SCHOOL MUSIC AND THE "S-CURVE" OF INNOVATION - PART 1 

Silicon Valley has many obsessions: beanbag chairs, slide decks, and nonsensical names, but none are as beloved—or as metaphorically overused-as the S-curve.

An S-curve is a graph that illustrates the progress of a project or process over time, typically showing slow initial growth, a period of rapid growth, and then a slowing down to a plateau or decline. 

It's named for the shape it resembles, with a gradual upward slope initially, a steeper incline during the rapid growth phase, and then a leveling off or decline towards the end. (I would include a graphic, but to be respectful of the creative work of others, I do not include graphics in my emails anymore. You should Google it, though.)

Every major tech leap has followed this consonant-shaped pattern. Electricity. Telephones. The internet. Smartphones. And even TikTok dance challenges follow this same trajectory. Sadly, the TikTok reference might make the most sense to you the reader.

And now, we are neck-deep in the S-curve of artificial intelligence. AI crawled its way out of the lab with clunky chatbot responses and autocorrect that thought "duck" was the word we wanted. Then it sprinted—suddenly writing code, composing haikus, deepfaking Golden Retrievers dressed in tutus and playing the trombone (yes, I did that), and producing emails that make me sound more intelligent than I actually am.

So, where am I headed with this? (Spoiler alert) 

As a part of the Band Dad Podcast, my co-host, Chris Flynn, and I interviewed our Band Director, Mr. Miles Denny. We played a game of "Now and Then," in which Miles and I worked through how I would handle something back then (when I was a teacher) versus how he would handle it now. It was really interesting, you can check it out on the bonus episode of the Band Dad's Podcast.

 

As a surprise, I flipped the script - and asked Chris and Denny (as he is affectionately known) an important question – would they prefer their kids were in band NOW (today), or THEN, in fifteen years (when Miles's son will be a freshman in high school).

What difference does a decade and a half make?

In a recent e-zine, I mentioned that three percent growth over 25 years means the marching band has grown by 109% in the last twenty-five years—more drill, music, and rehearsal, but also more achievement.

We can all agree on that. More is better, especially when it comes to achievement.

It begs the question - in the grand scheme of modern marching band (let's say the mid 1970's when drum corps became a thing), where are the marching arts on the "S curve?" Are we in the rapid growth phase from straight lines and flip folders to body movement and amplification, or are we towards the top of the "S" where innovation is slowing as widespread adoption of modern techniques materializes? 

Perhaps most important – is how much more growth do we want? How much more growth can we sustain in a healthy manner? What is realistic?

In answering the question, my Mr. Flynn shared a remarkable insight as a parent:

"I don't know that it (marching band) needs to be that much harder - it is sufficiently difficult enough to teach the lessons it NEEDS to teach. Making it much more difficult would not necessarily improve the lessons we learn from it."

 "Sufficiently difficult to teach the lessons it needs to teach."

That quote hit me like a ton of bricks when I heard it.

In reflecting on it as I write this article, it also struck me that this might be an indicator that we have left the curly part of the S and are closer to the top.


Keep in mind, the top doesn't mean we stop getting better, just that we do so in a more sustainable and achievable pace.

 I believe that innovation will continue and the activity will continue to grow, but do I think that in the next twenty-five years we will see the same growth we have seen in the past twenty-five? Will we double the average number of drill pages, add another 1.5 grades of musical difficulty, and achieve at twice the level that we are today? Will the activity be 109% more difficult in 2050 than in 2025?

Probably not. But I could be wrong – I often am.

 

But does it need to be harder? If more demand does not equally equate to more learning, then what is the value proposition. Is difficulty, just for the sake of being difficult, a worthy endeavor? Should we add 50% more rehearsal time to get 10% better? 

 The answer to that question depends on where your program is on the "S curve." 

While the activity may be approaching the top of the S Curve, that does not mean you are. You may be taking over a program at the bottom of the curve or in the middle of explosive growth. You may achieve incredible things with your marching band (top of the curve) while starting a jazz program from scratch (bottom of the curve). So it's possible that different parts of your program and the students who participate might be in different places on the curve.

But that's a conversation for next week's e-zine.

So let me ask you a question. Would you rather have your own child in band then (fifteen years from now), or now? Miles (my son's band director), never did answer. Hhhhhmmmmmm.

What's your answer? When would you place your child in band? When would you want to teach?

Have a great week. 

Scott

CLASSICAL MUSIC, WHAT'S THE POINT?

Yesterday, I received a call from Blake Duty. You don't know Blake, but then again, you kinda do.

For those of you unaware, Blake is the student trombone-playing star of the Be Part of the Music series. He is now finishing his college degree and is a MONSTER trombone player. Even thirteen years later, we still connect regularly.

