SEASON CREEP AND MY SUNBURN

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

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

How do I know? My favorite barista says so.

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

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

And Starbucks is no unicorn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

And we are not alone in this dilemma.

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

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

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

Let me explain.

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

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

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

 

Scott

A Night of Firsts and Lasts

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

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

This is the free September edition of my e-zine 

A NIGHT OF FIRSTS... AND LASTS

 

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

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

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

  • First pep-assembly

  • First high school football game

  • First time loading the bus

  • First time putting on a uniform

  • First time performing in front of a large crowd

  • First time under the stadium lights

  • First post performance pep-talk

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

  • First wrong notes and out of tune chords

  • First missed drill spots and out of step students

  • First dropped toss

  • First "time tear"

  • First electronic malfunction

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday? That can be about analysis and correction.

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

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

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

And this is where it gets personal.

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

 But I have another son, and another chance.

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

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

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

  • Burst with pride and excitement for the first time.

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

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

  • See him be simultaneously terrified and excited. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will do all of this and more...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a great week.

Scott

 

PLAYING WITH HOUSE MONEY - PART 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, they should start by paying ME!

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

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

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

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

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

SO WHERE'S MY CHECK? 

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

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

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

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

  • Game day food and drink (unknown)

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

  • $75.00 for gas and mileage for rehearsal and performances

  • I'm willing to pay for my drumsticks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Would sponsorship dollars be affected by the lackluster experience?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just so you know...

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

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

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

  3. Revenue was generated at events they participated in.

Then, I am justified in my request. 

 

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

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

How did I arrive at that number?:

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

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

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

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

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

So don't play poor with me. 

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

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

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

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

Something to consider.

Scott

 

Playing with House Money - Part 1

 

PLAYING WITH HOUSE MONEY - PART 1

I am starting off with a bang! I have been stewing on this for a couple of weeks now, and I think I am ready to share.

With the (re)release of EA Sports NCAA 2025, it seems like an appropriate time to share. 

Let me warn you, this will take some unpacking (two newsletters), but I think you will find it worthwhile, interesting, and applicable.

In case you are unaware, over the past three years, significant changes have occured in college sports allowing student athletes to be paid for their performance, on and off the field. This landmark legislation called Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL). represents a seismic shift in collegiate athletes and allows athletes to profit from their athletic skills and personal brand.

Yes, college athletes are no long amateurs. They are paid professionals, sometimes making more money in college than they will during

 In the past, NCAA rules prohibited athletes from monetizing their fame while playing for their universities. These recent reforms have enabled them to earn income through endorsements, sponsorships, and social media presence. This change allows "amateur" athletes to share in the revenue they help to generate.

Recently, Grant House, a former collegiate swimmer at Arizona State University (Go Devils!), sued the NCAA (House vs. NCAA) for back "wages" he believes he is due from his four years as a competitive swimmer. He won a 2.7 billion dollar settlement (twenty million dollars per Division 1 University to be paid out over ten years), benefitting 14,000 previous NCAA athletes dating back to 2016. 

 If you want a quick primer, read this article.  Otherwise you can let me give you a quick overview.

This landmark case provided two significant legal precedents:

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

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

Are you following me so far? It's about to get interesting.

In short, a legal precedent now codifies that universities must share their revenue directly with athletes, past, present, and future, who help produce them.

The substance of the case is groundbreaking, but how we got there is even more interesting.

In a recent article on CBSSports.com quoted primary plaintiff Grant House as saying: 

"I was inspired by student musicians who could also get paid for professional work. I always thought it was interesting that … if [those musicians] can monetize this, take it to the farthest reaches, I couldn't because I was an athlete doing my own aspirations and dreams," House said. "... That just didn't sit well with me and confused me a lot."

In other words, a twenty-billion dollar landmark settlement upending college athletics, as we know, didn't come from a swimmer looking up into the grandstands but from looking at the School of Music.

 Mind blown yet? WELL-HANG ON, I'm not finished.

In a recent article in the Arizona Republic, new Arizona State University Athletic Director Graham Rossini, who has a Master's in Sports Law and Business from Sandra Day O'Connor Law School, discussed the ruling and his interpretation.

