By Kunchur Bharat (26A01B) and Lerraine Neo (26A01A)
Singaporean parents are one of the most kiasu species on the planet, and this competitive nature often manifests in strange ways. Perhaps strangest of all is the obsession with their child’s musical abilities.
Music is not seen as a career path in Singaporean society. Informing your parents that you aspire to be a musician will likely gain you a look of poorly-disguised horror, a lecture on how you’re wasting your intellectual potential, and a desperate talk about how you do not have to make a career out of your passions.
At this point, you may pause to wonder: Weren’t you the one who put me in music lessons in the first place?
Indeed, for all their wariness towards musical professions, Singaporean parents love signing their children up for music classes. Try asking ten random people around school if they play an instrument. Most will answer with some combination of “Yes” or “I used to, but I quit”.
For music, not only is quitting the norm, it’s the expectation. So why are parents burning thousands of dollars for their child to unlock potential they will never fulfil?
Our first hypothesis: dreams left unpursued. For parents who have witnessed first-hand the transition that Singapore has undergone – from “mudflat to metropolis” as our late Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew put it – pragmatism and prudence have been almost subconsciously ingrained into their psyche.
In making the transition from lower to middle class through a combination of grit, determination, and well-thought-out policy, sacrifices had to be made in areas deemed, at the time, irrelevant to Singapore’s system of institutionalised meritocracy, such as taking up an instrument.
As part of the new middle class that emerged from this rapid transformation, an understandable impulse developed to give their children a more luxurious life than they were able to afford when growing up. This includes allowing their children to engage in activities that accelerate their accumulation of cultural capital, which in turn allows parents to live vicariously through their children.
This leads us to our second hypothesis: social status. We hypothesise that in the minds of parents, being able to play an instrument signals two things: wealth, and a good upbringing. Learning to play an instrument can be incredibly costly.
A good piano is easily upwards of a thousand dollars, not to mention weekly lesson rates that increase as the student progresses. Even having the space for a piano in one’s house suggests a certain degree of affluence. When you brag that your child can play the piano, you’re bragging that your family can afford the bills that come with it.
Beyond that, there is the narrative that a parent’s success is reflected in their child. Simply put: If my child can play the piano and yours can’t, my child is better. Which means I’m the better parent.
Let us not ignore the obvious — the ability to play a complex musical instrument at a high degree of proficiency at an extremely young age is impressive in and of itself. It reflects a higher level of discipline and sustained effort in a conventionally exalted discipline and requires the accelerated development of fine motor skills.
Success in a discipline known for its perfectionism, such as classical music, is a testament to the inherent cognitive superiority that a child could possess compared to their peers.
And which parent doesn’t want their child to be superior?
Our final hypothesis: security and stability. Discipline and focus are key requirements to learn a classical instrument. One must commit consistent practice and avoid losing hope even when progress slows. Learning this at a young age sets children up for success as they progress in their education and into their careers.
For those chasing the Singaporean ideal of success being attained at the end of a smooth-sailing, well-trodden path, making their child learn an instrument is just another part of ensuring a secure future for them. Hence, learning a classical instrument helps them develop the dispositions necessary for lucrative careers. That parents of a higher SES who occupy these lucrative positions are more likely to force their children to learn an instrument is indicative of this.
But let’s forget about the parents for a moment — what do their children think?
To Lai Qi Xuan (26A01D), being forced into piano lessons at the age of four was a blessing in disguise.
“My parents thought that it would help me develop as a person, since everyone seemed to play an instrument as part of holistic development,” Qi Xuan says. “And my mom wanted to take music lessons as a kid, but due to external reasons she couldn’t. She wanted me to have that opportunity and access to a music education.”
Her parents encouraged her to participate in recitals, but respected her wishes to refrain from participating in concerts or performing for relatives. This laid-back, relaxed attitude has spurred her to challenge and push herself, and she has recently begun taking cello lessons.
“At first I was just trying to finish my Yamaha course,” she admits, laughing. “But then there was the prospect of ABRSM exams, so I went on to that. And I got a merit for Grade 8, but I didn’t want to end off on a merit. Which is how I ended up going for a diploma, to see if I could get a distinction.”
One of the few rare students who offers H2 Music, Qi Xuan reveals that she plans to pursue music at university. She isn’t sure where life will take her in the future, but is certain that music is indubitably entwined in her plans.
“I’m glad my parents put me into piano, because I wouldn’t be doing music now otherwise. It served as a good foundation for me later on. At that age, I wasn’t conscious enough to know that I wanted to do music; but starting later would have had me falling behind my peers, and I would have found it difficult to continue.”
Sitting down with Christian Adriel Tan (26S07B) revealed similar sentiments. His parents obliged him to learn the piano at the age of 4 and the violin at 5. He subsequently chose to learn the oboe at 13 when he joined the school band, and eventually transitioned to playing percussion due to a shortage of players. Currently, he’s a member of the Singapore National Youth Orchestra (SNYO) and has performed both in Singapore and overseas.
Despite his present proficiency, it was initially “just a hobby” that arose out of his mother’s desire to give him a more well-rounded education, especially in the arts. To this end, the kindergarten that his mother enrolled him in, NAFA Arts Preschool, also required him to learn an instrument.
His interest, however, wavered at times. “My mom, she did recall that at the earlier stages of me learning the violin and the piano […] the violin instructor had to literally hold my right hand and my left hand, and then she was basically playing for me while I was just there being disinterested,” he divulged.
Even for someone as successful as he is, his mother needed to act as the glue that held his interest together. He confessed that, “The interest really only sparked when I was 11 […] I felt like: Oh! Piano is actually something that I enjoy doing because I’m able to express my feelings.”
