Mark Twain, Adam Sandler, & Our Inner Critic

Since Sunday, I have been noodling on what to write this week. Lots of possibilities...

Want to know where "Free Willy" is? I don't. Interested in music, neuroplasticity, and the brain? Too academic for now. Curious about the impact of diminishing humanities majors in college? Me too; just not ready to write about it. Wanna know about the myth of the "alpha" dog? Check your inbox next week.

So I sit here spinning through content - even starting some articles, but I keep returning to one thing.

Adam Sandler.

To be clear, I am not his biggest fan. Sure, Waterboy had some funny moments, and I don't think I will ever forget Bob Barker getting punched in the face by Happy Gilmore. Frankly, while entertaining, his movies and style of comedy have never been my cup of tea or something I particularly respected.

Until now.

Adam Sandler received the highest honor in comedy this past weekend, the Mark Twain Prize for Humor, at the Kennedy Center. 

Yep, the guy who brought you classics such as Lunch Lady Land, Billy Madison, and Deuce Bigalow; Male Gigolo, has won America's highest literary prize.

Really?! Adam Sandler and Mark Twain don't belong in the same sentence, much less the same category. 

Yep, this part Sunday. Drew Barrymore, Jennifer Aniston, Dana Carvey, and Conan O'Brien honored and roasted him at the event. And did it in front of a packed house.

In typical Sandler style, he threatened to show up for the event in gym shorts and a tee shirt, but thought better of it when his wife threatened him.

Sandler cut his teeth at New York University and rose to stardom at a very young age on Saturday Night Live - where he spent five years and became a household name.

 

Yes, his recent work in The Hustle and Uncut Gems has generated some Oscar buzz. And yes, his films have earned over three billion dollars at the box office, but we are talking about the guy who played Bobby Boucher, right?

Every critic agrees, his movies are bad! Really bad. In fact, they are so bad that when Billy Madison was released, a writer from the Long Island Newsday said the film was, "the end of the world as we know it."

Sandler's response? "I jumped in a car, snuck into a bunch of theaters and watched audiences roar."

You see, Adam Sandler doesn't care what you, I, or any other naysayer thinks. The only people he cares about of the ones sitting in a theatre.

In a recent article in the New York Times, Sandler states, "I think the reason (bad movie reviews) didn't hurt me is because so many in this room have made me feel good about what we did together." Sandler added that all the important people in his life "make me feel like the critics didn't know what the hell they were talking about." 

In this respect, I have something to learn from Adam.

Critics are everywhere, in print, online, in your face, and behind your back. Everybody has an opinion, and it usually involves you (and me) being wrong, and them being right. 

This is also true in our jobs.

It's festival season, and judges abound everywhere. While their information may be correct and of pure intent, they are unaware of the obstacles you have overcome and the progress you have achieved. They hold you to the same standard regardless of your enrollment, economics, or rehearsal schedule. Perhaps more important than anything...

They are not your primary audience. They aren't even in the top three. 

Are the kids smiling and making progress? Are the parents happy and attending concerts? Is your principal's office a distant and unfamiliar place? If the answer to these three questions is yes, then as far as I am concerned, you are an award-winning teacher.

Sandler's material may change over the years, but his personality has not. His primary mission is to make you laugh. "He's not looking for pats on the back," says Spade, who remains a close friend. "He's already won."

When recently asked about the lack of critical acclaim, Sandler is quoted as saying, "I'm not particularly talented. I'm also not particularly good looking. And yet I am a millionaire." 

So, at your next contest, as you take the stage and acknowledge the panel of adjudicators in the back of the auditorium, say to yourself, "I may not be the best teacher here, or have the best ensemble, and yet my true audience LOVES me."

During this time of contest, Adam Sandler reminds us that is what and who matters.

Have a great week, 

Scott

p.s. I will hold a free student leadership event for your students on Monday, April 3rd, 7:00-8:00 pm ET. Send as many students as you like. Details are forthcoming, but let your (aspiring) leaders know to save the date.

Working 9 to 5, Dolly Parton, and Compartmentalizing Our Schools

As many of you saw in the FB group last week, one of the Patrons reached out with a concern about student engagement. As I thought through the issue and potential solutions, I realized that I (and perhaps my family) had compartmentalized school.

Let me explain.

Like many of you, the pandemic was rough on our family. It hit my children at very formative times (5th grade and freshman year) and impacted them in meaningful ways that continue to this day. 

This, coupled with homeschooling/distance learning, created an environment in our house that was difficult at best and contentious at worst. My wife and I are both former teachers, and it makes me wonder how non-educators did it. 