"Unless you're at the very top, you're really trying to scrape by and make sure you win out at these meets or have a job supporting you," he said. "Now, at least in college you have a brand to support your career. You focus on performing because (the window to compete) is not a long one."

So, before I drop the bomb - let's review what we know so far:

Step 1: A 2019 court ruling allows "amateur" college athletes to be paid via NIL collectives.
Step 2: Grant House sues and successfully wins the right for past athletes in non-revenue generating sports to receive compensation.
Step 3: House vs. NCAA also sets a precedent and requires that revenues received be shared (in some proportional way) directly with those (athletes) who helped to generate them.
Step 4: My school's (ASU) athletic director states that this is a way to compensate all students, not just those at the top who are "scraping by."

With me? OK, get ready...

WHERE'S MY CHECK?

Ok, I'm not a dinosaur. I don't a check, I accept Venmo! Heck, I accept all payments except for Dogecoin and NFT's.

No matter how I receive it, I want my money, and I am not kidding. They owe me, and I can prove it! I have studied the issue, read the relevant case law, and reviewed the verdict. Seriously, I did.

I AM DUE SOME CASH. I can prove it, and I have calculated the amount I am owed.

But all of that can wait until next week.

Do I have you thinking? I hope so.


Welcome back to another school year, I hope you have a great week.

- Scott

 

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FINAL "WHY NOT?" #14 - CHEESY MILESTONES 

Long ago in ancient Rome, there was a bustling little town with a peculiar problem: travelers were constantly getting lost on the long, winding roads leading to the city. Though they were marvels of engineering, these roads looked strikingly similar, causing even the most experienced travelers to wander in circles like lost chickens.

This issue particularly vexed the town's governor, known for his love of order, efficiency, and somewhat eccentric sense of humor (much like myself). Determined to solve the navigation problem once and for all, he called a meeting with his top advisors, the town's mapmaker, and, for reasons unknown, the local cheese merchant.

After much debate, discussion, and excessive cheese sampling (the mayor believed cheese stimulated the brain), the mapmaker proposed placing large stone markers along the roads at regular intervals. These stones would indicate the distance traveled from the town center, making it easier for travelers to know exactly where they were and how far they had to go.

 The first milestone was erected exactly one Roman mile from the town center. The mayor insisted on a grand unveiling ceremony, complete with a parade (so now we know who to blame for parades!), musicians, and an abundance of cheese. The stone itself was a sight to behold, carved with ornate Roman numerals and the face of the mayor, grinning proudly.

Travelers found the milestones incredibly helpful. No longer did they wander aimlessly, for they could now count the miles and navigate with ease. The clever invention spread throughout the Roman Empire, and other towns, cities, and countries began to adopt the practice, though they opted for less flamboyant designs.

As a Colonial Postmaster, Benjamin Franklin introduced the concept of milestones. He believed such a tool would keep postal riders on schedule and expedite mail delivery. As with all things Benjamin Franklin, the idea soon spread far and wide.

With our founding father's help, the concept and the term spread far and wide and eventually became synonymous as a significant marker along a literal and metaphorical journey. 

As you read this newsletter, I am at such a point - a cheeseless but significant milestone.

 Twenty years ago today, at 4:35 p.m., I stepped out of the classroom for the final time as a high school band director. Not knowing what the future would hold and fully embracing the possibility of failure (and return to a classroom), I left without any fanfare, celebration, or acknowledgment of my sixteen-plus years as a teacher and administrator. I turned in my keys, gathered my belongings, and walked out the band room door—something I regret to this day—not the leaving, but not celebrating the close of one journey and the starting of the next.

Twenty years later, I am pausing to acknowledge this milestone, knowing that many came before and will come after it. Today is one marker in a lifetime journey. A marker that validates my path, shows my progress, and points to the future. As with all milestones, today is not a destination but a journey.

Reflecting on these past two decades, I have always known that while I may have left the classroom, the classroom has never left me. The classroom has changed, but the mission remains the same: more music for more kids.

