Feeding the People: Rethinking Music Education

I Was Trained in the Culinary Art of Music

As a band kid, I learned how to prepare the most refined musical dishes: symphonies, marches, overtures, each crafted with precision, tradition, and discipline. Marching band taught me the thrill of synchronization, the pride of performance, and the beauty of musical teamwork. I still love it. Those experiences shaped who I am as a musician, teacher, and person.For years, I believed that was simply what music education was supposed to be.

But over time, I began to notice something I hadn't paid much attention to before. While we were perfecting our recipes in the kitchen, most of the world was standing outside, hungry. Traditional school music programs have mastered the fine dining of music education. They require years of training, specialized instruments, and a taste for a very particular menu, one built around notation, hierarchy, and uniformity. Students who begin early, have access to instruments, and are willing to commit to years of rehearsals often thrive in that environment.

But what about everyone else?

Many students never even make it through the front door. Some didn't start in fifth grade and feel it's too late to join. Some can't afford instruments or private lessons. Others simply don't see themselves reflected in the music being performed. Many love music deeply, but not in the particular way our programs ask them to. By the time students reach secondary school, nearly three-quarters are not participating in any form of school music. That means three-quarters of our community and society as a whole is musically starving. It took becoming a teacher for me to really see this.

I met students who loved making beats on their laptops, writing songs in their bedrooms, playing guitar with friends, producing tracks, or singing into their phones. They weren't avoiding music. They were making music. They simply weren't finding a place for themselves inside the school music program. That realization changed me.

I didn't stop loving band. I started asking a different question. Instead of asking, "How can we get more students into our existing programs?" I began asking, "How can we design music education so more students can belong?" Modern band and popular music education represent one possible answer.

Rather than the exclusive restaurant, I think of them as the neighborhood café, a place where everyone is welcome to come in, contribute, and feel at home. In a fine dining restaurant, everyone orders from the same carefully curated menu. In a neighborhood café, people bring different tastes, different experiences, and different reasons for being there. Some stay for hours talking with friends. Some stop in briefly. Some discover a new favorite dish they never would have ordered otherwise.

The goal isn't uniformity.

The goal is community.

In this café, students bring their own musical tastes, songs, and ways of learning. We don't simply hand them a menu. We hand them the tools to cook. They learn to create, perform, record, collaborate, improvise, and share music that has meaning in their lives while discovering music that has meaning to others. This isn't about lowering standards. It's about expanding what counts as music education.

When students learn to write songs, perform in bands, create beats, produce recordings, or play music that matters to them, they are developing musicianship every bit as real as learning to perform in a concert ensemble. They are also developing confidence, creativity, collaboration, and a lifelong relationship with music.

Band, choir, orchestra, and marching band will always have a place in our schools. They are rich, time-honored traditions that have transformed countless lives, including mine. I don't want to replace those traditions.

I want to expand the table.

Because excellence can take many forms: a beautifully balanced concert band, a student-produced album, a rock groove shared with friends, a beat created on a laptop, or a song written by someone who never thought they were "musical." When we make room for more pathways, we don't diminish what already exists. We strengthen music education by allowing more students to find a place where they can participate, contribute, and grow.

It's time for music educators to step out of the fine-dining kitchen and into the community kitchen, where the meals might be messier, the recipes more varied, and everyone is invited to help prepare the meal. Because when we start feeding the people, we don't just make more musicians. We create more people who see music as something they can do rather than something they simply watch.

That's the conversation I hope to explore here on The Flipside. I love the traditions that shaped me, but I also believe we can build something bigger. A music education that welcomes more students, values more ways of making music, and reminds us that music isn't a luxury reserved for the trained few.

It is a language that belongs to everyone.