MY SON, MY JOB, AND ME IMHO!

 This weekend, I shared with my son that my only regret about leaving the classroom was that I could not teach my own children. It was a sweet sentiment and poignant moment that I thought would demonstrate my love for him in a meaningful and impactful way. You almost feel his warm embrace when he responds with...

 "Dad, you would be a horrible teacher."

Shocked and thinking he was joking, I laughed and triumphantly said, "I was an excellent teacher and would be even better today!"

"You would be a train wreck. You wouldn't last a week," he responded.

My wife sat silently, with a smirk, foreshadowing the car crash that was happening right in front of her. 

"I travel the country and stand in front of teenagers all of the time teaching! I MAKE MY LIVING, THE ONE THAT PUTS FOOD IN YOUR MOUTH, TEACHING," I extorted triumphantly!

 “Yeah, and then you get on a plane! Way to go, Scott Lang Leadership!"

(Yes, he calls me by my business name when he wants to goad me. It always works.)

For the next twenty minutes, he explained in no uncertain terms that I was old, out of touch, and unable to connect with and understand today's teens. He informed me that the world is different than when I was a teacher, and kids are different now.

This is when my wife jumped in. 

FINALLY! I was about to feel the love and support that comes with loving someone for twenty-three years, and my boy was gonna get an earful of Dad's awesomeness.

"Sweetie," she said in a soft and loving tone (you know, the kind of voice that is about to tell you that someone died or that the SUITS reboot doesn't have any of the same characters), "We love you & think you are amazing at a lot of things... But I think your son is right. It would NOT be good for you to return to the classroom, and you should DEFINITELY NOT be your son's band director."

What? My world was rocked. How could she take his side? Sure, she created him, and he gets better Valentine's gifts than me, but she knew me as a teacher and how awesome sauce I was. And in case she forgets, I remind her all the time.

I'm a modern and up-to-date type of guy. Right now, I am wearing a half zip with a French tuck and cool shoes (all of which my wife picked out). I would say I'm "hip," but that would prove the exact opposite.

 I am good with technology and can communicate via almost any electronic device. But, if you ever get a text from me with "LOLZ," "OMG," or "IMHO," it doesn't mean I've caught up with the younger generation. It means I'm dead. Dead, and someone has stolen my phone. Worse than that, they're using terrible grammar. Don't let them near my epic—and frankly, a bit overstated—mausoleum. 

 Because of this attitude, my family considers me out of touch, a relic, and unfit to occupy a podium or a music classroom. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't care if I taught English or something. I wonder if they will put me out to pasture or just put me down? Suddenly, I am Old Yeller?

"Dad," he said, "You've got to evolve. Kids today are different and well... you're kind of stuck in your ways."

Evolve? I've seen musical trends come and go, and through it all, I've stuck to one guiding principle: music is music, kids are kids, and teaching is teaching.

I tried to plead my case, but my wife and son remained steadfast and immovable. Finally, to shut me up, my son said in a condescending and dismissive voice, "Okay, Dad, sure."

 That kid is a piece of work.

We will have to agree to disagree on this and many other subjects. I would be an excellent music teacher today. Better than before. I am more patient now than I was twenty years ago. I have a better grasp of pedagogy and rehearsal techniques. I have been witness to exceptional teachers and life-changing concerts. And yes, having children in music has given me a sense of perspective and purpose over time.

But also...

Because teaching music is timeless, it's not like other curricula. We play music exactly as it was written long ago. We rehearse in chairs and stands as our forefathers did and play on instruments invented in another century. We dress in uniforms and march on a field the way the Minutemen did during the Revolutionary War. And, just yesterday, the President's Own performed wind band music for the Inauguration of our 47th President, just as they did for President John Adams.

 More than anything, despite ever-changing trends and technology, I believe with every fiber of my being that kids will always be kids, teachers will always be teachers, and music will always be music. 

Trends and tech may change, and slang may evolve, but the power of connecting with kids through music remains eternal. So, as long as I am breathing, I can teach.

IMHO!

 Have a great week!

 

Scott

 

The Hallmark Channel, Music, & Our Escape from Chaos

To avoid the pitfalls and landmines associated with politics and modern events, more and more social gatherings circle back to a safer and more entertaining topic: TV. "What are you watching?" has become the modern-day equivalent to "How was your day?"  Think back to your conversation with a neighbor; it likely included one or all of the following refrains:

You've gotta check this out!
Have you seen that show? 
Are you caught up on the season?
Can I speak freely? 

I am not a heavy TV watcher - but Suits, Ozark, and Ted Lasso changed everything. It has become my nightly ritual. As the house goes quiet, I seek something out that allows my mind and body to quiet itself and rest. Or, as my wife says - "Leave Dad alone - he is done with us for today."

 

And I'm not alone in wanting to be alone.

Even my more thoughtful, literary, intellectual-type neighbors can't hide their enthusiasm for the latest season of whatever. It makes sense. The world seems bleak, so we're looking for an escape. Maybe you're a fan of The Bear or Succession. Maybe action-adventure is more your jam, and you are watching Reacher or The Night Agent. Or, perhaps you are part of one of the fastest-growing audiences in America - people watching the Hallmark Channel. 

Yes, the Hallmark Channel!

