counterfactual', she says. Counterfactual thinking, the metaphysical backstage of the educational scene (Manum, [<reflink idref="bib16" id="ref40">16</reflink>]), is evident in educational experiences</p> <p>that are framed by a paradoxical conception of freedom that emphasises possibility and potentiality while affirming the view that there are larger structural forces at work that play a vital (or de-vitalising) role in determining our existence and the tenor of our lives (Pirrie & Manum, [<reflink idref="bib22" id="ref41">22</reflink>], p. 857).</p> <p>Standing on the shoulders of giants diminishes our awareness of [our] minuteness in the scheme of things. It draws us away from the minor and edges us towards the major key, the secure territory of understanding that is premised on codified knowledge, pre-empting attention or marginalising it altogether. As Ingold ([<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref42">12</reflink>], p. 38) explains, understanding 'establishes a basis upon which everyone and everything can be put in position' (or, in the case of an institutionalised hierarchy, 'put in their place'). We shall return to these issues below, as we move from the art of fugue to the fugue state.</p> <p>We start from the ground up, from where we are, and where we have been, together—even when we lose our footing and the path ahead is obscure or non-existent. We do so even if we lack the vocal range of Bobby McFerrin—and even if, as is the case with First Author, we cannot play a note. We concur with Herring ([<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref43">11</reflink>], p. 142) that 'thinking is an embodied action brought forth into and by the world of which it is a part.' Like melody itself, our leaps and launches, the individual outbursts, the collective exchanges that brought about this text are sustained by restlessness and exposure; by unceasing exploration; by <emph>finding</emph> rather than seeking. Earthing ourselves in this way, remaining grounded, rooting our attention in lived experience and in the very act of writing—and by extension in making music and teaching—are the very pre-conditions for flying out. They are also the pre-conditions for enabling others to fly out too.</p> <p>'Method seeks but does not find', Serres ([<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref44">24</reflink>], p. 100) reminds us. He explains that those who start from what they <emph>find</emph> are generally in for a hard time. No one hears them (let alone listens to them) for their lyrics are not supported by reprise. The latter can be understood in the non-musical sense of setting out what others have found (i.e. arguing by authority). As a rule, finders (i.e. the perennially curious, those whose curiosity is rooted in lived experience) are not content to scratch themselves in the same place. (Look at Bobby McFerrin. He never steps into the same river twice.) Finders, the troubadours of knowledge invoked by Serres, are not content to retrace the steps of others. They exist in relation, turning inwards to listen to an inner voice, and outwards, as they tune in to the world around them. In conventional educational practice, where the focus is on transmission, talking and listening exist in a binary relation, dark halves cut out of a whole. An unintended consequence of this is that finders may be deemed less likely to be able to 'unlock' their potential in the conventional sense. For as Herring ([<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref45">11</reflink>], p. 139) points out, in contemporary education discourse, potential is all too often regarded as</p> <p>something already specified: a destination to be reached or an entity to be unleashed into the world ... something one achieves (like a gold star) or releases (like a captured animal).</p> <p> <emph>'Hmm'</emph>, says Second Author, pensively. She raises her bow once again, swirling it through the air as if in search of an arrow. <emph>'The competitive ethos that pervades all forms of education promotes perfectionism and foregrounds virtuosity. As a result, there are young musicians out there who are being systematically debased by people who push them to breaking point.' 'You're right'</emph>, exclaimed Third Author. <emph>'Psychological pressure to meet a teacher's demands can drive students into dependency. They feel guilty if they do not obey. They feel they deserve the shit that gets thrown at them. In the end they lose their self-confidence. They believe that they can never be good enough. Viewed objectively, this is an abuse of power. As a result, they are at a loss as to how to compose themselves.'</emph> First Author nods in agreement, gradually absorbing the implications of what her friends are saying. She returns to the keyboard, marvelling at the emergence of their common chorus. She is shaken by their shared experience of the trauma inflicted by 'strong' education.