On this new pathway, the milestones are harder to find. There is no obvious beginning or end; students come and go, not every year but every day. It's also harder to measure progress, unless we are talking about nights in a hotel or frequent flier miles. The milestones are there. Nonetheless, I just stopped looking.

 As you read this, some of you are marking significant milestones: new schools, new careers, new degrees, or being newly retired. While others will celebrate smaller ones: another year complete, a high score at contest, a growing program, or a million smiles made. 

Regardless of what milestone you are marking, it's important to acknowledge and celebrate the milestones, memories, and lasting legacy you have created—not just the final one but each one along the way, big and small. Remember, the very purpose of a milestone is not to celebrate the end of the journey but to validate the pathway, demonstrate your progress, and show you there is more road to be traveled.

If you are celebrating a milestone, I want to know about it. It can be as small (I turned in attendance three straight days) or as large (I am retiring tomorrow) as you like. I want to celebrate you and the progress you made in your journey. Please don't be shy; tell me about your milestone and what makes it special to you. I want to not just celebrate you, but celebrate WITH you!

I have been thinking, and I don't know how I am going to celebrate my milestone, Maybe you don't know how you are going to celebrate yours either. So, if you have an idea for me, I might have an idea for you. If not, we can just connect and celebrate and figure it out together.

To foster that, you can use the button below to email me, call me at (480) 577-5264, or check my Zoom room. I am traveling but will sign on when possible - more so in the mid-afternoon and early evening.

I will respond to every email (but be patient). I don't want you to make the same mistake I made twenty years ago, not acknowledging each milestone.

Perhaps we can even share some cheese.

Why not?

Have a great week. As always, thank you for all that you do to fill our world and young people's lives with music.

Scott

p.s.  I hope you have enjoyed the three months series "Why Not"  With this being the end of the year, this will be my last email for a bit - I will return when you do! In the meantime, I hope to see you in person as I run around the country.

WHY NOT? #13 - HOLDING (FOOD) COURT

In the heartland of American consumerism, a silent revolution is underway. Once filled with the scent of freshly baked pretzels and sounds of gleeful shoppers, the American shopping mall is dying. 

This once epicenter of retail therapy and teenage angst faces its most formidable adversary yet: the relentless march of time, technology, and demand for consumer convenience. 

Once considered an essential sign of status, "the mall" has been competing against high operational costs, lower costs associated with online shopping, the convenience of one-day delivery, and a global pandemic.

Macy's, JCPenney, Nordstrom, and others are closing hundreds of their mall stores as online shopping has grown to around 16% of US retail sales. Real estate research firm Green Street estimates that about 150 enclosed malls have closed since 2008, leaving about 900 today."

According to recent statistics, the number of shopping malls in the United States has plummeted faster than a Black Friday bargain. In fact, experts predict that by the year 2030, the only place you'll find a shopping mall is in a museum next to the relics of Blockbuster and the Blackberry 8100.

And the shopping isn't the only thing that's dying.

What about the infamous food court - once a culinary melting pot of gastronomic fast-food delights? It now resembles a ghost town populated by lone one-off survivors serving oversized sodas and stale nachos. The once-revered Orange Julius is gone, and the beloved Sbarro is a distant memory.

 An article on CNN states, "Food was long an afterthought at malls, and department stores were the primary reason shoppers visited. But that is changing." As US malls race to reinvent themselves, they aren't replacing lost tenants with Pottery Barn and The Gap; they're replacing them with sushi conveyor belts, craft beer membership clubs, and Korean barbecue.

And that's where the renaissance begins.

At one time, the mall's primary purpose was to shop, with food being a minor afterthought to keep shoppers shopping longer. Now, their place on the impact ladder has them flip-flopping, with food being the reason customers flock to the mall, hoping they will shop afterward.

There are some lessons for music educators and our buildings to learn here.

Since its inception, the primary purpose of a music room has been to make music, but it is not the room's SOLE purpose, nor is it the SOUL of the room. 

Music may be the reason our buildings were conceived, designed, and built thirty years ago, but that doesn't mean our buildings, curricula, and purpose haven't evolved into something more than musical overtones and soaring melodies. 

Think about it.

