Part 1: My Students Aren’t Wrong - But They’ve Been Given a Narrow Version of Music

I have had a growing realization in my teaching, and it has forced me to slow down before I speak, before I correct, and before I try to expand anything. My students are not wrong.

When a student tells me that being in the top music ensemble is the most meaningful part of their week, I believe them. When they say their applied lessons are where they feel the most growth, I do not question that. When they place enormous value on performing difficult repertoire at a high level, that value is real. It would be easy to respond by saying there is so much more to music than this. While I still believe that, I have come to realize that saying it that way misses something important. The issue is not that students are wrong. The issue is that their musical world is often much smaller than it could be.

Most students do not arrive at a School of Music having made an active, informed choice about what counts as real music making. They have inherited that definition over years of schooling. In many K–12 settings, music education is structured around large ensembles, directed rehearsals, performance of notated repertoire, and clearly defined hierarchies. Within that system, students learn more than how to play or sing. They learn what counts. They learn that reading notation is central, that performing prepared repertoire is the goal, that the teacher makes the musical decisions, and that excellence is measured through accuracy and precision. Over time, these ideas take root and begin to feel natural.

By the time students arrive at a collegiate School of Music, whether they are majoring in music education, performance, or another area entirely, this understanding is already deeply embedded. If this is the system they have known, it makes complete sense that they would value it. It is where they have succeeded, where they have found belonging, and where they have been recognized. There is nothing misguided about that. It is a logical response to the environment they have experienced.

Another piece of this has become clearer to me over time. In many traditional ensemble settings, the experience is intentionally centered around the conductor. The conductor selects the repertoire, shapes the interpretation, and ultimately determines what the music becomes. Within that structure, the quality of the experience is closely tied to the person at the center. A strong conductor can make the ensemble feel alive, meaningful, and worth the effort, while a weaker experience can have the opposite effect. It is no surprise that students place enormous value on being in the top ensemble or studying with a particular teacher. When they say that an ensemble means everything to them, part of what they are responding to is the way that musical meaning is shaped for them.

This does not make their perspective wrong. It means they are operating within a model where musical value is largely located at the front of the room. If that is the primary model they have experienced, it should not surprise us that they associate musical value with being placed in the right group, with the right leader, at the right level.

At the same time, there are entire dimensions of music making that many students across all music majors have had little opportunity to experience. These include creating their own music, improvising without a script, collaborating without a central authority, making musical decisions as a group, producing and sharing music independently, and connecting music to their own identities and communities. These are not fringe activities. For many people, these are the primary ways they engage with music in their lives. But when students have not been given meaningful access to these forms of music making, they do not register as equally legitimate. In some cases, they do not register at all.

As a result, students often enter a School of Music with a musical identity that is both deeply meaningful and narrowly defined. This is not a failure on their part. It is a reflection of what they have been shown and what has been consistently reinforced over time. Teachers at all levels, including those of us in higher education, make decisions every day about what to include, what to exclude, what to emphasize, and what to treat as optional. Over time, these decisions shape students’ understanding of what music is and what it can be. When certain forms of music making are consistently centered while others are absent, students do not interpret that as a neutral choice. They interpret it as a statement of value.

By the time they reach college, those values can feel settled. Students who have thrived in traditional settings often deepen their investment in those pathways. They pursue higher levels of ensemble participation, commit more fully to applied study, and seek out spaces where they know how to succeed. For some students, that path continues to be meaningful and fulfilling. For others, it does not quite fit, but they may not have the experiences or language to imagine something different.

If our programs only reinforce the pathways students already know, we risk narrowing the definition of success even further. We also risk leaving behind students who might thrive in different musical spaces but have never been given the opportunity to discover them.

The answer is not to tell students that what they value is wrong. That approach tends to shut people down and create defensiveness. Instead, the work is to expand their experiences in ways that feel legitimate and meaningful. When students are given opportunities to contribute ideas, take risks without a single correct outcome, collaborate through shared decision making, and see their own musical interests reflected in the process, something begins to shift. This shift is not always immediate or dramatic, but over time their understanding of music becomes more flexible, more inclusive, and more personal.

Importantly, students do not have to abandon what they already value in order for this expansion to occur. Ensemble participation and applied study can remain meaningful parts of their musical lives. What changes is that these experiences are no longer the only way they understand music. They become part of a larger landscape rather than the entire map.

Perhaps the goal of a School of Music is not to guide every student toward a single model of excellence. Perhaps it is to ensure that students leave with more than one way to make music, more than one way to connect, and more than one way to belong. When we approach music education in this way, we are not replacing what we have built. We are expanding it.

My students are not wrong. They are responding to the world of music that has been presented to them, and for many, that world has been powerful and meaningful. But it is not the whole picture. If we want students to see the full range of what music can be, it is not enough to tell them. We have to show them. We have to design experiences that expand their sense of possibility. When we do that, students do not lose what they had. They gain something more, and that responsibility belongs to all of us who teach music.

In the next part, I will examine how my students are not wrong wanting to be a conductor.