According to a recent article in the New York Times, more people are watching the Hallmark channel than CNN. The world needs love, and Hallmark is cashing in. 

 Yes, the network of snow-kissed towns, impossibly attractive neighbors, and overworked city executives rediscovering the true meaning of life in flannel. As the world fills with more and more anger, Hallmark has become our metaphorical fireplace and cup of warm cocoa. 

But why?

Let's be honest—Hallmark's is not known for its unexpected plot twists. No matter the unpredictability of real life, you can count on Hallmark to deliver a plot like this: Person A hates Christmas. Person B loves Christmas. They are forced to interact. A minor misunderstanding occurs. Cue snow, a perfectly timed kiss, and a heartfelt monologue about "what really matters." Roll credits. 

It's the cinematic equivalent of comfort food: no surprises, no stress, just warmth.

Meanwhile, in the real world, everything feels like the opposite of a Hallmark movie. The weather is crazy, California is on fire, and most of us don't have an attractive innkeeper offering life advice over gingerbread cookies. This stark contrast between reality and Hallmark's fantasy explains its meteoric rise in popularity. We crave simplicity, predictability, and a heaping serving of warmth.

As music educators, we have a unique opportunity to provide this comfort through our repertoire choices. Just as a Hallmark movie creates a sense of warmth and predictability, the music we select can create a similar sensation in our classrooms. Could simplicity, predictability, and warmth act as a gravitational pull for our students? Like a Hallmark movie, the music plays an oversized role in creating this sensation.

While we live in an age of music innovation - dissonance and melodic complexities are embraced as we explore new and ever-evolving sounds and compositional styles. It is impressive - but students also need the classics—pieces with big melodies, predictable structures, and just enough drama to make the melodic resolution enjoyable.

Think about it. You hand a group of teenagers a piece like Holst's First Suite in E-flat or Dvořák's New World Symphony, and they're all in. Why? Much like a Hallmark movie, these pieces follow a formula that works. They're not trying to reinvent the wheel; they're leaning into what people love: lush harmonies, sweeping melodies, and a sense of resolution that leaves you feeling better than when you started.

Meanwhile, as directors, we try to introduce them to cutting-edge repertoire with complex melodies and abundant dissonance—the musical equivalent of a gritty indie film—and they're like, "Cool… but can we play Clair de Lune or Variations on Korean Folk Song instead?" 

I celebrate innovation, but in today's environment, kids may also need music that is timeless, comforting, and makes them feel good.

The parallels between Hallmark viewers and music students don't stop there. Consider the themes. Hallmark movies celebrate community, tradition, and connection—all things that resonate deeply with students who play in ensembles. When you're part of a band or orchestra, you're part of something bigger than yourself, working together toward a common goal. It's like the final scene in every Hallmark movie, where everyone gathers, conflict-free, celebrating one another as the beautiful music plays.

It's true that some may ridicule Hallmark movies as simple, predictable, and overly sentimental. However, many of these same critics would find beauty and value in Grainger's Irish Tune from County Derry. It's simple, predictable, and sentimental, yes, but it's also deeply moving and evocative. 

We could all use a little more of that in our lives, both in our movies and in our music.

Have a great week!

Scott

 

 

ALL THINGS OLD ARE NEW AGAIN!

Hey friends:

The December writing break has always been a welcome one for me. The absence of a looming deadline lets my mind wander freely—a little too freely, if we're being honest.  

Then, as if out of nowhere, the deadline is there again. I should have seen it coming. I know how a calendar works. And yet, I don't. So here I am on January 5th, with nothing to write about and out of my writing rhythm. 

As you read this, you may be experiencing the same thing. You knew the second semester was coming. It does every year. But, over the holidays, you put it out of your mind until there it is, staring you right in the face like an unexpected cold arctic blast, chilling you to the bone and making you wish for the warmth of summer. The shock of it all can be pretty jarring. (Can you tell I am in Bismark, North Dakota, right now, where it is -7 degrees?)

Trying to get my mojo back, seeking some inspiration and perhaps a little nostalgia, I found myself revisiting old posts from this exact week; it is interesting to see the differing topics and how my thoughts and writing style have evolved (or regressed, depending on your perspective and my caffeine intake).

For instance...

Last January, I wrote about the Changing Faces of Our Football Fields, in which I reflected on access—specifically, the disparities in opportunities for students in athletics and the arts. It reminded me of a persistent truth: advocating for music education is never finished. Every year, we refine our arguments, statistics, and strategies, but at the heart of it is a timeless message—music matters. 

The year before, my muse was James Patterson and Our Middles. Inspired by James Patterson's thoughts on the art of storytelling, I wrote about how the "middles"—the unglamorous, often tedious grind—are where the real magic happens. This could be said of rehearsals, curriculum planning, or anything else we pour our efforts into. Sure, beginnings are thrilling, and endings are triumphant, but the middles? That's where the artistry is forged. Even as trends in pedagogy and performance evolve, the grind of the "middles" remains the same. And honestly, the "middles" of any band rehearsal might be the world's greatest patience-builder… for directors.