Set aside the fact that our room is a place where we hold meetings, practice marching basics, and rehearse the color guard—all of which are non-musical activities—this space serves as a gathering space for friends, a place of refuge from the onslaught of academics, and a safe place away from the myriad of unhealthy choices teenagers make every day.

 In our rehearsal spaces, students learn to create soaring melodies and complex harmonies. These rooms are also a place where students learn to take risks, push themselves, and be accountable to others. It is where they not only create but collaborate. This is where our young people grow to become young adults, musical and otherwise.

If you were to ask any of my former students, they would tell you that I was a high-energy, high-standards, and high-results teacher. Effort was placed at a premium, and I pushed my students to be their best. As a music educator, I took pride in the accomplishments of my students and ensembles.

However, a fundamental change occurred as my own children approached high school. I became far less concerned with the quality of the music and more concerned with the quality of the experience.

Can we have both? Absolutely! But we only measure one: music.

I have always said, "You can't change the life of a child who isn't there—and our greatest enemy is an empty chair." What if we took a step back and looked at what it took to bring in and keep more kids making music?What if we could measure the things ancillary to music that attract children to this activity and keep them there, including food, social interaction, personal growth, and safety? We have ratings for everything else, so why not this? 

Shopping keeps the mall doors open, but what brings the shoppers to the mall is anything but. Landlords don't care what brings shoppers to the mall, just that they come. What keeps the doors open in a music building is making music, but what brings the music makers to the room is anything but. Perhaps we could be less concerned with what brings someone to our building and just be happy they came.

Why not?

Otherwise, we might go the way of Orange Julius.

Something to think about.

Have a great week, 

 

Scott

© SCOTT LANG LEADERSHIP 2024 - all rights reserved

 

WHY NOT? #12 - MR. IRRELEVANT & BEING PURDY GOOD

Last week, the NFL conducted its 2024 Draft. A record 750,000 people attended the three-day event in person, and more than 12 million people worldwide watched it on TV. It truly has become quite a spectacle.

The NFL draft is where hope springs eternal; every player believes they are a future hall of famer, and every fan believes this is "their year."

Amidst the excitement and anticipation, there's one player who stands out in a very unexpected way. "Mr. Irrelevant" is the moniker bestowed on the player chosen with the draft's final selection.

Fifty years ago, after a brief stint in the NFL, Paul Salata came up with an interesting idea: What if the NFL celebrated the last pick of the draft the same way it did the first guy off the board? The idea was to celebrate the mere selection of being asked to play in the NFL, but in a fun way, coining the phrase, Mr. Irrelevant.

In an article on ESPN.com Salata stated, "We established Mr. Irrevelent to drive home an important message—that it's not a negative to be picked last in the NFL Draft; rather, it's an honor to be drafted at all. The last draft pick demonstrates perseverance, a lesson that resonates with people everywhere."

One of the latest and greatest examples of this lesson is Brock Purdy, quarterback of the San Francisco 49ers, and Mr. Irrelevant 2022. During his rookie season, after injuries to the starting and backup quarterback, Purdy left the practice squad to lead his team to eight consecutive victories and the NFC Championship game. Were it not for a severe injury he sustained at the start of the game, many believed the 49ers, led by Purdy, would have gone on to win the Super Bowl.

Brock Purdy proves that despite dozens of coaches and scouts, thousands of hours of film study, and dozens of pre-draft workouts, the best of the best still get it wrong. Determining who someone will become is more of an art and less of a science. It's more about will than it is skill.

"He's never had a backup plan," Brock's mom, Carrie Purdy, says. "He wasn't going to be a pharmaceutical sales rep or real estate agent. He was going to be a football player."

Like many of you, I identify with Mr. Irrelevant because early on in my career, I was never seen as or felt like I was 'draft-worthy' as a music educator. 

After auditioning to be a music major, I was not awarded a scholarship and wasn't accepted into the studio. After I got in, I struggled with theory, history, and piano, and I rarely placed in the top ensembles. In short, I had to work and study twice as hard to keep up with my more talented counterparts.