We spoke further on why Singaporeans tend to shy away from pursuing music professionally despite a fanaticism with making their children learn it from a young age. The answer? It’s really, really hard. “[Professional music is] very perfectionist; it’s full of perfection, and you’re demanded to go to a certain archetype when you do music.”
This itself already deters young artists from wanting to pursue music as a career, let alone the societal expectations, structural barriers, and internal politics within orchestras.
Indeed, the perfectionist tendencies that came with classical music put an undue amount of stress on Christian when he was younger. While it is true that there is a preference for stable, conventional, and prestigious careers (with a musical background being used to spice up the portfolios that land you these stable, conventional and prestigious careers), it does not merely come out of a desire for parents to brag about their kids.
Their concerns are borne out of practicality as much as it is about status. Christian himself says that, “It’s a very miserable statement, but I can’t see myself doing [music] practically. It’s something that– I love it to bits, I wish I could do it professionally. But I have to admit that the competitiveness of music is at such a high curve […] it’s practically unfeasible for me to pursue music professionally.”
For some, the advantages of having played an instrument since young are far simpler.
“I was really hyperactive as a kid,” Koh Shin Robbie (26A01A) comments. “So the act of sitting down and committing to practising the piano— I think that was really great for me.”
Robbie began piano lessons when he was six years old, completing the ABRSM syllabus up to Grade 5. He stopped having lessons at the age of twelve, when Circuit Breaker kicked in. Afterwards, given the increased workload of secondary school, he found himself content with the level of certification he’d achieved, and saw no reason to restart lessons.
“I enjoy playing the piano. Learning the piano is a different experience.”
To Robbie, the process of learning the piano can be summed up in two words: perpetual renewal.
“It’s often a stressful process, and I think this is a trend that stretches across most arts. There’s a lot of — emotional burden is too strong, but there’s a lot of… pressure put upon students from teachers. And it is universal. Whether you were taking private lessons, like I was, or you were in a performing arts CCA, like I also was, these experiences are universal, […] and I think it’s a really common push factor [from the arts].”
Robbie’s stint as a pianist was short, but it was far from pointless. At the encouragement of his teacher, Robbie attended piano competitions, which added another layer of complexity to his musical journey. At first, competitions served as a milestone. They were a form of motivation, something that kept him on the piano bench week after week.
But eventually, competitions became more synonymous with stress. The added pressure was starting to catch up to him, diluting the love and joy he felt for the instrument. After the Circuit Breaker, when Robbie proposed the idea of quitting lessons and competitions for good, his parents acquiesced despite some initial reluctance.
“If you think about the contemporary model Asian kid— music, the arts, sports, academics, these all come hand in hand. This is a model of traditional success our parents grew up with, and it’s the same model they’re applying in their parenting,” he points out when asked to speculate why his parents pushed him into music. “The fact that my parents did have friends who sent their children to similar experiences perhaps contributed to this phenomena of ‘competitive parenting’.”
Now, Robbie no longer participates in any performing arts. He plays the piano only for his own pleasure and rarely touches his Erhu at all. Yet he has no regrets.
“I don’t miss it, per se,” he comments, looking back on his experience with the piano. “If music were absent from my life, then yes, I would miss it dearly. But not piano in particular.”
With a formal musical background being so commonplace in a school like RI, most may not comprehend the benefits they gain. But the detriment is more significant than one realises.
Tok Kai Xue Traven (26A01B) is one of the rare few who does not have some level of formal musical education and was not forced to learn an instrument. He explained, “I think it was because they forced my [older] sister to learn piano, but she dropped out in 2 years because she lost interest.”
We asked him whether he feels he’s missing out, to which he replied, “I really do enjoy music in general — music as an artform is quite interesting — and I do feel that I’m missing a bit, I do feel a bit FOMO […] At this point: I’m ancient, I’m way too old to start learning an instrument. If I could turn back time, I would definitely try it.”
Kai Xue would have become a flautist, highlighting an affinity for wind instruments that was tragically left unexplored.
After interviewing our (limited) sample pool, our conclusion is: perhaps the real musical journey is the friends we made along the way. Or perhaps that’s how it should be.
Christian puts it best: “There is an inherent mindset that classical music is always at the top echelon of all genres of music, in Singapore. And I think that’s a pity. I really think it’s a pity, as a classical musician myself. Every genre of music has its own merits.”
“Parents should send their children to be exposed to jazz, to be exposed to pop! Don’t see pop as an inferior form of music; it has as much worth as classical music. And pop is an evolution of all the musical genres before it. It is not of a low status; I would not perceive pop to have a low status.”
“Even in Singapore, children should also learn about our local music. Chinese music is already quite established, but we should learn more about Malay indigenous music.”
There are countless genres of music, each with its own distinct flavour. Yet parents fixate on classical, a genre so far removed from our modern context and culture.
People love music. Think karaoke sessions, Spotify blends and Wrapped, or community singing: For most of us, music is an intrinsic part of our lives. Children do not quit music because they do not love it; they quit because of the culture surrounding it. The obsession with classical music, the pressure to play perfectly, the unspoken rule that music can only ever be a dream, not a goal — all these contribute to a child’s waning interest.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting your child to pick up an instrument to ensure they are well-rounded, or so they don’t fall behind their peers. It’s only natural to want to provide the best possible life for your children. But perhaps more thought should be put into making the process fun.
P.S. A special thank you to Qi Xuan, Christian, Robbie, and Kai Xue for agreeing to be interviewed. We couldn’t have done it without you :D
