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Leadership, Laugher & Loud Opinions on Music Education
NERD IS THE WORD
For nearly three-quarters of a century, the word "nerd" has been part of our social lexicon and teen vernacular. Depending on your age, hearing the word may conjure up a vision of Fonzie talking to Ralph and Potsie, Steve Urkel saying "Did I do that?!", or Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory. Each generation has had its "nerd" mascot – someone who embodies what others think to be uncool.
An article on NPR.org states that "The exact time and place of the word "nerd"origin remain somewhat murky, but the leading theory is that it likely first appeared in print in a 1950 children's book written by Dr. Seuss.
In his book, Seuss's young narrator says:
And then, just to show them, I'll sail to Ka-Troo
And bring back an It-kutch, a Preep, and a Proo,
A Nerkle, a Nerd, and a Seersucker, too!
Nerd? Nerkle? Seersucker? I don't know what those are, but they are being collected for a zoo, so it paints a picture more of a circus oddity than an animal to be admired.
As a high school music devotee during the 1980s, I often heard the phrase "band nerd," and while the small-minded word slingers who used it intended for it to be embarrassing, I wore it as a badge of honor. However, my feelings are unlikely to be shared by many. Regardless of your generation or place of origin, the word "nerd" has always carried a pejorative undertone, implying a socially awkward teenager fixated on an unpopular activity.
Until now.
Merriam-Webster defines a nerd as "a person devoted to intellectual, academic, or technical pursuits or interests" or "a person preoccupied with or devoted to a particular activity or field of interest."
However, the more modern Wikipedia definition states: Originally viewed as derogatory, the term "nerd" was a negative stereotype; however, as with other pejoratives, it has been reclaimed and redefined (by some) as a term of pride and group identity.
Intellectual, academic, devoted, and technically skilled. Sounds about right. That's a music kid. And that's a kid you can be proud of.
Our music students are dedicated individuals passionately pursuing technical, intellectual, emotional, and musical achievement at extraordinary levels. Their accolades and accomplishments, both within and outside the music building, are not going unnoticed. People outside of our activity, including their peers, are beginning to recognize and appreciate their efforts.
A 2025 New Yorker article highlighted how competitive high school bands are now regarded as both elite athletic and artistic endeavors—with choreography, physical intensity, and team culture that mirrors that of sports. Students described it as "one huge community" rather than something niche or nerdy.
Indeed, it's a community—a progressive, inclusive, and forward-thinking community that is redefining the perception of 'nerd' culture.
What changed that caused the perception to shift from pariah to popular? Let's start with education and tolerance. Unlike some of their older counterparts, today's teens are more educated on issues of tolerance and acceptance.
Second is the rise in achievement. Success begets respect. When students commit to high levels of performance, regardless of whether it is in academics, athletics, or the arts, they are appreciated and respected for it.
Another component is the rise of TikTok and other social media platforms. These venues enable students to connect with and be exposed to similar peer groups throughout our nation and the world. They see like-minded peers, are emboldened by the sheer size of the activity, and are inspired to a higher level of achievement and acceptance.
Being in music isn't just cool—it comes with academic clout, social recognition, cultural pride, and visible presence. It's no longer the quirky side activity—it's mainstream, respected, and thriving. More than anything, it no longer requires the approval of others as it has elevated itself to be respected as something difficult, laudable, and worthy of respect. Dr. Seuss reminds us that it's cool to be hard-working, dedicated, committed, and passionate about something that'simportant to you.
"Today you are you! That is truer than true! There is no one alive who is you-er than you!"
So, it's cool to be YOU!
Have a great week.
Your fellow and cool band nerd,
Scott
The Merchant of Death is Dead! Or, Is He?
In 1888, a local French newspaper changed the course of history for centuries to come.
Following the death of Ludvig Nobel, a small-town French newspaper mistakenly published an obituary for the still living brother, Alfred Nobel. The obituary was titled The Merchant of Death is Dead. Still reeling from his brother's passing, Alfred had to endure the additional agony and embarrassment of seeing his own passing through the lens of his community, as a greedy, immoral, and destructive man driven solely by profit.
