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

 

 

Cook-Ing Up an Idea

My heart goes out to all of those affected by Hurricane Helene. If you have been impacted and there is anything I can do to be of assistance, please feel  free to reach out.

For the past three weeks, I have been (re)thinking and writing about music education and its fiscal viability. The urgency of this issue has been weighing heavily on my mind. I started at the micro-level, comparing collegiate NILmonies and high school music musicians. Next, I zoomed out and considered how investing in individual programs might yield long-term growth. Finally, I looked at how we might view funding our industry as a solution for cancer, global warming, disease, and other national problems. For the final installment, I am going to explore... 

Wait! Before I do that, let me first share a secret of mine. It's nothing Earth-shattering, but you might find it amusing.

Every six months or so, I email Tim Cook, the CEO of Apple.

I try a different tactic each time, but the ask is generally the same: "Tim, let me show you how, together, we can change the world for the better." 

Below is what I sent him today.

Dear Mr. Cook,

My name is Scott Lang, and I have been passionately involved in music education for over three decades.

As someone who has experienced the profound value of being in a band, you understand music's transformational impact on a young person; however, you may not see the depth of the need for music education and the incredible scope of its impact on our schools and communities.

So, I have a proposition for you.

Give me just three minutes of your time, and I will show you how we can make a significant difference in our schools and, ultimately, our country. With 30 years of experience, a proven track record of success, and a clear, actionable plan, I am confident we can create lasting change.

If nothing else, I promise you will find the three minutes well spent and intriguing as I share a unique perspective on our (already highly successful) public education system.

Sincerely,

 Scott Lang
Music Education Advocate & Apple Aficionado

Full disclosure - I am an avid Apple fan. I always have been and likely always will be. Setting that aside, unlike his predecessor, Steve Jobs, I have always found Tim Cook to be an even-keeled, thoughtful, and insightful leader. I deeply admire how he treats people, and his philanthropic work is above reproach as a person and steward of Apple's corporate charitable work. Each year, Mr. Cook gives tens of millions of dollars to over a dozen charities, including the Rush Philanthropic Arts Foundation (RPAF), which provides inner-city youth across New York City with significant exposure to the arts. He even donated $100,000 worth of equipment to his high school alma mater, the Robertsdale High School's band program. The donation helped the school purchase over a dozen new instruments that were high-dollar items.

But that's not all.

Cook, 63, who took over as Apple's chief executive in 2011, told Fortune magazine that he planned to donate all of his wealth ($2.2 billion) to charity after providing for his 10-year-old nephew's education. Tim, who has spoken publicly about the importance of giving, hasn't specified which causes he would support but stated that he had already begun donating money quietly.

I know the chances of him responding are between slim and none, but much like a lottery ticket, I hold out a sliver of hope that one day he will appear in my inbox.

And if he did? This is what I would say:

Tim, I would like you to use a tiny sliver of your wealth to change the lives of 54 million school-aged children. I have a systematized plan to bring awareness to the issue, increase access, and ensure high-quality experiences for every student in America. I won't take a salary to implement it. 

I won't bore you with all of the details, but the end goal is to increase awareness and access for all young people to the transformational power of music in our schools.

Oh, yeah, I don't want you to be quiet about it. Please tell the world what we are doing.

 Why are all the successful music program graduates (like Tim Cook) giving money to everything but music education?

All across this country are successful CEOs, board members, and rock stars, literal and figurative, who owe a portion of their success to this incredible activity but do not see it in a charitable light. There are likely a million millionaires (I'm not exaggerating) who once participated in a public school music program, and music education lacks a voice and someone willing to put their money where their mouth is.

 Why? Have we not:

  • Made the ask?

  • Demonstrated a need?

  • Showed them a plan?

  • Offered potential impact numbers and possible outcomes?

  • Asked for their expertise and input?

If not, then the failure is on us. Let's try this again:

Mr. Cook, you have already demonstrated an interest in funding arts education, and you know the impact that music can have. So, be it lack of access, a compelling message, or a complete plan, I suspect the fault of not having your voice in this vital space during these critical times lies squarely on our shoulders. Let me apologize for that.  

So, do you wanna help? 

Before you give me an answer - consider this.

