Nine violin and viola students in Years 1 to 6 have gathered in Room 454 at the Norwegian Academy of Music. A couple of accompanists stop by – sometimes staying longer than they strictly have to. Occasionally I have to call for order so that we can concentrate on the task at hand; we only have 75 minutes at our disposal. Instruments are quickly removed from their cases, and the order of the day is improvised with special consideration given to the accompanists. The first student performs his piece – a movement from a sonata or concerto, or perhaps an étude. Then follow some comments before it is the next person’s turn. Everyone is expected to give feedback, but I probably take charge of proceedings to an extent. A new first-year student does not necessarily have to comment on the performance of a master student performing a concert-ready piece. I try to stay in the background – this really should not be a masterclass! Still, the informal atmosphere is accepting of nerves and intensity, laughter and tears…

This is how a typical weekly string class works. I have organised such classes for several years; sometimes shorter classes twice a week on technique and repertoire respectively, but one of these classes can now cover a range of issues. If there are few of us, or the participants feel that they are badly prepared, then we do scales. Even scales are popular sometimes, strangely enough. All in all these classes have proved to be very popular, and in the written evaluation carried out in 2014 the enthusiasm was almost overwhelming – to my surprise. What could the reason be?

This is an apt question, because my past experiences have not been exclusively positive. As a younger teacher (with less authority?) I could sometimes find that a single student not following the rules of the game was enough to sabotage a lesson. It might be that she did not care about making the necessary preparations, or that her social antennae were simply not tuned in. Perhaps I was unclear about what I wanted to achieve, too. In any case, group dynamics do not create themselves. The string classes have probably changed a little, too. Along the way we have attempted to merge two classes with students of different teachers, but that was not exactly easy to organise. We now have occasional guests: other students, guest teachers, or even colleagues from other departments. One of them, the music educator Ingrid Maria Hanken, was kind enough to alert me to the fact that these string classes had certain qualities, and that this could in fact be down to me. How so?

These are sensitive students enrolled on a demanding course: you have to be both talented and dedicated to win a place in one of our professional orchestras – something most of them dream of. Sometimes a student will declare that these classes are the worst arena to perform in. On one occasion a newly enrolled student literally became rigid with fear, and I carefully had to ease the viola out of her hands and guide her to a chair. Luckily it passed, and four years later she was in a job. She, too, came to appreciate the string classes.

It must have something to do with the framework, somehow. A form and tone have eventually developed which existing class members use to integrate new students. We do not have explicit rules on what we can say and do; I am very much a believer in spontaneity. This way the sessions vary in shape and form, although there are a few principles I insist on sticking to:

The classes are a partnership between the student(s) and me. In fact I think this applies to most forms of tuition: I have experienced how difficult it can be to give a lecture while some of the audience are asleep in the auditorium. An awake and motivated crowd does of course make me a better lecturer. Obviously, that particular form of tuition differs in that the listeners are usually passive recipients. With regard to one-to-one tuition, I always tell new students that they must actively take responsibility for the quality of the tuition. “You must teach me to teach you. Make demands and don’t make me have to repeat things. That’s how you make me a good teacher!” I used to find it challenging to have to make tough demands within the safe framework that I want to give to both one-to-one lessons and string classes. I was such a nice guy, they would say. Luckily I haven’t heard that for a while.

We learn better together than alone; rather with each other than against each other. Classical musicians spend a great deal of time alone in any case – or at least they should. The class fellowship is based on the understanding that everyone has challenges to deal with and something to learn from the others. You can support and challenge each other at the same time. In other words, we are in the same boat. During my own student years in Vienna there was a pronounced hierarchy amongst the students, and I am still hearing about such structures at conservatoires on the continent. In many cases these students barely know each other, but yet they quickly work out who has special status.