In one of my more lighthearted pieces in 2018,  Block Chain Reduction, I compared the resurgence of retro retailers like Tower Records to the potential "comebacks" in music education. Traditional approaches to teaching—think solfège drills or marching fundamentals—were out of vogue for a while but seem to be returning. Turns out, what's "old-fashioned" often proves timeless. Call it retro, call it vintage, but I call it effective. Are we sure those faded Kodály posters aren't hiding the secret sauce? Everything we once rolled our eyes at as "old school" is now "life-changing pedagogy" on TikTok. Full circle, folks. 

But 2015 is one of my favorites. The Long Mile and the Even Longer View was a Rose Bowl Parade-inspired piece. It recounted the calls and messages I receive from my students every January 1st as they relive their Rose Parade memories, watching the next generation create their own. Specifically, the literal long march bands endure and it's metaphorical parallel to our teaching journeys. Progress in music education, whether for individual students or entire programs, is a marathon, not a sprint. I am continually amazed that even after 25 years, the impact of that event remains. They don't remember the long days of training and many blisters that ensued, just the lessons they learned and the peers they shared the experience with. 

One truth stands out as I leaf through these reflections: while our world and profession change at a remarkable rate, our mission remains steadfast. This enduring mission of music education, to inspire, educate, and empower students through the power of music, is what keeps us inspired and motivated in our work. 

 At its core, music education is about serving students. 

Our job is to give students the space and grace to express themselves, connect with others, and navigate life's highs and lows. Trends in pedagogy may shift, budgets may rise or fall, and the world may throw us a pandemic or two (I hope not), but the heart of what we do doesn't change. We're here to help kids discover who they are and grow through the power of music. This enduring mission is what keeps us connected and committed to our work.

Like the broader world, music education is a cycle where the old becomes new, and the new eventually becomes old. It's both comforting and humbling to see how the lessons we learn and teach have this uncanny ability to come back around. Despite the changes, the instruments we play and the music we perform have remained the same for hundreds of years.  

This continuity is a testament to the timeless impact of music education, which has an immeasurable and lasting effect on the young people we serve, and it's something we can all be proud of.

So here's to 2024: polishing yesterday's brass and helping students shine for tomorrow. And if that means dragging out the Kodály posters or dusting off some Sousa, so be it. Everything old will be new again, and we'll still be here, doing what we've always done: helping young people grow and instilling the joy and resilience that only music can bring.

And that's nothing new.

Have a great week!

Scott

YOU DESERVE THE PURSE!

On a crisp morning this past fall, running low on diapers, Denaesha Gonzalez packed up her two-year-old son and headed for her local Target.

While passing through the baby accessory aisle, this Nashville mom noticed a familiar sight — a silver clutch handbag that retails for $20 misplaced on the shelf of the baby aisle. It didn't take long for this 28-year-old to realize this misplaced accessory meant something more profound: A mom with a young child sacrificed something she wanted to buy to purchase something for her baby.

She posted a 17-second video on her Instagram account with the text: SHE DESERVED THE PURSE, hoping it might resonate with other mothers but having no idea how deeply it would resonate and the impact it would have. 

 The #shedeservedthepurse challenge took off when mom influencer Cecily Bauchman told her 2 million followers that Gonzalez's video inspired her. Bauchman then posted a vlog of her buying a $100 Target gift card. On the back of the receipt, she wrote, "Hey! You deserve that special 'you' thing. You are amazing!" She slipped the gift card and note in a package of Huggies diapers.

 Since then, her video has gone viral, with over 26 million views and over 400,000 comments. It also has inspired people to hide money in diaper boxes and formula containers to allow a mom struggling to buy something for herself.

"I haven't had my hair done in years. My nails done in years. My clothes come from Walmart. We can't afford childcare," one mother wrote under Gonzalez's video. "But my babies have what they need. One day, I'll have the purse, just not today."

 As teachers, you sacrifice much to serve your students cognitively, emotionally, and financially. My father once told me that as a teacher, I got paid less because I got the summers off - to which I responded, "I don't get summers off; your vacations are paid, and what would I make at your business with a Masters Degree and twenty years experience?"

Most of you would see a significant pay raise if you were to leave the classroom. But you stay, and you and your loved ones carry a portion of that burden.

 You deserve the purse.

 I have been sitting on this blog for over a month because I was searching for a way to adopt the inspiration of generosity and bring a similar sentiment to music education. I chewed on it (pardon the pun) for Thanksgiving but could not see it clearly. I was sure I could make it a holiday activity, but thinking it through is problematic. I considered:

  • Hiding something at my local music store, but it is in an affluent area and would not likely impact choral teachers.

  • Doing a giveaway at The Midwest Clinic, but the attendees can afford to attend - so they can afford the purse.

  • Putting a button on this email and giving away to random people, but requiring you to request it takes away the surprise.

  • Mailing something out to random people on this list - but I would never know if I was filling a need - and lack mailing addresses.

  • Using social media feels icky and more like a publicity stunt.

As I said, this is problematic.

So here I sit, on December 10th, gnawing on an idea that I know has a solution - I can feel it, but I cannot locate it within me. It's not for lack of thought or time. I have dedicated a considerable amount of both, but the clock is ticking.

Our sacrifice is communal and universal, so we accept it as a choice that we made to do the job we love. But the fact that our profession was a choice should not diminish the sacrifices you and your colleagues have endured.

