MY MILK DUD TYPE OF DAY

This week's e-zine started with an article on beauty and awe. But to be honest, halfway through writing the article, I realized I was feeling neither beauty nor awe.

So, I stopped writing - and shelved it for another time. The premise was good, and the content was solid, but I couldn't see my way through to the end message.

Today looks like it's gonna be one of THOSE days. 

So far, I have taken most of the morning to do twenty minutes of work; the number of incoming emails has exceeded the number of outgoing emails; and despite four uninterrupted hours, my to-do list is not only wholly in-tact, but has expanded.

Despite my best efforts (OK, not my BEST, but some level of effort), and ingesting an entire pot of coffee, I more closely resemble a tortoise than a hare. Yes, at 12:14 p.m., I can already declare that today has been an epic display of sub-par performance. 

Why am I sharing this with you? So you can feel better about yourself. At least then, some good will have come from the doldrums of my day.

As the school year winds down, you will probably have a day or two like this yourself. Days in which, despite all of your best intentions, you will work your way through the motions, accomplish very little, and return home questioning your career pathway.

We always want and hope for the best. We strive for excellence for ourselves and our students. But, failure is inevitable at some point, and only serves to remind us that we are human, and we are in an imperfect profession, dealing with imperfect people.

Remember, I am supposed to be a motivational speaker (although I'm not too fond of that term). My job is to enlighten, educate, and empower. My job is to bring the energy and challenge others to rise above and become their best selves.

But all of that will have to wait until tomorrow. 

Now TOMORROW is a day I have my eye on. 
Tomorrow will be a day with BIG plans and ambitious goals. 

Tomorrow I will bring my "A" game. 
Tomorrow will be a hum-dinger. 
Tomorrow I will do two hours of work in twenty minutes. 
Tomorrow I will slay the beast that is my inbox.
Tomorrow the oboes will play in tune and I will finally ask for LESS horn and more sax.
Tomorrow the parents will love me and all of the students will be on time.

Tomorrow will be MY DAY! 

Of that, I am sure. Well, at least I am confident. Well, relatively speaking - it has to be better than today.

But for today...


If it's OK with you; 

I will let YOU bring the energy. 
I will let YOU slay the dragon. 
I will let YOU rise above and lead the way. 
I will watch in awe as YOU tackle your to-do list and tame the procrastination dragon. 

Because today, like most every other day:

YOU are the better person. 
YOU have me beat. 
YOU are making a difference.
YOU are the better person.

YOU are killing it.

I love my job. It is my privilege to serve in a profession that has such meaning. But, I don't ever consider it difficult, because I've seen what you do - and that is the definition of difficult.

Feel better about yourself? Then I guess I did my job, and today wasn't a total loss. Because my job is to help remind you how amazing you are.

Me? I think I am going to eat some Milk Duds and get caught up on Ted Lasso. Then again, Nate is really bumming me out.

So maybe I will just stick with the Milk Duds.

After all, I am feeling like a dud today.

Have a great week!

Scott 
11:34 p.m, MST - Tuesday night

p.s. I was not kidding - went to TWO stores looking for Milk Duds, and there were none to be found. I am a dud who is Dudless. This must be bottom. 

COACH SCOTT AND MY PERSPECTIVE AGE

As many of you know, I coach my sons in sports. After last week's game, one of the other player's parents sent me some video highlights and pictures of the kids. As I sifted through them, I was stunned. STUNNED, I say! To be clear, I wasn't amazed by the athletic prowess of the kids, although it was impressive. I was not shocked by the impeccable game planning and strategic play calling, although I was definitely in the zone. What surprised me, you ask? 

 

I was taken aback by a white-haired older man being among the sea of forty-something parents.

Was he someone's grandparent? Perhaps an older uncle or family friend? He was clearly the odd man out and the unicorn of the group. 

Oh yeah, he was ME!

WHEN DID I BECOME OLD? OR AT LEAST OLD LOOKING?

Yes, I know my age; it's printed on my driver's license. Of course, I know what I look like. Heck, my wife and kids heckle me to use my "senior discount" wherever we go. 

So, yes, I know I am 55, but I do not see myself as 55.

Again, when did I become old?

In an article in Atlantic Monthly entitled The Puzzling Gap Between How Old You Are and How Old You Think You Are, author Jennifer Senior explains why I am not alone in this phenomenon. In fact, it is pretty common. 

THIS PHENOMENON IS CALLED SUBJECTIVE AGE, AND IT'S MORE COMMON THAN YOU MIGHT THINK. JUST WAIT. NO REALLY, JUST WAIT AND YOU WILL EXPERIENCE IT.