Needless to say, like many parents, we welcomed (with great exuberance) the return to in-person learning. And that's where I would like school to stay, at school. And I mean ALL of it.

It just might be me. I am entirely okay with you disagreeing with what I am about to share, but I am becoming a more prominent advocate of school staying in school. 

The pandemic has undoubtedly impacted my perspective on this. Still, even twenty years ago, as a teacher, I was suspicious about the value of homework and practicing at home. If a child knows something, homework is redundant and a waste of time. If they don't know something, they are just reinforcing bad habits, unless they have a parent versed enough in the content to help teach and correct. Perhaps this works well in elementary school; my middle school son is already better at algebra and knows more about World War II than I do, so I am little help unless he wants to practice the drums, where I am a god!

As a parent and an educator, I think it best if school stays at school. I am okay with extra rehearsals, after-school practices, and before-school study sessions. I just want them to stay where they belong, at school. I want to separate school from home. Frankly, I think most schools would like home to stay at home.

It's called compartmentalization. Webster defines it as a "form of psychological defense mechanism in which thoughts and feelings that seem in conflict are kept separated from each other in the mind." 

I understand that using the word takes a bit of liberty, but the fundamental concept is the same - to keep two different thoughts and feelings apart from one another.

I don't think my family is the only one feeling this way.

I am hearing lots of feedback from teachers that the kids are excellent when there, but once they leave the building, they don't practice, do homework, or otherwise engage in school/music-related activities.

Evidence suggests compartmentalization. Leave school at school, music in the music room, home at home. Again, my issue is not with the workload; it's with the work-life balance (school is a job).

Let me give an example.

For the last couple of weeks, I have volunteered in my youngest son's extra after-school rehearsals as they prepare for contest. (Can I say I love Carlos Aguerro, my son's band director?!) At home, I require my son to practice, and it is almost always a battle. My wife runs homework duty, which is also a battle because he is not a fan of academia. 

For the past two weeks, he happily attended every extra rehearsal, practiced his part privately, and smiled the entire time. He has no problem putting in the extra time and effort.

Our issue is not time and effort; it's location.

Last week, my son arrived home just before 6 pm, ate some dinner, and had maybe 90 minutes before bed. He was at school and engaged for eight and a half hours (9 am to 5:30 pm), with no physical activity, and only thirty minutes for lunch (my son asked me to add, "We don't get paid either"). 

We ask students to practice and do homework in search of academic achievement, rigor, and a better future for our children, but the evidence suggests we might be doing it wrong. 

The highest-performing school system in the world is in Finland, and no one in the western world is close. Keep in mind that Finnish schools do not have standardized tests, have schools that are like palaces, revere their faculty, end the school day at 1:30 pm, and do not assign homework. A recent interview with the Finnish Minister of Education said, "School is to be done at school, and kids are to be kids at home."

Compartmentalization.

I do not think of compartmentalization as a bad thing. We just need to be more efficient and more effective, something at which music teachers are uniquely adept. 

Don't get me wrong, I understand the value of practice - but I always tried to structure it in compact and meaningful ways. Through it all, I always believed the key to the success of my students and ensembles depended on what happened within the walls of my rehearsal room, regardless of when it was.

My thoughts on this are evolving and changing and might be different if the pandemic had never happened. It did happen, though, and it changed me (us). This is how I think and feel right now.

I would be interested to hear your thoughts. Go to our FB group and share. 

Have a great week.

You're pal Scott



Space, Grace, and My Man Cold

Friend, 

In last week's e-zine, I mentioned that I would be sending an additional email to solicit feedback on how I can better serve you. Everything was ready to go, and then...

I got a wicked cold.

For the past five days, this was me - click here. (Spoiler alert - it's hilarious). And while I am still recovering from my "man-cold," I shall soldier on. My heroic bravery must be pretty inspiring.

As I returned to (mostly) normal, I finished the survey, wrote the cover copy, and started on this week's e-zine - pretty straightforward and standard stuff.

Except, there was an underlying reason for the survey, and I wanted to share it with you: hence, this e-zine.

-Scott

Space, Grace, and My Man Cold

Since the start of the year, I've noticed that I have been slipping. Not tripping or falling, although I do a fair amount of that; I am slipping back into old pre-pandemic habits, and not the good ones associated with hygiene, but the bad ones associated with workload.

I have been working harder and longer hours than in recent years. At one point, during a particularly frenetic week in January, I was at my computer past 11:00 pm four nights in a row and proceeded to work on both Saturday and Sunday of that weekend. 

 

That may have been my normal at one time, but that does not make it normal. 