I am determined to find a way to celebrate a colleague(s) in the next 14 days, and I challenge you to do the same. If you want to share your idea with me - I would love to hear it. You can inspire me and get my creative juices flowing.

Additionally - if you would like to receive all weekly emails but just feel it is not within your means, click here, tell me your email address (I do not need your name), and I will add you to the list.

If nothing else, please consider this your unrequested and unapologetic note telling you that...

You deserve the purse.

Have a great week!

Scott

 

If you want to learn more about this subject, be sure to...

LISTEN TO THE PODCAST

© SCOTT LANG LEADERSHIP 2024 - all rights reserved

BLACK FRIDAY, CYBER MONDAY & GREEN THURSDAY

As I write this, it's Cyber Monday, the online sibling to Black Friday. 

Black Friday originally described the chaos that followed Thanksgiving in the 1960s, when crowds of shoppers and tourists in Philadelphia flooded the city. Retailers later reclaimed the term, highlighting its significance as the point when stores moved from being "in the red" (operating at a loss) to "in the black" (turning a profit), thanks to the surge in holiday shopping. Today, Black Friday represents the start of the holiday shopping season and one of the busiest retail days of the year.

For retailers, Black Friday is perhaps the most critical day of the year, save for one: Macy's. Their most profitable day occurs one day earlier, on Thanksgiving Day when its stores are closed.

The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, a cherished American holiday tradition, has a rich history that dates back to 1924. Initially organized to celebrate the grand opening of Macy's flagship store in New York City, this one-time modest event included just a few live animals from the Central Park Zoo, employees in colorful costumes, a handful of floats, and a single marching band. It was such a success that Macy's made it an annual tradition with a few modifications.

Balloons were added and released at the end of the parade. But a midair collision with a private aircraft ended that tradition, and they were replaced by the larger and more permanent balloons you see today. The marching band? They have remained unchanged since the very beginning and have grown in size and scope.

I have been lucky enough to attend the parade in person three times. When not in New York City for the event, watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV is an annual tradition. I use the 90 minutes to put up our holiday tree - fighting valiantly with my fake Douglas and praying for the pre-lit lights to last one more year. That is until I hear the sounds of a marching band. I hurry down the ladder, intently watch and listen for 90 seconds until the band runs into the distance.

Over the decades, the parade has become a national icon and showcase of pop culture. Macy's regards it as its "annual gift to the nation."

 The parade is an economic juggernaut with 66 year-round, full-time Macy's employees whose sole focus is to bring this event to life. They accomplish the mission with military efficiency and childlike glee. You can't help but marvel at how much planning must go into it and how good the execution has to be — the parade, the city, and the broadcasting side work hand in hand to bring the entire event to life on a seamless level. And it's not like they have weeks, or even days, to set up. On Wednesday morning, the streets are full of cars, trucks, jaywalkers, dogs, and bikes — and then the balloon people come, and you get to see the real, up-close version of the thing that everybody else has to watch on TV, in miniature.

But what drives the entire event is the TV viewers. As you may know, the television juggernaut is the National Football League; of the 100 most-watched broadcasts last year, 93 were NFL games. The Macy's Parade was one of the remaining seven, beaten out only by the president's State of the Union address.

I know talking about money and gifts is considered rude, but...

Macy's will not discuss the economics of the event, but some economists speculate that its Thanksgiving Day Parade is its most valuable asset. 

According to a report on Kiplinger.com, advertising during the parade is lucrative. In 2023, a 30-second ad spot during the NBC broadcast sold for around $865,000, a testament to the parade's broad reach and cultural significance. Additionally, the parade generates significant revenue from corporate sponsorships and partnerships, with brands paying anywhere from $90,000 to $190,000 to feature their balloons or floats.

The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is a powerful marketing and branding tool for Macy's, offering immense value through visibility and engagement. The event reaches over 31 million television viewers annually, with an additional 3 million in-person spectators along the parade route in NYC. This exposure ties Macy's brand closely to the holiday season, helping to drive shopping traffic during one of the most critical retail periods of the year.​​

And don't forget the marching bands.

How is it possible that a pageantry activity is the single most valuable asset for a retail operation? Retail department stores and the marching arts have nothing to do with one another–yet here we are.

 The impact goes beyond Macy's coffers.

All these performers flew in, stayed in hotels, visited attractions, rented charter buses, and ate a ton of food. That's a lot of green spent on Black Friday–to speak nothing of the costs associated with instruments, uniforms, music, choreography, and costumes. 

Next year is the 100th anniversary of the Macy's Day Parade, and its historical and cultural impact cannot be overstated. But has music's financial or cultural impact in this event ever been quantified? How much ad revenue was generated by these young performers? How many parents traveled to New York to watch the event live? How many parade watchers (in person and on TV) watch just for the marching bands? Don't get me wrong, I like a seven-story Snoopy, but it's the same balloon I saw last year, and I will likely see it again next year.

If this is a gift from Macy's, why are the young people the ones who are paying?

By all accounts, retail is struggling. Big box retail leads the way in store closures, making the Thanksgiving Parade Macy's most valuable asset. So perhaps, in addition to Black Friday and Cyber Monday, we should have 'Green Thursday,' a day symbolizing the financial 'green' that the parade and its young musical performers bring to Macy's and the people of New York.

