Music might be a universal language, but music vocabulary is definitely not. The words we use when we talk about music are deeply rooted in culture and native languages, as I have learned the hard way. I came to France from the United States to study harp, combining my two undergraduate majors—music and French. It was 2009; the world’s cutting edge smartphone was the iPhone 3, and data was not reliable. I was the only non-native French speaking person at a music festival on an island off the northwest coast of France. After being introduced to my harp instructor (using the kind of French vocabulary I knew confidently), I took out Pierné’s Impromptu Caprice and began playing. 

During our lessons, my teacher said many strange words to me that I never learned in any French or music class back home.

“Fa,” she said. 

 It was at that moment I realized that she (and all of France) uses solfège, not letter notation, when speaking about the notes on the page. That was okay for me since I started harp with the Suzuki method. I corrected my F and continued. 

“Si,” she exclaimed. 

I went to the red string, of course. 

“Si!” 

Quickly looking at the music to see where we were, it looked like B to me, so I repeated what she said in the form of a question, “C?”

“Oui, si.” 

This went on until she played the B string. 

 Oh, ti. “Ti,” I replied. 

She then sang me the scale, “Do, ré, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do.” 

Yes, Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music have been lying to us. It’s si, not ti. 

That was when it dawned on me—I had zero language preparation to continue my summer let alone an entire year at a French conservatoire! How could I have been so naïve? During our lessons my teacher said many strange words to me that I never learned in any French or music class back home. There was no wi-fi, and my French-English dictionaries didn’t have entries like “quarter note,” so I decided to point at things on the music and ask their names in French. I quickly learned that a musical “flat” was not the direct translation plat; it’s bémol. These were unfamiliar words that I couldn’t figure out using American logic. She gave me tricks to remember—the word for “natural” is bécarre because the natural sign has a carré (French for box). For the French word for sharp, dièse,think mot-dièse (French for hashtag). I left the island learning more about the French language and culture than I ever could have thought. 

In the fall my French was improving at conservatoire, but not at the level necessary to ask in-depth questions. I was working on Ravel’s Introduction and Allegro and was struggling to find the melody. I awkwardly asked, “Melody, where?” From that point on, I started preparing all my questions ahead of time, writing them down in French, checking dictionaries and Google Translate in my dorm room beforehand. Lessons progressed so well that when I came back to America, I continued to prep questions. This helps me identify areas that should be worked on during lessons and understand specifics. Today, everyone has high speed data and fast smartphones; however, there is something that is lost when you must pause the conversation to look up a word or translate a sentence. Being prepared for lessons makes such a difference in the progress you can make. 

Following graduation from the conservatory, I freelanced back in my hometown, but soon returned to France. Again, I brought with me my lingual naivete. The first time I played in a group, I was embarrassed to find out that some French orchestras tune to a different pitch than American orchestras. That made for a very uncomfortable rehearsal. Luckily my French was not advanced enough to understand all of the conductor’s insults! When I share studio harps, we agree on a tuning pitch even before introducing ourselves. It’s safest to always ask what pitch a group tunes to, especially in a foreign country. 

Nowadays, I’m settled in Paris and teaching at a conservatory. I had a student who just moved to France from England, and I was thrilled to speak the same native language as them. I couldn’t have been more wrong. As I was correcting a rhythm, I asked how much a quarter note was worth. My student gave me the same look as I gave my teacher in 2009 when she said, “Fa bécarre.” Knowing French linguistic logic—a whole note is round, therefore it’s rond, a half note is white so it’s called blanche, anda quarter note is black so it’s noire—I tried, “How much is a black note worth? Again, blank face. Luckily, by this time I could do a quick Google search that helped me learn that the U.S. and the U.K. have different music vocabularies despite speaking English. 

I now brush up on a country’s basic musical terminology, like note durations, when I have a new international student. 

Each day brings new language challenges in music. Music may be the universal language, but when we talk about music, we still need a translator now and then. •