But I didn't give up. I persevered and put in the work. Over time, I watched more qualified candidates and better musicians fade away into other majors while I stayed the course. Like Brock Purdy, for me, there was no backup plan. I would be a music teacher, and a good one—period.

Music Educator is our title. We are musicians and educators—requiring two equally essential but divergent skill sets. Are we musicians first or educators first? What good are music skills if you can't communicate them in an environment conducive to learning? Conversely, what good are classroom control skills if you have no music pedagogy to share when the room is quiet?

We've all seen fine musicians struggle on the podium, and many stellar teachers struggle with an instrument in their hand. Truth be told, most of us are somewhere in between - proficient at both and perfect at neither.

Being a musician is hard. Being an educator is hard. Combined, the job description morphs into something completely different. It's almost impossible to describe and even harder to assess. These qualities are subjective, and the skills required vary based on the levels, content, and area in which you teach.

Despite my desire, I didn't know if I would be a good music educator. And neither did anyone else. Others thought they knew, but they didn't. 

The same holds true for our students. I like to think I know if they will be successful, but I don't know for sure. Just as I would like to believe I surprised some of my professors, I can tell you that there are students who have amazed me.

Remember, after over a decade in the sport, countless coaches, two dozen college games, thousands of game-time reps, hundreds of scouts, general managers, and coaches failed to see Brock Purdy's potential. They saw the mobility, speed, and arm strength but could not see the magic. 

All of you have outpaced, outperformed, and outlived someone else's expectations. Someone placed limitations on you that you did not embrace. At some point and in some way, through your efforts, expectations were exceeded, challenges were overcome, and barriers were broken. This is your super power. 

And it's what makes you Mr. Irrelevant. 

And that's something the NFL thinks is worth celebrating.

Why not?

Have a great week, everyone!

 

Scott

 

WHY NOT? #11 - DEALING WITH VICARIOUSITY

Many of you may know I coached my boys in football for the past fifteen years. I love it, and I'm pretty good at it. In fact, I have an undefeated record of 17-0 in the last two seasons. 

What makes me prouder than my record is that once a boy joins my team, he stays with me for the long haul. 

Over the years, I have kept the same core group of boys for ten-plus years, both for my older and younger sons. I have boys playing D1 college football who still call me "Coach Scott" and ask if we can get the gang back together.

I love every minute of it. It's the closest thing I have that resembles teaching music. I see the same kids, share the same jokes, and build relationships I will remember for the rest of my life, even if they don't.

As a coach, I have witnessed my fair share of sideline antics from parents. And being in a highly competitive league, I have seen more than one former NFL player trying to shape his son into who he was, or even worse, who he failed to be. I have even been physically threatened by one after my amateur team, coached by a former band director, beat his son's club team, coached by former pro players. 

Yes, much like when I taught, being around adults and their children can be as inspiring as it is appalling. 

We've all met at least one parent who lives vicariously through their kids. Maybe you know a dad whose NFL dreams were crushed because of an injury or other career-ending setback. So now, he pushes his son to be the star quarterback so he can once again live the glory of the gridiron through his pre-teen progeny.

Maybe you know a mother who was an Ivy League college reject, and is now writing the wrong dealt to her by hiring expensive tutors and pressuring her kids to become straight-A students to lord over her neighbors, friends, and frankly, anyone and everyone else who will listen. 

From sports dads to stage moms, many of today's parents are pushing their kids to succeed. They often try to get their kids to fulfill their dreams and finish their unfinished business. This goes beyond being a helicopter parent and crosses into dangerously unhealthy territory.

It's called Vicariousity - living one's dream through their child. And it's wrong.

But, I might be guilty of it.

As I type this blog, I am sitting in a coffee shop exactly one mile from where my youngest son is auditioning for his high school's drumline —and I am terrified—truly terrified.

Don't get me wrong—my son will find a place somewhere. His teachers are fantastic and will find a place for every child no matter what. They are intelligent, knowledgeable, and, more importantly, kind. They are everything you would want and hope for your child, and we chose this school largely because of them.

So why am I scared?  