His response was nothing short of transformative.
Nobel decided to make a change – establishing The Nobel Prize, an award celebrating significant advances in physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine, literature, and peace.
In The Power of Regret, Daniel Pink (I love me some Daniel Pink) tells his story — and explains the power of remorse and how you, too, can use it to turn your life around.
As a part of his writing, Pink compiled a list of over 126,000 regrets from people worldwide. He found that, despite location, time, and content, almost all regrets could be broken up into four main categories.
Foundational Regrets - Missed opportunities earlier in life, usually brought on by a lack of work or other poor decision-making, such as: I should have saved. I should have studied harder.
Boldness Regrets - Not taking the chance, as in: I should have started a business. I should have asked that person out.
Moral Regrets - Poor/selfish decisions like: I shouldn't have lied. I shouldn't have cheated on that test.
Connection Regrets - Failure to reach out, for example: I should have told Mom I loved her. I should have been kinder to my partner/spouse.
What is we looked at the same four categories through the lens of a music educator?
Foundational Regrets - I should have studied harder and practiced more. My pedagogy or instructional skills are lacking because of decisions I made at 19.
Boldness Regrets - I should have applied for that job, or performed at that conference, but I let self-doubt and fear keep me from taking a risk.
Moral Regrets - I shouldn't have lied to my students or administrator. I tell my students to own their mistakes, and I didn't own mine.
Connection Regrets - I let the performance demands get in the way of the people demands. I missed opportunities to make a meaningful impact on my students because I was focused on a concert or contest.
Pink goes on to analyze the two different responses people typically have when dealing with regret - it either paralyzes you, or it spurs you into action. He further breaks them down into:
Unproductive regret, one that paralyzes us. All we do is wallow in our misery and imagine how things could have been different.
Productive regret, one that catalyzes us. This happens when we accept our regret, reflect on it, and use it as a springboard for change.
No doubt that as you read this, you are inventorying your own regrets and trying to decide if they are productive or unproductive. I imagine, if you are like most people, there are some of both – times in which you seized the opportunity to grow, and other times when you shrugged it off, and buried it deep inside.
If I am being honest, in my past, I see it as a mixed bag. I can clearly identify where I succeeded and failed in all areas.
Foundation – Yes, I should have studied harder and practiced more; however, I also overcame many obstacles and was one of the few who persevered to graduate.
Boldness – I am nothing if not bold, and can point to many a chance I took. I can also point to some risks that were foolish and unproductive.
Moral - Along the way, there were shortcuts taken - and a lack of judgment shown, but I grew and learned and stand taller today because of them.
Connections – I would like to believe that my impact on my students was significant, but I know that there were some that I missed.
Regret is a universal emotion. It's a part of the human experience, and it's something we all grapple with. The depth and breadth of it vary from person to person, but you can't do this job without regret. There are too many decisions to be made, situations to be addressed, and people to impact not to have both regrets and reasons to celebrate.
Regardless of whether they are regrets or reasons, it's how we use them as fuel and rationale for better decision-making moving forward.
Alfred Nobel proved that regret can be a powerful motivator for change. His legacy will forever be cemented in the things he did right more than the things he did wrong.
I am not perfect. None of us is. Like you, I have plenty of regrets, but after much analysis, I refuse to be stuck with paralysis. So, I will use it as fuel to be better.
BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE! (See what I did there?)
Hope you enjoyed this. Have a great week.
Scott
WELCOME CLASS OF 2032
This past week, I had the opportunity to do something that I had never done in my thirty-two years as a music educator.
Conduct at Carnegie Hall? Nope, I've never even been inside it, much less stood on the stage. Seriously, they're always closed when I am in town. Coincidence? Maybe not.
Win a Grammy for Music Education? Not even close. But, if they had a category for best Band Camp Pep Talk, Dr. Tim would be the Taylor Swift of the Grammys, and I would be Kenny G (he actually won one in 1994!).
