The first time I ever heard the term “ear-training” was in a music theory course I took my first year of college at Appalachian State University.  I did poorly in the course mainly because of my lack of discipline, but when the instructor, an Alfred Hitchcock look-alike named Mr. Disbro, began to point out the subtle differences in various chordal structures and musical scales, I found myself amazed.  I had sort of been aware of the tones, textures, and qualities of the musical phenomena he exposed to us, but I’d never really identified them.   I had played cello in high school, but my high school orchestra teacher felt he’d accomplished a lot simply by getting us to practice the pieces we were planning to perform in the year-end recital, let alone teaching us the intricacies of music theory.  

Mr. Disbro, however, called us to a higher level and held us to a stricter standard than what I’d been exposed to in high school orchestra.  Now, years later, despite my low grades in the class, I hear depth and texture to Dvorak and Beethoven I never would have known otherwise.  I understand the logic behind key modulations and can discern the quality in performances from symphonic to choral.  All sorts of music – even Bluegrass – are much more alive to me because someone challenged me to train my ear and develop greater depth.

Ear training can also apply to the life of the spirit.  If we’ve never studied how to listen, how to center our spirits, and settle our thoughts, the possibility remains that we’re missing “music” that would otherwise delight us and make us stronger.  What might we be missing because we haven’t learned to listen?

But there are other kinds of trained ears out there.  

Next time – what my redneck dad could hear.