Green Thursday? Not in place of Thanksgiving Day. Just...

Okay, let me work on that one. Do you have any better ideas for a name? I'd love to hear your thoughts and suggestions. Feel free to respond with your suggestions.

Have a great week!

Scott

If you want to learn more about this subject, be sure to...

LISTEN TO THE PODCAST

PAUL MARSH HAS A NEW JOB!

As I write this, ballots are being cast, and the country is deciding who will be its leader for the next four years. I do not know who will win, but if polls are to be believed, exactly half of you are in ecstasy, and the other half are in agony. Although I suspect the readers of this blog lean a little to one side of the spectrum. The only people who are one hundred percent happy are the cable news networks.

Like most of you, I voted. I cast my ballot and affirmed the right granted to me by our forefathers and inscribed in our constitution. I made my voice heard and ensured that my views were represented. Yes, that's right - yesterday, I proudly cast my vote for… 

Paul Marsh for State Mine Inspector!

Seriously? Do they want me to vote on the mine inspector? What do I know about big holes in the ground? Holes in the drill? Yes. Ground, no!

But I guess you don't need to be an expert. How hard can the job be? Find the hole and fill it up! Yes, I shall run for this office in four years, pledging to "Fill up all of my state holes." Wait, that doesn't sound right. How about, "Vote Lang for mine inspector so you can have a piece of mine!" Or, "I've got the grit to inspect every pit!"

Okay, I'll stick to voting for an inspector instead of being one.

Look, I am not saying we shouldn't inspect mines; I'm pretty sure that's a good idea. I might not be your go-to guy on this one. I don't know anything about mines or any other holes in the ground, so I am unlikely to make the right call. For this decision, you might be better off talking to my dog, Riley. She has considerable expertise and experience in hole digging and is a savant in this area. Don't believe me? I have a backyard full of evidence that says otherwise. Heck, Riley should run for the office of State Mine Inspector. 

But she didn't, so I voted for someone else.

Paul Marsh is the guy who got my vote. Do you know why? 

Not because of his party affiliation. Not because of his qualifications. Not because of his impressive background in all things mine-related. I didn't vote for him because of his website, campaign literature, or his incredible performance in the Mine Inspector Debates. I voted for him because he was the only one on the ballot.

 That's right, he is running unopposed. And he's not the only one. His candidacy is joined in its singularity by the offices of State Treasurer, City Constable, two State Supreme Court Justices, three appeals court judges, four school governing board members, and the County Dog Catcher, where once again, Riley would make for a more informed voter.

As a country, we like politics in the same way we like our schools: we talk a lot and walk a little. We want to expend minimal effort but achieve great results. We want to spend no money but achieve great things. We create a fuss when we are mad but don't praise when all is going well. We want ACTION as long as it coincides with our beliefs. Most of all, we want accountability for everyone else while we sit on the couch and watch re-runs of season sixty-four of Dancing with the Stars.

Through it all, you take the beating and keep on teaching. You do the job everyone thinks is important, but no one wants to do. You work longer hours, achieve greater results, and do it for less money than ever before. While everyone (myself included) talks about democracy, you teach it. While everyone else cries for better schools, you build them. While everyone hopes for a better future, you create it.

Thank you for your service to our country and our children. Thank you for teaching them in your classes, eating with them at lunch, and supervising them while they play. Thank you for caring for them morning, noon, and night. Thank you for safeguarding their minds, hearts, and bodies. Just… 

Thank you.

Yes, our mines are now safe because of Mr. Paul Walsh, but our children's minds are safe because of you.

Thank you!

Have a great week!

Scott

BACK IN TIME AND MAKING IT A GOOD ONE

This weekend, my son's band program hosted their "home" show - a contest for local area marching bands. Like many band parents, I spent the day as a volunteer.

I have always strived to be an active "band dad." I did so with my older son and am now participating with my younger son, but I have some boundaries. I like to be around kids, so I volunteer to feed the band, push a marimba around, or do anything else that keeps me close to the band and far from adults. This past Saturday was no exception.

Knowing what I know, I staked out, signed up for, and got the coveted position of "band entry/exit gate." All those other parents picked jobs that may seem more prestigious; how hard is it to open a gate (insert drummer joke here)? However, I wanted to be the guy who greets the band as they enter, chats with the directors, and then congratulates them as they exit. Plus, I got to watch each show from the field level. That's my happy place and my wheelhouse, right?

So, I greeted, watched, and cheered for every band with zeal and enthusiasm. After which, I came to two very concrete conclusions:

  1. Bands are better than ever before - with the most noticeable improvement coming from the smaller and less experienced groups. They were every bit as sophisticated as their larger counterparts.

  2. The activity has evolved and changed in fundamental, significant, and meaningful ways since I left the classroom twenty years ago - and to an even greater degree since I started teaching in 1991.

There are some "purists" out there who bemoan the changes and wish for the "good old days," but I am not one of them. I think the modern marching band genre is exciting and a step towards a more meaningful experience for ALL kids.

In short - today's marching bands are far better than the ones I taught or participated in.

To validate my assertion, I went all Doc Brown and Marty McFly and went back in time.