</p> <p>As will be evident by now, we prefer to 'play it by ear', to engage in ex-positioning, in the radical sense of challenging some of the norms that have governed music education. This includes the expectation that one should focus primarily on performance rather than experience. That we should send notes out into the world in a clean and punctual way. That we should meet a particular standard. That we should conform to an expected pattern, by, say, mastering elements of the classical repertoire. That we should fulfil normative expectations that classically trained musicians should <emph>be</emph> a certain way, should <emph>look</emph> a certain way, and should certainly not mess with other forms. But as we shall see, the multi-faceted phenomenon of music cannot be neatly parcelled up in this way (Besse, [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref46">2</reflink>] p. 2; Lines, [<reflink idref="bib15" id="ref47">15</reflink>].) (See also the interview with David Lines on the challenges of being 'bimusical.[<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref48">4</reflink>]) Here we have chosen to privilege fundamental encounters that can only be sensed. This includes the encounters amongst the co-authors, who revel in their own form of 'negative virtuosity', in the becoming and the perpetual differentiation that inheres in the art of fugue.</p> <p>We have adhered to the conventions of academic writing—for instance, engaging in argument based on authority—in order to demonstrate understanding. This is necessary to persuade our readers that we 'know the score'. This highlights the paradox at the heart of the notion of (educational) 'potential' identified by Herring ([<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref49">11</reflink>], p. 139): namely, that 'that which is becoming ... is also something that is conceived of fully formed'. Striving for legitimacy, by, say, standing on the shoulders of giants or trying to play it 'just right', flags up our ambivalent relationship with the presuppositions that 'form part of our being-in-the-world' (Herring, [<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref50">11</reflink>], p. 141). As Herring observes, 'that is not to say that it is impossible to change or reject such presuppositions, but even to eschew them means establishing them or cementing them in order to do so' (ibid., p. 141). So where do we go from here?</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-7">From the art of fugue to fugue state</hd> <p>As is perhaps already evident, this article is haunted by the spectre of a minor fugue state: that is to say, a state of flight from a crystalized set of assumptions about how education <emph>should</emph> be; how we <emph>should</emph> be, both as educated persons and as musicians (and even as non-musicians). It is a rejection of the inadmissibility of being a classically trained musician who chooses to play jazz. Or, in the case of Robert McFerrin senior, whom we shall meet below, a person of colour who wants to be an opera singer. Before we revisit the notion of musicking, in a contrapuntal variation, we need briefly to raise another issue. This is important not least because it illustrates the damage wrought by particular instances of 'strong' education. It might also explain the feelings of 'sadness, self-blame, shame and perhaps anger' that can accompany what is perceived as a personal failure (Manum, [<reflink idref="bib16" id="ref51">16</reflink>], p. 239).</p> <p>In a report commissioned by the Power Relations in Higher Music Education Network (PRiHME) at the Association of European Conservatoires, Bull ([<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref52">7</reflink>]) introduces the concepts of power relations and hierarchies in higher music education institutions and documents their impact on individuals. Due to her research expertise, she focuses primarily on classical music in the UK, although as she points out, the examples are 'helpful for thinking about similarities and differences across genres and national contexts' (Bull, [<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref53">7</reflink>]; see also Bull, [<reflink idref="bib6" id="ref54">6</reflink>], p. 1). Her findings are not limited to the classical music scene, nor indeed to the UK (Besse, [<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref55">3</reflink>]). They make for disturbing reading. Bull begins with the following arresting example. Jonathan (not his real name) described his first year in a conservatoire as 'really tough'. He suffered under the tutelage of a 'real bastard' of a teacher who 'broke him' and 'knocked him down', leading to a prolonged episode of depression. This form of 'strong' education is the antithesis of that described by Ingold ([<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref56">12</reflink>], p. 32), as it does not offer 'security, predictability and freedom from risk.' Rather, this dystopian vision of the pedagogical relation resembles an infernal puppet theatre, where the puppet master pulls the strings of an assembled cast, those selected as potential inheritors and perpetuators of a particular tradition.