You are influential; others would follow if you took up our cause. But Tim, we don't need thousands of donors. We need one. We need you! Your support could make a monumental difference, impacting tens of millions of children, and you would be the only one in that space. YOU would be the hero to millions of kids. YOU would be impacting schools and communities. YOU would be making the world better in a demonstrable way. I know you don't want to be the hero - but music education needs a hero, so why not YOU?

So what do you think? Have you got three minutes? It will be interesting.

My iPhone is on - (480) 577-5264.

Thanks Tim, I appreciate you! Can I call you Tim?

Do you think I hear back?

Have a great week, everyone.

Scott

p.s.  As the creator of Project Imagine, which delivers free high-qualitycommissioned works to hard-working teachers and their students, I am proud to announce that our latest offering, In Your Wildest Dreams, by composer Tyler S. Grant, is available starting this morning. This orchestral offering is now available to all who request it via a FREE PDF download. Click the button below to get your copy - or get it as a gift for your string colleague.

CHECK IT OUT

 

 

Sandlot for Sale - Part 3

In part one, we discussed the impact of investments in youth athletics and activities. In part two - I zoomed out and ideated on the implications of monetizing music education. In this final installment, we will look at a nationalized approach to investing in music education.

In less than a week, our country will celebrate Cancer Awareness Month. To be clear, there are additional months celebrating different types of Cancer (November/Prostate Cancer, January/Cervical Cancer, March/Colorectal cancer, etc.), but October is the big one.

Cancer Awareness Month(s) is important. They serve as an opportunity to educate people on the importance of early detection, promote healthy lifestyle choices, and highlight advances in cancer research and treatment. But, the main driver of all activities is to foster a community for those affected by and who are struggling with this fatal illness and raise money.

My question is, why do we do it?

Now, before you send me an angry message about the importance of beating this insidious disease, you should know that the impact Cancer has had on my life is considerable and profound. 

I won't share the details as virtually every one of you has a similar personalized and heartbreaking story, but know you need not try to convince me of the need to rid the planet of the scourge known as Cancer.

But I stand by my question. Why raise all this money and awareness when it isn't working? Cancer is still here and killing millions of people. After fifty years, two Cancer Czars, nearly a trillion dollars spent, and 100 million lives lost, it's a fair question. Have we saved lives? Yes. But, not enough. Since 2015, Cancer related deaths decreased by a mere 2%. Even the most basic business/investment principles lead us to the simple conclusion that it's a bad investment.

Yet, despite these lackluster results, we continue to pour more money and resources into the pursuit.

 

Over the past decade, cancer research funding in the United States has seen significant growth, reflecting a concerted effort from various sectors to eradicate this devastating disease. Personal donations, including contributions from individuals and grassroots fundraising initiatives, have amassed over $20 billion, showcasing the importance of this for everyday Americans. I have donated individually and as a part of Scott Lang Leadership.

Corporate investments in cancer research have also increased markedly, totaling around $15 billion over the past ten years, in philanthropy and product development, which has a profit component.

But the most significant investment in Cancer treatments is the United States Government, where annual federal funding has reached approximately $45 billion, with agencies like the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and the National Cancer Institute (NCI) playing crucial roles in driving research initiatives. 

And yet Cancer continues to be the second most common cause of death in the US, after heart disease. A total of 1.9 million new cancer cases and 609,360 deaths from Cancer are expected to occur in the US in 2022, which is about 1,670 deaths a day.

In short, in the past decade, we have invested nearly half a trillion dollars in solving a problem that we have yet to solve. That is the very definition of a bad investment.

It's a worthy investment, to be sure - but a bad one. 

 What if we carved out one billion dollars from the Cancer budget, or approximately 1% of our annual spend, and give it to our nation's school music programs? With a billion dollars, we could annually:

  • Hire 20,000 music teachers.

  • Provide 833,000 children with free private lessons for a year.

  • Purchase over two million new instruments.

  • Build/update thousands of facilities.

  • Provide free music to every program in America.

  • Add extra periods for students to provide better access and opportunities to take music classes.

  • Lower tuition costs for music education majors.

  • Create national campaigns educating Americans on the benefits of music for their children.

  • And so much more

Yes, carving out 1% of our annual spending on Cancer research would impact every one of the 50 million young people in America's public schools and their families. It would also have ancillary benefits like higher GPAs, less truancy, higher graduation rates, etc. Regardless of the side benefits, no matter how you parse the math - that is a much better investment and has a significantly higher ROI than Cancer research.

