To Sir, with Love: The Langley Schools Music Project, «Innocence and Despair»
What is education? Is it about filling minds with knowledge? Guiding? Extracting something from within, something that already existed but needed a trigger, a mirror, an outlet?
Can music change lives? What lies behind singing?
In 1976, in British Columbia, Canada, a long-haired teacher with a young family is searching for a job and finds one in the Langley district. His subject? Music. Yes, it’s something “taught” in schools, stripped of its soul, rendered boring, bland, and useless. But this teacher, a hippie or former hippie named Hans Berger, has no idea how to teach music. And that’s a good thing. He knows nothing of the vices or virtues of pedagogy. He simply walks into the classroom with his guitar and gets to work. His musical world is what he grew up with: the British Invasion, the Beach Boys, the hits of AM radio, the old rock and roll. And that’s all he needs.
His students listen. How could they not? Education isn’t just about delivering lessons; it’s about touching sensitive chords, finding connections, building universes. They sing. They sing from the depths of their lungs, their voices clear and filled with emotion. They sing songs about love, boys and girls, Saturday nights, and space travel. Hans Berger shares his universe with them, making them participants and allies. One day, he realizes that his dozens of students are just as moved by these silly, sentimental songs as he was years ago. They share so much despite their different backgrounds, because no matter where they are, there’s always pain, heartache, anxiety, misery, euphoric afternoons, hysterical laughter, broken hearts, and hearts bursting with feelings and light. And darkness. And light. In music, there’s room for everyone.
One day, Hans Berger decides to document his efforts, but more importantly, the efforts of his young students. He invites a friend with a tape recorder and gathers the kids, who are bubbling with excitement, in a school gymnasium. It’s hot. One of them nearly faints. They record some of the songs they’ve rehearsed for hours on end. Because there’s a music class, but the kids have learned that they love something and can pursue it outside of class, at all hours, dreaming about it, giving meaning to their time. At nine years old, the best thing that can happen is something like this: imagination grows, it runs wild; sensations intensify; there are no limits, and everything is play. That’s what learning is.
Some copies of the recording are made. Enough to give to the students and their families, and that’s it. Life goes on. They grow. Berger moves on. The normal people. Years pass. Life takes its toll, as it tends to do, ever elusive. Then one day, twenty-five years later, magic happens. Because music always carries a bit of magic.
Enter Brian Linds, another key figure, who one day in Victoria, British Columbia, walks into a record shop and spots an eye-catching cover: kids singing, holding instruments, looking happy. On the back cover, he sees a tracklist of songs he knows: Beach Boys, Beatles, Bowie, Hermits, Phil Spector. He buys it and accidentally discovers the Holy Grail: the most exhilarating, radiant music he’s ever heard. He immediately contacts Irwin Cushid, a journalist, radio host, and musical archaeologist, who is more than a little surprised. Together, they devote themselves to a brilliant idea: to re-release these songs. They manage to get in touch with Berger. They pitch their project to ten record labels, but all turn them down. Then they approach Bar/None Records, known for releasing anything as long as it’s quirky, and the album gets published. When Berger receives the call, he fears it’s because Bowie wants to sue him or something similar. But no: the recordings of his kids, made in two sessions between 1976 and 1977, are about to be re-released. All those students who recorded back then, led by him and his guitar, are now adults. What will become of them? Will they realize what’s happening? They surely will, because the reissue becomes a bestseller on Amazon, and the album, fortuitously renamed Innocence & Despair and credited to the Langley Schools Music Project, appears on numerous serious year-end lists. And rightly so.
The recordings, captured in a single take in a sweaty school gym, are bursting with life and exactly what’s needed in an era filled with soulless music. Innocence may have been lost, but it must be reclaimed. Perhaps the answer lies in these provincial stories, in everyday people, in the ordinary heroes who do something extraordinary that changes their lives and, by chance or not, change the lives of many others, because what is most particular is also the most universal. We’ve all had our hearts broken, but we’ve also felt the euphoria of a Saturday night. There’s no better interpretation of "I’m Into Something Good," nor a more haunting rendition of "The Long and Winding Road." Bowie adored the version of "Space Oddity" reimagined by Berger and his students, perhaps seeing it as the definitive take; and Paul McCartney must be proud that someone managed to reinterpret "Band on the Run" with such emotional mastery.
The album sparked a reunion of the surviving members of the Langley Schools with Berger, generating a wave of praise. The music is wonderful, but it also brings to mind an important idea: never lose your sense of wonder. Let me share a story, if you’ll indulge me; a friend going through a strange, scar-inducing phase stumbled upon the album by sheer coincidence. Soon after, he told me he dreamed about it and asked for a copy. I made one for him. The vibrant energy of those recordings breathed more life into him. Just like it has for many others. Just like it did for me.
What is education? Is it about filling minds with knowledge? Guiding? Extracting something from within, something that already existed but needed a trigger, a mirror, an outlet? Can music change lives? What lies behind singing? Life. Enjoyment. Fun. Feeling. Who knows? Life is a mystery. But mysteries, like the Langley Schools Music Project, eventually unravel.
C/S.