</p> <p>Like other students who described various forms of problematic behaviour, Jonathan did not see this conduct as wrong. The students thought that 'their teachers were right to behave in this way because they (the students) weren't good enough musicians, weren't working hard enough, weren't mature enough' (Bull, [<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref57">7</reflink>], p. 1). Jonathan and his peers implicitly endorsed a strong view of (self-) creation as a transition from 'non-being to being' (Biesta, [<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref58">4</reflink>], p. 23). They believed that they were moving from relative incapacity to an institutionally-endorsed state of mastery. Bull locates the explanation for the widespread normalisation of bullying and other forms of abuse to 'hierarchies of value' in higher music education. These serve 'to create a shared understanding of who is valuable and who is less valuable within an institution or society' (Bull, [<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref59">7</reflink>], p. 1). This reinforces particular sets of power relations that are 'created through shared ideas of what is "normal", through invisible practices'. These can be experienced in a variety of ways, as 'intimidating and scary' or as 'pleasurable and exciting', which makes them harder to resist. These processes produce staggering levels of inequality between teachers and students. As Ingold ([<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref60">12</reflink>], p. 50) explains, 'strong education, far from lifting every generation up, is a put-down that each inflicts, in turn, on its successors'. The practices in certain higher music education institutions reflect wider developments in the education system and represent an extreme case of 'strong education'. This is a destructively future-oriented form of education, where the ultimate aim is the 'realisation of potential' rather than its replenishment. In short, this form of education is directed towards 'an endpoint at which existing models [and inherent potential] are finally converted into reality, projections into fact' (Ingold, [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref61">13</reflink>], p. 5). As Hermondshalgh ([<reflink idref="bib10" id="ref62">10</reflink>]) points out, music is often considered to be vital for positive individual and social development and immune to negative influences. But if music is indeed deeply embedded in social processes, then it is difficult to imagine how people's engagement with it can be consistently positive, given that society is 'marked by inequality, exploitation and suffering' (Hermondshalgh, [<reflink idref="bib10" id="ref63">10</reflink>], p. 334) (see also Bourdieu, [<reflink idref="bib5" id="ref64">5</reflink>].)</p> <p>The state of affairs described by Bull is a far cry from the 'common chorus' invoked by Bobby McFerrin. He embodies a vision of education that involves 'attending to things, rather than acquiring the knowledge that absolves us of the need to do so; about exposure rather than immunisation' (Ingold, [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref65">12</reflink>], p. ix). Below we consider what musicking might teach us about pedagogy. But first we prepare for the entrance of Robert McFerrin, stage right. His story is instructive as it clearly illustrates how hierarchies of value have endured across time. They are based not only on perceived musical proficiency, but are also shaped by several interrelated factors: social networks; symbolic cultural capital or prestige; and wider social inequalities, such as those of gender, class, disability and—most significant in this case—race.</p> <p>Robert McFerrin, a baritone with a warm and luminous voice, was the first African American man to sing in America's flagship opera company, the Metropolitan. He made his debut as the Ethiopian King Amonasro in Verdi's Aida in 1955, shortly after the Supreme Court ruled that racial segregation in schools in the US was illegal. However, despite these encouraging signs of lasting social change, his tenure at the Met was short-lived. He resigned in 1959, offering the following explanation for his decision:</p> <p>Opportunities [...] were at a stalemate. I had been there for three years and had done only three roles. I did not want to continue the uncertainty ... whether or not I would progress beyond the status of singing the role of a brother, or father. I wanted to sing Wotan or Count di Luna, or a romantic lead. I guess that would have created too much controversy.