In the seventh grade, I struggled with mathematics. I had been in the gifted program since the third grade, and all my friends were in it as well. After seventh grade math, each student had a choice. We could take Algebra, pre-Algebra, or regular eighth grade math. My teacher strongly advised me to take pre-Algebra. He knew I was a smart kid, but he also recognized that I was not strong in mathematics. However, I knew that all of my friends were planning on registering for Algebra class, so I did the same. Unfortunately, I did not do so well in Algebra class. Some of the concepts came easily to me, but most did not. The thought of dropping down to an easier class passed my mind a few times, but my eighth grader's ego wouldn't let me. The entire school (in my mind, at least) would think I was an idiot if I retreated into the less-advanced class. So, I battled for 36 weeks and earned a final course grade of a C.
That summer- though mostly comprised of the usual summer activities of playing video games, watching television, surfing the internet, and playing sports with my friends- was a little special. At the time, I was strictly an oboist, but I was enrolling in the marching band, and oboes are too fragile to be played while marching. Consequently, I decided to start playing flute. After a few weeks of teaching myself the basics, we had roughly six weeks of marching band practice before school started.
Between learning a new instrument (a mild form of bilingualism) and the intense musical training (including memorization of music, coinciding complex movements and patterns to music, and an understanding of musicality), something had changed inside of me. I returned to school in the fall with a new skill. I found myself excelling tremendously in Geometry class. The algebra I used the previous year came so easily to me, and I applied it effortlessly to instances of special-visualization and coordination.
It was my sophomore year in high school when I started composing short, simple songs for fun. As I developed my skills in writing music, I noticed that my ability to play music, and my math skills, were increasing steadily. However, Harvey Reid states that math isn't only doing well in math class. He says
“[m]ath is about thinking. Math is about problem solving. Math is about working with what you do know to give you a framework and a method of exploring and understanding what you don't know, about seeing relationships and patterns. Mathematics is a mind-set, and an attitude when you face something you do not understand.” (Reid)
I agree with Reid, and had noticed this correlation, though I may not have thought about it at the time. I found that mathematics and music were very closely related. Mathematical thinking could be defined as achieving a goal within the confines of strict and distinct rules. Solving a math or logic problem may be as simple as introducing a formula by which to work and following the rules to come to a single conclusion. Writing music, then, is the creative interpretation and implementation of those rules.
In my senior year of high school, I experienced a breakthrough in my flautist, oboist, and composer skills. I was able to play lightning-fast passages on the flute, produce an almost professional sound on the oboe, and grasp advanced composition techniques such as counterpoint. This was also the year I was taking AP Calculus, the most advanced mathematics class available, and also the class that dealt most with spatial relations. And, as documented in “Does Music Make You Smarter?” spatial reasoning is the mathematical skill most closely related to musical intelligence. (Demorest) My friends and family were surprised at how my math and music skills had increased, and my only explanation was that they had fed off each other and grown to new heights.
My first semester at college was an interesting one. I started out as a music major, which at CNU meant I was taking six music classes. Of course, I couldn't neglect my other requirements, so I was in a writing class and Calculus II. Adjusting to college life was a little difficult, but I think my main problem was that I was frequently doing music or math-related things. That part of my brain was very tired. I had a four-page paper due every week in my writing class, and I accomplished that with ease. On the other hand, I wrote almost no music during that semester, and was not doing well in most of my music classes, although I managed an A in Calculus II until the last two weeks.
During my second semester, I switched to a creative writing major. I was only taking three music classes, and they each pertained to different aspects of music. One involved playing piano, one was learning how to use computer programs that allowed the production of music, and the last was a series of private composition lessons. I had stopped taking math classes, but I had inadvertently made a name for myself in that regard, and found myself helping others with their math homework. I retained my knowledge and understanding of those concepts, and I was writing a plethora of music- not only music, but numerous works of which I could be proud.
As of this writing, my music education continues. I am writing music in greater quantities using more advanced techniques, harkening to a style of music that the average American would consider you snobbish for listening to. From time to time, I will test my problem solving skills, and each time I discover that they are as sharp as ever. Thus I reaffirm and reinforce what Barbara Goy, a school teacher in Oregon, has written about. Mathematics and music are strongly related. Children that struggle in math (widely considered to be the most boring subject in school, though I'm only speaking from years of personal experience) can be helped if taught in music. (Goy)