 

She states, "When most people look in the mirror, they are not so much unhappy with his appearance as startled by it—as if there's been some sort of error. You cognitively know your age, but can't actually comprehend it." 

Subjective age refers to how young or old individuals experience themselves in relation to health, behavioral, cognitive, and biological processes that influence frailty.

That settles it; I'm 42. Not just as a person, but as a teacher. I am mid-way through my career and life.

I must be.

I have so much to do and even more to learn. I still can't teach improv, I never mastered facilitating woodwind articulation, and I have about ten masterworks I have yet to conduct. I can't possibly have 32 years behind me. I am still a work in progress, which is far from complete.

But, complete or not, the picture does not lie.

Do you wonder about that too?

When did you cross the line between beginning teacher and an experienced vet? When did you step away from being a mentee to becoming a mentor? When did you stop being a team member to become a team leader? Or, when did you decide to go from constituent to board member?

These transitions are rarely seminal moments with the accompanying fanfare, and there is typically never a coronation or celebratory event. There are no grand promotions, new business cards, or write-ups on LinkedIn, which is one of the complex parts of being a teacher. So they often go unnoticed, not just by others, but by ourselves.

That doesn't make them any less meaningful or important. Nor are these moments and accomplishments something to minimize, trivialize, or ignore. They are significant moments that are to be cherished and honored.

While we accomplish and achieve great things, we see these feats as obligatory, part of the job, and all in a day's work.

Subjective age disorder strikes again, separating the truth of what we did from how we feel concerning our age.

Yes, in the picture and in life, I am the unicorn. The only grey-haired person on the sideline. However, I am the one who has the energy, drive, and desire to coach. While my time in a classroom may be done, my time working with kids is not, and my best work is still ahead of me.

I know this because I am 42. I am sure of it, and you can't convince me otherwise.

How old are you?

Have a great week. 

Scott

KIPLING AND THE LIE OF THE ALPHA WOLF


Written in 1894, Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book is as tried and true of a children's classic as there is. Adapted often over into movies and cartoons, the Jungle Book is a staple of most young people's childhood.

As part of the second book, Kipling introduces the Law of the Jungle to teach young wolves how to operate with the pack.

Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky;
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall 
break it must die. 
As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and 
back — For the strength of the pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is 
the pack.

Throughout time and history, the wolf has long been a symbol of ferocity and strength in the animal kingdom. With its sharp teeth and powerful jaws, the wolf is a formidable predator, unafraid to engage with prey much larger than itself. 

The wolf's aggressive nature is also evident in its social structure. Wolves are pack animals, and within a pack, a strict hierarchy is enforced through displays of aggression and dominance. Alpha wolves, the pack leaders, are fiercely protective of their territory and their pack members, and they will not hesitate to attack any intruders who pose a threat. The alpha wolf is the apex predator and universal embodiment of masculinity and what it means to lead.

Except most of that is not true.

A recent article in Scientific America debunks the idea that wolf packs are cunning killers led by a ruthless dictatorial alpha wolf. The article shows them to be what they indeed are. In the end, wolf packs are simply families.

It turns out that the term "alpha" came from studies of captive animals in the 1950s. Wildlife expert David Mech states, "It's the animal equivalent of what might happen in a human prison, not the way wolves behave when they are left to their own devices."

Simply stated, there is no such thing as an alpha male. In fact, female wolves are the dominant force in the pack.

 In the wild, wolves are like any other family. They care for their young, look out for each other, and infrequently squabble over the TV remote control. Okay, the remote control part is a lie, but the infrequent fighting is not. 

The term alpha has been used in leadership analogies for as long as leadership has been studied. The musical equivalents abound: conductor, drum major, concertmaster, section leader, etc., are just a few examples of a pack leader. Like their furry counterparts, these positions are essential. They help maintain order and preserve the pack's health, safety, and success. If we are to learn a lesson from our four-legged counterparts, the leader is benevolent and not malevolent.

The alpha wolf is there to provide, nurture, and grow their pack. They do not see other wolves or packs as threats and actively work to avoid confrontation. While the alpha may be a male, the breeding female makes most of the decisions in the pack.

As we approach the season of selecting and training leaders, it is worth discussing more than just the concept of what a leader is but how a pack is run. Keep in mind, I do believe that within a music group, there are different packs (sections) that operate in various manners. 

Regardless of the pack, we all know that one section, group, or person can create a toxic atmosphere for many. So examining, creating, and fostering a healthy, productive, and successful pack is essential.

Even 120 years later, according to recent research, Kipling's sonnet rings more accurately than ever. 

For the strength of the pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the pack.

Have a great week everyone. 

Scott 

p.s. I hope you enjoyed last night's session. I have posted it within our Patron FB group if you missed it.