He had a question for me. He said:

Scott, 

Most students, and even one of my professors admitted they don't actually listen to classical music. They spend years mastering excerpts, etudes, concertos, and whatever else, but outside of rehearsal, they listen to anything but the music they're studying. So, we teach our students to play

It's like being a priest who doesn't believe in God but still leads mass because it's something to do.

There are no gigs, audiences, or sustainable career paths, just academic inertia trying to keep itself alive. If you don't get one of the two symphony jobs that opened up that decade, then what? Get your DMA and keep teaching the same music you never even cared about in the first place? Music that no one listens to, creating an endless cycle of disconnection.

 

Blake's insights are always enlightening. He's a bright individual, and I always enjoy our conversations.

My response?

Blake: 

Great questions. Don't forget the "classical music" you hear in TV shows, movies, and commercials. Start listening critically to all music, and you will hear all sorts of instruments in the backing tracks. 

Remember, although YOU don't listen to classical music, many people do. There are concert halls filled with (old) people who pay lots of money to hear it. Like scotch, classical music is something you grow into and appreciate more as you age.

And consider the likes of Lindsey Stirling, Simply 3, Black Violin, and other genre-bending artists who play classical instruments in a decidedly non-traditional way. And just this past weekend, the LA Philharmonic and conductor Gustav Dudemel played with Icelandic musician Laufey, country star Maren Morris, and rap artist LL Cool J.

Attendees rocked out to John Williams' Imperial March from Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Arc, and Beethoven's 5th, to name a few. The multihyphenate Becky G made an appearance, and electro-trap duo CA7RIEL & Paco Amoroso, while seemingly a little nervous at first, settled into a mesmeric groove with the orchestra, getting people dancing as hard as they might at a techno gig. 

But it's more than that.

Your training is not just about learning to play classical music. It's about mastering the instrument, allowing you to play any music with skill and understanding. Think of it like learning Latin, a language no one speaks but is the foundation of all languages. Your training is the foundation of your musical journey, enabling you to explore and excel in any genre.

 

My classical training was designed to build technical proficiency and physical dexterity. It was meant to aid with music literacy and help me understand musical stylings. It provided the base from which not just all music, but all learning was built upon. It challenged me mentally, emotionally, and physically, and helped me grow as a musician and person. It shaped me to be the person I am today.

Blake has a point - not just about classical music, but the commercial viability of band music. It's not the MAIN point. We teach kids to sing and play all sorts of music, not in hopes that it will make them a consumer of that genre, but in hopes it makes them a consumer of life.

Blake, your questions are thought-provoking and challenge us to think critically.

Keep them coming.

Tag, you're it.

Have a great week!

Scott

 

GEN Z & RUINING EDUCATION... BETTER!

Like all of you, I participate in the daily ritual of taking out the trash–not the stinky kind; I'm not talking about real trash, the junk mail that fills my inbox. There is something soothing about it: dragging all the unwanted stuff into that cute little trash bin and hearing it make that sound when I hit "delete."

Now, I can focus on the email that matters.

Sorting through the malaise of date requests that fill my inbox is like playing a game of calendar Tetris while simultaneously trying to determine which airline will get me from Ft. Lauderdale to Grand Forks via time travel. 

As I read through the requests, I continually hear the same theme from prospective clients looking for help, "Kids today don't know how to... (insert work, play, behave, practice, tie their shoes, etc.)

 Just last night, I saw my son simultaneously composing a lo-fi beat while playing Xbox with his brother (who is away at college) and watching a mukbang. I swear, look it up; it's a real thing. The fact that he watches Mukbangs for me is proof enough that his generation is doomed.

Successful sloth or magnificent multi-tasker? Potatoe, Potahto.

Yes, there is some evidence to support the belief that teenagers today are under-performing their counterparts from decades past. Attendance is down, math scores have plummeted in recent years, and college applications are falling faster than my 401K, which has my blood pressure rising at a corresponding rate.

But, there is also equal and ample evidence to the contrary. In-school bullying is down, rates associated with drinking and vaping are below 2016 levels, and dropout rates are decreasing and are hovering around five percent, an all-time low.

Then there's the music kids. Their trajectory is only upward. 

Today's kids learn more drill, play harder music, and achieve higher performance scores. Enrollment is growing (albeit slowly), student musicians are rehearsing more, and community bands are sprouting up left and right.

 

I can honestly say that the complaints about "kids today" are the same as when I started my business twenty years ago. And they are likely the same things my high school teacher said about me.

In music rooms all across our country (and in emails to me), directors are bemoaning the fall of music education with unbridled confidence as they check the metronome setting on their Apple Watch, use AI to write their concert program notes, and modulate the key signature of their opener with a few keystrokes.

If I'm being honest, I agree with kids that Sousa marches are "mid," Markowski is "FIRE," and choreographing a saxophone TikTok as a sectional makes practice fun. Young teachers are working harder while I am trying to work less, and my life has benefited from technology to a greater degree than it has for kids (imagine booking 200 flights a year, renting 100 cars, and finding my way around strange cities without the internet).