[<reflink idref="bib5" id="ref66">5</reflink>]</p> <p>The romantic leads never came. The opera singer Peter Braithwaite recounts how, after leaving the Met, McFerrin went on to provide the vocals for Sidney Poitier's Porgy in Otto Preminger's film adaptation of Gershwin's Black-cast-only opera <emph>Porgy and Bess</emph>. Despite the best efforts of some individuals, for instance Rudolf Bing, the general director of the Metropolitan, established hierarchies of value trumped in the end. We shall never know if McFerrin's contemporaries at the Met complained about the lack of opportunities afforded to him. But the lessons from Bull's extensive research into the operations of class and control in the classical music scene suggest that they probably did not. As an Austrian of Jewish heritage who had fled the Nazi regime in the 1930s, Bing would have had an embodied understanding of what it is to be an outsider, to experience systematic discrimination. Yet even he was unable to push back against the larger structural forces that still conspire to deprive the talented of the opportunities they deserve. McFerrin's son Bobby recalled the warmth, luminosity and passion of the marginalised voices of the singers who would gather in the McFerrin household. Here's how he describes these encounters:</p> <p>It felt as if the entire classical music African American community would come by the house for classical jam sessions. It was a wonderful experience as a kid to hide behind the piano while they would sing and talk about the opportunities—or lack thereof—they had to perform their art. I clearly remember that they would discuss the fact that my dad was auditioning at the Met ... and what that would mean if he won the audition. (See note 5.)</p> <p>We can imagine the young Bobby McFerrin hiding behind the piano. We can almost see him vocalising in the kitchen or in the hallway, or perhaps on his way to school. We can certainly understand how he developed his extraordinary vocal range, hiding behind the piano and listening to a common chorus. Those 'classical jam sessions' in the McFerrin household in the mid 1950s are a powerful example of the enduring rhythm of time, of how people from different generations can 'work alongside each other [to forge] the conditions of collective life [and] align care and attention with the temporal stretch of life' (Ingold, [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref67">13</reflink>], pp. 9 and 10). This is a powerful antidote to the hothouse environment of 'strong education' where there is a relentless focus on mining the 'potential' of successive generations, and where the window in which to 'make it' is depressingly narrow. This, surely, is a wasteful and unsustainable practice that brings with the very real threat of ethical (and sometimes physical) violence towards those who do not 'make the grade', who do not keep to time, the time of <emph>now</emph>.</p> <p>It will already be evident that music can have a powerful effect even upon those who are not directly involved in making or performing it. This is the issue to which we now turn our attention.</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-8">Musicking as the art of encounter</hd> <p>In his seminal lecture on <emph>musicking,</emph> Christopher Small ([<reflink idref="bib26" id="ref68">26</reflink>], p. 9) explained that 'the essence of music lies not in musical works but in taking part in performance, in social action.' The corollary of this is that 'music is not so much a noun as a verb'. As Small explains,</p> <p>To music is to take part <emph>in any capacity</emph> in a musical performance, and the meaning of musicking lies in the relationships that are established between the participants by the performance. (Small, [<reflink idref="bib26" id="ref69">26</reflink>], p. 9)</p> <p>As such, musicking is emblematic of a particular form of pedagogical relation that is a necessary counterpoint to the instrumentalism (puns intended) that inflects pedagogical relations in the 'strong' tradition. As we saw above, in the latter case the focus is on transmission, execution and performance. In contrast, the notion of musicking encapsulates a vision of education—and of pedagogical relations—as live encounters involving non-verbal, gestural communication that unfold in and through relationships with others, irrespective of their levels of competence (Besse, [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref70">2</reflink>]). The examples explored above include the illuminating jam at the World Science Festival, and the young Bobby McFerrin hiding behind the piano during the 'classical jam sessions' at his parents' home.