The danger of the prodigy model

The danger of the prodigy model

Posted on December 21st, 2010 by Chris Matarazzo

Like most boys, at the age of twelve I was focused on not being focused. I loved everything from baseball to science fiction to TV to day-dreaming. But I did know I wanted to be a musician, mostly because my dad was. When I heard the “Sunrise” section of Daphis et Chloe, though, I knew this feeling ran deeper than a mere desire to imitate my hero. The conclusion had been reached: I needed to compose. Maybe just as much, I wanted to be a conductor. I wanted to play the great piano that was a symphony orchestra — to raise God’s voice out of virtuosic, human keys with my hands.

So, one day, at a family get-together, as we sat on the big couch in my parents’ sun-flooded living room balancing restless meatballs on soggy paper plates, a respected relative with a deep appreciation for all sorts of orchestral music put his arm around me and said: “So, what do you want to be when you grow up, Chris.”

I was proud to have a ready answer: “A conductor.”

He snorted a laugh and, like a spear fisherman, stabbed a rolling fugitive with a plastic fork.

“What?” I asked, flatly. He teased me for fun a lot. I thought that was what he was doing.

“Well,” he explained. “Most guys who are conductors have mastered an instrument before the age of eight. They started studying theory and composition while they were in grade school. You’re sort of old for that.”

If he was being sarcastic, I missed it. Because this observation had come from a source I respected so implicitly, I “bought” it.

That dream still lies dead on the carpet of that room, in a house that no longer belongs to my family.

There is wonder in a prodigy. But there is a seeming implication that if one is “meant” to pursue a certain art into greatness, that he or she will paint in the cradle, compose in the sandbox or start talking in novels by the age of three. Well, it isn’t so, necessarily. It has happened, but it is rare, even among the greats: Mozart (by the way, the stuff he wrote as a kid wasn’t so hot), Mendelssohn and Picasso were a few of them. But it is a rarity and a wonder, even among the greats, not a job requirement.

The next best thing in the absence of child prodigies seems to be the young wonders: authors who publish masterpieces before the age of thirty; poetic musicians who die in a blaze of blazed-up glory, etc. We just think that is the coolest thing.

But we should be careful, in our gaping appreciation for these rarities, not to send kids a message like the one I got: that it is ever “too late.” Is it likely that a sixty-year-old can become a master painter or a famous orchestral composer if he has never touched brush, string or key? No. Not likely. But a teenager has every chance if he begins in earnest, has talent and works hard. (And a sixty-year-old can wind up doing a hell of a job, too, by the way.)

In the end, I always find myself going back to my dad’s wisdom, even — or maybe especially — the more crass examples. As the lead trumpet-player and arranger for years at Palumbo’s in South Philadelphia, he heard about an eight year old sax player who was coming in to play with the band that night. The bandleader said: “Joe, this kid is eight and he plays jazz.” My dad asked: “Does he play like Charlie Parker?” The bandleader said, “No, of course not.” My dad replied: “Then I don’t give a shit.”

Perhaps that’s a bit extreme, but my point is: greatness will emerge in the great. The timing doesn’t mean much. And if it isn’t great, it isn’t great. To implant an idea in kids — either accidentally or on purpose — that an early start is the only path to greatness is dangerous.

In short, I think a certain undisciplined twelve-year-old might have had a hell of a shot at waving the baton in a big city concert hall if not for a single conversation and a trusting heart.

But enough of my whining. Things came out okay in the end.

Chris Matarazzo’s ARTISTIC UNKNOWNS appears every Tuesday

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Chris Matarazzo

Chris Matarazzo is a writer, composer, musician and teacher of literature and writing on the college and high school levels. His music can be heard on his recent release, Hats and Rabbits, which is currently available. Chris is also the composer of the score to the off-beat independent film Surrender Dorothy and he performs in the Philadelphia area with the King Richard Band. He's also a relatively prolific novelist, even if no one seems to care yet. His blog, also called Hats and Rabbits, is nice, too, if you get a chance...