HANDELING THE TRUTH* OF YOUR UNFINISHED SYMPHONY!





In March of 1827, wracked with abdominal pain and other maladies, Ludwig Van Beethoven lay dying in his bed. Grieving friends, acquaintances, and long-time admirers came to his bedside for what appeared to be one final visit. As a young composer acolyte finished saying goodbye, he asked a seemingly innocuous request, could he have a lock of Beethoven's hair for remembrance? 

Unaware of the impact of the gesture, Beethoven agreed to the request. Beethoven passed away the next day, at the relatively young age of 56.

For the next three days, as word spread of his demise, a parade of mourners visited his corpse, paid their respects, and clipped a small lock of Ludwig's voluminous hair until not a single strand remained. (Side note: removing my hair would take just a few minutes.)

Fast forward nearly two hundred years, and those strands of hair help tell Beethoven's true story and help finish the unfinished Symphony of his life.

A recent DNA analysis of strands of Ludwig's hair has upended long-held beliefs about his health, debilitating ailments, and cause of death. It also raises new questions about his origins and unknown father while simultaneously answering questions about any offspring and lineage.

For instance, we now know that Beethoven did not have lead poisoning as was previously suspected. He was also not a person of color as some had proposed. And a Flemish Family with the same surname who proudly boasted they were part of his lineage, learned that they were not. Finally, his potential cause of death, liver cirrhosis, was likely not a result of alcohol abuse, but a rare genetic disorder.

BEETHOVEN'S GENIUS IS WELL DOCUMENTED, AS ARE THE MYSTERIES OF HIS LIFE. WHAT LED TO HIS HEARING LOSS? WHO WAS HIS IMMORTAL BELOVED? WHO WAS HIS FATHER? WHAT CAUSED HIS DEATH? THERE ARE SO MANY QUESTIONS AND SO FEW ANSWERS ABOUT HIS LIFE AND WORK. 

What is lost among his prodigious talent and unanswered questions are his life's triumphs and tribulations. A holistic look at his life shows the value of a life filled with passion, purpose, and determination.

This is where Beethoven's true genius soars like a beautiful melody above an abrasive, turbulent, rhythmic, and harmonic line.

This is where you and Ludwig share some common ground.

THIS FEELING OF INADEQUACY FUELED HIS DRIVE, PASSION, AND WILLINGNESS TO WORK THROUGH, OVER, AND AROUND, ANY OBSTACLES THROWN IN HIS PATH, INCLUDING DEAFNESS.

The early 1800s were very different from our modern day. Not worse, just different. Composing music is not the same thing as teaching it, but the struggles Beethoven and you share have common ground. Like many of you, Ludwig was troubled by his imperfection, filled with self-loathing and doubt. 

He never felt like he had achieved his magnum opus or grand accomplishment. In other words, despite being among the greatest composers of all time - he never felt as if he had reached his full potential.

Sound familiar?

Beethoven's life was hard. I mean, really hard. Beethoven had no father, no support system, no companion, and was seriously sick for most of his life. And then... The world's most preeminent composer went deaf! That's hard. So hard, that when he learned of his impending hearing loss, he considered taking his own life. In an unsent suicide letter to his brothers, he wrote:

"It seemed impossible to leave the world until I had produced all that I felt called upon me to produce, and so I endured this wretched existence… Difficult is beautiful and good; patience it is that I must now choose for my guide."

Reread it out loud. 

"Difficult is beautiful; let patience be my guide."

I don't know about you - but that resonates with me more than his Ninth Symphony.

As a teacher and a person, I understand and embrace the first part. Where I continue to fail is letting patience be my guide—patience with myself, my students, and my life. Patience requires trust, and faith that you are a willing, deserving, and worthy part of this profession and this life.

Ludwig may no longer be composing, but he teaches us to embrace the challenge and patiently wait for the results. Like Beethoven, this likely means that the full measure of your results may not be realized until you have left this profession or this planet.

Be like Beethoven, be patient. 

Beethoven's work as a composer continues two hundred years after his passing. With only fragmented sketches remaining, artificial intelligence that studied his compositional style realized his 10th and "Unfinished Symphony." You can hear it here. 

As a teacher, he shows us that everyone struggles and that grit, determination, and passion will prevail over pain.

Like Ludwig, one day, you will no longer be conducting, but your "Unfinished Symphony" will continue in the lives of your students and their children. Looking Bach, the true lessons of Ludwig and your life are Haydn in plain sight.* 

"Difficult is beautiful; let patience be your guide."

Something to remember on this, and every other morning.

Have a great week, my friends. 

Scott 

*These puns came from Dave Pell - an online curator I avidly follow; is the self-proclaimed Managing Editor of the Internet, and King of Puns.



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