This week marks Scott Joplin’s 156th birthday. Before jazz, rock ‘n’ roll, or hip hop, Joplin launched the defining American sound of the early 20th century, ragtime, which formed the basis of all subsequent American genres. Joplin’s new sound integrated multistrain march forms with highly syncopated melody, which had previously been sequestered solely to the ragged rhythms of African American folkloric music and Irish Jigs emanating from Southern back porches.
Yet, beyond redefining music, Joplin’s contribution to American culture was also to shape a generation of activity and social engagement: Namely, Joplin’s compositions helped spark a wave of amateur musicianship across the country. This is a rich tradition that is incumbent on us, as music educators, to help revive, as it faces rapidly increasing erasure from American society.
How did Joplin engender a culture of amateurism? With the advent of his new rhythm, suddenly the full panoply of excitement encapsulated by a choir of fiddles, stomps, claps, and banjos could now be transported into a single instrument: the piano. The turn of the 20th century represented the height of piano production in the United States.
With more Americans clamoring for home entertainment, the piano became a household staple for any middle-class home, and being able to play the piano became essential to any child’s well-rounded education. In 1900, there were over a million pianos in American homes, and production was growing exponentially. In this piano-crazed environment, Joplin’s sheet music sold like hot cakes.
Joplin was dubbed the “King of Ragtime,” not for his performances like our music royalty of today (think Michael Jackson’s “King of Pop,” Beyonce’s “Queen B,” or Elvis’ “King of Rock ’n’ Roll”). Joplin was music royalty for his compositions. In sheet music form, they enabled everyday Americans around the nation, in turn, to become star performers in their own homes. In essence, the magic of Joplin was not in his own skills as a performer but in how he enabled the amateur American musician. Over a million copies of Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag” sold during his lifetime.
This stands in stark contrast with how we experience our musical heroes today. For instance, while Joplin’s hit songs were meant to be played, Beyonce’s hit album “Lemonade” is meant to be listened to on your iPhone or experienced by watching her perform in a packed arena. Our new musical royal court make magic as performers. You, the amateur, are left not to play but to spectate.
In previous generations, we were a culture of amateurs—deriving joy in part from engagement for the sake of the engagement. Today, we are spectators. We watch, we scroll, we like, we share. This is a problem because culture isn’t supposed to be something you watch, it’s something you participate in.
In his seminal work Bowling Alone, political scientist Robert Putnam discusses the “changing balance between active participation and passive spectatorship” that has pervaded so many American social activities. Putnam observes that, in general, “‘doing’ culture (as opposed to merely consuming it) has been declining”—part of the reason for the loss in social connections that the book laments.
Our most important students in many ways are our wonderful amateurs—students who have no intention of becoming professional performers.
Specifically with regard to music playing, Putnam writes, “The average frequency of [an individual] playing a musical instrument has been cut from nearly six times per year in 1976 to barely three times per year in 1999. The percentage of Americans who play an instrument at all has fallen by fully one-third ... the fraction of households in which even one person plays an instrument has fallen steadily from 51 percent in 1978 to 39 percent in 1997. We certainly have not lost our taste for listening to music … but fewer and fewer of us play together.”
What does this mean for us as educators? How can we return to our roots and foster classrooms full of beautiful, exuberant amateurs? As teachers, we are frequently inspired by the students for whom music is an all-consuming love, the students who spend hours in our band room after class, who tell us they want to go on to study at a conservatory and make music their career. While these students are stars, our most important students in many ways are our wonderful amateurs—students who have no intention of becoming professional performers but hope to hone a skill that will give them a lifelong vehicle for expression, creativity, and community.
These amateurs are critical for a healthy society. They are the torch bearers, who will keep alive our culture of “doing.” They will light up their living rooms just as Joplin enthusiasts did over a century ago. They will spark immeasurable joy and moments of togetherness—not by watching but by participating.
We can better serve our amateurs and amateurism. Simple additions to your curriculum may do the trick. Help your students learn songs they like to listen to on the radio, so they can take them home and play or sing them whenever they get an urge to hear their favorite tunes. Teach students holiday songs that they can play at home with their friends and family gathered around their instrument or sing in a group. Rather than solely emphasizing learning parts for a band concert, help each student learn the melody to every song, so they can enjoy playing at home without the rest of their ensemble present.
Promoting amateurism will go a long way in not just creating well-rounded students but—more importantly—in creating happier, healthier, and more well-adjusted citizens. Studies show that adults who live longer and happier lives are those that keep up with their amateurism. In the much-discussed “blue zones”—regions of the world in which citizens often live past 100 years old—one commonality is an emphasis on “doing” as opposed to simply consuming or spectating.
So to mark this milestone of Scott Joplin, a true American original, encourage your students to get off the sidelines and into the game. Urge them to pull out their AirPods and pull out an instrument or lift their voices instead. Let’s get back to being a culture of “doing.” Help them unleash their inner amateur.