Work with John Williams? Fell short again. I did meet him once, and according to the subsequent restraining order, once was more than enough. Apparently, camping in his front yard qualifies as stalking."
What did I do that was so monumental that I had to write about it?
I handed a bunch of kids their very first instrument.
It's unbelievable to think that in my thirty-two years in music education, I've never actually handed a child an instrument for the very first time.
No real nights. No petting zoos. No first day of elementary school. Nada, zip, squat, zilch. The joy of handing a young person their very first instrument had eluded me.
Mind you, I've taught thousands of kids, done 2,000+ workshops, conducted more concerts than I can count, but that moment—that very first handoff—had somehow escaped me.
Until now. And let me tell you, I wasn't prepared.
First of all, I was asked to demo instruments. What?
Sure, I took woodwind pedagogy (a bazillion years ago), but playing clarinet in public? Hard pass. The flute? Well, just about anybody can make a beginning sound. Thank goodness the saxophone practically demoes itself; otherwise, there would be a LOT of percussion and brass-only beginning bands in Chandler, Arizona right now
So, there I was, squeaking my way through instrument demonstrations when bad turned to worse. Someone asked, Can you measure someone for a viola?(Spoiler: I cannot - can't we just use t-shirt size and go with that?) It turns out, my solution of small, medium, and large was too obvious. Violas come in incremental inches. And riddle me this, Batman: Why do violins come in quarter sizes but violas are measured in inches? This makes no sense.
The moments kept coming:
One kid put the flute together backwards and told me I was the one who did it. (He may have been right.)
A future trumpet parent asked me, Is it supposed to sound like this? To which I responded: Only for four or five years.
A student picked up a trombone, extended the slide, and immediately smacked the kid in front of him: first notes and first lawsuit. (I teared up just a bit.)
Even amidst the chaos, awkwardness, squeaks, and squeals, it was a joy-filled evening.
As the kids played all of the instruments, I would show parents pictures of my boys making their first snds and say, Make sure you record this, you're going to want to remember this moment when they are older.
They would all tear up and immediately reach for their phones
Handing a child an instrument for the first time is like giving them a key—not just to music, but to a whole new world. If only they or their parents knew
I have written about firsts in past newsletters. First time on a school bus, under the lights, marching in a section, performing on a stage, etc. But those were about firsts associated with being in high school.
They were "firsts," but they weren't "FIRSTS." First time assembling an instrument, making a sound, and watching your friends and classmates do the same thing. THOSE ARE TRUE FIRSTS.
The older I get, the more I realize that firsts are sacred. Firsts are what anchor our memories and shape our stories. Think about it:
Your first car ('76 Chevy Vega).
Your first concert (Rush).
Your first crush (Charlotte Matthews).
Your first time conducting a group (middle school second band).
These kids? The first time they hold an instrument isn't just a fun moment—it's a life-changing event. The very first time they hear themselves make a sound—as bad as it is—they smile from ear to ear. That's the beauty of it. We're not just handing out instruments—we're handing out better futures.
I'll tell you what—after 32 years, even I felt the weight of that first. I thought I'd seen it all (and heard it all), but I was wrong - because I had never been there for the first.
So let me officially say it: Welcome to the Music Class of 2032! I'm so excited you're here. Congratulations on your first and thank you for being a part of my first.
After 32 years, your first reminds me why I did this in the first place.
Have a great week,
Scott
WHOLLY GUACAMOLLY & STEM RUNNING OUT OF STEAM
Do you remember your first day as a teacher?
Mine was August 13, 1990; thirty-five years ago today. The location? East Los Angeles. I was excited to be shaping musical phrases and young minds, finally! If I'm being honest, I wasn't particularly great at either.
My contract was for the princely sum of $22,800. Money was TIGHT, as my first paycheck did not arrive until the first week in October, a full seven weeks into the school year, so much for a signing bonus.
For the math nerds (or those without a calculator handy), that broke down to $2,533.33 per month (nine months), $125 a day (182 contract days), and a staggering sum of $20.83 per hour, or exactly what minimum wage in California is today.