</p> <p>Musicking encompasses a range of activities that are premised on different forms of attention. Performing music as an orchestra musician is partly about processing information (reading the notes, following the conductor). It presupposes an advanced ability to read a score, to engage with information that is '<emph>general, impersonal, fixed, certain</emph> and <emph>disengaged</emph> (McGilchrist, [<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref71">18</reflink>], p. 96, emphasis in the original). This is a world of tiny fragments, the 30,000 or so notes that make up Bach's B Minor Mass, for instance. Viewed in isolation, the fragments are meaningless, mere marks on a page. As McGilchrist ([<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref72">18</reflink>], p. 72) explains, the essence of music is in-betweenness:</p> <p>It is the relations <emph>between</emph> things, more than entities in isolation, that are of primary importance ... Music consists entirely of relations, 'betweenness'. The notes mean nothing in themselves: the tensions between the notes, and between the notes and the silence with which they live in reciprocal indebtedness, are everything.</p> <p>As is the case with pedagogical relations, musicking is also about engaging in a live encounter. Music requires us to know it in the sense of <emph>kennen</emph> rather than <emph>wissen,</emph> although the two ways of knowing are not mutually exclusive. The empathic nature of music means that we come to know it just as we come to know a person. After all, we freely attribute human qualities to music: <emph>allegro, vivace, lento.</emph> We also return to a piece of music time and time again, just as we sit with a friend. '<emph>It's a matter of</emph> kennenlernen', said Second Author, bridging the gap between cognition and recognition with an elegant sweep of her bow. '<emph>Wie praktisch ist die deutsche Sprache',</emph> exclaimed Third Author, <emph>con brio</emph>.</p> <p>It is not always possible to impose a strict division between what is music and what is not, particularly in an <emph>in vivo</emph> context. Language is a powerful agent of noise exclusion, deafening us to the soundscape that surrounds us. But music—the sounds pouring out from a symphony orchestra—might also be considered to be an agent of noise exclusion. Musicians, particularly those in the classical Western tradition, strive to keep out unwanted noise, the 'sonic dust' of untuned notes, scratched sounds, the movement of bodies on chairs, coughs that cannot be suppressed. Despite years of practice and rehearsal, despite constantly striving towards a representation of the 'essence' of the music, the realisation of an aesthetic ideal, this sonic multiplicity resists suppression. Paradoxically, there is a transcendent quality to these contingent, unintended happenings. It inheres in the motes of sonic dust that dance among the carefully executed notes. They do not respect the division between those in the orchestra and those in the auditorium. As in the case of pedagogical relations, there will forever be a crackling interference between existence, experience and essence. As McGilchrist ([<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref73">18</reflink>]: pp. 30-31) points out,</p> <p>Experience is forever in motion, ramifying and unpredictable. In order for us to <emph>know</emph> anything at all, that thing must have enduring properties. If all things flow, and one can never step into the same river twice ... one will always be taken unawares by experience.</p> <p>As Besse ([<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref74">3</reflink>]) has pointed out, Indian instrumentalists working within a strong oral tradition implicitly recognise this crackling interference. The rising tide of sonic dust only serves to reaffirm them in their devotion and strengthen their practice.</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-9">Coda: Finding a common chorus</hd> <p>In the closing passage of an article, it is customary to provide a brief synopsis of the main proposition and reach a conclusion. <emph>'But you, the lyricist, aren't going to do that, are you?',</emph> said Second Author, carefully placing her instrument back in its case. <emph>'To end on a different note would be like reading a prayer text instead of praying'</emph>, intoned Third Author. <emph>'You're right'</emph>, said First Author, looking towards her friends. <emph>'If all art, and by extension, the best pedagogy and the most satisfying pedagogical relations aspire towards the condition of music, then we must do our level best to follow suit.' 'Yes',</emph> said Second Author<emph>, 'writing as the art of fugue not only embraces the complexity and texture of musical composition, but it also allows for an exploration of the sonic dust that resides in the margins of educational and academic discourse.' 