But Cancer matters. To me, and likely to you as well.

So, how about we also consider the possibility that the person to find a cure for Cancer was at one time or is currently sitting in a black Wenger chair somewhere in a rehearsal room? So this would not be slicing off a sliver of spending; the funds would actually be spent on Cancer research - just an alternate approach to it.

We know that music improves academics and critical and creative thinking - two skills needed to tackle this horrific and prolific killer. Imagine the potential breakthroughs in Cancer research and other societal issues if we invest in nurturing these skills through music education.

So, don't think of this 1% reallocation as a spend on music education; think of it as future Cancer research - and every other significant problem that faces our country and our world.

Seems like a good investment to me. But what do I know? I barely passed math.

Have a great week!

Scott

 

SANDLOT FOR SALE - PART 1

I was an avid baseball player, fan, and card collector as a young boy. From time to time, I revisit the collection with my sports-minded youngest son, and I regale him with stories of players from long ago.

 Even after all these years, I can still smell the gum on the cards as I tell him about when I met Reggie Jackson in person, and how Bucky Dent cost my beloved Yankees the pennant. My favorite story involves my wife and I visiting Fenway Park in 2004. That was the year the Soxs were down 0-3 in the ALCS to their nemesis from New York. After our visit, Boston went on to win seven straight games and capture their first world championship. My wife still takes credit for ending The Curse of the Bambino.


I played baseball throughout my youth and into high school. Truth be told, I was a pretty good shortstop - quick hands and nimble feet. Truth also be told, I was terrible at the plate. I couldn't hit to save my life. And every ball player knows, hitters play, and fielders sit, so I focused my attention on more musical pursuits.

Youth sports used to bring people from different economic, social, and political backgrounds together. Like so many other unifying activities, youth sports, even the all-American pastime, have been segmented in ways that further separate us from our neighbors and have left the playing field anything but level. How unlevel? According to a recent article in Bloomberg Magazine, Private Equity Is Coming for Youth Sports, "The sandlot era when kids played sports largely unsupervised is long gone."

And the days of parent-coached recreational leagues are fast receding. In their place has come the age of travel squads. Kids as young as 6 are playing on teams with paid coaches, year-round schedules, multiple practices per week, long-distance travel, and, in many cases, intense competition for roster spots. 

Theoretically, these teams prepare kids to play at the college level and beyond. They're making youth sports increasingly expensive, exclusive, and pressurized.

 

The article further states, "In the chase for a limited supply of college scholarships, more kids also specialize in a single sport at younger ages, despite research showing that cross-sport sampling is best for their athletic development, not to mention mental health. American parents are also going to greater and greater lengths, including hiring private coaches and buying high-end equipment, to pad their kids' sports résumés and give them an edge on their college applications. They're spending at least $30 billion a year on youth sports, according to 2022 research by the Aspen Institute. And the actual tally could be as much as $50 billion by now, according to Tom Farrey, head of the nonprofit's sports and society program. According to Aspen, parents spend about $900 per child per season, whose research also shows that children from households making $150,000 or more are more than twice as likely to participate in travel and club sports than those from families making less than $50,000."

While on a much less fanatical and frenetic level, I wonder if there aren't some parallels to music here.

This weekend, I hosted a long-standing workshop in my hometown of Phoenix, Arizona. The event was packed, and the kids were great. After the event, I had the chance to connect with a former student turned music educator for lunch. It was fantastic to catch up and reminisce. 

He asked about rehearsal practices and for some advice on improving his group. So, I asked him to show me a recent video of the group so I could be more specific with my suggestions.

 After watching the video, I had some questions.

"Who wrote the drill?" I asked. 

 He responded, "It's stock drill, we can't afford a drill writer yet, so we used a pre-packed show."

"Ok," I said, "but there seem to be a lot of gaps - how many spots is the show written for?"

 He responded, "Sixty winds, the smallest amount they offered in the package." 

"How many winds do you have?" I asked. 

"Thirty-two," he stated.

Thirty-two?  That means he has as many holes as he does drill spots.  That is insane.

We spent the next forty-five minutes studying the video and talking about the band, where I learned that they have very little staff, no electronics, infrequent access to a practice field, and, after years of being relegated to pep-band status, were just recently allowed to perform at halftime.

"We're not gonna make state any time soon; we're just hoping to get better," he said.