I looked up the Bands of America Grand National Championships winners from 1991 (the year I started teaching) and 2004 (when I left the classroom). I found videos of the winning shows, watched them, and compared them to what I had witnessed this past weekend. I came to a startling conclusion.

I genuinely believe that two of the bands at my son's local contest (assuming they could travel back in time) would have had a shot at winning in 2004, and four of the bands would have had a shot in 1991.

Yes, I just said that a band that came in second at a local show in Arizona would have had a shot at winning a national title in 2004 and 1991. I am not alone in thinking this. Many of you were at a contest this past weekend and could express a similar, if not more valid, claim, especially if you were at a UIL event in Texas.

This belief does not disparage the accomplishments of the past, but demonstrates and celebrates how far this art form has evolved 

Yes, mitigating circumstances, such as the addition of electronics and better instrument manufacturing, have aided in this growth. There is little doubt that custom source materials (drill, choreography, and music/percussion arrangements) are also part of the growth formula. And yes, an evolved understanding of design and aesthetics plays a part.

But... 

Most of the growth comes from teachers teaching better and students working harder.

In fact, the growth in the activity between my oldest son and youngest son is remarkable, given the fact that their participation is just five years apart. Something Evan, my youngest, takes great delight in.

To illustrate my point, compared to when I was teaching, I can categorically state that Evan's band:

  • Rehearses with greater frequency and greater intensity.

  • Has access to more instructors with a deeper understanding of their craft.

  • Through electronics, is able to achieve previously unattainable musical moments - featuring instruments that would otherwise go unheard.

  • Has better and more difficult drill (directors wrote the drill back when I was teaching!).

  • Has custom arrangements tailored to the strengths and weaknesses of the band that are far higher quality than the stock charts I used early in my career

  • Is playing more evolved and more musical percussion parts, at a higher level.

  • Gets better feedback from adjudicators.

  • Is utilizing better software to manage, operate, communicate, and clean their show.

  • Has access to more funds, resources, and better facilities.

This does not disparage and devalue all the great things that my students achieved; it simply means that students and teachers are continually evolving the art form by evolving as performers and educators.

So ask yourself, what other curricula/activities can say the same thing? 

Has math evolved at the same pace? Are students in science significantly outperforming/achieving students from twenty years ago? Heck, would a regional high school athletic team be able to beat a national champion from 1991 or 2004?

Likely not.

I believe that compared to previous decades, science teachers are teaching better, math students perform at a higher level, and athletes are more evolved. However, it isn't happening at the same level or pace, nor is every student achieving it.

Regardless of where your group places this weekend, they are still a Grand National Champion, just in a time gone by.

Doc Brown's final words to us all are, "Your future hasn't been written yet. No one's has! Your future is whatever you make it - so make it a good one."

I believe that if past champions could see what our art form has evolved into today, they would agree that we have done just that. Made it a good one.

Happy Halloween everyone. Have a great week.

Scott

p.s.  Every week I post a brief video on Facebook with extended thoughts on the subject.  Click below to see this weeks video.

 

CHECK OUT THE VIDEO

SHARED EXPERIENCES AND LOSING HISTORICALLY

Friends:

Sunday night, my son and I channel surfed between Sunday Night Football and the American League Championship Series. Hoping for a Jets loss and a Mets win, we didn't get everything we wanted (a Subway Series would have been AMAZING!), but we love watching sports together. As we commiserated a bi-coastal series, my son said, "At least they're not the White Sox."

For those of you not in the know, the south-side "White Sux" (as fans and foes know them), just accomplished a historical milestone - the most losses in a season ever, 121, eclipsing the previous record of 117, held by the 1962 New York Mets.

In an article for The Times, author Sam Anderson described the farcical nature of the White Sox's season fittingly and musically:

"Over the course of the 2024 season, the White Sox have explored the full spectrum of losing the way a great actor uses every corner of the stage, the way a jazz saxophonist probes every note in a scale. They have lost nobly, tragically, cleverly, inspiringly and deflatingly. They have lost late at night and early in the afternoon, in soggy rain and on crisp sunny days. I have seen perfectly professional losses that could have gone either way — but of course didn't — and games that should have been stopped, for cruelty, in the fourth inning. I have seen the White Sox lose in front of huge roaring crowds at Fenway Park and also, back home, in their own nearly empty stadium. (On a sunny Tuesday, just before game time, I once counted 199 people sitting in the vast sea of outfield seats — and when the announcer finally said, "Play ball!" the applause sounded like someone had just done a magic trick at a church picnic.) I have seen the White Sox hit their catcher in the groin with the baseball three separate times in a single inning. I have seen the White Sox lose because three fielders ran into each other like clowns. I have watched a bloop single flutter and fall delicately onto the outfield grass, like the first leaf of autumn, at the most devastating possible moment. I have seen games in which Chicago's hitters looked like All-Stars, but their pitchers looked like impostors, and games where it was vice versa, and games in which they all played great, but the ball just bounced the wrong way."

(That is some excellent writing!)

No one remembers the second-place team - or the team that went 89-73 (my hometown Diamondbacks). How unforgettably boring and non-consequential. Yes, winning matters, if for no other reason than to justify the existence of the scoreboard. But winning is not the point of OUR game, and our team is not comprised of highly compensated professional adults. 

