In case you haven't heard, as of Friday, media behemoth Netflix is significantly changing its operating structure, possibly impacting you and the ones you love.

Dropping multi-user accounts? Nope.
Cracking down on account sharing? Not just yet?
Raising prices? They already announced that.

So, what's the big change headed your way?

As of Friday, Nextflix will no longer be shipping physical DVDs. Furthermore, as an act of generosity, they have announced you can keep all DVDs currently in your possession.

Okay, it's more likely to impact your grandparents than you. But, think about it. You know that Season 2 copy of Friends you lost? Well, when and if you find it, IT'S YOURS! Now you can watch Ross and Rachel kiss for the first time whenever you want, GUILT FREE! Well, perhaps a little guilty that you are living your life through Ross and Rachel.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not here to write a sad eulogy for the DVD. I don't care. Threw mine out years ago as a part of a household purge. In fact, I haven't rented a DVD since my emergency Redbox hunt in Blythe, California. Hint: don't ever embark on an eight-hour car trip with two young and bored boys without at LEAST six Pixar movies.

No, I do not lament the loss of the DVD, I lament the loss of my DVD viewing history. Digital downloads are awesome, but they only keep 10 months of history. Now, all I am left with is my recent streaming history, which may or may not include reruns of Glee and a serious binging addition to SUITS.

I am nothing if not eclectic and unpredictable. But, I am sad to lose all of those memories.

Why?

Because my viewing history is a akin to my life history.

My wife got me into Friends.

I turned her on to West Wing.

My best pal and neighbor Cristy introduced me to Welcome to Wrexham,

And I sold her on Suits.

My buddy showed me Better Call Saul.

I introduced him to Moonshiners.

These shows do more than entertain us, they connect us. Well, that and all things Ted Lasso. BE LIKE A GOLDFISH!

But even more than a connection, it serves as a memory bank for things I did with our boys: Karate Kid, Minions, Paddington, and Loud House, to name a few. Okay, maybe Loud House was a mistake because loud is in the title.

But still, these shows gave us Summer movie nights, sick days. Pandemic outdoor movie marathons and a common language (My name is Inugo Montoya, you killed my father, PREPARE TO DIE!) .

These are more than film clips, they are special memories, and life markers (remember what I said last week about life markers?). All provided by Netflix.

Keep in mind, I do not wish to actually relive these moments (or shows). But, I do not wish to forget them either. Because my streaming catalog helps to define, where I have come from, and who I am.

These shows remind me of happy days and sad, giggles and tears, and little ones snuggled up and falling asleep in my arms.

This got me to thinking. If that is true about my personal life, what about my professional life? And by consume, I mean the content I programmed and the music my students consumed. What would that history look like?

So, lacking digital copies - I dug out my old paper concert programs and reminisced about days I had long since forgotten, and perhaps missed.

These programs contained a treasure trove of memories. My first (holiday) concert in 1991 included Bach's Little Fugue in G, Stille Nacht, and Sleigh Ride. A lesson in over-programming I would not repeat again. My last concert in 2004 featured Holst's Suite in F, Whitacre's October, and McBeth's Of Sailors and Whales. An epic way to end a classroom career.

In a decade and a half in between, there were lots of works Reed, Holsinger, Persichetti, and Ticheli. Truth be told, I consumed as much Grainger as I could. I even named my dog after him.

But where was the pattern?

We all program for student success. But, many if not most pieces accomplish that. And to be clear, there is no ONE work that fits every ensemble. So, we search for the right blend of student success and personal ambition, and passion. Let's be honest, we might as well program for students' success and something we love. Because if we love it, chances are the kids will love it. And if we hate it, well, that's just a recipe for disaster.

We program for our students first, ourselves second, and most other things are a distant third.

So, more than anything, my programming reflected wh where my students where, and who and where I was in my career. This isn't just true in WHAT I programmed, but what I DIDN'T as well.

So, as long as we're being honest, here's what I didn't program, and why.

I didn't program much Sousa, because as much as I tried, I could never get that "march" sound. So, I hid my shortcomings with lots of "alternative" marches;March to the Scaffold, Childrens March, and Belgian Paratroopers to name a few.

I didn't program ANY transcriptions. After all, getting a band to sound like a band was hard enough - getting them to sound like an orchestra - well, that just seems unnecessarily hard. My experience with Fugue in G Minor taught me that.

I didn't have the woodwind pedagogy skills to perform Molly on the Shore, the musical maturity for Maslanka, or the stick technique required for the third movement of Lincolnshire Posy. I was as much a programmer of my weaknesses as I was my strengths. My students had incredible musical experiences because of my strengths, but missed on ones because of my weaknesses.

How about you?

Beyond being a victim of my weaknesses, I was a victim of time itself.

Actual Final Concert program cover for 1994

I left the classroom before Whitacre, Balmages, Markowski, and Sheldon hit their zieneth. Knowing Michael and Bob as true friends makes me regret that even more.

If I had the chance, Chambers, Giroux, and Bryant will be must haves on my next concert. But, there will likely never be one.

And after last week, I would want to find a way to celebrate the life and work of Robert W. Smith in some meaningful way.

Yes, my programming was not just based on WHAT I knew, but WHO I knew. Who were the composers and teachers that I admired? What would make my students want to come to class every day. What was a work I knew I could teach, the students would master, and the judges would appreciate? These were the things that went through my mind as I looked at work after work.

If you saw my programs, you might see names your recognize. What I see is a lack of hubris, humility, and ego. I see daring reaches and spectacular shortfalls. I see rhythmic skills above musical ones, amazing performances and spectacular crashes and standing ovations and empty houses.

More than anything, I see growth and understanding, musically and personally, for me and my students.

My programming served as a window into the teacher I was and the time I taught. I represents the good, bad, and everything in between - my strengths, weaknesses, wants, and warts all rolled into one glorious set of documents.

I see and remember my life's work in these faded and worn out pages.

In writing this blog, on Tuesday, Sept 26th, 2023, I can honestly say that after thirty-two years in the profession, I would (likely) program very differently now than I did in 1991. But, I can say with even greater confidence, that if I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing. It made me and my students the people we are today.

But that doesn't mean I don't wonder. What if I could program one final concert? What would I perform? I think I will tray to represent a bit of it all.

The work that started it all - Children's March. The piece that got away - Candide. And and with music I will commission for my brother. So, Bob and Mike - keep your phones on. There's a commission coming your way.

There it is, perfectly programmed; my past, future, and current self all rolled up into one glorious concert. What would your perfect program be and what does it say about you? Feel free to let me know.

Have a great week friends. I will be back during the first week in November.

- Scott

p.s. For those of you who are unaware, Robert W. Smith tragically and unexpectedly passed away last Thursday evening - leaving behind a wife, two daughters, and a grieving music education community.

You can read more about his passing and extraordinary life by clicking below. You are already missed Robert.

In honor of Robert W. Smith