My oldest son did band and enjoyed it. However, the pandemic and a director change derailed his band experience, and he only partially got to experience the transformative experience that is music. His senior year, the choir director snatched him out of a hallway and saved him, but he wandered through high school largely without a home.

I can't have this happen with my youngest son. He NEEDS band.

After my eldest son graduated high school, my wife, who knows nothing about music, said, "I feel bad for you. You waited your whole life to watch your son be in band, and it was stolen from you."

From me? Or, from him?

Perhaps both.

All I know is that I don't care what instrument he plays or what their show is. I don't care what ratings they get or how they finish at competition. I just want him to have what I had: memories, friends, laughter, tears, triumph, heartbreak, and everything else that goes with this incredible activity. I want him to have a group of friends to rely on and a safe space on campus to call his home. 

Or, maybe it's me who needs him to need it. I don't know.

I don't want him to finish what I started; I want him to start what I finished.

If that's Vicariousity, I'll take it.

Why not?

 

Have a great week!

 

Scott

 

WHY NOT? #11 - THE LONG MILE

I am a runner. I always have been. 

I find solace and challenge in the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement. It's just me, my playlist, and time to think. 

Admittedly, I have fallen off the wagon in recent months, but rest assured, I will be back running the streets again soon. 

To be clear, there are sprinters, and there are runners. I am most certainly the latter and not the former.

If you were to race me in a sprint, you would undoubtedly win, as my short legs and slow-twitch muscles almost always leave me in last place, even when racing a parked car. 

However, if we were to run anything more than a mile, you would be hard-pressed to keep up. I have a small frame and an unending motor that can run for hours without much drop-off. I have completed five half marathons and countless 10Ks, but I have yet to attempt the Holy Grail of long-distance running—a full marathon.

 At some point in my life, I was in good enough shape and could knock out 15 miles or more, but I never went the final distance and attempted a marathon, which still haunts me.

There's still hope.

Dubbed "everyman's Everest," long-distance running, once a niche and grueling sport, has exploded in popularity over the past few decades. The most interesting thing is not how many people are running, but who is running. 

According to a New York Times article, "Many of those who run marathons today are middle-aged or older, and some are less fit and less experienced. As a result, the average finish time in American marathons has slowed considerably, even as the top runners keep getting faster. It's a sign of how popular marathons have become."

This article states that the average finish time in the Boston Marathon 1924 was just under three hours. However, in the recent race held on Monday, the average finish time was nearly four hours, representing almost a 33% drop off. Interestingly, despite this trend, speed course records are set yearly. 

The article suggests that many races are becoming less strict about entrants' credentials to attract more participants. This was the case for Andy Sloan, 36, who registered for his first marathon in Honolulu last year. Although he finished last, completing the course in 16 hours 59 minutes 39 seconds, Sloan found more meaning in the support from the cheering crowds than in hitting a specific goal time during his training.


"To feel supported the whole way, even though I was the last person on the course, felt really, really good," he told me. "Knowing that I took the time to set a goal, and worked really hard to achieve it, it did mean a lot to me."

Running is a unique activity that brings professional athletes and amateurs together on the same course and day. It's an opportunity for enthusiasts to stand alongside the pros and push toward the finish line, even if their times differ significantly.

Music and marathons share this quality in many ways. Although we may all play the same instruments and music, our performances are vastly different. Whether gifted or not, professional or amateur, we all have reasons for playing.

However, too often, we celebrate only the most accomplished musicians, forgetting about the rest of the ensemble. It's similar to how we only remember famous runners like Jim Fixx while overlooking other participants. We must remember that, as with marathons, the goal of music-making is not always to finish first but to persevere until the end.

As music educators, we often prioritize those who successfully cross the finish line of a program or graduation ceremony. While we take pride in those who have persevered and achieved, we should remember that over half of those who start do not reach the end. Moreover, we mistakenly treat graduation as the ultimate goal, when in reality, it is more comparable to a 10K race - a notable milestone but not the end of the journey towards a lifetime of musical creativity.

During an open forum with renowned marathon runner Jim Fixx, an amateur runner approached the microphone and marveled, "I can't comprehend how you can run so fast for three hours." Mr. Fixx responded with his own question, "I have no idea; how can you run for six hours?" 