And that was before taxes, Social Security, and benefits.
Like you, I didn't become a teacher for the paycheck, and I knew what I signed up for. I understood I would never experience the riches of being a lawyer, the prestige of being a doctor, or the security of being a coder.
Or would I?
For the past twenty(ish) years, policy makers have been singing the praises of STEM and the future it could promise for our young people. A world so resplendent and plentiful that graduates could expect six-figure salaries, lavish lunch rooms, and kombucha on tap. At the same time, teachers worked two jobs, ate bad cafeteria food, and battled the ancient school copier.
But not any more.
In an ironic twist of "be careful what you wish for," the same coders who built today's AI (artificial intelligence) tools are now watching those tools do their jobs—faster, cheaper, and without the benefits of caffeine, sleep, or a well-appointed break room.
In other words, coders coded themselves out of existence.
In an article in yesterday's New York Times,
Goodbye, $165,000 Tech Jobs. Student Coders Seek Work at Chipotle stated that "Among college graduates ages 22 to 27, computer science and computer engineering majors are facing some of the highest unemployment rates, 6.1 percent and 7.5 percent, respectively. That is more than double the unemployment rate of art history graduates, which is just 3 percent."
You read that right, ART HISTORY!
The article quoted one such graduate, Manasi Mishra, as saying, "I just graduated with a computer science degree, have applied to several thousand jobs, and the only company that has called me for an interview is Chipotle."
Wholly guacamole!
The irony of the situation is hard to miss, and frankly, makes me smirk a wee bit. They automated the very skill set that made them valuable. Now, the same résumés that once guaranteed a seat at the table are being scanned and rejected by the very algorithms they helped design. They succeeded a little toowell—leaving themselves on the wrong side of their own innovation.
Teachers, you ask? The U.S. Department of Labor reports an unemployment rate of 2.8%, which is less than half the unemployment rate for computer coders. Music teachers fall even lower with a reported rate of below 2.1%.
STEM is running out of STEAM, while music teachers live the DREAM!
Okay, maybe "dream" is a stretch, but I needed a rhyme.
Our days are messy and chaotic as we work through and with the hot mess that is un-matured humanity. It's also filled with magical moments, ones that can't be found in zeros and ones, and require us to be able to log in with kids who don't have two-factor identification or a manual. Coders will never see a "light bulb" go on, a student grow, or a group of individuals transform into an ensemble.
Their jobs are binary. There is an absolute right and wrong, and every problem they face has a set of definable parameters and a logical solution.
Our jobs have no such luxury. Music teaching is gloriously and stubbornly imperfect. It's messy and rarely has absolutes other than to be on time and no food in the rehearsal hall. Our job doesn't revolve around binary code, but around making connections, building confidence, and mentoring young people. You're not just teaching notes on a page—you're teaching persistence, leadership, and every other essential skill needed to navigate a successful life.
Unlike coders, we can't be replaced by AI.
AI can't spot the terrified student in the back row, AI can't encourage them to play that first note or make their first sound. It can't know when to push kids harder or when to ease off. It can't teach a saxophonist how to swing like Ellington or explain the beauty of Yo-Yo Ma to a budding cellist. More than anything, it can't mentor, model, or teach a child the value of hard work, discipline, and commitment. Because AI isn't human, it requires a human to teach someone else to be human.
While AI is busy debugging code, you're helping kids debug life. And that takes REAL intelligence and not an ARTIFICIAL one.
Enjoy that thought during your first week back.
Scott
SCHOOL MUSIC AND THE "S-CURVE" OF INNOVATION - PART 2
Hey friend,
Last week, I shared some thoughts around the "S-Curve" of innovation. It was a thought piece on the trajectory of our profession and where we would be in fifteen years. I ended the blog post with this:
While the activity may be approaching the top of the S–Curve, that doesn't 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 different parts of your program and the students participating might be in various places on the curve.
