Among the music courses I took in college (I was a music minor) was “History of Jazz” and “History of Rock.” Those who know me would think I disliked the former and loved the latter. Actually, the opposite was true – due entirely to each teacher.
The man who taught the jazz course (unfortunately, I don’t remember his name) loved jazz and was able to share that enthusiasm. He’d put on a particular album, say, “listen to this bit!” and turn it up WAY LOUD. Frequently, someone from a nearby class would need to pop in and request he turn it down.
I’m still not a fan of jazz, but I sure learned to appreciate it from that teacher’s efforts.
The rock class, in contrast, had no passion, no color. Just reciting facts and figures. In one class, this happened (note, this was c. 1977):
“Today, we’re going to talk about the Rolling Stones,” the teacher droned. “Some people like them, some don’t. What do you think?”
A woman in the class (who looked slightly older than the rest of us) responded. “I don’t like the Rolling Stones. They’re disgusting.”
“What about the rest of you?” the teacher prompted. “Why do you like the Stones?”
I raised my hand and offered “because they’re disgusting.”
The teacher did not understand that at all.
Weirdly, I got a B in the rock class, an A in the jazz class…