 

In athletics, as in life, there is a tendency to remember the professional who answers the question rather than the amateur who asked it.

 Instead of solely celebrating the top ensembles, players, and performances, we should also focus on the youngest ensembles, weakest players, and worst performances. By doing so, we can equally recognize an ensemble's musicality and longevity.

As music educators, we excel at celebrating the best. However, we should also strive to remember to celebrate the worst and to encourage them never to stop trying to reach the same finish line.

Why not?

Wishing you a wonderful week ahead.

 

Scott

WHY NOT? #10 - MY 401K AND SHORT-TERM PAIN


Since this upcoming Monday is Tax Day, let's continue on that theme for this week.  

My taxes are complicated, like solving a 10 sided Rubix Cube while blindfolded complicated.
 
Let me explain, or at least try to.

Scott Lang Leadership is an LLC (Limited Liability Company) that files quarterly as an S-Corp with returns due on March 15th. 

Scott Lang, the S-Corp, pays Scott Lang, the employee, a W2 wage - it is my salary (and I deserve a raise).

 These earnings pass on to my personal taxes via a K-1 flow-through using a W2 and are combined with Be Part of the Music and Music FUNdations using Schedule C for my personal returns. This part of my returns are due on April 15th.

Last week, while preparing my taxes, my accountant and financial planner struggled to agree on how to interpret my 401K. It turns out that our tax code is more like a musical score than a textbook. Every conductor and financial person interprets it differently. 

One such area that is open to interpretation is retirement accounts. As a solopreneur, I have an independent 401K, which allows me to contribute both as an employee and an employer. The difference? Taxes. 

For those unaware, there are two types of taxes when dealing with retirement accounts: short-term and long-term, and the difference is significant.

 Musically speaking, short-term capital gains taxes resemble a Rick Astley tune. Its life span and time on the charts are less than one year, so the taxman, hoping to deter Rick from repeating it, takes a more significant chunk of the profits. Now you understand the muse for Never Gonna Give You Up.

Long-term capital gains taxes are more like a Copland Symphony—classics that have withstood the test of time (longer than a year). So the taxman, wanting more of this type of thinking, takes a smaller chunk of the earnings, making Aaron want to Hoe Down.

The difference lies in the duration of ownership—short-term gains (under one year) are subject to higher tax rates than long-term gains.

Last week, I proffered that tax codes are as much about behavior modification as revenue generation. I stand by that. By taxing long-term capital gains at a much lower rate, the government is incentivizing you to save your money, and rely less on them. Win-win. 

The lesson learned? Short-term matters, but long-term matters more for you and our country.

 In education, we favor the short-term over the long-term by focusing on:

  • daily/weekly attendance

  • Individual class grades

  • GPAs

  • Single-game wins and losses

  • SAT/ACT scores

  • College acceptance rates

  • Graduation rates

In music, we aren't much better as we focus on:

  • Our next rehearsal

  • Our next concert

  • Our next contest

  • Individual chair placement

  • Next year's incoming class/enrollment

  • Number of all-region/all-state kids

Yes, all of these matter, but they are short-term (under a year) and do not favor a long-term look at the value proposition of (music) education.

As an advocate who understands the value of participation in music, I know the numbers, but they are mostly short-term. What if we studied and understood the long-term impacts of participating in school music programs. For instance, what if we knew the effect of music in the following areas:

  • Lifetime marriage & divorce rates

  • Career types and duration

  • Lifetime income differential

  • Number of college degrees

  • Volunteer hours

  • Voting rates

  • Days spent incarcerated

  • Days spent unemployed

  • And so much more

I would also be interested to know more about the quality of that life, such as:

  • Mental health

  • Happiness

  • Unhealthy behaviors

  • Drug and alcohol dependency

  • Vacation/travel

  • Number of languages spoken

We want all young people to lead happy, prosperous, and productive lives. However, to fully understand music's impact on a child's life, our tax code shows us the right way to think about it. Short-term matters, but long-term matters more.

We need to study the entire life of someone who has participated in a school music program and value the long-term gains more than the short-term ones. 

Why not?