In life and in music, every generation gets blamed for something. The Boomers thought Gen X was lazy. Gen X thought Millennials were entitled. Now, millennials are wondering if Gen Z teachers will ever turn off their drone tuners and metronomes. The answer? They won't. And that's a good thing.

In the end, music survives. Programs survive, and you will survive. We adapt. We always do, even if it means learning the flute part and the latest TikTok dance simultaneously. This resilience of music education should reassure us all.

So, yes, Gen Alpha (the current generation) may be ruining music education. They are doing it the same way we did for our teachers.

They're just ruining it better. 

And that makes me feel better.

Have a great week.

 

Scott

 

HAPPY PENDINGS AND CARING LESS

Sitting here, I am slurping down my fourth cup of coffee. Well, I have re-heated the same coffee three times and misplaced twice. I would likely find my coffee quicker if I could find my glasses first.

 I swear that my readers and my coffee are secretly playing a daily game of hide and seek – a game that I lose so consistently that my wife and children are becoming concerned for my mental health. 

Once my glasses and coffee are secured, I will begin sorting through the malaise of date requests that fill my inbox. My travel schedule is like a calendar Tetris, but I am simultaneously trying to determine which airline will get me from Ft. Lauderdale to Grand Forks via time travel. 

These problems come with getting older, but they also come with a sense of relief and freedom.

I am fifty-er something. I am not ashamed to tell you my age if I can remember my actual age. Regardless of what number I tell people, my wife corrects me with a number one year higher than I remember. I am on the backside of the decade and closer to the big 60 than at 50. But I am generally happier than I was in my 40s or 30s. I don't remember my twenties - but evidence suggests I worked too much and played too little. 

Since crossing the mid-century mark, my priorities have shifted. I care less about others' opinions and more about my own. I'm more comfortable in my skin than ever before. My focus has shifted from career to family. The start of this journey is a blur, but I can see the end approaching.

 Teaching music is harder now than thirty years ago but feels easier. 

It's not easier because there is less to do - just fewer people to please. To be clear - not fewer people who want to be pleased - just fewer people I am concerned with pleasing.

Apparently, that's the key.

 In a new book, The Happiness Curve: Why Life Gets Better After 50, author Jonathan Rauch explains the gloom and doom associated with your 30's & 40's and rebounds in your 50's, 60's, and even into your 80's.

He states that the source of early life discontent is "A self-eating spiral of discontent," he says. "It's not because there's something wrong with your life, or your job, or your mind, the problem is in our mental health. It's not about the changes in your life, it's how you feel about the changes."

He states that in our 30s and 40s, we constantly pursue achievement - never being satisfied and always looking for the next accomplishment, task, or promotion - creating an ever-evolving state of angst and discontent.

"We seem to be wired to seek maximum status when we are young – the ambition to be on top of the world, to have a big job, the perfect relationship, and a job making lots of money. Or some form of greatness."

"As we get into our 30s and 40s, we've achieved most of those things, but we're not wired to sit back and enjoy our status. The same ambition that made us status hungry makes us hungry for more status. We're on the hedonic treadmill. We don't feel the satisfaction we expected, so we think there's something wrong with our lives."

According to Raush, "Research shows that as we age (late 40's/early 50's) people feel less stress and regret, dwell less on negative information, and are better able to regulate their emotions because status and competition become less important."

I can see myself in all of this. My 30s and 40s were a time of incredible growth and development at work and home. I pushed myself harder and longer than what was likely healthy or productive. But to be fair, that angst and drive produced meaningful work and accomplish things I likely would not have achieved without it. It was a time of intense personal growth and filled with challenges and opportunities. 

It was busy. It was chaotic. It was exciting. It was productive. I was challenged and pushed, and I grew in unimaginable ways to my younger self. I would not change any of it; without it, I would not be where I am today.

But was it filled with joy? It's likely not as much as it should have been.

I loved my job and my students. I loved this crazy profession. But I still cared what people think. And according to Raush, that is the key to happiness.

Few people are "judged" to the level of a music teacher. We live under a microscope in a way few educators or people can fully understand. Our students, parents, admin, and audience members judge us. To add insult to injury, 3-10 times a year, we pay professional music educators to adjudicate, document, and share our every mistake. This can be many things, but rarely is it joyful because we care what those people think for personal and professional reasons. 

So, as we approach Teacher Appreciation Week, can I ask you worry less about what others think of you, unless it's me. Then you should care alot...

 

Cause I think you are AMAZING! Simply AMAZING!

 

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a game of hide-and-seek to play with my coffee cup and readers, except I never get to hide - it's always seek for me.

Have a great week!

 

Scott

 

You As the CEO- Chief Education Officer

As I wander through Costco, buy groceries at my local food mart, and board a plane headed for unknown places, a recurring thought crosses my mind—could I run this place? Do I have what it takes to be the CEO of a multi-national company? Would this organization be better served with me at the helm?