Ask yourself this - do you know who won Grand Nationals in 1984? Do you know who won your state contest in 1997? Do you know who got what rating at your spring concert festival - or who played at Midwest in 2003?

 Of course, you don't. Neither do I. And if we are being honest, I don't care.

Sports are about a shared experience among a community of people who are passionate about the same thing. Its vernacular evokes meaningful memories - "wide right," "Music City Miracle," and "thirteen seconds" are more than just words to a Buffalo Bills fan, they are a shared language and collaborative epic memories. 

And as heartbreaking as those thirteen seconds were, I shared them with my son. We ran through the house joyfully and screamed in agony with each of the four touchdowns scored in the final two minutes. When it all ended, as heartbreaking as it was, we knew that we had just witnessed perhaps the most fantastical and greatest game in NFL history. This shared experience is whatbinds us together, making us part of something larger than ourselves.

That's what competition and being a fan are about: shared experiences.

 In a few weeks, my son will travel with his band to San Antonio to compete in the Bands of America Super Regional. Despite working extraordinarily hard and being led by phenomenal directors and an incredible staff, they will not win. If you know anything about this contest, you know they will not make finals either. But that is not why they are going. The expectation is not to "win," or win in the traditional sense. It's to provide these kids and their parents with a shared experience that will bond them together forever.

As they take the field, my wife and I will be in the audience, screaming and cheering for our son and his bandmates not to cheer them on to victory, but because we want to share in the experience, and attach ourselves to this memory in some small way, win or lose. In this way, for us, losing becomes winning.

A finite few of us will ever understand what it's like to be revered, to have tens of thousands of people chanting our name. But doing our best and falling short? Being bested by a superior? Things not working out as we hoped? 

We all know and can share in that feeling.

Have a great week.

Scott

OBSTACLES = OPPORTUNITY AND MORE IS BETTER

Hey friends,

 Last week, I talked about the obstacles students overcome in marching band. Specifically, I used the examples of extreme heat in the southwest and the hurricane-ravaged southeastern United States. In my post blog video (on Facebook), I continued the thought process and wondered aloud, "Does overcoming greater obstacles equate to greater learning?" It truly was a stream-of-consciousness thought process (as are most of my ramblings) that had no answer. However, as soon as I finished the video, I knew the thought would continue into this week's blog. 

So here we are.

Marching band students face a unique set of challenges—no matter where they are. The struggles are as varied as the locales they represent: altitude, heat, cold, rain, snow, fog, humidity, fire, locusts, and every other plague known to man. My friends in Casper, Wyoming, and Los Angeles County are dealing with smoke-filled rehearsals from forest fires, where you can't see your dot or catch your breath. No one is exempt. Even if you march at Huntington Beach High School, a mere half mile from the beach, your obstacle might be convincing yourself to go to rehearsal instead of the beach.  

We can all attest to the fact that marching band builds character. It instills the values of perseverance, determination, teamwork, and grit, among other necessary 'adulting' skills. Most of you would agree that these qualities are one of the main benefits of being a part of this incredible activity. We recognize and respect the dedication that each student brings to the band.  

So, if marching band teaches all of these things, then more marching band would teach more of them. Right?

After all, we all want more of these things - so is more better?

See if you can follow me here. 

 If marching band teaches grit, then band in 110° teaches more grit, correct? If kids learn dedication in band, then they will learn more dedication in 90% humidity. If marching develops selflessness, kids will become more selfless in freezing weather, right? 

 Here's the fundamental question: does increasing the difficulty translate to improved learning? 

The activity is more substantial and physically taxing in some places (and in some bands). The environment, along with musical and physical demands, pushes the students harder than others. So, are those students learning more?

For instance, does:

  • More drills imply more learning opportunities?

  • More music equate to increased instrument competency?

  • Rehearsing more create more physical dexterity?

  • More complex choreography create more agility?

Most would agree that the answer is yes, but accepting this premise creates a fundamental question: Where is the optimal level of demand? When is it not enough, and when is it too much?

 For instance, what does the student learn:

  • On page 87 of the drill they did not from the first 86?

  • From the 56th 16th note that is different than the 55th?

  • In 118° heat that is different from 117°?

  • In the 9th minute of the show, that is different than the first 8?

  • From being in a 1st place band versus a 7th place band?

The extreme demands of modern music and movement push the boundaries of what young people can accomplish and the rehearsal time it takes to achieve it as it should. That's part of what makes the experience meaningful.

But does facing these obstacles result in more meaningful learning and personal/musical development? 

 The delicate balance between achievement and experience is a complex one, and the answer to the question of where the line between "not enough" and "too much" lies primarily in the hands of you, the dedicated educator. You play a crucial role in creating and maintaining this balance, ensuring that the demands placed on students are both challenging and manageable while fostering meaningful learning and personal/musical development. 

 As a teacher, I was a strong disciplinarian who pushed students hard and believed in the value of hard work, as it was central to our success as a band and the success of my students. 

But then again, kids today are doing even more - so maybe I didn't push hard enough?

I believe more is better—as long as it is more of a good thing, not just "a" thing.

And, as long as it's under 110°

Have a great week, everyone.

 

Scott

THEY DELIVER - WEATHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT

I am from Phoenix, Arizona, where, as I write this, the temperature is a cool 107°. 

