hymn with her. Hesitantly, Eva found the starting note and began to sing, with increasing confidence as she picked out the melody:
Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky
Jesus, give the weary
Calm and sweet repose;
With thy tend’rest blessing
May our eyelids close.
We played and sang the hymn again together and this time I provided an organ-like, chordal bass accompaniment on the accordion with my left hand. When Eva had finished, she looked up at me, smiling in a brief, shared moment of connection. It was then that the poignancy of the lyrics suddenly dawned on me. All of the other group members were now fast asleep and seemingly oblivious to our playing.
The accordion’s portability, its ability to be shared in this way and also its organ-like sound were all important aspects of this particular piece of work. The interaction could not have happened in the same way with a piano, as even if there had been space for one, it would have been too remote to engage Eva. A guitar, violin or clarinet could not have provided the same complete organ-like sound to accompany this hymn; and these instruments are not able to be shared in this way. Even a portable keyboard would not have provided the same element of intimacy and sense of connection.
Case vignette: Brenda’s fears
Dawn Loombe
I worked with Brenda, a lady with cerebral palsy, in a residential home. Brenda is non-verbal, in her late 40s and, although she seemed cognitively able, was physically very restricted in her movements and used a wheelchair. She was referred to our music therapy group, as she loved music and had shown a particular liking for both the harmonica and the accordion. Although Brenda was physically unable to hold a harmonica, when her helper held it up in front of Brenda’s mouth, she was able to move towards it, blow into it and make a pleasing sound to accompany the group’s playing. Brenda had a large collection of accordion CDs in her eclectic mix of recorded music and often became animated when listening.
However, she had never seen anyone play an accordion, and when presented with the actual instrument as I put it on my body, she unexpectedly became very upset. Her carers and I were initially quite shocked at this but we worked through it, explaining how the accordion works, helping Brenda to understand how it is played, giving her time to feel it and warning her when I was about to pick it up to play, so that she would not be too startled. I wondered about the reasons for this with my supervisor, and in a later session when I explained to Brenda and the group how much I enjoy playing the accordion and that wearing it ‘doesn’t hurt me’ she suddenly became totally relaxed and began again to enjoy my playing of her favourite accordion tunes.
The staff at the care home and I wondered whether Brenda viewed the instrument as a piece of medical equipment worn on the body, in a similar way to some of the medical paraphernalia she had witnessed in her life. I continued to work with this group for some months and there seemed to be no issues with the accordion after that; in fact, Brenda really loved joining in with our playing of authentic accordion jigs and reels.
This case made me consider exactly how and when I introduce the accordion to different client groups and to acknowledge others’ preconceptions and expectations of the accordion and the music traditionally associated with it.
I have also found the accordion extremely useful in my work with children who have a diagnosis of autistic spectrum disorder, for whom the accordions buttons, keys, couplers and bellows seem to have a particular attraction. Alvin (Alvin and Warwick 1978) wrote about the autistic child’s interest in geometric shapes, which is reflected in his behaviour towards certain musical instruments, for example running his finger round the tambour, following the parallel lines of strings on the violin or autoharp, and building constructions of drums or chime bars. This first perceptual contact with the instrument is an important non-verbal, physical communication.
With the use of the accordion, it is significant that the therapist is wearing the accordion and operating the bellows, meaning that the child has to interact with the player, as well as the accordion. This promotes good eye contact, as both face each other with the accordion between them. Also, this eye contact does not need to be too intense for the child, as he can briefly look at the therapist and then back at the instrument. It is possible to readily explore basic concepts, such as on–off, stop–go, fast–slow and up–down, whilst playing together. It is also sometimes useful to be silent, and this can easily be effected by keeping the bellows closed. This stopping in silence can encourage the child to interact with the therapist to restart the activity. While the therapist has general control of the instrument and can play to musically support, she can also offer a child some aspects of the playing, or control of her playing, allowing the accordion playing to be shared. This can develop into interactive improvised music, using the accordion sounds and vocalisations.
The ability of the child to physically feel the instrument change shape and move has also been an important aspect of Bert Santilly’s work with children (2009). He talks passionately about the accordion being a ‘visually arresting instrument’, and both Santilly (2009) and Michael Ward-Bergeman (2009) highlight the important characteristic of ‘what you see is what you hear’; that is, when you hear a long accordion note, you also see it visually and simultaneously as the accordion bellows expand or contract.
Case vignette: Robert and the sensory aspects of the accordion
Dawn Loombe
Four-year-old Robert, who has a diagnosis of autistic spectrum disorder, received weekly music therapy sessions at the Child Development Centre in Cambridge and attended with his father for 11 months. Robert was extremely interested in the accordion from his very first session. At first, he would touch each part of the instrument, feeling the different textures of the bellows, the hard outer casing, the buttons, keys and switches. He marvelled as the bellows opened and closed (as I used only the air valve button) to produce a faint hissing sound, which I imitated vocally and he copied. Robert would press down an accordion key or button and I would respond by singing the note he played. He would then look up at me briefly before trying a different note and immediately looking back at me for a reaction, visibly pleased when I also sang this note.
He repeated this cause-and-effect game many times, sometimes running away excitedly before running back to play another accordion note for me to sing. Sometimes I waited a second or two before offering a vocal response, and he would watch my lips intently, waiting for me to sing, often bursting into a fit of giggles when I again vocally reflected his sound. This was a favourite game in sessions and Robert enjoyed this element of control.
In later sessions, Robert began to vocalise more freely with me, and his verbal language developed sufficiently for him to be able to request specific instruments or favourite games. Robert enjoyed watching the accordion bellows changing shape, following their patterns with his hands. He also noticed the colours: when the bellows opened, shouting ‘Red!’ as this colour was gradually revealed by the opening bellows – and this colour would disappear again as the accordion bellows closed.
Robert’s parents were pleased with his responses in music therapy and often mentioned an absence of what they called ‘stimming’ (his repetitive and isolated self-stimulatory behaviours) and more interactive, playful communication in our music therapy sessions. His father commented that the accordion is visually interesting, has many different surfaces to touch, a variety of sounds to explore, and buttons and keys to press. He thought that what particularly attracted Robert to the accordion was its complexity. Robert also brought his own