'Indeed',</emph> observed Third Author, preparing to close the lid of keyboard. <emph>Perhaps it is less about shifting the focus from the educator to the educand, or</emph> vice versa<emph>, but acknowledging the sonic dust of the in-between.'</emph></p> <p>In this concluding section, we attempt a brief reprise of the key 'variations' within this piece. If we have accorded greater attention to music(king) than to pedagogical relations, it is because we take the view that the latter play out in the former. McGilchrist ([<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref75">18</reflink>], p. 96) points out that 'music does not <emph>symbolise</emph> emotional meaning, which would require it to be interpreted; it <emph>metaphorises</emph> it—"carries it over" direct to our unconscious minds' (emphasis in the original). By the same token, we hope that this text will act upon its readers, and that they will respond to it, as in a human encounter. This will be our common chorus.</p> <p>As is the case with the operations of music, the essence of the pedagogical relation lies in its in-betweenness. 'Sonic dust' thus becomes a place-holder for the more-than-human quality that transcends notions that traditionally feature in the discourse on pedagogical relations: terms such as recognition, listening, acknowledgement, empathy, inconsistency, alienation, reciprocity, vulnerability (see, for example, Friesen, [<reflink idref="bib9" id="ref76">9</reflink>], p 752). In sum, pedagogical relations are neither strong nor weak, neither poor nor rich. They are something in between.</p> <p>Pedagogy, like music, is full of paradoxes. It is both material and immaterial, in that it draws upon propositional knowledge <emph>and</emph> upon the sonic dust of human encounter. It requires knowledge, training <emph>and</emph> the exercise of attention. It requires that we surrender ourselves—and yet retain our ability to be in the present moment. We need to be able to grasp something <emph>and</emph> to let it course its way through us, opening us up to the gentle breath of coincidence. Perhaps the hardest challenge for the pedagogue is the one encapsulated in the final lines of Leonard Cohen's song <emph>The Goal</emph>.[<reflink idref="bib6" id="ref77">6</reflink>] There can be few more effective rebuttals of the grandiose vision of education as transmission, few more eloquent and disarming expressions of the ripples of human experience that pull us out of certainty than the following resigned admission in the face of impending death. We have no one to follow, nothing to teach. <emph>'Except that the goal falls short of the reach.'</emph> In this dying breath, in this final cadence, we are ready to meet the world with open arms.</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-10">Acknowledgements</hd> <p>This trio of co-authors was formed the wake of the XIII symposium of the International Society for the Philosophy of Music Education in Oslo in June 2023. We are indebted to the organisers for the opportunity to meet, and for their enthusiasm and encouragement throughout the gathering. We are eternally grateful to each other for an unforgettable midsummer weekend of musicking, writ large. We would also like to thank two anonymous reviewers for their helpful feedback on an earlier draft of this article.</p> <hd id="AN0183940292-11">Disclosure statement</hd> <p>No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).</p> <ref id="AN0183940292-12"> <title> References </title> <blist> <bibl id="bib1" idref="ref28" type="bt">1</bibl> <bibtext> Bailey, D. (1980). Improvisation. Its Nature and Practice in Music. Moorland.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibl id="bib2" idref="ref20" type="bt">2</bibl> <bibtext> Besse, N. (2022a). Musizieren als Kunst der Begegnung. Auragogik: Reflexivität und Intersubjektivität in musikalische Bildungsprozessen. Waxmann.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibl id="bib3" idref="ref36" type="bt">3</bibl> <bibtext> Besse, N. (2022b). Keine Macht der Machtlosigkeit: Zufriedensein als Prinzip des Widerstands. 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Routledge.</bibtext> </blist> </ref> <ref id="AN0183940292-13"> <title> Footnotes </title> <blist> <bibtext> Ingold ([12], p. 33) argues that Biesta's distinction between strong and weak education 'is virtually congruent with the one ...between the principles of volition and habit', thus avoiding the moralistic overtones of the words strong and weak.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibtext> Bobby McFerrin London Vocal Project: https://<ulink href="http://www.theguardian.com/music/2010/may/30/bobby-mcferrin-london-vocal-project">www.theguardian.com/music/2010/may/30/bobby-mcferrin-london-vocal-project</ulink>.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibtext> From the session 'Notes and neurons: in search of the common chorus' https://<ulink href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ne6tB2KiZuk">www.youtube.com/watch?v=ne6tB2KiZuk</ulink>.