I know I'm not alone; you work WAY harder than I do. I am also fully aware of how blessed my life is. My home is filled with love and health, and I am passionate about my work. Like you, I am fortunate to be in a place and profession where I have meaning and make a difference and have impact in someone's life.

But, am I?

Am I making a difference? Am I having an impact? 

I am certainly putting in the time and effort, but effort doesn't always correlate to impact and time does not necessarily equal yield? In trying to understand that, I tried to better understand what I was doing and who I was doing it for. After much thought, and a fair amount of coffee, I realized that through all of the long hours, I was doing what was needed, but not what I should. Need is what others tell me, should is what does the most good. In other words: 

Need versus should. Value versus volume.
Purpose versus product. 
Me versus them. External versus internal. 

I strive daily to meet my deadlines, complete my tasks, and clear my inbox. In fact, my Drill Sergeant of a father (no, really he was a Marine Drill Sergeant) drilled work ethic into me and my brothers. Well, me and one of my brothers. But, work ethic alone doesn't mean much. You can work tirelessly to dig a hole, but if a hole wasn't needed, what was it all for. I needed to better understand not the volume of the work, but the purpose and impact of it all. What good does it do, and whom does it help? How is the needle moved forward by my efforts?

Don't get me wrong, I love the endorphin rush of checking things off my to-do lists, but the thing that I will most remember about the pandemic (other than fear of not having enough toilet paper), was the feeling that despite having no income, I felt like I was providing value to my friends, colleagues, and the entirety of the profession? That feeling meant something and kept me going.

But lately, as things continued to return to normal, so did I. But, as I have said before, we didn't go through all of that to be "normal." I want to be better. I want to return to better.

Are you feeling it too? Do you feel yourself sliding into old bad habits? Are you staying just a little bit later at work? Are you checking email from home or on the weekends more frequently? 

None of this is bad, as long as we remember the lessons we learned from the past.

The pandemic, and its immediate after-effects, taught us the lessons of grace and space. Space away from the life we had been living, and grace to be okay with something less than perfection. The pandemic required space: remote learning, hybrid schedules, mitigation strategies, six feet apart, masks, etc, but more importantly, it forced us to step away from our roles and programs as we knew them to be, and rebuild and deliver them in a different way. Unpleasant and catastrophic as it was, the forced perspective made us realize what was important, mourn was was lost, and treasure what was returned. 

It also gave us the opportunity to experience grace: the understanding that previous (musical) standards were unachievable and unattainable in the current environment and be ok with that. In a profession hyper obsessed with perfection and competition, we all gave ourselves some grace, permission to accept that participation, more than perfection, was the judges rubric and measuring stick during these turbulent times.

Like most of you, my perspective on music is evolving with time, age, and experience. To be clear, the pandemic (and raising two teenagers) has also influenced my views. I see the value of music now more than ever. However, I see it in different ways and spaces that I might not have seen if it were not for the pandemic. I don't want to lose sight of that.

So as I slip backward, I have to look backward and remember; grace and space. 

What I learned from the past three years, is what has been slipping away from me in the past three months. So, recently I have been taking active steps to stop, widen my perspective, see the entirety of my space (things I am working on), and focus on projects with purpose. I will then attack them, free of the constraints of perfection, and the fear of what others want or think, and continue to do not just my best work, but my most valuable work.

Grace and space. For me. For you. And, most important, for your students.



Cost-Benefit Analysis and the Value Proposition of Music

In the past, I have shared a bit about my writing process for this e-zine. It's not a particularly efficient process, but it works for me, and frankly, it will likely stay the same after thirteen years.

My process includes maintaining a folder on my computer filled with ideas, notes, and ramblings. These "idea starters" are as short as a single sentence or as long as a couple of paragraphs. If I encounter an idea that sparks my imagination or might make for a good post, I throw it in the folder, which I revisit every Monday morning.

When I sat down this past Monday, I was sure this week's post would be about unused vacation time and its impact on our workplace and culture. I got the idea from an article on CNN.com last Monday and since then, have been thinking about how I could tie in how people perceived teacher vacation and the reality of it. Feeling bullish about having my topic figured out so quickly (which seldom happens), I sat down with my cup of coffee, opened my idea file, and saw this. 

I paste my story ideas in chronological order. To get to the article on vacation days from Trip Wire, I had to pass through three other articles discussing violence, anger, and mental health among teens, all more recent than last Monday. There is a fourth article about a cat living at 10 Downing Street that has outlived four Prime Ministers (I still need to figure out the tie-in, but there is an e-zine article in there somewhere). The other articles were about bad things; each one "clipped" because I thought EACH was worthy of a blog - but three important negative ideas? In one just week?