Really, I do this ALL of the time.

 As I meander from aisle to aisle (I think I can run a billion-dollar company but can't develop a grocery store plan), my mind wanders through supply chains, logistics, marketing, efficiencies, HR, and every other aspect of the business. Strange, I know, but it's better than trying to figure out why the hotdog buns come in different sizes and quantities than the hot dogs that sit in them.

What's even more bizarre is that it doesn't matter what the business is or if I have any experience in that space and place; I am continually enamored with the same question: Do I have what it takes to run it?

Do you ever have that same thought? 

Have you ever wondered if you were meant for something bigger? Have you ever looked at a Fortune 500 company and thought, "Could I run that?" Have you ever pictured yourself in a high-powered C-Suite office with a dedicated assistant and a generous expense account? 

At first pass, you might think, "Nah, I don't have the experience or training to run a conglomerate." But you are wrong! You are more capable than you realize.

At first pass, you might think, "Nah, I don't have the experience or training to run a conglomerate." But you are wrong! You are more capable than you realize.

 A recent Harvard Business Review article analyzed successful CEOs' skill sets and abilities and identified must-have characteristics for surviving and thriving in the high-stakes world of a corporate boardroom.

 To be an effective corporate leader, you must:

Make quick, confident decisions. How many decisions do you make throughout every class and day? You have no control over the inputs (kids), no time to contemplate, just the ability to make accurate real-time adjustments. The stakes may be smaller, but the pressure and tears are just as real (yours, not the kids).

Align shareholders and teams. Oh, how cute (insert sarcastic tone). Hey, Mr. Big Shot, is getting people you pay to align and agree with you hard? Try aligning parents, administrators, custodians, and drummers who think they are more intelligent than you. Music teachers don't need to remind people of their organizational chart's command and control structure; they use the "don't mess with me, I am a music teacher" look as their superpower to slay 170 teenagers.

 Adapt to changing markets. Music teachers adapt to changing bell schedules, surprise fire drills, teenage hormones, busses that don't show, and situational such as no one telling them the auditorium is now being used for standardized testing. Again. More than that, the art form of music is advancing every year in a way unlike any other curriculum.

Deliver results quarter after quarter. Quarter after quarter? Try week after week. I have a performance review every Friday night - and year after year. 

Nurture relationships. Music teachers align students, parents, counselors, school boards, and the saxophone player who insists on improvising in every key but the correct one. They do this without a shared vision or purpose - they have to create, market, and sell it - all hoping, no, praying, that people will volunteer to be a part of it.

Have a vision and bet big. Music teachers choose music without hearing the group, chart movement without seeing the kids, and take freshmen on a trip across county lines. Some might call it daring, others delusional, but we can all agree it's betting with all the chips. 

Grow future leaders. I know of no other organization that invests more time and effort into leadership development than the music teacher. We don't take people with an MBA and send them to a corporate retreat—we take pre-adults, train them on our own, and send them into the fire. It's not about future growth and development; it's about survival.

Be able to handle a crisis. While a CEO might deal with a product recall, I thought about recalling my product almost every Friday night. Crisis? Hey, Mr. CEO, let me introduce you to my color guard.

Deliver value. As I demonstrated on the Band Dad Podcast - music teachers run multi-level organizations with almost no financial support for less than $2.00 an hour. I'll compare my product and my paycheck to a CEO's any day of the week. ROI? You make seven figures and lead a company of 150 adults. I make 50K and lead 150 teens (including a couple of dozen drummers, where it's more about chaos management). 

Are you getting the drift? 

It's not IF you could be a CEO; you are already one. You are the Chief Educational Officer of your program, school, and community. 

 You chart a path, set year-end goals, train your staff, manage your facilities and inventory, engage in daily growth exercises, and are accountable for your choices and decisions. You do this without a large budget, support staff, assistant, or the luxury of time. Your role is invaluable and deserves recognition–and a related compensation package, or at least better coffee.

 The depth and breadth of your education, training, and experience make it likely that you would be a highly successful CEO. 

But could the CEO be a successful music teacher?

We all know the answer to that question.

 Have a great week, 

Scott

MYSTERIOUS–IMPORTANT & SEVERANCE!

Apple TV's psychological thriller Severance has captured audiences worldwide with its eerie aesthetic, thought-provoking themes, and unsettling workplace dystopia. 

Severance is set in a dystopian society where some company employees undergo a surgical procedure to separate their work from their personal lives. It's a disturbing yet fascinating take on work-life balance taken to the extreme. 

At Lumon, select employees undergo the severance procedure, creating two distinct versions of themselves:

  • "Innies" – Their work personas, who exist only inside the office and have no knowledge of the outside world.

  • "Outies" – Their personal lives, who do not remember what happens at work.

