Music as Meaning-Making: Reframing Expectation and Expression in Piano Pedagogy

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐓𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

Honesty is one of the most essential tools a music tutor can possess. But in a teaching culture that often confuses bluntness with truthfulness, it’s easy to forget that honesty need not be harsh. In fact, when approached with care and intention, honest feedback can be one of the most inspiring and elevating forces in a student’s musical journey.

I was fortunate to experience this first-hand during my university years. My piano tutor there possessed a remarkable quality: she was always deeply honest, yet never discouraging. One of her practices left a lasting impression on me and continues to shape the way I teach today.

She never interrupted a student’s first performance at the beginning of a lesson, no matter how flawed it might have been. She would listen in absolute stillness, her face a mask of calm, giving nothing away. It wasn’t indifference, it was respect. She made it clear that the student’s effort, however imperfect, deserved to be heard in full.

Once the performance ended, she would begin her feedback not with a list of mistakes, but with a careful observation of what went well, even if it was only one small thing. She knew that growth doesn't come from shame or discouragement, but from confidence, trust, and a desire to do better. Only after acknowledging the strengths would she gently guide the student toward areas for improvement. Her feedback was never negative, it was always constructive, helpful, and above all, human.

This approach is at the heart of my own teaching practice. Each student brings with them a unique set of strengths and challenges. My role is not to point out everything they do wrong, but to help them see what they are doing right, and how to build on it. This kind of honest teaching fosters resilience. It tells students, 'I see your effort. I see your potential. Let’s keep going.' Honesty in music tuition should be a bridge, not a barrier. It’s not about softening the truth but delivering it in a way that lifts the student up rather than weighing them down. It’s about believing in their ability to grow and showing them, through every note and phrase, that they are capable of more than they think.

𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜, 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

But then there is the question of expectation. As teachers, we naturally want our students to realise their musical potential. We want to see them flourish, to develop technical mastery, expressive confidence, and an ever-deepening understanding of the music they study. That desire, to guide, to elevate, to help someone become more fully themselves through music, is at the core of our occupation.

Yet in this mission, are we perhaps overlooking something crucial? A question that lies at the heart not just of music education, but of the Arts and Humanities more broadly: What is the purpose of music? Not simply what it is, or what it sounds like, but what it does. How it means. And perhaps most importantly, for whom?

My university piano tutor, the one whose honesty was so transformative, was an unconventional figure. This alone was significant in the context I came from. In my country, music had long served a powerful ideological function. Under Soviet influence, music education was, in many ways, a system of indoctrination, rearing the next generation of warriors, loyal not to art for art’s sake, but to a rigid cultural ideal.

Our performances, even after Perestroika, often felt like ceremonial salutes. Each school recital or public concert was less a celebration of creativity than a ritual of conformity: a respectful, if silent, nod to a long-deceased ideology. Like young soldiers posted at the gates of Lenin’s mausoleum, we too stood at attention, offering our musical salute to a system whose grip had outlasted its relevance. There was no room for uncertainty, no tolerance for error. 'Make it or break it', that was the unwritten rule. You either adapted, submitting yourself to endless drills and constant comparison, or you gave up. And those who gave up didn’t just walk away, many carried with them a lifelong distaste for classical music, for piano. The pressure, the criticism, the unrelenting message that they were 'not good enough', these experiences left scars.

I’ve seen it many times in my own practice: adults returning to the piano decades later, tentatively, sometimes tearfully, seeking to reclaim something that had once brought them shame, not due to their cultures or nationalities, but because of pedagogical shortfalls that continue to affect classical music education across the globe.

Which brings me back to the matter of expectation. If music is a form of meaning-making, if it is, as I believe, one of the most ancient and intimate ways we express ourselves, then should we, as teachers, hold a monopoly on that expression? Should we be the arbiters of what is musically valid or meaningful? I would argue not.

Music means something different to everyone. For one student, it may be about preparing for professional performance, for another, it may be a private emotional outlet, a source of comfort and clarity in an otherwise chaotic life. To impose identical expectations on these two students would be to misunderstand the very nature of musical engagement. It is not always about measurable progress or public performance. Sometimes it is about connection, healing, self-expression, or simply joy.

In my own teaching, I try to follow the student. To listen, not just to their playing, but to what they hope to gain from music. I aim to find positives, even when technical progress is minimal, because I would rather nurture a lifelong love for music than contribute to its abandonment.

I would much rather see a parent who passes on a love of music and the habit of music making than one who, anxious and resentful of their own musical past, inadvertently passes that discomfort on to their children. The former becomes a living thread in the ancient fabric of musical tradition. The latter, though unknowingly, risks unravelling it.

To teach music, then, is not merely to teach sound, notes, or technique; it is to enter into a dialogue about meaning. And in that dialogue, every student deserves a voice. This is music as meaning-making.

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