The first article talked about how community programs in Baltimore were helping to stem the tide of street violence. The second discussed the booming business of bulletproofing our nation's schools and students. The third piece explored our nation's teens' widespread mental health crisis.

Violence in our streets, schools, and the deteriorating mental health of our youth. These are severe issues our kids and communities are dealing with, and ones that have no simple solutions or quick fixes. In no way do I want to make light of, or minimize, the gravity of these issues.

As I think, ponder, and process these issues, I keep returning to the same question: What about music? What impact would music have in addressing these weighty problems? While I may not have a verifiable answer to that question, I have been thinking about it.

For the past few months, I have seriously considered the value proposition of having music in our schools. I am talking about an objective and honest 
cost-benefit analysis, with actual dollars attached. 

In my opinion, the cost of music in our schools is a simple calculation. Salary, benefits, equipment/instruments, buses, electricity, maintenance, etc., are all easily identifiable quantifiable costs. Additionally, a simple analysis could easily compare and contrast those costs to other schools and curricula, which could serve as the beginning of a cost-benefit analysis. I am relatively confident that such a comparison (and any conversation with an administrator) would likely show music as our school's most costly curriculum, making it difficult to justify or fund easily.

We know how to calculate the cost part of a cost-benefit analysis, but what about the other half? How do I calculate the benefits so I can better understand the value proposition? 

 There are some accessible and actionable data. I could look at enrollment, where music students bring additional funding for taking additional classes. We know students involved in music get higher grades, likely resulting in more scholarships, so there's a number to add up there. 

Additionally, music students are less likely to require remediation courses, resulting in tangible, quantifiable cost savings.

More mercurial, I can look at stats related to truancy, attendance, vaping, fighting, etc., as they have actual and attributable costs as well (security guards/truancy officers/enrollment loss). If we want to get granular, I can cost out hiring an entertainer and put a price on a halftime show, singing the national anthem at an assembly, or cost to host an orchestra concert.

But other measurables need to be clarified.

What is the value associated with student engagement? Happy kids who are involved in their school community. How do I measure and quantify the cost of teacher retention associated with having happy, hard-working kids in their classes? How do I cost out the number/impact of poor decisions kids don't make because they are occupied outside of regular school hours and days? Yes, I could compare it to after-school care/programs, but it's so much more than that and not easily quantified. Do I take the physical activity of marching or choreography and compare it to a gym membership?

Remember to factor compounding interest on these monies, where calculating costs becomes even more problematic. How do we assess the value and benefits associated with being in music beyond high school? For instance:

  • We know that students involved in music have lower life-long rates of alcohol and drug abuse. Should I include incremental costs (lower likelihood) of not going to rehab? 

  • It's well documented that music students have higher test scores and GPAs, so do I consider the acquisition of advanced degrees, and future earning potential as a part of the process? 

  • Scientific studies show that music helps with brain neuroplasticity and cognition; should a portion of every job-related raise, bonus, and promotion be considered?

  • Since music lowers blood pressure, decreases the risk of dementia, and improves overall health, how do I factor in lower health insurance premiums, and fewer potential trips to the doctor? 

What dollar figure would you assign to an additional dementia-free day?

Additionally, if I did some research (and I have not), would I find that music students have fewer divorces, bankruptcies, or stints behind bars? And if true, wouldn't that have an associative dollar figure?

And as long as we are trying to value the invaluable, how do I monetize laughter, memories, and parental peace of mind? What is the appropriate currency for valuing student safety, emotional growth, and opportunity?

I want to be clear about this. I am not trying to be snarky or funny, nor am I being metaphorical. These are real questions, with real answers, and real impact. So, I ask again:

What is the value proposition of music?

Don't get me wrong; it's not all about money. Music is an art form, and like all forms of art, it has intrinsic value that does not, and perhaps should not, need to be measured or quantified. We should not have to justify creativity, beauty, and humanity; music should exist simply for being music. Period!

That argument holds water when you talk about why YOU or YOUR CHILD choose to make music. But, when asking someone else to foot the bill for that experience (taxes/public funding), it's not entirely unreasonable to be able to answer that question clearly and demonstrably.

You say, "memories are priceless." Disney does not share your sentiment (have you seen the price of a Disneyland ticket lately?). Don't believe that a number can be attached to future potential? Every university and the SAT/ACT would beg to differ. Unsure if you can quantify the value of engagement? Club sports would beg to differ. You can't put a price on laughter, happiness, and friendship? I can. Please tell me how much you want; I (and virtually every other engaged and able parent) will write that check.