Amid Lumon Industries' ominous halls and the eerie detachment of its workers, an unexpected presence stands out: the marching band.

Yes, if you live under a rock or are culturally unaware (as I typically am), the marching band has become a cultural phenomenon.

In the last episode of season two, the marching band, part of Lumon's Choreography and Merriment department, symbolizes compliance and control. The band's performance serves as a demonstration of the manager Milchick'sunwavering commitment to Lumon's ideals as he leads them in the workspace to celebrate a great accomplishment. 

For music teachers, this eerie concept may be too real. While we may not have undergone brain surgery to split our identities, the struggle of separating work from home is an ongoing battle—one few of us win. 

Unlike many professions, music teachers don't just clock out at 5 p.m. and forget about their jobs. This crazy profession follows us home, quite literally, into our nights and weekends with an unending list of tasks and a mental playlist of every wrong note played in rehearsal.

In the series, employees struggle with the idea that their innie (their workplace persona) has no real agency outside of work. This isn't a sci-fi concept for a music teacher but a daily reality. Our "innie" teaches, conducts, organizes fundraisers, handles school politics, manages the inventory, polices the practice rooms, and somehow manages to teach Holst and Holsinger along the way. But their "outie" still gets late-night emails from parents, contests on weekends, and hears the distant echo of a student asking, "Wait, when's the concert again?" in the supposed solitude of their living room.

Beyond that, and perhaps more importantly, how many of us struggle to maintain the "ethos" of our job at home? How many of us feel guilty about not studying scores when we ask our students to practice? How often have you had cognitive dissonance preaching work ethic to your students when all you wanted to do was go home? How many days during the summer break did you go to work or feel guilty about not going to work when you weren't even supposed to be there?

As dark as Severence is, and it's dark, they may be on to something with this separation of work and home.

Imagine finishing a stressful day of rehearsal, stepping outside, and instantly forgetting about the trumpet section's inability to count rests. 

Sounds heavenly, right? But there's the darker side of the equation.

 With Severance, my "innie" wouldn't remember ANY of what happened at work. I wouldn't remember the joy of a well-played phrase, the excitement on a student's face when they finally played it correctly, or the emotional rush of knowing we wouldn't crash and burn at a contest (admit it, you've felt it).

Unlike the workers in Severance, music teachers can't simply separate their professional and personal lives by pushing an elevator button. Their work is deeply personal, emotionally taxing, and, in many ways, a fundamental part of our identity. When students succeed, it's a personal triumph. It feels like an existential crisis when funding is cut or programs are undervalued. The stakes are too high for a clean divide.

But just like in Severance, there's also a struggle for autonomy. Music teachers constantly navigate school bureaucracy, battling for budgets, rehearsal space, and performance opportunities. Their passion is sometimes reduced to a series of spreadsheets and justifications to administrators who see the program as a dispensable extracurricular rather than an essential part of student development.

Despite the challenges, the very thing that makes a Severance-style split desirable is also what makes being a music teacher worthwhile. We live for the moments when the "innie" and the "outie" align—the moment when the hours of work pay off in a standing ovation, when a student finally masters that impossible passage, or when a marching band takes the field under stadium lights, ready to perform for the first time.

Ultimately, we don't need to sever our brains—we need balance. We may never fully escape the demands of our chosen profession, but I wouldn't want to. Unlike the corporate drones of Lumon, I don't just work to survive; I work to inspire. Our mysterious and important work, despite its challenges, is worth remembering—inside and outside the band room. 

Have a great week! 

 

Scott

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EGGFLATION & OUR MUSICAL UNION

Remember when eggs were just a simple breakfast staple, not a status symbol for the ultra-wealthy? Thanks to inflation, eggs have gone from a grocery list afterthought to a hot commodity rivaling gold and real estate. At this rate, carrying a carton of eggs through the store requires a security escort and a Brinks delivery truck.

And what about the impending Easter holiday? Word on the street is that parents are painting potatoes instead because who can afford to waste an actual egg? I love my boys, but I am not wasting a dozen eggs to color them. The theme this year is to eat what you paint.

But if you really want to see inflation gone wrong, bypass your local farm yard and head over to Harvard Yard. 

Yep, the granddaddy of the Ivy League. And I'm not talking about tuition costs (Harvard just announced an expansion to its tuition-free program); I'm talking about grades. 

According to a recent article in the Washington Post Magazine, Twenty years ago, the mean grade-point average for Harvard University undergraduates was 3.41. Today, Harvard's average GPA has ballooned to 3.8. At America's oldest university, 79 percent of the grades are now A's and A-minuses ― a 32 percent increase from 10 years earlier.

The same article said their Ivy school rivals in New Haven, Connecticut, reported equally rampant grade inflation. In the 2022-2023 academic year, nearly 60 percent of the grades Yale University professors awarded undergraduates were an outright A, not even an A-minus. Only 20 percent of grades in the entire college were a B+ or below.