 He did not sound despondent, resigned, or defeated; he was just a realist.

Like our sports colleagues, inadequate funding had him marching on an unlevel playing field and on the outside looking in.

 The marching arts have undergone a significant transformation in the past two decades. Increased staff, program designers, movement specialists, annual uniform changes, travel budgets, electronics, arrangers, and drill writers have improved the quality of the instruction and the product young people and their teachers are producing. Pedagogy and performance go hand-in-hand and are at an all-time high.

But there are costs associated with this - both financial and educational.

We all want what's best for our students and our own children. I would be the first to insist that despite rising costs, we (music education) provide greater access, affordability, and value than any other youth activity. But as unintended as it may be, we do leave some kids and teachers behind.

Every educator strives to ensure that money is not an obstacle to participation, and in the case of my son's band, I wonder how his directors provide so much with such a small band fee. I don't think he charges enough for all that he provides. After announcing the fee amount at a recent parent meeting, I seriously wondered if he was laundering Crypto-currency on the side.  I should put him in charge of my household finances.

I know that enhanced experiences require enhanced resources - and I am  in favor of them and am happy to pay. I also understand that these barriers are not limited to music and have existed for many decades. I also wonder if we are doing enough to provide equal opportunities and access to those who are not in the same situation.

As private equity firms increasingly infiltrate youth sports, I can't help but wonder when this trend will spill over into music education. The potential impact on the accessibility and affordability of music education is a cause for concern, but if done right, it could also be a cause for celebration.

I'll be back next week to take a swing at this, though remember, I am great with a glove, but not so great with a bat.

Have a great week,

Scott

 

SEASON CREEP AND MY SUNBURN

As I write this, it is Tuesday morning, September 3rd. It's bright and sunny, with a forecasted high of 107 degrees. I spent a large portion of yesterday's holiday in the pool, and despite applying multiple layers of sunscreen, my normally pasty white skin has more of a Red Lobster-like hue - which is why I was so confused to learn that Fall has arrived.

Hmmmm. Fall? We just left August in our rearview mirror. That just doesn't seem right. So, I checked the calendar, and we have several more weeks to go with our dear friend Summer. Turns out I am wrong. Despite my personal experience, meteorological evidence, and a calendar coordination stating the contrary, Fall is here! 

How do I know? My favorite barista says so.

 As the temperature crawls into the triple digits in Arizona, Starbucks declared the start of Fall by releasing its annual cult beverage, the pumpkin spice latte (PSL). It's the earliest release date ever for this much-hyped beverage.

The PSL is Starbucks' most popular seasonal beverage, with about 424 million sold worldwide, making it a retail juggernaut that has led to a national discussion about capitalism, our culture, and the eternal nature of our national holidays.

And Starbucks is no unicorn.

Home Depot has had Halloween decor up since July 5th, and I spotted Christmas trees at Costco earlier this week. In August? Are you kidding me? Should I start shopping for Valentine's cards and worrying about whether Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow? Regardless of the holiday, it just keeps getting earlier and earlier.

Under the influence of 'season creep,' retailers are not the only ones adjusting their schedules. Our schools are also shifting, significantly impacting our education and music programs. Schools and their itinerant programs are starting earlier, and rehearsing/practicing longer.

Increased rigor, mitigating learning loss, and maximizing facility use have more and more of America's schools turning to modified calendars and earlier start dates. - making "year-round" schools less of an outlier and more the norm.

These changes have had a direct impact on families' activities. As schools adjust their start dates, summer music camps become less feasible, instrument rentals are extended, and the family vacation window shrinks. As I watched DCI finals two weeks ago, I wondered how my son would ever march, considering that it would mean missing the first four weeks of school.  

For many, August band camps have fallen back into July. Mini-camps and chop shops fill the June break, and show reveals are scheduled for a week after returning from Dayton and WGI. It's year-round. When does this incredible activity start and end? Or are we stuck in a perpetual loop of season creep?

I love the marching and pageantry arts activities as much as I love music education as a whole. It's not just a profession; it's a passion. I understand and embrace the grind as a part of the transformational process. I was one of the early adopters in Arizona of "year-round concert band," which moved marching band rehearsals to outside of the school day. I also recognize that increased rigor and demand have brought higher-quality instruction and better source materials (drill & music). Simply put, the activity is better because teachers and kids are better.