Above, I mentioned the three articles on violence and mental health. In past writings, I have stated my belief that music can and should play a role in addressing these crucial issues and others in our communities and schools. If we want to be taken seriously by serious people dealing with serious problems, we must fully understand and communicate our benefit proposition and the totality of its impact.

So, I ask one more time: What is the value proposition of music? Where is the cost-benefit analysis?

And, if we as professional music educators can't answer that question, who can?

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to stop pro-cat-isnating and figure out how to turn that feline squatter at 10 Downing Street into a future content piece. 

Have a great week.

  • Scott





Fat Shaming, Free Lunch, & Music Education


My wife and I love our children. As with all parents, our love is as deep as it is unconditional.

My wife and I love our children. As with all parents, our love is as deep as it is unconditional. 

My oldest son is a senior in high school, and while we share the same hopes for him, a life of fulfillment and happiness, we have very different fears. 

My wife's fear: he will move out and never come back. 

My fear: he never moves out and won't stop coming back.

To be clear, the evidence suggests that my fear is more grounded in reality than hers.

Reports of grown males returning home to live with their moms were rampant, even pre-pandemic. These semi-adult barista wannabee slackers are seemingly content being by mommy's side and having their every needs met. 

In a recent article in Defector Magazine, author Sabrina Imbler states, "It is certainly easy to shame these large adult sons for being a lifelong burden to their mothers, for being too big and bulky to get their own food."

These snowflake offspring have grown too fat and lazy to fend for themselves and are blissfully living by mommy's side, living in a world that has lost sight of what it means to be an adult male.

Oh - I should share something. We're not talking about humans; we're talking about adult male Orca whales. But, the article's author elaborates on what she sees as similarities between adult males and their underwater counterparts.

Let me just say, as an adult male who loves his mom, HER WORDS HURT. 

 

"Perhaps these whales remind us of our human sons, who do not pull their weight, behave as if they were still children, and are a burden to their mothers."

It turns out that these behemoth yuppy guppies have grown so large that they can't swim fast enough to catch their own prey. So, mom catches the salmon, bites it in half, and feeds it to her son. Talk about a free lunch! Or, as my AMAZING but slightly over-protective wife and willing 7th-grade son call it, Tuesday!

Interestingly, whether on land or at sea, this phenomenon exists only in males.

Several months ago, I wrote about the difference between boys and girls and its impact on music. That's not what this is about. This blog is a continuation of last week's blog about pursuing perfection.

Parenting is hard. Knowing when to nurture or nature, hug or hold, repudiate or remediate, is not easy. Me? As a parent and a teacher, I vacillate between helicopter and hell-bent.

As I said, parenting is hard. And musical parenting is not any easier. 

As a "helicopter," I sometimes "babied" my students - I spoon-fed their parts instead of making them woodshed on their own. I will also confess that from time to time, I choose works that were not challenging enough, thinking, "I can make them sound good on this pretty quickly." At one time or another, I may have chosen a festival/competition/event where I knew my students would shine.

As a "hell-bent," sometimes I over-programmed and pushed too hard. I rode roughshod over kids in rehearsal because I bit off more than the students could chew. I submitted tapes for things we (I) weren't ready for and chose literature I wanted to conduct versus what they were prepared to play.

Yes, the accessible literature provided a welcome break and a chance to really shape a phrase and laugh at a joke. Conversely, there were moments when my students achieved things I did not think they could.

There's virtue in both approaches, and the argument over achievement versus growth is as old as the profession itself. 

What's the proper balance point? Where's the line in the sand? What will work for every child? 

I can't say that I know. 

I do know that (musical) parenting is hard, and there are no formulas or one size fits all solutions. We need balance, humility, and integrity, even when we get it wrong.

Remember, from humpback to helicopter, not even nature gets it right every time. 

- Scott

RICK RUBIN, PERFECTION, AND THE LEANING TOWER OF PISA

Rick Rubin is an icon in the record industry. His discography is as diverse as it is legendary. At 17, he started Def Jam Records and almost single-handedly launched the Hip Hop genre by finding and producing artists like the Beastie Boys, Run-DMC, Public Enemy, and LL Cool J. 

Since then, he has become THE producer for a wide rage of performers including Tom Petty, Adele, Johnny Cash, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Kanye West, Aerosmith and the Chicks

Believe it or not, Rubin can't read music, play an instrument, or even operate a soundboard, but that hasn't stopped him from winning NINE Grammys and being named to Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential People in the World.

In his new book, The Creative Act: A Way of Being, Rubin delves deep into not just the creative process, but on living a creative life.

He states, "I set out to write a book about what to do to make a great work of art. Instead, it revealed itself to be a book on how to be."