I kid you not. 

 While this may seem incredulous to you (and frankly to me), I say "cool," because this is one of the lowest daily highs we have experienced all Summer, the worst and most extreme one on record.

And I mean EXTREME.

Don't believe me? You think you had a hot summer? You're not even in my league! And yes, I like to make everything a competition.

Here are some other heat-related stats from this Summer to shock you. Since June 1st, we have had:

  • 156 days with excessive heat warnings, up from 132 last year.

  • A record 107 consecutive days above 100°, beating the previous record of 77.

  • 77 days of high temperatures at or above 110°F, up from 52. 

  • 256 heat-associated deaths, shattering the previous record.

  • 2,100 calls to the Phoenix Fire Department for heat-related illness, a 27% increase from last year.

  • The latest 110°F day ever, happening on October 8th (typically on August 26th).

OCTOBER 8TH! 

Yep, I win. Errr, I lose?

Yes, the calendar says Fall, but the calendar is not outside right now. It's in my air-conditioned kitchen jacking up my power bill - another touchy subject right now. 

But, I am not the only one dealing with extreme weather.

Across the country, in the "Sunshine State," they are anxiously awaiting their second Category 5 hurricane in just ten days. As the flood waters recede from Helena and the damage is fully revealed, Floridians prepare for an additional storm surge of ten feet of water.

And I sit here in Arizona, entering my 10th month without any substantial rain.

Strangely, these two very different scenarios are happening simultaneously and in the same country.

Despite the stark differences in our circumstances, Gulf Coast residents and I are united by a common bond - our willingness to persevere and overcome obstacles in pursuit of excellence and achievement.

In short, we march through it. Weather we like it or not. (see what I did there with the word weather?)

I am not minimizing or trivializing the tragedy of Hurricane Helene or its incoming counterpart, Milton. I am pointing out how we (and our students) endure and overcome different and challenging obstacles to achieve the same results: excellence and achievement.

But it impacts music.

 In hotter parts of the country.

Yes, an activity that has uniformity as a foundational concept; we are anything but uniform. Because of the weather:

  • The competitive marching band season in Colorado ends in a little over a week - in California, they are at the beginning of their competitive season. 

  • Sun Belt states are marching band-rich compared to their smaller cold-weather counterparts.

  • The rain in the northwest means few schools even have a marching band. The few that march have rain gear. 

  • And while marching band shuts down in November in the Northeast, Texas students are still applying sunscreen.

  • On the same day, my son will compete for a state championship outdoors in 72° weather; a Grand Nationals requires a dome to protect from the elements.

Why? Weather! Yes, weather.

It's interesting, because weather only affects other curricula or activities in the same way or the same degree. Weather doesn't change Geometry or Pythagorea's Theorem. It doesn't adversely impact Spanish class or impede the use of a microscope.

But it impacts music.

And it's not limited to weather. Geography impacts/alters the experience just as much as climate does. For instance:

  • Instruments and uniforms cost more if you live in Hawaii.

  • A contest in Alaska may mean three missed days of school and an eight-hour ferry ride.

  • Staff/techs/lesson instructors are harder to find in rural communities than their urban counterparts.

  • Reeds/mouthpieces/drum equipment are altered depending on the climate.

  • A band in Indianapolis can take a school bus to a regional or even Grand Nationals, where charter buses or plane tickets are required from other participants.

  • Indoor/covered practice facilities have become more prominent in hotter parts of the country.

But we persevere - and maybe that's the point—the ability to display grit, fortitude, and toughness.

 

As a parent of a freshman in the high school marching band, I am experiencing it first-hand. Well, my son is the one actually experiencing it. I watched it in my air-conditioned car. His band camp was brutal, beginning on July 8th (year-round school), in 118° heat that set records and, after twelve weeks, has yet to relent.

It's hard to sell a kid on the merits of marching band when he has heat stroke. The bass drum feels a little heavier every day, even though you lost three pounds the day before. He can't get excited about putting on his new band uniform when it's three layers, black, and will make it even hotter.

This isn't his fault. I chose to live here. Well, my parents did, so let's blame John and Sheila.

But it begs an interesting question.

Would he struggle less and smile more if we lived in North Dakota? Would he be more enthusiastic about band camp if it were in Oregon? Would enrollment in the band grow if we were in San Diego? Does the heat impact their score in ways that are hard to see or quantify? How would warm weather kids' perceptions about this activity change if their seasons were 4-6 weeks shorter by living in Colorado?

Conversely, would all the band kids rehearsing in rain gear on water-slogged fields in Florida want to change places with my son? What are Floridians and Arizonans learning that students in the other forty-eight states are not? And is it worth it?

My son and his fellow bandmates have shown remarkable resilience in the face of extreme circumstances. Their ability to endure, survive, and overcome the challenges of our environment is truly inspiring - and I would challenge any adult calling today's kids "lazy and coddled," to strap on a drum, sousaphone, or any other instrument and march for a couple of hours. My guess is that they wouldn't last a couple of minutes.

I am immensely proud of him, his friends, and our national marching band community for demonstrating such resilience and grit. Like the post office, "In rain, sleet, snow, or shine, THEY DELIVER."

Weather they like it or not.

 Have a great week, everyone.

 

Scott