Music and Life: A study of the relations between ourselves and music — Story, Setting & Ideas

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Surette, Thomas Whitney, 1861-1941 Project Gutenberg 2021 Not confirmed
Music -- History and criticism Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

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Words 53,494
Reading time 233 min
Text sections 6

Before opening Music and Life: A study of the relations between ourselves and music — Story, Setting & Ideas, the edition data offers a quick orientation: 53,494 words, 3 hr 53 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.

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Surette's 1917 study examines music's role in education and community life, arguing that active participation—especially singing—matters more than passive consumption. Drawing on his own choral experiment, he critiques institutional music and advocates for slow, genuine engagement with great works.
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usic books, and has to take what he can buy. The making of music books for schools has become too much a matter of commercial competition, and particularly of commercial propaganda, and this latter condition is fostered by the summer schools for supervisors controlled and operated by the publishers of school music books. The result of all this is that a cumbersome pedagogical system has become firmly entrenched in many American towns and cities.

One of the greatest difficulties connected with public school music teaching is the inability of some of the grade teachers to teach music. The daily lesson is given by her. The music teacher visits each room once in two, three, or even four weeks. It is not necessarily the grade teacher’s fault if she cannot teach music well, because the training given her in the grade schools and normal school may have been quite inadequate. But teach music she must--as a part of her regular duties. My own observation leads me to believe that a good many grade teachers are capable of doing this work well, that few do it as well as they might do if they were given more training, and that some teach so badly that it results in more harm than good. In any case I am opposed to any transference of the daily lesson from the grade teachers to an expert, not because I think the expert would not do it in some ways better, but because it would mean a very large increase in the expense of our schools and because I believe that only a few grade teachers are incapable under proper training of giving a satisfactory music lesson. Furthermore, I believe in keeping the music lesson as a bond of sympathy between the grade teacher and the children. Singing is an entirely natural art for any human being who begins it in childhood and pursues it through youth. I look forward to the day when we shall all sing. I object to the displacement of the grade teacher in the one function of school life which is intimate, free, and beautiful, in which facts, members, places, events, names are forgotten, and in which the spirit of each child issues forth _under the discipline of beauty_. (I place these words in italics because I am constantly being told that the great thing in the education of children is to give them self-expression; to which I reply that self-expression except under discipline--using the word in its larger sense--has never helped either the individual or the race.) We must look to the normal schools for this improvement in the ability of our teachers to teach music, and the normal schools, in turn, must expect our high schools to send forth their graduates, properly taught in music, so that normal schools will not have to spend time (as they often do now) supplementing the imperfections of the earlier training.

At present we are moving in a vicious circle. Many of our normal schools still preserve something of that artificial pedagogy to which I have referred, and still send out teachers who are, _humanly speaking_, ill-fitted to lead the children in music. (I refer to the human element in the matter because it is impossible to teach music properly if you have not had experience with the best of it, and if you do not love the best more than any other. So long as our normal schools lay too great stress on the technique of teaching music at the expense of the greater thing, just so long will our schools suffer. And it is easily possible for the normal school authorities to be deceived as to what is the best music, as well as by a brave showing of musical performance.) The real failure in the administration of music is due to a false ideal. And it is in this mistaken ideal or purpose that the crux of the whole matter lies. Nearly the whole stress of teaching is laid on expert sight-reading of music. Go into a schoolroom with a supervisor to hear his class sing and he will almost invariably exhibit to you with pride the capacity of the children to sing at sight. He will ask you to put something impromptu on the blackboard as a test of their proficiency. He will exhibit to you classes of very young children who have already learned to read notes and who can sing all sorts of simple exercises from the staff.

Surette opens by contrasting the rapid expansion of institutional music in the United States—opera houses, orchestras, school programs—with what he sees as a shallow musical culture. He warns that spending millions on music does not make a people musical; what matters is what they believe, love, and actually do. This blunt distinction between appearance and substance sets the tone for a book that repeatedly challenges passive consumption and advocates for active, participatory engagement with music.

The Opening Gambit: Institutional Growth vs. Genuine Love

In the introduction, Surette immediately frames his central concern: the gap between the impressive statistics of musical institutions and the actual musical life of the community. He writes that a casual observer might conclude Americans are musical, but one who looks beneath the surface must do a sum in subtraction. This metaphor of subtraction—removing what is mere expenditure or fashion—recurs throughout the book. Surette does not dismiss institutions outright; rather, he insists that they must be rooted in genuine love and understanding, not in social prestige or mechanical instruction. The opening thus prepares readers for a work that will question common assumptions about music education, concert-going, and the role of music in daily life.

The Middle Argument: Community Singing as a Corrective

In the chapter on community music, Surette offers a concrete alternative to what he calls “music by proxy”—the habit of letting professionals perform while the public listens passively. He advocates for singing in unison, especially in women’s clubs, as a way to bring people into the fold. His language is direct and occasionally wry: he suggests that any club, save perhaps a burglar’s, should begin with a hearty song. More seriously, he argues that step-by-step growth, not violent leaps, is what nature demands. The middle of the book thus shifts from diagnosis to prescription, emphasizing that active participation, even in simple forms, builds a foundation for deeper musical understanding.

The Later Excerpt: An Experiment in Practice

Surette describes his own experiment in a town of six thousand inhabitants, where he formed a choral society with two conditions: only the best music, and free concerts for the townspeople. The group grew to include a small orchestra of string players and borrowed kettledrums. They performed works by Brahms and Bach, repeating pieces like the Schicksalslied three times over two years. Surette notes that both singers and audience were completely won over. This passage is the most concrete evidence in the excerpts of his principles in action. It shows that his advocacy for slow, repeated exposure to great music is not theoretical; he tested it and found that it secured allegiance. The experiment also illustrates his belief that a singing society should answer the community’s desire, not be a spectacle.

The Role of the Performer and the Public

In the symphony chapter, Surette turns to the relationship between performers and listeners. He argues that understanding a symphony requires more than passive attendance; it demands preparation, perhaps through chamber music. He criticizes the tendency to value only the latest music and expert performances, leaving the average person behind. His target is not expertise itself but the exclusivity that can accompany it. The excerpts suggest that Surette sees the performer and public as partners in a shared musical experience, not as supplier and consumer. This section reinforces the book’s overall arc: from diagnosing a problem (institutional growth without depth), to proposing a remedy (active participation), to showing how that remedy can reshape even the most complex musical forms like the symphony.

Surette’s book is best approached as a series of linked arguments rather than a comprehensive history or technical manual. Readers will benefit from tracking his recurring contrast between genuine musical life and institutional show. The excerpts suggest that his most vivid writing comes when he describes his own experiment or skewers pretension. Pay attention to how he uses the first person—not as autobiography, but as evidence for his claims. The book rewards those who read it as a provocative essay on musical culture, not a neutral survey.

Reading Surette’s plea for singing together, I remembered my grandfather humming through chores—music as breathing, not performance. That quiet sense of living inside a piece returned when I later opened Descriptive Analyses of Piano Works For the Use of Teachers, Players, and Music Clubs — Key Ideas to Explore, finding the same patience in its careful attention, as if both books simply ask us to listen longer.

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