In that way, you and Rick are the same. You both produce music every day. You indulge in the pursuit of creating and creativity, using it as a metaphor and vehicle to create a better life, even when falling short. 

Rubin shares his thoughts on falling short: "When the work has five mistakes, it's not yet completed; when it has eight mistakes it might be."

In a subsequent podcast interview with Malcolm Gladwell, he further explained: "We get hung up on the idea of perfection, and we think perfection is what we are looking for. But, what we're really looking for is something with humanity in it, and humanity has flaws.

"Look at the Tower of Pisa. Once considered a mistake, it is now one of the most viewed buildings on the planet. And it's visited purely because of the mistake. Art is not the pursuit of perfection; it's the pursuit of humanity."

I think Rubin's approach to music is equally valid in music education. 

There is a need for high standards and achievement in music. Pedagogy, literature, and focused rehearsals are important. To be honest, there were times when my pursuit of perfection caused me to lose my humanity (and my cool). I too often forgot that today's mistake might be tomorrow's masterpiece.

Rick Rubin would be the first person to advocate for high-quality music.

The quality of the performance matters, but so does the quality of the mistake. As Rubin reminds us, mistakes are where humanity lies.

The audience cares about the performance. The educator cares about the person.

Perhaps today, when a student makes a mistake, you can see it for what it is, tomorrow's Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Have a great week.

- Scott

COME ON GET HAPPY

Teenagers are perceived as a dark, moody, and selfish group. More likely to roll their eyes than roll up their sleeves, they are viewed by most adults as lazy snowflakes, wanting and waiting for the world to revolve around them.

As the parent of two teen boys (to be honest, my wife is the parent, I'm more of the guardian, daily co-habitant, and butt of all jokes guy), I can attest to some of this and verify that their daily existence happens in four stages:

  1. Wake up

  2. Put in AirPods

  3. Ignore/make fun of dad

  4. Go to bed

Every time I complain about it, my wife likes to remind me that the people we interact with are not the people that other people experience. Apparently, when these two knuckleheads leave the house, they magically transform into happy, polite, engaged, and hard-working humans.

How do I not see this?

As someone who works with teens, I know them to be a happy lot generally, and there's evidence to prove it.

A recent study showed that in 2021, 81 percent of young people said they were happy. Down from 91 percent in 1997, a substantial majority are still happy and satisfied with life. When asked about life fulfillment, most respondents stated that it stemmed from having something to which they belong and contribute. 

So why the slide? What happened in the late '90s and early 2000s to start the downward trend?

Cell phones.

In the recently published book, The Good Life: Lessons from the World's Longest Study on Happiness, authors Robert Waldinger & Marc Shultz stated a simple and profound conclusion: Health and happiness come from good relationships nurtured in person over time.

With increasing regularity and intensity, as a country, we are putting educational goals at the forefront, which can impede relational goals. Every day, students move from class to class, each with different students, working independently, with just seven minutes passing periods and twenty-five-minute lunches to form connections and nurture friendships. They often return home with increased homework demands and decreased free time, forcing students to find other (electronic) ways to connect.

The pandemic only made it worse. 


Remember the key to happiness? Nurturing relationships! 

 

A recent study showed that the average American teen spends 10 hours on their phone daily, equating to 3,650 hours, or 152 days, a year. If you consider eight hours of sleep, that is 62% of their (awake) time spent connecting with people remotely or, in some instances, not connecting with anyone at all.

Music provides an artistic and creative outlet and nurtures relationships by forcing students to interact with the same people every day, before and after school, for years. This is as true for students as it is for adults.

I am frequently asked if I miss teaching, and my response has always been the same, "I miss working with the same kids every day. The relationships, the inside jokes, and seeing them grow."

I always knew WHAT I missed. Now I understand WHY I missed it.

Because it made ME happy!

I always knew that music was good for kids. This is a reminder that it is good for us too.

Something to think about.

Have a great week.

- Scott

THE QUEEN OF CLEAN RUNS OUT OF STEAM!

THE QUEEN OF CLEAN RUNS OUT OF STEAM!

Marie Kondo, the international best-selling author, self-proclaimed tidying expert, and star of not one, but two, Netflix TV series, is giving up.

Giving up her writing? 
Giving up her career? 
Giving up her show?

Nope. Marie Kondo is giving up - on tidying up. 

Yep, that's right, the Queen of Clean, has run out of steam! The 4'10" dynamo - is no mo!

Wonder why she 86'd the 409? Curious as to why she cleaned house on cleaning house? Want to know why she gave the boot to organizing the boots? (I know, it's a reach.)

She had a third child.

In a recent interview with the Washington Post, she stated, "Up until now, I was a professional tidier, so I did my best to keep my home neat at all times. Now I realize what is important to me is enjoying spending time with my children at home." 

