Those of you who know me may have noticed I have over the last year become rather besotted with stage musicals, namely Phantom and Les Miz. Watching both film and stage (albeit on DVD) versions of both has also coincided with my eldest daughter, and now eldest son joining the local youth theatre group, so I've very much grown to love them in parallel with the kids. You might think it odd that at the age of thirty something, a child of the eighties would only now be getting on board with musical theatre, and frankly so do I. I pretty much ignored the phenomenon during childhood, and speaking as a father (what a dreadfully arrogant phrase, I am shamed) I'm surprised I was never exposed to it by my own parents. However, in a break with tradition, I am categorically not going to lay the blame at their door. I am, however going to blame someone. One person.
Miss Hilton.
Mention of her name once solicited little more than a giggle at a private joke, but now, having had my heart ripped open by the Phantom's anguish at a love that cannot be, by the young idealists who would never live to see the social justice they fought for, the mere thought of her fills me with burning, passionate rage. Poor woman.
I'm sure she's a lovely person. Certainly, as a pupil at high school, she was one of the less unpleasant teachers. She could have a laugh, but knew where to draw the line. I bet she was a riot down the pub. But her lessons were pap. We learned the basics of musical theory. We were able to try our hand at a small range of instruments. We learned a collection of simple chords and melodies on the piano, but to be honest none of it stuck with me. In itself, that doesn't seem sufficient after three years of tutelage, but I can to a certain extent put that down to me having little to no natural aptitude, and while I wouldn't say I was tone deaf, I certainly could have considered myself...tonally impaired, shall we say?
The crux of the matter has only arisen recently. See, I watched, for the first time in my life, the Phantom of the Opera (Live at Royal Albert Hall), and unashamedly fell in love with it. I recognised a good 50% of the songs, who wouldn't? They are culturally pervasive for those of us who grew up in the eighties, and i realised that most of these songs I had sung during music lessons at school. More recently I watched the Les Miserable film (my word that's a good 'un) and again, I found myself humming and at times singing along - I knew these songs, I have sung these songs before! What's going on? How has it taken me this long to appreciate them?
There's a wonderful song by the genius Tim Minchin, called 'Cont'. You may know it, and if you don't you should rectify that immediately. Really, now, I can wait. I'm sure it's on YouTube or some such.
Done? Good. Couldn't be arsed? Sample lyrics:
I don't like Jews
Neither should you
They're ethically and spiritually poor
That's a fact
After singing his way through a highly offensive and discriminatory rant at all colours and creeds, he realises half the words of the song were covered up, and sings the song in full, hence the above verse becomes:
I don't like Jews
Who make and distribute kiddy porn
Neither should you
They're ethically and spiritually poor
That's a fact
The real title of the song is, of course, 'Context', and that is one hundred and three million percent what was missing from my music lessons. We sang songs, lots of songs, but at no point were we ever told what the songs were about, who they were by, where were they from. How can you appreciate The Music of the Night without ever having watched Phantom, without even having explained to you what the heck it's all about? If you don't know who Fantine is and why exactly she was dreaming a dream, what's the point, other than a pretty melody? We sang Beatles songs, without ever knowing they were by the Beatles, even (and i confess to a crime here) who the Beatles really were (I was 13, I knew the Beatles had existed once, and didn't now) or why they were important.
It just seems very odd to me now. Like the equivalent of turning up for PE and being shown how to kick the ball in the net, but never actually learning the rules of football. Surely the reason people go into teaching, particularly in 'The Arts', is to plant the seeds and nurture a love and a passion for the subject? Growing up I was a MASSIVE fan of The Lord Of The Rings, and so when my kids got into it (albeit through the admittedly magnificent films, and the LEGO video game) I was genuinely bursting with pride. I can't imagine why you wouldn't want to replicate that a hundred-fold in the classroom.
On a similar note, my love for Tolkein had me convinced I was going to be just like him when i grew up. I would create stories, characters, worlds, with nothing more than a pen, and they would be my gift to my children, and who knows, maybe I could make a bit of money out of it. I aced every year in English, I read day and night until blinking became a chore, I wrote and wrote and I loved it. Then GCSEs happened. My new teacher, Mrs Button, sucked my love for the subject right out of my heart. It was horrible. All I remember was reading through Pride and Prejudice, one chapter per lesson, making staid notes on every character of what they did, what they said, and why. And not 'why' as in "Why do you think Elizabeth said that" but 'why' as in "This is why Elizabeth said that, so write it down". Basically, 2 years of "This is how you're going to pass your exams".
Fuck that shit. At A-Level I dropped English like a stone. Worst mistake I ever made in hindsight, but at the time I just couldn't bear another two years of the same.
I don't think I picked up a book to read for pleasure for the whole two years. And it's only recently that I've rediscovered any real fire to do what i always wanted to do. So, yeah, Teaching. It matters, dudes. Everyone remembers their favourite teachers fondly, but a bad teacher can make an impact that lasts far, far longer than you'd think. And I always enjoyed school, and was what most would call a 'model pupil'. It makes me frightfully sad to think of those who had not nearly the same level of support, interest or ability, and just how much of a struggle school can be for so many.
On that sombre note, i leave you . I should probably use all this as some sort of segue into Gove's education reforms, but I don't have the time, energy, or enough rope to hang myself. All I will say is this: it's no different to what they are doing to the NHS. Fuck it up and make it unacceptable to the public, in order to make it into what you want.
