and marching around the room with him. After this he appeared more confident, not needing to hide any more (Salkeld 2008, p.151). Oldfield writes about many different uses of the clarinet when working with children and families at a child development centre (Oldfield 2006a) and when working in child and family psychiatry (Oldfield 2006b). She lists a number of reasons why she feels the clarinet is invaluable in her work (Oldfield 2006a, pp.34–35), and many of these overlap with the ‘Clarinet characteristics in music therapy practice’ described at the end of this chapter. When describing her improvisation on the clarinet during music therapy sessions she writes:
On the clarinet, I often play in A minor, which in reality is G minor as the clarinet is a transposing instrument in B
Forging connections with the clarinet
Catrin Piears-Banton
I was inspired to learn the clarinet after seeing Emma Johnson win Young Musician of the Year in 1984. I met her at a concert the following year when I had already started lessons, and we have been in touch ever since. Emma’s clarinet playing spoke volumes to me, she showed confidence and communicated such emotion in her playing; there was something about the sound of the rich tones of the clarinet that I wanted to experience. As a shy and tentative young girl, Emma’s gentle demeanour and quietly spoken words of support gave me, as a shy and tentative young girl, hope that I too could express a world of difference in my clarinet playing.
As a music therapist, playing the clarinet in my clinical work gives me access to a variety of characteristic sounds across a wide pitch range: from the rounded, smooth resonance of the chalumeau register to the soaring, vibrant higher notes. This type of music can communicate humour, joy, drama, pain, sympathy, melancholia, as if I am truly speaking the emotion through my breath. My facial expression may stay similarly pursed as I play but the sounds produced can speak more than words and penetrate deeply within the shared musical experience.
Case vignette: Ben
Ben, a six-year-old child on the autistic spectrum, was referred to music therapy for help with his frustration at not being understood and to support him with difficulties in turn-taking and sharing.
Figure 1.2 Clarinet hide-and-seek
(photo by Dr. Alan Robson FRPS)
From our first few sessions, I noticed that Ben responded vocally when I played my clarinet. Ben was most comfortable using his voice and he would experiment with a range of different sounds, as if exploring his capacity for vocal expression. My use of the clarinet could acknowledge something of his vocalisations without being too imitative.
Ben sometimes came and touched the bell of the clarinet for a moment as I played, feeling the vibrations with his hand. At first, Ben would often move far away from me, sitting or standing with his back to me as he vocalised. It was my use of the clarinet that enabled us to play together and forge something of a connection. Ben’s vocal sounds were playful and rhythmic and he gained confidence in his own sounds when he hid behind some long curtains in the music therapy room.
Our vocal and clarinet interactions and exchanges evolved into a musical game of hide-and-seek with Ben hiding behind the curtains as I crept nearer and nearer to him, the sound of my clarinet giving him a clue as to how close I was getting. I also sometimes played the mouthpiece alone – a loud and vibrant sound that Ben found comical.
Being able to move around the room freely whilst playing the clarinet supported the development of this shared music-making and helped Ben to explore and tolerate shared interaction. Ben’s confidence in relating to and trusting others increased, and our hide-and-seek turn-taking game came out from behind the curtains as Ben gained a curiosity and confidence in exploring the other instruments in the room. Eventually Ben invited me to play the bongos with him, demonstrating something of how far things had come from the opposite sides of the room and behind the curtains.
Case vignette: Michael
I began working with Michael, 45, when he was referred to the adult community mental health service for support with his increasingly isolated lifestyle. Michael was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, depression and anxiety. Music therapy aimed to help Michael build confidence to feel safe with others and re-engage with the community.
Having taught himself the keyboard, Michael had spent the best part of several years playing for long hours at home on his own. Though committed to music therapy, Michael struggled to relate to me in our sessions: his instrument of choice was a large electronic keyboard set at full volume and mostly set to textured synthesised sounds. Michael was confident performing to me in his own particular musical style of busy patterns at varying tempos, and he played continuously with no obvious pulse; alternatively he would play songs that he had composed. Michael’s music was difficult to engage with, and he seemed to maintain a musical wall of defence around himself.
Most instruments I played to meet Michael in his music were rendered powerless and ineffective as he sped up and slowed down or stopped suddenly, only to then start a different sequence of chordal structures. I chose to introduce my clarinet in our sessions, and this was accepted by Michael, but a competitive dynamic arose. I knew I needed somehow to play in parallel to Michael’s music, to gain his interest and trust not by acknowledging his patterns – which seemed to feel like hijacking to Michael – but by being a non-threatening ‘other’. This was achieved by providing contrapuntal motifs at the ends of phrases as Michael performed his songs, or inserting a few trills, or long-held notes over his busy keyboard playing.
Gradually, over a few weeks, Michael seemed to expect me to play my clarinet in this way, and began to leave longer gaps between his phrases for me to play; he sometimes even imitated my clarinet motifs in his music. Over time the improvisations took on a symphonic, soundtrack feel to them; there was less anxiety and he was able to listen and accept my music as complementary to his own, rather than threatening. Michael was then able to acknowledge the shift in the music verbally and to relate some of his musical defences to his fear of society.
From the beginning, Michael had been dismissive of the percussion instruments in music therapy and it took my use of a sufficiently complex instrument in the form of the clarinet to make a connection with him. The challenge with Michael had been for him to hear and accept me. If I played the piano, it was heard as an attack on his skill and sound perhaps, and was probably too close emotionally in some way. The clarinet was my instrument; separate and distinct from Michael’s keyboard, yet as meaningful to me as his keyboard was to him. We could be two people conversing, but through our own chosen, personal instrument that we both had our own way of playing. Michael played patterns and songs dear to him, and I improvised around his structure. Eventually he could improvise, share and acknowledge something of the experience with me.
Case vignette: Group
I currently use my clarinet regularly in a group for people with severe to profound and multiple learning disabilities. The group’s music is often very much centred around people’s personal vocal and body sounds. I find that by blowing air through the clarinet, rather than sounding notes, I can acknowledge breathy sounds from all group members that so often become a very important part of sessions for