Kondo and the KonMari method (Kondo's tidying process) are all about decluttering by tossing anything that doesn't "spark joy" — has now joined the rest of us in this messy, unkempt, slightly disorganized world. 

Kondo pushed her tidying principles to make a tidy sum, but that was before the three kids—a human form notoriously opposed to cleanliness. Heck, I give Marie a ton of credit; I gave up after just two kids. And, if we're being honest, my boys don't always spark joy. My wife says they spark more joy than I do, so I tread lightly. 

In her new book Marie Kondo Kurashi at Home: How to Organise Your Space and Achieve Your Ideal Life, she states that KonMari, "centers on the Japanese concept of kurashi, meaning way of life." 

Now she focuses on creating not just a home that sparks joy, but a life that does. She states that when they are in conflict, focus less on the house and more on life.

And that's where I went wrong.

As a teacher and a person, I have always been a fan of tidy. Tidy office, tidy rehearsal space, and a tidy life. My theory was, "How can you clean an articulation if you can't clean a room? How can you be detail-oriented about an articulation if you aren't detail-oriented about the chairs?" A nice catchphrase and a truism for a young teacher trying to pretend he knew what he was doing. 

But like my friend Marie, having kids of my own changed that.

Kids are messy. In all ways, and all things. Messy hair, messy clothes, messy rooms, messy lockers, messy emotions, and messy minds. But, as my wife quickly pointed out, messy isn't always bad.

Messy means experiences. Messy means action. Messy means memories. Messy means risk-taking. Messy means growth. 

Looking back on my 16 years in the classroom, I understand that I could have straightened fewer crooked rows and more crooked pathways. I could have fixed fewer broken stands, and more broken lives. I should have worried less about the mess, and more about those who made it.

"The true purpose of tidying is not to cut down on your possessions or declutter your space," Kondo says. "But, to learn to make meaningful choices and find gratitude in everyday life and the people in it."

More children mean more mess. More mess, means more impact!

For today, let's embrace the mess and let it serve as evidence that children are present, music is being made, and you're making a difference and having an impact. 

That should spark joy for you. 

Have a great week. 

Scott

A Open Letter to My Hacker

Friends -

I am sending this to my entire list for reasons already apparent to many of you. I hope this makes you smile or chuckle a bit.

Yesterday, after a workshop with a particularly wonderful group of kids, I had to make a beeline to the airport to catch a tight flight. I ran out the door and turned on my phone for directions. The next thing I knew, my phone was blowing up. I am talking 48 pings, 112 dings, and vibrating non-stop like Bobby Brown's pager type of blow up.

I immediately thought, what happened? Who died? Did Prince Harry and Camilla have another spat? Nope, none of the above. 

It turns out I was hacked, and my information was stolen. My entire email list was asked to send me $2880.90 via Zelle and that I would reimburse them with a check, which is not only ridiculous, but an oddly specific number. 

Crazy that on the same day that we announced our new BPOTM platform, and a nationwide webinar, a hacker decided everyone on my list needed a THIRD email.

The next couple of hours were spent responding to hundreds of friends and family concerned about my being hacked, and my sudden need for cash.

My response to the cyberpunk who hacked my life today is below.

I hope you enjoy it. 

- Scott

An Open Letter to My Hacker

Dear Dipwad Hacker:

Since you claim to be my namesake now, can I ask you a question?

What's your secret?

No, I am serious. How were you able to obtain so much of my personal information so quickly? In one day, you found out more about me than I knew or remembered abouty myself. 

Don’t believe me? Let me explain.

To correct your little shenanigans, I had to remember passwords I had long forgotten, along with the answers to security questions I didn't even know I had answered. I'm not kidding. I thought my first concert was Rush, but according to Experian Credit Services, I was never there. Oh yeah, and my first dog’s name was spelled BEAU, no BO! For the love of goodness, now you are better at spelling than me?

Oh yeah, if you could also help me remember the first street I lived on, that would go a long way to untangling the mess you created. Come on, just give me the first couple of letters, I can take it from there.

Yes, you are an identity thief, but not a very good one. Seriously! You shopped at JCPenney, Kohls, and a tattoo parlor? I‘m not sure whose identity you stole, but it certainly wasn't mine. I don't shop at any of those places.

And can we talk about the Applebee's gift card you bought? You understand that the theft penalty is the same regardless of where you eat, right? Their slogan is "Good food, good people." What were you thinking? Their food is not good, and you are not a good person. Please tell me you see the irony in this.