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibtext> Being bimusical. A conversation with David Lines: https://xn–mehralstne-lcb.de/62-david_lines.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibtext> 'This man made opera history. Why did I not know him?' https://<ulink href="http://www.theguardian.com/music/2021/may/12/robert-mcferrin-baritone-metropolitan-opera-peter-brathwaite">www.theguardian.com/music/2021/may/12/robert-mcferrin-baritone-metropolitan-opera-peter-brathwaite</ulink>.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibtext> From the album <emph>Thanks for the Dance</emph> (Columbia Records and Legacy Recordings), released posthumously on November 22, 2019.</bibtext> </blist> </ref> <aug> <p>By Anne Pirrie; Kari Marie Manum and Nicole Besse</p> <p>Reported by Author; Author; Author</p> <p></p> <p>Anne Pirrie is a Reader in Education at the University of the West of Scotland. Formerly a contract researcher, Anne is a generalist with an eye for the particular. Her book Virtue and the Quiet Art of Scholarship: reclaiming the university (2019) explores the conditions for human flourishing in an environment blighted by managerialism. She considers her role as a teacher in the same terms as Nan Shepherd (1893-1981), the author of The Living Mountain : to try to prevent a few of the students who pass through the institution from conforming altogether to the approved pattern.</p> <p>Kari Manum entered academia after many years as a professional musician and former member of the Oslo Philharmonic and the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic orchestras, among others. She continues to play the viola, which informs her work as an academic. She is currently completing her PhD on music and counterfactual meaning-making at the Inland Norway University of Applied Sciences. She has recently taken up a position as assistant professor in the Department of Jazz, Dance and Music Production in the Faculty of Performing Arts at the University of Stavanger.</p> <p>Nicole Besse discovered the world behind the classical violin when she started improvising with pupils and students, in music therapy settings and different styles and cultures. A versatile musician and visual artist, she founded the Atelier DaSein for Improvisation in Art and Sound (2019). In her book Musizieren als Kunst der Begegnung (2022) she focuses on the perception of silence as the basis of any engagement with music and develops holistic concepts for the reorientation of music education. She currently teaches at the University of Cologne.</p> </aug> <nolink nlid="nl1" bibid="bib14" firstref="ref4"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl2" bibid="bib23" firstref="ref5"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl3" bibid="bib19" firstref="ref7"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl4" bibid="bib28" firstref="ref11"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl5" bibid="bib18" firstref="ref15"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl6" bibid="bib12" firstref="ref16"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl7" bibid="bib26" firstref="ref21"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl8" bibid="bib24" firstref="ref22"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl9" bibid="bib21" firstref="ref25"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl10" bibid="bib25" firstref="ref30"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl11" bibid="bib20" firstref="ref32"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl12" bibid="bib17" firstref="ref37"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl13" bibid="bib13" firstref="ref38"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl14" bibid="bib16" firstref="ref40"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl15" bibid="bib22" firstref="ref41"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl16" bibid="bib11" firstref="ref43"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl17" bibid="bib15" firstref="ref47"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl18" bibid="bib10" firstref="ref62"></nolink>
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  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Anne+Pirrie%22">Anne Pirrie</searchLink> (ORCID <externalLink term="https://orcid.org/0000-0002-3141-3786">0000-0002-3141-3786</externalLink>)<br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Kari+Marie+Manum%22">Kari Marie Manum</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Nicole+Besse%22">Nicole Besse</searchLink>
– Name: TitleSource
  Label: Source
  Group: Src
  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="SO" term="%22Educational+Philosophy+and+Theory%22"><i>Educational Philosophy and Theory</i></searchLink>. 2025 57(4):328-339.