Are kids learning more? Are they studying longer? Or have we just gone soft?  What do you think?

Now, before I criticize my tweed jacket-wearing, pipe-smoking counterparts - it should be known that I gave away more than my fair share of "A's" in my day. I could spin you a tale of lack of grade book software and self-grading programs were to blame, but truth be told, I would give away just as many, if not more, A's today.  

When I was a classroom teacher, my theory was that if you were willing to come in at 6:00 a.m., of your own accord, let me work you like a dog for 90 minutes, come back during third period for another 60 minutes, and then cap it off with an afternoon sectional, evening rehearsal, or Friday night game, you earned the A. I haven't even mentioned Saturday competitions or band camp.

But twenty-plus years later, I would give A+s—not just because of inflation but because the kids have earned and deserve it.

 

At face value, 3% doesn't seem like a lot—but when compounded over twenty years, it's significant. Any music educator who taught for twenty-plus years will attest to this. There's plenty of video and recording evidence to back it up.

So, if value has risen with the "price," then it's not inflation; it's valuation. In today's music groups, students (and teachers) are achieving 109.3% more and being rewarded with a paltry (or poultry) 20% increase in remuneration (FV = PV * (1 + r)^n – I Googled it)

That's right—3% over time means we have doubled our production—but we're still paying them nothing!

 These kids need to unionize or stage a walkout. Wait a minute—we music educators need to walk out. But that would mean missing a rehearsal, which we all know will never happen.

And that's not the whole story. 

Students aren't just learning more; they are applying it to their lives daily. They can't just know the right note, rhythm, or drill spot; they demonstrate mastery daily. What other curricula increase demand, make it applicable daily (that rules out French and Geometry), and demonstrate mastery?

None.

Demand, daily application, and demonstrable mastery. Just add 3%, and rinse, and repeat next year.

 Achievement/demand/rigor - which came first? Well, that's a chicken/egg type question. And, right now, I can't afford either.

FADING EFFECT BIAS & NOT BEING AS GLORIOUS AS I REMEMBER

Reflecting on my days as a high school band director, I am filled with gratitude, love, and a deep sense of purpose. For me, and I suspect for many of you, it was more than a job; it was, and is, a fundamental part of my identity. 

I remember my students fondly and think about the short and long-term impact I might have had on them. My memories are vivid and rich; I remember it all like it was yesterday. When I think of these days,  I become nostalgic, remembering the well-oiled machine and the perfectly synchronized musical and visual unit we were. Even twenty years removed, I am bathing in the glow of excellence and achievement - feeling like I was a part of something truly special.

 At least, that's how I remember it. 

I revisited some old recordings this past weekend and faced a very different reality. The recordings painted a very different picture than I remembered and described above.

At first, I wrote off the less-than-stellar marching technique as lousy camera angles and inopportune moments. I passed off the transgressions of tone to being thirty-year-old and poorly placed shotgun mics. And yes, the drumline was a bit dirty and simplistic, but that was before Kevlar heads and modern drum tuning.

But as I continued to watch, I could no longer ignore the harsh reality that the band I was watching was not the band I remembered.

  • The spotless drill in my mind? In reality, it was solid technique with some spacing issues.

  • That Carolina Crown-esque sound I remembered? It seems to have stayed in Carolina.

  • The grandeur of the guard? Well, it lacked integration and execution.

  • And while we're at it, what happened to my hair?

This is crazy. How could my memory be so disconnected from reality? How could I be so disassociated from the truth? How did I forget everything wrong in favor of what went right? Was it early (or not so early) onset dementia? Am I in an alternate universe?

No. 

 Fading Affect Bias (FAB) is a psychological phenomenon where negative emotions associated with past events fade faster over time than positive ones. This means we often remember the positive aspects of memory more vividly than the negative ones, even if they occurred simultaneously. In their infinite wisdom, our brains have deleted the misery and left us nothing but a highlight reel of glory. And my highlight reel was exceptional - or so I thought!

Let me give you a real-life example.

This being my son's first year in high school, I wanted him to be excited about band camp. I shared my (twenty-year-old) camp memories with him as a joy-filled time of laughter, camaraderie, and heartwarming moments of self-discovery. I explained that through this life-changing experience, he would grow as a musician, bond with his section, and learn life lessons to help shape his future. 

That is exactly how I remember it twenty-one years ago. That's not exactly the way he remembers it from twenty-one weeks ago.

(Think of this like you would the Close Encounters skit on SNL with Kate McKinnon)

At the end of camp, he would have described his experience as an eight-day real-life version of Survivor, set on the face of the Sun and designed by someone who definitely trained and possibly killed Navy SEALs once upon a time. 

He complained about the long days, the stench of sunblock and body odor, and would swear the spaghetti he was served was leftover from last year.