As long as you're going to steal, at least enjoy a good meal before you go to jail. Grab the Ruth's Chris Steak House gift card next time. It's on me. No, really. Apparently it is, because I can't remember my first concert. 

Please tell me it wasn't Milli Vanilli. Was it?

I hope you sleep well on that 12-thread count bedding you bought from JCPenney. My guess is you'll be chaffing for days. That's what you get for stealing my identity.

The thing is, you didn't really steal my identity; you just stole a bunch of numbers. You can't steal my identity, because you can't steal what makes me who I am. You can't steal:

  • My degrees or education.

  • My friends and family.

  • My memories of making great music with great kids.

  • The inspiration I get from seeing amazing teachers every day.

  • My AMAZING wife and pretty wonderful kids.

  • The joy I felt after this morning's workshop.

  • My ability to hear Grainger and understand something you don't.

  • The humility I feel after working a hard day, and knowing that compared to most, it wasn't that hard.

But most of all, you can't steal the honor I feel for serving this incredible profession for thirty-two years. I love my job, and I love my colleagues. I love that as a music educator, I get to make the world a better place. 

Can you say the same, Mr. Dipwad Hacker?

I am a music teacher. That is my identity. That is my joy. And you can't steal that.

So, thanks for the reminder of how lucky I am.

Scott 

p.s. I am just fine. The whole event was a great opportunity to reach out to old friends who care about me. Thanks mom for calling me and asking if I needed money (That really happened). I don't.

p.p.s. Please join me for my webinar on February 7th. 

p.p.p.s. I am excited about the new BPOTM experience coming your way in seven days.

AI, GPI, and DCI

It is Tuesday afternoon, 4:30 p.m. I am marrying my Nephew in 48 hours. By that - I mean I am the officiant! My family is in town, I'm behind on a project for work, and I haven't finished the text for the services. What stresses me out the most? I haven't written this week's blog.

UGH.

Seeing my angst, my cousin, who is in town for the wedding, said, "What's the big deal? Send it Thursday - or just skip it this week"

Is he kidding? Does he not understand the gravity of the situation?

To be clear, you would all be just fine without my weekly missive. Perhaps even better off. Me? I haven't missed a Wednesday deadline in 15 years. And it's not gonna happen today, MISTER!

So, maybe I don't have to write it? It will be written, but perhaps not by me. 

The general idea of AI and GPI is to be more human. Create a robot/software that looks like a human, moves like a human, sounds and functions like a human. This should allow them to easily take over a job already handled by a real person. Want a delivery truck to operate autonomously? Just have a humanoid robot climb into the driver's seat. Need a temporary replacement for a factory worker on an assembly line? Train a humanoid robot to use the tools and equipment the human already uses. The pursuit of a humanoid robot is all about making a form factor that can navigate a world designed by and for humans, while being adaptable enough to step into any human role—like a drummer. 

The technology was developed by San Francisco-based OpenAI, a research company led by Sam Altman and backed by Microsoft and LinkedIn co-founder Reid Hoffman and Khosla Ventures. 

 According to an article in Wired Magazine, "ChatGPT is a new Artificial intelligence program that automatically generates text based on written prompts in a fashion that's much more advanced and creative than the chatbots of Silicon Valley's past." 

And it has teachers and others scared. 

In a recent conversation with a high school friend turned Collegiate Choir director, he wondered if this new technology was the death of modern instruction. I asked him if he used spell check or Grammarly. I asked if he had ever looked up information on the internet. I asked him if he used polling software, grading software, or any other piece of technology that made his job easier or made him more efficient.

I continued on and asked him, as a music teacher, had he ever used a synthesizer, midi samples, tuner, or Finale. He answered yes.

The question is not, do we use technology, but how is the technology used? Keep this in mind, the same ground mapping technology that helps to get you and your car to a location in the fastest, safest way possible is the same technology Putin is using to send bombs to Children's Hospitals in Ukraine. The same uranium used to keep Cancer at bay is also used in bombs.

What about music? The same f# used in Adagio for Strings is also used in Muzak on elevators. Sampling sounds that can put a studio musician out of work also allows sixth graders in remote locations to play along with a full string orchestra. Heck, the electric guitar was once called the death of real music.

Technology isn't good or bad. People are good and bad. And that's why AI can't replace DCI. Because AI and Chat GPI can tell you about the right and wrong way to do something, but they can't teach you the difference between right and wrong.

That's what music does.

Besides, my job is safe. It turns out that AI can't play the drums. And ANYONE can do that. But, it may have written this blog post - and it takes someone extraordinary to do that. 

Have a great week! 

Scott


p.s. Wednesday morning update. Finished the wedding stuff late last night. It's going to be great!