Happy Birthday David Amram
This week, David Amram celebrated his 95th birthday. Woo hoo! Way to go, David!
Wait, you don't know who he is?
Don't feel bad. When I read about his milestone, I didn't either.
But it turns out we should. Well, at least I think I should.
David Amram is among the most prolific composers in American history.
More than a composer, this incognito nonagenarian is considered the "Renaissance Man of American Music." His career spans jazz, classical, folk, theater, film, and collaborations with poets and writers. He has penned more than 100 orchestral, choral, and chamber works—including two operas—scored films, orchestrated Broadway productions, and has collaborated with the likes of Nadia Boulanger, Aaron Copland, Jack Kerouac, Thelonious Monk, Duke Ellington, and Leonard Bernstein!
I had no idea who he was.
Then again, the only thing I remember from music history is the name Erdmann Neumeister - a 15th-century hymnist. I don't know anything he wrote, but when I first heard his name, I swore if I ever owned a Basset Hound, I would name him after good ole Erdmann.
Anyway, back to David Amram.
As he celebrates nearly a century on this planet, he's still writing, arranging, and rocking his French Horn every week in a jazz combo. I'm about half his age, and I would struggle to remember the fingerings on the Bb side of the horn - much less improv. He IS a dude!
As I read up on this musical unicorn, it got me thinking... Who was THE MAN, behind "THE MAN." In other words, who was his high school band or orchestra teacher?
I did a deep dive on it – and now have 17 tabs open on my browser to prove it. Despite my exhaustive research (typing), I (Google) can't even find out where he went to high school, much less who his teacher was.
He had to have had one, right?
Someone had to have been there to teach him his first notes. Someone must have helped him sculpt his first works. I'm sure someone helped to develop and foster his love of all things musical.
But who was it?
On a related tangent...
A former student texted me today. He does that from time to time. Like Amram, he was a really talented kid when he was my student. He can still play all the woodwind instruments and dances better than he plays. He has even been a backup dancer on television. Anyway, he has started to experiment with songwriting and wanted my feedback. I am not a composer by any stretch, but I offered suggestions and tips to help him present his ideas with better clarity.
Oh, he graduated almost 30 years ago.
And he is still reaching out to me as his teacher.
So, back to the original question. Who taught David Amram? More importantly, who is teaching the next David Amram?
You may not be mentoring the next 95-year-old maestro (though you can't rule it out), but you are mentoring someone whose 25th-year reunion will include memories of their high school band or ensemble season under your guidance. You may be the teacher they remember when they pick up an instrument again in their 40s, or when they stand on a stage to lead. You might be the person they call thirty years later when they need feedback on a composition they are working on, or just need advice.
You may not get credit for your influence, but it still serves as validation of your impact. Music is about making connections, and while high school has an expiration date, the relationships built while making that music don't.
This holiday, as you prep for your winter concert, check in your marching band inventory, and begin to enter your semester grades—pause for a moment and think: What am I really teaching and who am I teaching it to? What am I planting, and how long will it take to grow?
That's your true impact. Your students may forget how to play a chromatic scale or the school fight song, but they won't forget how you made them feel, how you pushed them to rise, and how you gave them a safe space to create music and express themselves.
In the spirit of the season and in honor of the life and work of David Amram, remember that the kids you teach today will carry your tune into tomorrow, and maybe even into 95 years of making music themselves.
That's not just your job—it's your gift. One that keeps on giving.
I wish you merry music-making and even more merry memory-making.
Scott