Now, months removed, he remembers less of the struggle and more of the experiences, the friendships he created, and the rewards of performance.

This doesn't just happen to students; FAB impacts teachers as well.

Fading Affect Bias explains why we are excited for next year in May, despite swearing the previous November never to do this again. It helps us understand why we are fried at the end of the school year and excited at the start and why next year, we will once again select contest music that is too hard on a timeline that is too short!

Our brains protect us by gently sweeping the bad stuff under the rug like a responsible parent hiding the real ingredients of dinner so their kid doesn't realize they just ate spinach.

In the end, what remains is the transformative power of memories. The heat, the exhaustion, the pain—all of it fades. We remember the rush of hitting the final note in a perfect arc, the weight of the medal around our necks, and the ridiculous late-night diner stops where we laughed until we cried. We remember the people, the moments, the why—even if the how is lost to time. These memories inspire us, reminding us of the joy and camaraderie that made it all worthwhile.

Yes, we remember the good things, but those memories are born of the bad. The weight of the medal is evidence of the long days spent in the broiling hot Sun. The twelve-hour bus rides are proof that our ensembles are worthy to compete on a national scale. What makes us laugh until we cry is the ridiculousness of the activity. You can't have one without the other. It's a bittersweet balance that shapes our recollections of this life-changing activity.

We remember what went right because of what went wrong.

So you can keep your tape of my band, and I will keep my memories. I know they exist because of one another, but Fading Affect Bias teaches me that my memory of the tape will fade, but my memory of the kids and experiences will live forever.

Have a great week!

Scott

 

EARNING YOUR "DOG-TERATE" AND BEAGLE AMBIVALENCE

To those who know me well, you know I am a "dog person."

Don't get me wrong - I also love me some feline friends and other assorted creatures, but my furry four-legged tail-wagging friends have my heart. My current dog, Riley? She is the sweetest, most intelligent, and best-trained dog I have ever had.

Don't be offended. I am sure your dog is fine (in a potty-trained sort of - I can sit on command way), but Riley? She has Albert Einstein's brains, Dolly Parton's sweetness, and Ryan Reynolds's charisma. But I may be biased.

Our family has mulled over about getting her trained and certified as a service dog, which brings me to today's blog.

 I taught Riley to drive!

Today, I stumbled upon an article showcasing the exceptional abilities of dogs like Riley. These extraordinary canines can find earthquake survivors among the rubble and search for lost children in the woods - all for a treat, a squeaky toy, and some affection. They are the superheroes of the animal kingdom and should wear capes!

The article followed the dogs through their training, and it's incredible. They spend their days navigating a chaotic playground of concrete chunks and wooden pallets to find evidence of a hidden human. 

Spoiler alert: they usually ace it in seconds. Search-and-rescue is just one of many career paths for these brilliant canines. 

More importantly, these training centers don't just train dogs—they redefine the relationship between humans and their four-legged partners, creating an elite workforce that can detect everything from missing persons to deadly diseases. It's not just the WHAT; it's the HOW.

Specifically:

  • Dogs self-select their job based on their natural skill set and passions.

  • The handlers are then matched to dogs based on their shared passions and personalities.

Over time, the pair develop a deep and unique communication system. They communicate with different barks, postures, paw signals, and other behaviors, creating a fascinating and heartwarming bond. Anyone who has ever had a long, deep discussion with a dog about why they shouldn't have eaten an entire turkey off the counter or recreated the Grand Canyon in your backyard knows what I am talking about. Dogs listen, understand, feel, and communicate out of love and respect. Except for Beagles – they don't listen to anyone or anything. I know; I had one growing up.

All of this made me think about the relationship between a music teacher and their students. Odd? Perhaps. But in this profession, we have a teacher and a student. A trainer and a trainee. An adult and a teen. Just as a dog trainer guides a dog through its training, a music teacher guides a student through their musical education, helping them develop their skills and find their passion in the same way a dog trainer helps a dog find its role and passion in life.

In music education and dog training, we don't force kids into specific roles; they self-select according to their skills, interests, and passions. Just as a pup might naturally excel at tracking or herding, a student might naturally excel at playing a specific instrument or singing a particular style of music. Some students pursue leadership, while others pursue improv. Some students opt for all-region or all-state, while others pursue chamber music. Some prefer marching band; others prefer indoor winds/percussion/guard. Either way, the student self-selects their path and is matched with an instructor who shares their passions.

This is where the magic happens.

When people (and puppies) share a sense of purpose and passion, they are willing to endure hardships, sacrifice, and do big things. They aren't just performing "tricks for a treat;" but engaging in meaningful, fulfilling, and challenging work. This shared passion drives them to show up early, stay late, and work until the task is done.

 

Your goal is not necessarily teaching them to march, play, or sing, just as a trainer doesn't train a dog to smell, climb, or dig. You teach them to pursue, to grind, and not to stop until the objective or task has been met.

