need to be compact, and I have come to respect the choice my parents made – that I should learn the flute, not the harp – as I swing its bag over my shoulder or open the case in the confines of a small cubicle, never ceasing to delight in the wonder on a child’s face as I put the shiny pieces together.
Case vignette: Ben
Ben, aged 20 months, grinned broadly as I began to sing hello to him, softly strumming the guitar. The child, who had been on the move constantly, rolling over and over across the room at our initial meeting, barely aware of me, was sitting attentively on the floor in his living room. His mother sat next to Ben and he was giving me steady eye contact. I inched a little closer and began to sing again. Ben’s face dropped and he began to sob, then to shake with fear. He could not be consoled or distracted whether I sang, played or moved away, leaving instruments near him, which his parents explored with him. After 15 minutes, we ended the session, Ben calming as I packed away and left. Sessions two and three continued in a similar manner with his parents becoming understandably uncertain about music therapy in general. I decided therefore to work without instruments; I would use my voice and props such as puppets and scarves and I hoped would slowly gain his confidence.
Ben has Rubenstein Taybi syndrome, a chromosomal disorder that affects his mental development, his sight and hearing, his digestion, his joints and his growth. Much of Ben’s first traumatic year of life was spent in hospital, and it was hoped that music therapy could support him in the development of his very delayed communication, social and physical skills. Ben made virtually no vocal sounds and gave very little eye contact.
Ben was used to noise from the television, which was on much of the time, and he enjoyed shared play, yet appeared unable to cope with musical interaction. However, I noticed that as I worked with only my voice, he gradually began to let me in. Our sessions were filled with action songs, which were new to his mother, whose first language is not English. She was keen to learn and Ben appeared increasingly motivated, pausing in his relentless activity of rolling to sit for increasing periods and engage. In session six, feeling as if I were treading on egg shells, I tentatively reintroduced instruments. Within weeks Ben moved from tolerating first the tambourine, to exploring and mastering an understanding with delight that his play on the egg shakers could impact on how his mother and I played too.
In session ten I introduced the flute. Ben was exploring the wind-chimes for the first time and seemed quite captivated. As I started to play my flute, mirroring his phrases, he immediately stopped playing, sat forward and watched me intently, giving me a level of attention that I had not felt before. Ben’s mother moved the wind-chimes and turned to watch his face. I continued, tentatively moving higher up in the register to meet his sounds; Ben’s face dropped and he began to sob. I immediately stopped playing, fearing I had taken him back to square one. I wondered if the sound was hurting his ears, or whether this was something much deeper; perhaps too emotionally intense?
Spurred on by his initial response to the flute, I began to use it weekly, introducing it within our interaction with a variety of instruments. Ben would stop what he was doing as I began to play and, now crawling, would approach me as if drawn by some magnetic connection. Our interaction would at that point become more focused, and I noticed from the video that his mother would sit totally still. Ben was now able to turn-take for brief periods, giving more consistent eye contact and enjoying a variety of action songs; he had apparently begun to anticipate phrase endings within our shared play. He was increasingly vocal in and outside sessions, using his voice now as a medium for self-expression, rather than intentional communication, through closed ‘hmmmmm’ sounds.
In our final individual session Ben, his mother and I shared the gathering drum. Ben played with steady beats, yet I felt he was not really interested in communicating. I lifted my flute to play… he sat up, leant forward across the drum and beamed, tilting his head to one side, his eyes suddenly full of life. As I played, responding to his movements through my own, he began to use the drum to turn-take with my sounds. Ben’s mother commented on how much he was listening. Later, adding in the egg shakers, the music became more upbeat, with his mother and me mirroring his play. Ben suddenly began to vocalise, mirroring the pitches and shape of my melodic flute phrase for the first time. Each time he responded to my sounds he launched himself at the drum, trying to kneel up and support his own weight. Our shared dance went on and on, pausing briefly as he toppled over, then back to reinitiate the interaction through a repeated vocal phrase, a big smile and pleading eye contact.
It can be difficult to work within the parameters of short-term music therapy with those who would benefit from something more long term and I was very fortunate to soon see Ben again, now in a small group situation. He continued to develop his confidence, his awareness, his communication and his social and physical skills. Having spent a long time in hospital, then much of his time at home, he was now enjoying being a part of various groups in the community. This was reflected in his interest in the other children in the group, his eagerness to explore the large room each week and his confidence to be the first to reach out to try the instruments, even the guitar, which he could now at last accept. Interaction during the session was naturally more structured and I did not feel the same intensity within interaction as we had had in our individual therapy. However, each time I introduced the flute, he would immediately approach and sit directly in front of me, whether it meant sitting on top of instruments or another child! In our penultimate session, Ben approached me and placed his hands on my legs as we sat together on the floor, and each time I stopped playing he would push the flute back up towards my lips. I laughed, asking and signing ‘Do you want more?’ Ben nodded, smiled and vocalised an affirmative.
From our very tentative beginnings to the end of our time together, Ben had undoubtedly become motivated by the percussive and melodic instruments I offered him each week. Through shared play and turn-taking exchanges, he had shown clear development towards his therapeutic aims and would most likely have done so without the presence of the flute. It was, however, through the use of the flute that I felt Ben and I really met in the music emotionally. It touched him on such a level that his whole being became alive. In that moment we had a shared understanding, our relationship was taken to a deeper level and it was from that level that interaction flowed unconsciously. This intimacy did, I believe, support Ben’s development further, taking us a step beyond where we would have been without the flute.
The calming effect of the flute
Emily Corke
At school, my earliest musical memory is being part of the recorder ensemble, which developed my interest in woodwind instruments. The novelty of breathing into something but making a sound other than one’s voice led me to begin learning the flute, and I discovered its many further qualities. In keeping one’s breath steady one can create musical phrases and melodies with a pleasing soft tone. Its sound is soothing, yet crisp. I was attracted to its delicate and intricate nature, the shiny, striking metal out of which it was made. I went on to play the flute for eight years at school, and was particularly grateful for orchestral opportunities not afforded me through my two other ‘instruments’ of piano and voice. The flute was my gateway to relational music, corporate musical discovery, mutual support and performance. I neglected the flute upon leaving school, but when I started my training as a music therapist I remembered the flute’s communicative possibilities in creating powerful music with others.
I now use my flute in nearly every session, and I delight in seeing my clients drawn to it in the same way that I am. The flute includes a different dynamic in three main ways. First, it is the only instrument that I play but the clients do not, allowing them to enjoy merely listening to and absorbing the sound. Being able to simply listen to the soothing sound allows my clients to feel less pressured to ‘do’, and therefore, counter-intuitively, they seem more at ease to respond. Second, it is seen as a special, delicate instrument, attracting clients to listen intently and gaining their attention for prolonged times. Finally, its portability allows me to move around with it easily and remain free to both play and physically mirror my clients’ responses.
