WHILE OTHERS CONDUCT MAHLER, YOU CONDUCT MIRACLES

The classical music world is reeling (or at least politely murmuring in hushed, cultured tones) over recent shocking developments.

Has Bach actually rolled over in his grave? 

Did someone find the final movement of Shubert's Unfinished Symphony? Did we discover the identity of Beethoven's Immortal Beloved?

No.


What has the cadenza connoisseurs so up in arms? Esa-Pekka Salonen has resigned as Music Director of the San Francisco Symphony. 


(insert slightly audible yet polite gasp)

Shocking, I know! Now, let's get out our opera glasses and zoom in on why this unexpected departure happened. 

 It turns out Salonen and the board couldn't see eye-to-eye on his grand artistic vision—and, more importantly, its very grand price tag.

From what I understand, Salonen is a rare breed of intellectual and musical savant. The problem? Salonen wanted to push boundaries, expand the Symphony's artistic reach, and craft performances that redefined classical music for a modern audience. The board? They wanted to keep the lights on without having to sell their kidney organs to pay for it.

Salonen is no ordinary baton-waver. He doesn't just conduct concerts but envisions entire artistic landscapes—a rare breed. So when his vision wasn't met with open arms (and open wallets), he walked. I get it. And I respect his willingness to take a stand. 

(Keep in mind - I know nothing more than he quit over the budget. I am just trying to make a point.)


But, from the outside looking in, it seems childish and selfish. If he can't have everything he wants, he quits. No compromise. No work around. No collaboration, he just quit.


What about his musicians? What about the community? What about all of the employees that count on him for a living?

An educator would just another way to achieve the same goals without giving up. It's what you do every day. You fight, you overcome, and you provide for your student musicians and school community.

Imagine if all music teachers reacted as Solonen did in similar circumstances. You create a dream and present it to your Governing Board, only to discover there is not enough budget for your dream, so you quit.

  • "What do you mean we can't afford the new marching band uniforms? I resign!"

  • "No budget for a second bassoon? I will not work under these conditions!"

  • "You're telling me the concert will be held in the cafeteria because the gym is booked for a dodgeball tournament? I'M OUT!"

The above has likely happened to many of you - sans the quitting part.

If that were the case, every school in America would be out of music teachers by October. Instead, these warriors sigh, grab some duct tape, and find a way to turn five working instruments, a xylophone missing six keys, and an out-of-tune trumpet section into a concert – one that will make parents shed tears of joy.

In your own way and world, you dream big and artistic masterpieces. You fight for funding. But when you're told "No" (which, if we're being real, happens daily), you don't resign in protest while making a grand exit speech about artistic compromises (but wouldn't it be awesome if you did). Nobody writes an article about you in the New York Times (again, awesome sauce). You roll up your sleeves and figure out how to turn 30 mismatched chairs, five playable instruments, and a budget of approximately $12 into a life-changing musical experience for your students (slightly less awesome).

Want to upgrade your string basses? No budget.
Need to get your piano tuned? Nada.
Want a second tuba because your duct tape repair is leaking? Zilch.

And yet, somehow, miraculously, the show goes on for your students.

So yes, Salonen's resignation is a dramatic moment for the classical music world. But in the world of education—where the smell of old rosin, broken reeds, and sunscreen fills the air—music teachers shake their heads and chuckle. 

 Quitting over a budget dispute? How adorable.

If you'll excuse them, they have a concert to run—with or without working air conditioning. 

Have a great week.

 

Scott