The reward might be a treat, a high-five, or a kind word, but they do it for the regard, respect, and approval of the person who trained them.

This is far more profound than just training—it's a sacred partnership between trainer and trainee. Trusted teammates bonded through hours of shared experiences. This relationship is unmistakable and unbreakable. A trainer knows their trainee's every habit and quirk—how they think and feel. Trainees look to their trainer for guidance, trust them implicitly, and work not just for a treat, but because they genuinely want to do well for their person.

Whether the trainee walks on two legs or four, this relationship remains the same. The trainer needs the trainee just as much as the trainee needs the trainer. It's a symbiotic relationship. 

Unless you're a Beagle. Now, who wants a treat?

Have a great week!

Scott

 

THE CRUSHING BURDEN I WILL NEVER KNOW

Speaking objectively, I am not a handsome man. 

Listen, I'm not saying I am a troll, just that At 5'6(ish), I lack the statuesque physique and imposing presence commonly associated with male beauty. You should know about some other shortcomings (insert short joke here). My jawline is as strong as my biceps, my complexion reveals my fifteen years of sun-drenched rehearsals, and my once full head of hair has given way to a grey mop, hanging on for dear life.

It's safe to say, Ryan Reynolds, I am not, much to my wife's (and my) dismay. But there is some upside to my model mediocrity.

I used to foolishly believe that whatever success I achieved in my life and work was due to hard work, diligence, perseverance, and perhaps a bit of luck. A foolish belief indeed. What do I have to thank for my successes? 

My looks. Or, more specifically, lack thereof.

A recent article in The Guardian dispels the myth of masculinity with science that verifies that good-looking guys not only don't get the girls/partners, they don't get the job either.

According to a new study from University College London's School of Management, men are more likely to be overlooked for competitive roles that rely upon individual talent – if perceived as handsome. 

The study stated, "Male superiors were reluctant to place those they consider to be more handsome at the same level as themselves. This seems obvious. Work is hard enough without Ken stopping by your cubicle every day asking where Barbie is?

The genesis of the distrust lies in jealousy. The study stated that the less dashing males perceived their more alluring counterparts as having an easier pathway to success. They were determined to right this wrong by passing over their more striking counterparts.

In other words, the world resents your perfection and makes you suffer for it.

The article made me wonder if we don't do something similar in music, specifically how we view our more successful colleagues and how they got to be so successful.

I am not a musical savant and was never confused with conductor of the President's Own, or any other professional wind band. I never aspired to be a college professor or a household name as a conductor. However, I do know what it's like to be competent, which is exhausting. So, I can't imagine the burden and pressure if you are wildly successful.

Think about it. Have you ever thought the following when watching another group perform at a high level?

  • I could do that if I had their drill writer and arranger.

  • If I had their budget, I would have placed first, too!

  • It's all because their kids take private lessons.

  • They won't be good next year; they're a one-hit wonder.

I have. And frankly, I have heard colleagues say similar things about me.

It's not that we're (myself included) bad people. We're putting everything into our jobs and still not achieving the success we want for ourselves and our students. We're coming up short, and it's easier to believe that it is something that they have, instead of something we could do.

Success is a hungry monster that demands to be fed. You're never allowed an off year. Meanwhile, if the football team loses eight games in a row, it's called a "rebuilding year," and everyone nods sympathetically. If your clarinets flub Molly on the Shore (and who wouldn't), colleagues start eyeing my job like vultures circling a musical carcass.

Specifically, as a music teacher, the second your program succeeds, some assume you're coasting on a wave of sheer, effortless talent. They think your students come to you as savants, your boosters bankroll anything you need, and you have a former band director as your admin.

It's not you - you're just lucky. As if luck and not the soul-crushing early morning rehearsals, the endless hours of score study, or the fact that you have begged clarinet players not to treat their reeds like the fine wood and swap them out once in a while. Nope, just luck.

Being a band director is like being a model - we are judged on what people see. Every concert, every halftime show, every competition—people see the polished final product, but no one sees the blood, sweat, and tears behind it. Like a male model struggling to be taken seriously intellectually, a successful band director sometimes struggles to convince the world (and their peers) that this isn't as easy as it looks.

But, I am speculating, as I am neither uber successful nor uber handsome. I am an average band director, doing my best,  running on caffeine and desperation.

So yes, I feel for my beautiful brethren who suffer the unbearable burden of being too handsome for this world, just as I feel for those music teachers who are too successful for the profession because I know their struggles are real. Their pain is valid, and they have earned their success the old-fashioned way with talent, grit, and hard work.

Now, if I could figure out how they get their marching bands to triple-tongue? Must be the articulation fairy? It can't possibly be me.

Have a great week.

Scott

p.s. If you haven't checked out our new podcast and shared it with your parents, you should! The feedback has been off the chart. In just 24 hours it's been downloaded in over 100 cities and three countries.