Musical practice should be exploratory. It is about exploring the music, the instrument and yourself. Instrument classes and other lessons can be seen as elements in the practice process. Eureka moments and questions and situations that result in a new sense of understanding are central elements. The exploratory aspect probably becomes increasingly important as our performance skills improve, and for NMH students it should be of the utmost importance. The acquisition of basic skills – what Ludwig Wittgenstein calls drill (or even obedience training, Abrichtung) – is probably of a slightly different nature. But sadly the drill aspect often haunts us classical musicians for far too long. I aim to make the string classes into such an arena for joint exploration – this allows me to learn something, too. The students are able to spot things that I cannot. That would not happen if I were too authoritarian and domineering. Bluntly put, I think overly domineering teachers result in a dumbing-down!

I must assume that these fundamental principles help create a framework of unwritten rules for my instrument classes. The students observe the framework and the rules, they are proactive, always say something positive first – sometimes a little too formulaic, perhaps – and rarely overstep those invisible lines. Although it can happen: A non-Scandinavian student was at first perplexed when asked to comment on one of her fellow students’ performance. She then threw herself at it in the most merciless manner. Refreshing, indeed, but we had to have a little chat afterwards. As much as I would love to just be Morten, there are certain aspects and modes of expression that should be left to me; that is what I get paid for!

The camaraderie within the class must be balanced. I am fond of my students and try to see them as individuals, but sometimes people will voice their discontent. Let us say one student is making sensational progress in a short space of time, while her fellow students feel musically and technically left behind. This can generate a feeling of guilt both in the person succeeding and in the others, and I have to help them process those feelings. It can take them some time to understand this, but there is competition in this profession, and it must be okay to be good! Ambiguous comments are a different thing and can at worst lead to awkward misunderstandings. Not only do the students have to show respect for each other (and me) by performing close to their very best; they also have to give feedback in a way that is courteous and generally comprehensible. Is it not the case that in order to speak clearly, you first have to think clearly? I want to help my student with this. I frequently ask students to elaborate on a comment or rephrase it so that even I can understand it. And if there are non-Scandinavians present, the students are more than happy to express themselves in English. I will sometimes set them specific tasks and let different students look at different issues such as intonation, rhythm, sound and phrasing, for example. If the playing or comments are not good enough, I may have to rely on the measure of last resort: humour. In any case I hope that attitudes are being shaped by the string classes and by the way in which we give each other feedback. For example, suggesting changes is much preferable to pointing out errors! Is this perhaps also a good way of giving ourselves feedback? Similarly, when someone performs well, the other students just have to deal with that and tap into it as they work on themselves: if others are setting a good example for you, then you are expected to set a good example back. This has worked reasonably well for a number of years without having to be explained.

But then there are also situations in which I take over, of course. Just before auditions, exams and solo concerts there may be comments that I do not want to leave up to others. Other times it may be necessary to speak words of truth while there are others present – there are superbly talented students who are also utterly lazy. The last resort is to ask them to leave at the start of the lesson or call them to account in front of the class. On these occasions the silence is often palpable. I have come to understand and eventually also appreciate this! But, as I said, it does not happen often.

Some important aspects of the classes are so obvious that I will just mention them briefly. They help the students get used to performing regularly in front of an audience. It makes auditions much easier, for example. They also give me an opportunity to address technical or musical issues collectively, thereby mitigating that parrot feeling I get when I say the same thing a bit too often. And, of course, the students are at least superficially introduced to repertoire that they are not familiar with. If they have been working on the same piece themselves, they may be able to view it in a new light. I hope that the relationships between the students become so trusting that they will perform in front of each other outside the classes, too. I know that it is happening.

It might seem that all is fine and everyone is happy. If so, it could easily become a pretext for inaction. Because it is clear that the concept can be further developed and systematised. Why not let a wind or piano colleague take over one time? Do I really need to be there every time? Perhaps the students would feel freer without me? There have been occasions when I have been unable to attend, and the students have run the class by themselves. They were very satisfied afterwards; something I admit I am proud of. The classes could be expanded, new students recruited and places given to those who want them, for example. However, the string classes could also have been something that everyone looked forward to with dread! Of course you can enjoy and appreciate a given form of tuition without achieving any significant learning outcomes, but I choose to ignore that possibility. Come and see for yourself!