I was eleven years old when I learned my first Beethoven sonata: No. 8, the "Pathetique" -- a famous piece, with enough fast notes and loud chords to dazzle any audience. I performed it at a competition which I remember to this day -- the grand piano, the sterile classroom, the black dress, the nervous teacher. Upon finishing, I took my bow, and felt that I had played just fine -- I had hit all the notes in the correct order, albeit a little too quickly at times. I may have gotten an award that day -- I've started to lose track.

I've played many more Beethoven sonatas since that first one, and every time I begin to learn a new one, I look back at that first "Pathetique" with regret. Because I was simply too young to play that piece.

Our fascination with musical prodigies extends far into history. We often hear of Mozart touring Europe before the age of seven. The trend has exploded in the recent era, with the advent of broadcasting technologies that allow prodigies to become quickly famous for increasing amounts of profit. A quick YouTube search yields the following results:

"Eleven-year-old prodigy plays Elgar's 'Cello Concerto in E minor.'"

"Nine-year-old prodigy plays 'Fantasie Impromptu.'"

"Seven-year-old prodigy sings 'O Mio Babbino Caro.'"

In a time when it can be so easy to gain publicity, why not create a child prodigy? What harm could it possibly do, other than offer the child a background in music?

The "prodigy mentality" harms all young musicians. It fosters an environment which hinders musical development. We live in a world where music competitions control music programs in all districts. When you grow up in this environment, you grow accustomed to the stress that you begin to associate with music. You develop a narrow understanding of what music is. Only after a year of studying at a music conservatory have I begun to realize the pitfalls of competition-driven musical training.

Teachers have begun to assign increasingly difficult pieces to children of increasingly younger ages, and they suffer as a result. It has come to a point where young musicians are expected to play difficult pieces above their skill level in order to be labeled as "competent." At a recent recital, an extremely skilled pianist and friend of mine performed Debussy's "Claire de Lune." I could not help but remember how, one year ago, I would have been met with smirks and disapproval for playing that very piece. "Claire de Lune" is not a "difficult" piece to learn. It is not fast, it is not loud, and it is not impressive. However, it is a difficult piece to play well -- it is delicate, intimate, and full of personality. And that is the problem. A child cannot play "Claire de Lune." A child has minimal understanding of emotional content in music. Due to lack of exposure, a child does not know how harmonies tend to fall together. A child cannot comprehend a composer's intent. A child can understand what order to play the notes in, and how loud they should play them. And if all the notes should be played loud and fast, then they will understand the best.

This is not music. The three aforementioned pieces, played by young Youtube prodigies, are all pieces which professional musicians take months and years to perfect. They are incredibly difficult, both technically and musically. They require maturity to perform well, something which child prodigies fundamentally do not have. Renowned pianist Arthur Rubinstein regularly stated that young musicians should not practice more than 3-4 hours a day (a small amount compared to the average professional, and presumably, compared to the average prodigy as well), because music is not about hitting the correct notes. Music is about imbuing a series of pitches with feelings and emotions derived from daily experience. And we must let young musicians have those experiences if we are to expect them to create music.

Lack of musical understanding is not the only issue caused by competition-driven music environments. My current teacher consistently complains about the huge gaps in repertoire which many of his students suffer from. We’ve all played the big, German, Romantic composers. We’ve played late Beethoven, we’ve played Rachmaninoff. But what about Bach? French music in general? Both technique and musicality can mature significantly through understanding of a piece’s historical context. You cannot understand how Beethoven was inspired by Bach until you have played Bach. You cannot ignore a large portion of the Western Classical music tradition simply because French music tends to be more "mellow" and less "impressive." Without exposure to an adequate historical background, young musicians will not understand the context of the music they are playing. And they will never develop this understanding without appropriate training.

A competition-driven environment leads to a narrow understanding of what classical music is. It creates children whose knowledge of classical repertoire is confined solely to pieces that are "impressive" to the general public. It supports the idea that performance must be a spectacle. It traps young musicians at the amateur level, and forces them to relearn what it means to be a classical musician in order to improve.

I will not deny that competitions can be useful. The average five-year-old child has absolutely no interest in practicing an instrument for two hours every day. But children like shiny medals and trophies, and your five-year-old might start practicing if they want a shiny medal. And I understand that competitions act as important advertising spaces for beginning music teachers. However, a competition-based training is fundamentally detrimental to the young musicians who participate. Music, and art in general, is not a competition. It is not about who plays the "best," and it is not about who plays at the earliest age. We are musicians because we love to create music. Competitions do not foster a love for music; instead, they teach children to associate music with stress. And competitive young musicians do not learn how to create music. They only learn how to simulate the hollow shell of a tradition which is over 600 years old.

When I was nine years old, I played my first Chopin waltz. A teacher stood up in the back of the recital hall, and said "You're too young to be playing Chopin." I was dismayed and slightly angry.

But now I understand.