But is there a cost to this advancement? And if so, is the trade off worth it? How do we balance demand and achievement? These are difficult questions, and ones without any certain answers.

 

And we are not alone in this dilemma.

Elementary schools are limiting recess in favor of more class time. Middle schools are reducing access to electives for at-risk students who need it the most. High school is now about specialization: academically, athletically, and artistically. Pick one lane and stay in it, or risk being left behind. Is this what we envision for our young people. Is the high school experience meant to provide lots of meaningful experiences or just a very few high level/specialized experiences?

Where is the line? How much is too much? When does rigor become ridiculous? In music, school, and life, when is enough enough?

I don't know the answer, but I suspect that much like our new friend the pumpkin spice latte, the answer likely lies in the uniqueness of each teacher, program, and school community. 

Let me explain.

 Yesterday afternoon, my wife asked me to retrieve her fall decorations from our garage. Now, I love myself a pumpkin candle, but the irony of retrieving fall decor in 106-degree weather, with a sunburn, in an unairconditioned garage was not lost on me. Fall? The only fall I was feeling was one from heat stroke.

So, yesterday, in Maine, North Dakota, or Alaska, you might have enjoyed yourself a pumpkin spice latte, but in Arizona, I needed a cold beer.

The answer for one is not the answer for all.
Have a great week.

 

Scott

A Night of Firsts and Lasts

 I first wrote A Night of Firsts in 2012. I like to re-publish it every couple of years as it is my most downloaded/viewed blog ever. I know of more than a few directors who annually read it to their band or send it to their parents in advance of their first performance. Feel free to do the same if you are so inclined.

This Friday night, after seven weeks of rehearsals, my youngest son will take the field for the first time as a part of the Basha High School Bear Regiment.  In honor of this I decided to revisit and rewrite this content. I hope you enjoy my new take.

This is the free September edition of my e-zine 

A NIGHT OF FIRSTS... AND LASTS

 

Admit it... There's a secret part of you that’s excited that the football season is FINALLY here. Gone are the long hot days of band camp and basics and now it’s finally time to see the kids in uniform! YEEEESSSS!

You're likely just as, or more excited than your students.

For many of your students, this Friday will be full of some very special firsts;

  • First pep-assembly

  • First high school football game

  • First time loading the bus

  • First time putting on a uniform

  • First time performing in front of a large crowd

  • First time under the stadium lights

  • First post performance pep-talk

It will also likely be full of some not so special firsts:

  • First wrong notes and out of tune chords

  • First missed drill spots and out of step students

  • First dropped toss

  • First "time tear"

  • First electronic malfunction

  • First time where the melody can't be heard because of the drum line

  • First time a freshman cries out of fear and another out of joy!

Yes, today will be full of firsts, but not "lasts." All of these things will likely occur again (and again and again). Yes, not all firsts are good ones, but they are still special none-the-less.

Knowing how special this evening is, I encourage you to try and take it all in the good, the bad, and the ugly. There will be plenty of time for reflection and rehearsal afterwards, but THIS performance is different, for your students and for you!

For just ONE night, set aside your well trained ears and teacher goggles and enjoy the smiles on your students' faces. Take pride in the the memories you helped them to make and the lessons you helped them to learn. Enjoy the tear filled eyes of your freshman parents. Enjoy being under the lights instead of the burning hot sun. Enjoy the feel and smell of fresh cut grass instead of hot asphalt. Enjoy the friendships this activity fosters and the life lessons that are being learned. JUST ENJOY!

Saturday? That can be about analysis and correction.

But Friday, let's let that be about celebrating the process and not the product, the people and not the performance. Let's celebrate the children who choose music and the impact you have on them.

The first performance will be far from perfect. It may not even be good. But it sure beats the alternative, kids who have nothing to do, no friends to do it with, and no music in their lives.

But as we celebrate the firsts, let's remember that Friday night will also be a night of lasts.

And this is where it gets personal.

My oldest son Brayden had his band experience profoundly impacted by the pandemic. After a disappointing experience, distant learning, cancelled seasons and eighteen months of mitigations, he left band to join choir (and had a GREAT experience). He never really had a TRUE band experience. Something I regret and mourn to this day.

 But I have another son, and another chance.

Evan is my second and youngest child. He is a freshmen in the Basha Bear Regiment. We chose this school because of the band program and two incredible people who lead it. They are fantastic educators and even better human beings.

