Jacob, a lively and good-natured 7-year-old, is a beginning piano student. During the three months he’s been working with you, Jacob has particularly enjoyed finding simple songs by ear. So far, through trial and error, he has figured out “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” “Here Comes the Sun,” the beginning of “Do a Deer” and a few other tunes. Jacob enjoys this activity purely for the challenge, and once he works out a song, he abandons it and asks for a new one—a harder one. But after he finds the first part of “Yankee Doodle,” he asks, "Can I try the rest of it?” Phrase by phrase and with a bit of guidance, Jacob figures out the whole song. He is delighted.

The following week Jacob arrives, bursting with news. “I practiced so much that I can play it perfectly. Not just once—every time! Wanna hear?” Without waiting for an answer, he dashes for the piano. Too excited to sit down, Jacob plays “Yankee Doodle” three times in a row standing up—no mistakes! Spent and triumphant, he dramatically flops down on the bench. You are impressed with his diligence and share his excitement. But although his playing is technically correct, Jacob's “Yankee Doodle” sounds mechanical and uninspired.
     
There is more to instrument playing than acquiring proper technique, and you see your role as helping Jacob develop not only skills, but musicianship. The question is how. At a student recital you recently attended, it was clear that the students had been taught the terms and symbols of expressive playing. Each student's eyes were glued to the printed page, carefully following the indications for dynamics and articulation. Yet their performances were robotic—there was no feeling to them. You really want Jacob to experience the emotional side of playing.

What would you do?