– Name: Avail
  Label: Availability
  Group: Avail
  Data: Routledge. Available from: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. 530 Walnut Street Suite 850, Philadelphia, PA 19106. Tel: 800-354-1420; Tel: 215-625-8900; Fax: 215-207-0050; Web site: http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals
– Name: PeerReviewed
  Label: Peer Reviewed
  Group: SrcInfo
  Data: Y
– Name: Pages
  Label: Page Count
  Group: Src
  Data: 12
– Name: DatePubCY
  Label: Publication Date
  Group: Date
  Data: 2025
– Name: TypeDocument
  Label: Document Type
  Group: TypDoc
  Data: Journal Articles<br />Reports - Evaluative
– Name: Subject
  Label: Descriptors
  Group: Su
  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Music+Education%22">Music Education</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Drills+%28Practice%29%22">Drills (Practice)</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Creative+Activities%22">Creative Activities</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Discovery+Learning%22">Discovery Learning</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Discovery+Processes%22">Discovery Processes</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Creative+Thinking%22">Creative Thinking</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Instructional+Development%22">Instructional Development</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Educational+Philosophy%22">Educational Philosophy</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Sense+of+Belonging%22">Sense of Belonging</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Power+Structure%22">Power Structure</searchLink>
– Name: DOI
  Label: DOI
  Group: ID
  Data: 10.1080/00131857.2024.2438215
– Name: ISSN
  Label: ISSN
  Group: ISSN
  Data: 0013-1857<br />1469-5812
– Name: Abstract
  Label: Abstract
  Group: Ab
  Data: This article comprises a lyrical exposition of the 'in-betweenness' that underlies pedagogical relations and musical practice. The latter comprises making, performing, teaching, and indeed listening to music, phenomena encapsulated in the term 'musicking', first coined by the musicologist Christopher Small in 1999. Improvisatory practice is inscribed into the very process of writing as a means of mainstreaming the power of connection; and troubling the notion of "seeking" as the hallmark of 'poor pedagogy' (Masschelein, 2010) or weak education (Ingold, 2018). Drawing "inter alia" on a scintillating improvisational performance by the musician Bobby McFerrin, we argue that pedagogical relations, construed as the art of encounter, are about "finding" rather than seeking. Finding implies experiencing a sense of connection, 'that feeling of landing in the present tense', of being immersed in whatever occupies you, paying close attention to the details of experience' (Tempest, 2020, p. 5). This is a far cry from education in a major key, the secure territory of understanding that is premised on codified knowledge that pre-empts attention or marginalises it altogether. We draw on examples from music education to explore the deleterious effects of power dynamics. We end with a rallying cry for education as a common chorus.
– Name: AbstractInfo
  Label: Abstractor
  Group: Ab
  Data: As Provided
– Name: DateEntry
  Label: Entry Date
  Group: Date
  Data: 2025
– Name: AN
  Label: Accession Number
  Group: ID
  Data: EJ1467801
PLink https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&site=eds-live&db=eric&AN=EJ1467801
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      – Type: doi
        Value: 10.1080/00131857.2024.2438215
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      – Text: English
    PhysicalDescription:
      Pagination:
        PageCount: 12
        StartPage: 328
    Subjects:
      – SubjectFull: Music Education
        Type: general
      – SubjectFull: Drills (Practice)
        Type: general
      – SubjectFull: Creative Activities
        Type: general
      – SubjectFull: Discovery Learning
        Type: general
      – SubjectFull: Discovery Processes
        Type: general
      – SubjectFull: Creative Thinking
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      – SubjectFull: Instructional Development
        Type: general
      – SubjectFull: Educational Philosophy
        Type: general
      – SubjectFull: Sense of Belonging
        Type: general
      – SubjectFull: Power Structure
        Type: general
    Titles:
      – TitleFull: Mus(ick)ing on Pedagogical Relations as the Art of Encounter
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            NameFull: Nicole Besse
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              Y: 2025
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            – Type: issn-print
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            – TitleFull: Educational Philosophy and Theory
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