So even after thirty-two years in this profession, Friday night will be full of firsts.

But it will also be full of lasts. Friday will be the last time I will:

  • Burst with pride and excitement for the first time.

  • Watch his mother (my wife) tear up with excitement when she sees him in uniform for the first time.

  • See his eyes light up as the drumline warms up for real.

  • See him be simultaneously terrified and excited. 

  • See the light bulb turn on as he first understands what the last eight weeks were for.

  • See him experience his first pre and post-performance pep-talk by his directors.

  • Smile and give him five bucks for ice-cream with his section after the game.

  • Get to ask him after the game, "What was it like?"

I know that many more firsts and lasts lay ahead; competitions, festivals, bus rides, trips, and memories are still in front of him.  So is hard work, commitment, long days, and late nights. The band, which is already demonstrably good getting better - but it will all pale in comparison to Friday night.

The first time is different. It's special. I still remember mine forty years later

I will do all of this and more...

Because it's possible that his first time will also be my last time.

If I'm being honest, it's possible this will be the only time he has these experiences. I hope it isn't so, but it's possible. The pandemic taught me that nothing is guaranteed. So I cautiously prod, question, cheer and support. I desperately want him to catch the "band-bug." But he is getting to the age where he has to make his own decisions, and I have to accept them.

But I know that regardless of how many times he has these experiences, I know that this season and these experiences will change him in meaningful and profound ways. Ways that his mother and I can not. 

I know this because our older son did not get these same experiences.

So, because of all of this, and my thirty-two years as a music educator and nineteen years as a parent, on Friday, Leah (my wife) and I will savor and treasure all that this evening and season holds; the good and bad, happy and sad, and the firsts and lasts. Because the entirety of it all is what makes this incredible activity so special - for my son and his proud parents.

Happy first performance Evan. Be sure to enjoy the moment. I know your mom and I will.

Have a great week.

Scott

 

PLAYING WITH HOUSE MONEY - PART 2

Last week, we discussed the status of NIL collectives (Name, Image, and Likeness) and the recent House v. NCAA lawsuit. As you know, NIL speaks to student-athletes rights to profit from their personal brand while maintaining their eligibility to compete in college sports. The recently settled court case changed college athletics by allowing past athletes (up to 2016) to be compensated directly by their universities, bypassing outside NIL collectives.

Traditionally, student-athletes were prohibited from receiving any compensation beyond scholarships, but the NIL policy, which came into effect in July 2021, has changed this landscape. Now, athletes can engage in endorsement deals, sponsorships, social media promotions, and other opportunities to earn money from their name, image, and likeness.

Arizona State University swimmer Grant House saw student musicians gigging in the evening, and inspired him to file the suit, which played a transformational role in shaping the conversation around NIL rights. If you want a quick primer on the suit, read this article.  Otherwise, you should know that this landmark case provided two significant legal precedents:

  1. Past athletes are due compensation for revenues they generated as athletes for the university.

  2. Universities can now compensate/revenue share directly, bypassing the NIL completely.

For music teachers, understanding the implications of the NIL policy is important as it parallels the broader discussion on how institutions recognize and compensate those who generate revenue for them.  

Just as student-athletes now have the opportunity to profit from their work, students in music can also explore new avenues to monetize their skills and creativity. The changes by NIL reflect a shifting landscape in education and extracurricular activities, where students' contributions should be valued and compensated in ways that extend beyond traditional models. Bottom line, if you generate money, you are owed money.

And, they should start by paying ME!

Setting aside the fact I graduated before 2016 (a component of the lawsuit settlement), I am an eligible recipient for NIL monies as:

  • I was a Sun Devil Marching Band member from 1987-1990. 

  • I practiced and performed at various events as an ambassador of that university.

  • As part of my presence, Arizona State University financially financially benefited in some way through ticket sales, concessions, parking fees, corporate sponsorships, publicity, news coverage, and brand enhancement.

Thus, I generated revenue for the university and, based on the settlement terms of House v. NCAA, am eligible for compensation.

SO WHERE'S MY CHECK? 

Okay, it's not 1995, I would also accept most major credit cards, Venmo, Paypal, Zelle, and Bitcoin.  No NFT's!  I draw the line there. 