If you zoom out a bit, there's another S-Curve quietly playing out behind every rehearsal, sectional, and festival performance: your career as a music educator.
It would be hard to deny that I am at the top of the curve, not because I have mastered any particular skills or techniques, but because I am thirty-four years into this consonant curve, and I would be foolish to think I have another thirty-five left in me. I have many lessons to learn and students to teach, but as the S-Curve teaches us, the growth trajectory is elongated, and the lessons learned, while important, produce less yield than they would have three decades ago.
No one tells you this in college, but your first few years of teaching are mostly powered by caffeine, survival instinct, and enthusiasm. You don't know what you don't know. The climb begins immediately every day, and rehearsals are filled with opportunities to fail, learn, and grow. You find your rhythm. You wish you had paid more attention in your methods class as you attempt to remember how to re-string a French horn or replace a bridge on a violin.
But you survive. A freshman calls you their favorite teacher, and suddenly, all of the work you did to get your degree and get a job is affirmed. You start to build. Programs grow. Students return year after year, and you develop a quiet confidence about who they are and your role in their lives.
In years five through 10, you start to soar. Things that were once difficult, if not unthinkable, are now within your grasp and seem attainable. You build traditions. You see the fruits of your labor in the eyes of students who used to squeak out "Hot Cross Buns" and are now auditioning for all-region ensembles or teaching their own sectionals. You teach siblings. You see your first student become a music major. You begin to realize, this isn't just a job—it's legacy work.
Then, just as you're cruising up the S-Curve, real life taps you on the shoulder. Budget cuts. Burnout. Administrative changes. A global pandemic. (Too soon?) Suddenly, the upward momentum feels fragile. Your best-laid plans get rerouted by things beyond your control. This is the part of the curve no brochure warns you about—the curve within the curve. The exhaustion is real, as is the questioning whether this truly is meant to be your life's work.
But just like in your early years, something small keeps you going. A handwritten thank-you card. A senior who says you made them feel seen. A quiet kid who finally sings out. These moments remind you that while the curve may not always rise as fast as you'd like, you are moving. You are making an impact. You are changing lives.
The S-Curve teaches us that what they don't tell you about this profession: growth is rarely linear, but always meaningful. Some years, your ensembles win everything. Other years, you feel like you're teaching in a wind tunnel filled with angry parents and administrators who "just don't get it!"
Both kinds of years matter. Both are building something. Both are sacred. Both are a part of your journey.
Remember, as you move through your S-Curve, your students are riding their S-Curves too. You get to be there at the bottom—when they can't clap in time—and you're there at the top—when they lead their own rehearsals. You see the whole arc. You don't just teach music; you witness transformation.
As you grow, so does your empathy. You understand that your administrators are on their own S-curves. So are your colleagues, your boosters, even your own family. Suddenly, the dip in your day isn't a failure—it's just part of the process. The S-Curve becomes less of a performance chart and more of a life companion.
Which brings us to this week; it's graduation season. Across the country, students are putting on their caps and gowns and walking across stages. Many will shake your hand on their way to a diploma, not realizing they're standing on top of their musical S-Curve. They've made it—made region band, led warm-ups, performed their final concert. It feels like an ending.
But here's the truth: it's not an ending. It's the start of a brand-new S-Curve. One called adulthood. One called life.
While they may be at the end of their musical journey, they're standing at the very bottom of something much bigger—and they are about to ascend. Not just because of their GPA or test scores, but because of you.
You were there for them as they ascended. You taught, guided, and inspired them to continue climbing. You gave them discipline, confidence, resilience, and joy. Through your development, you modeled what growth looks like, how to lead with grace, and how to keep going even when the piece falls apart at measure 42. You didn't just teach them to play music—you taught them how to be.
So wherever you are on your S-Curve—as a brand-new teacher fighting the chaos or a seasoned veteran mentoring the next generation—know this: you are the reason that curve bends upward. As your students walk across that stage, diploma in hand, know that while your time with them may be ending, your impact is just beginning.
Your legacy is not what you taught them, but that YOU taught them.
Have a great week.
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