Before sending some Benjamins my way, in addition to my NIL monies, can you please include the following reimbursements:

  • $500.00 for two years, single credit tuition for my marching band class enrollment ($275 x 2, actual costs in 1989) 

  • $300.00 for parking reimbursement for rehearsal lot fees and game day parking ($150 x 2, actual costs in 1989)

  • Game day food and drink (unknown)

  • $140.00 for uniform cleaning ($35 x 2 per year)

  • $75.00 for gas and mileage for rehearsal and performances

  • I'm willing to pay for my drumsticks

This is CRAZY. Yes, like many of you, I paid to perform and generate revenue for my university and got nothing in return!

 Yes, I know that a tiny sliver of fans come to see the marching band, but it is not an insignificant amount not are the funds those people generate. But, beyond the monies we made, there were additional cost savings to be considered. The band's value is more than creating a great gameday experience; it can be calculated and quantified in monetary ways. I

If the band weren't there, the university would incur significant costs as it tries to fill the void left by the now absent marching band.

  • What would it cost to provide alternate pre-game, in-game, halftime, and post-game entertainment (stages, lighting, sound, and a tech crew that can be mobile or multiple groups in multiple spots)? 

  • What is the value associated with a fan or a donor hearing their fight song played live by kids draped in school colors two hours before game time? 

  • How would the students respond to a midi-version of the fight song or rally cry? 

  • If the stands were silent, would fewer points be scored and perhaps more games lost?

  • Would they need to pay licensing rights for the additional music they pump through the sound system absent the band?

  • Would there be fewer student tickets sold and concessions bought? 

  • Would sponsorship dollars be affected by the lackluster experience?

The band is more than an integral part of the game day experience, it also generates/saves significant revenues. Period!

So Sparky (ASU's mascot), it's time to make it rain! And not just for me, but for you as well.

Let's not stop with the marching band. Shouldn't the cheerleaders, dancers, spirit leaders, baton twirlers, and mascots be compensated as well? 

 I know, Ralphie the Buffalo (CU's mascot) has no use for money, but could we buy him a nicer trailer, something to spruce up his stall, or a new winter coat? Even Buffaloes get cold.

Am I unreasonable in asking that universities consider ALL performers when allotting these funds?

Why shouldn't I get paid? Everyone else is.

The grounds persons, concessioners, ticket-takers, and parking lot attendants are compensated. Facilities managers, security personnel, and game day salespeople receive a check. And now, the athletes are cashing in. As far as I can tell, the only people not getting paid are the marching band and me.

As silly as this sounds, I am not kidding. My request is rooted in equity, fairness, past legal precedent, and current case law. 

Just so you know...

I have read the entirety of the judgment (I won't bore you with it), and as long as you accept these precepts:

  1. The band/spirit squad is a "team" representing their university.

  2. The participants are "athletes" in a competitive environment.

  3. Revenue was generated at events they participated in.

Then, I am justified in my request. 

 

But where will the funds to compensate band members come from? Well, set aside the millions generated at every game. You can start paying us out of the kitty that we have been paying into.

My alma mater (Arizona State) collects $270,000 annually from its marching and pep band members. And that's not even counting ticket sales from family & friends, concessions, and game day parking.

How did I arrive at that number?:

  • A 300-member marching band paying $561 for a single class credit generates $168,300 annually.

  • 200 rehearsal parking passes (some students walk) at $210 generates $42,000 annually.

  • FB game day parking for 250 generates $2,500 weekly (again, some members walked), which amounts to $15,000 over a season.

  • A 65-piece basketball band paying $561 for a pep-band credit generates $36,465.

  • BB game day parking for 20 cars (some walk)@ $10 per game for fifteen games (men's and women's) generates $6,000 over a basketball season.

So don't play poor with me. 

I am willing to let the inflation index and opportunity cost of carrying your debt go, but it's time to pony up and pay your bill.

And If you think that the cost of a marching band exceeds the revenue generated (unlikely), I can build a mathematical model demonstrating that the marching band generates more revenue and costs less to operate than the Grant House's men's swim  team (and a host of other non-revenue-generating sports). So, if you pay the swimmers, you should pay the musicians, as House vs. NCAA requires that ALL athletes benefit, not just the profitable ones.

IT'S TIME TO FACE THE MUSIC AND PAY THE BAND!

After all, the band brings down the house. And House brought down the NCAA.

Something to consider.

Scott