It was Thursday.
My 2nd-grade student stood at the piano next to me, his hand on the white keys in the upper register. We were improvising in minor—coming up with patterns and musical ideas. He played C-B-A spontaneously and it caught his attention.
“My ears were looking, but not my eyes!” he said with pride and amazement, tipping his ear toward the keys. His sandy brown hair fell across his blue eyes as he replayed the pattern.
What if we listened with our eyes and saw with our ears?
Advent is a season of hope, patience, expectation, and waiting. A reminder that light follows darkness; we cannot have one without the other. This is why I love Advent calendars—a tangible way to count the days of December and hold on to hope.
Whether you’re counting down to Christmas, Winter Break, or the end of concert season, an Advent calendar can offer a new rhythm or structure to your days. For busy musicians, it’s a simple way to pause and take in one small moment of reflection, joy, or nostalgia.
The 4th graders wrote poems about identity last month.
Inspired by George Ella Lyon, they typed their own “Where I'm From” poem, line by line:
“I am from my grandparents’ pear tree, whose lovely branches are always loaded with pears.”
“I am from jazz with its lively beat.”
“I am from those moments when I am full of wonder.”
I stood in front of the bulletin board, reading them in between lessons—each one describing a world shaped by unique experiences, influences, and values. It’s what we represent in the world.
Making progress, learning, improving. A sense of accomplishment and achievement.
Whether you’re leading a choir, chamber group, studio class, or classroom ensemble, you know what a good rehearsal feels like—focused, efficient, and productive.
There’s energy and momentum and everyone’s engaged and working together.
It happens every year.
The change in season invites a change in routine. So we shift back into our brisk fall rhythms, penciling in commitments and activities in every calendar square, [seasonally-appropriate] coffee in hand.
We push uncertainty to the edges as the margins close in. After all, there’s energy and excitement in the rush of being busy.
So we let the adrenaline carry us, floating through life just a little faster than before. The scenery blurring—a wash of colors, sounds, and ideas.
The world feels like it's spinning with reckless abandon right now, and we're stuck on the carousel*.* The organ playing “The Organ Grinder's Serenade” on repeat as we go round and round.
Faster, faster.
Call and response is a form of musical dialogue: Someone sings or plays a musical phrase, and someone else (or a group of people) responds, either echoing the phrase back or providing a musical answer.
Call and response stems from a variety of musical traditions, including African, Cuban, folk, and early church music (think cantor and congregation). (source)
Call and response can be a useful teaching tool, as it gives young children an opportunity to listen, imitate, explore the voice, and gain confidence in their singing.
It started in June, with the carrot cake.
A rectangle of spice cake in the larger half of the Tupperware and a few spoonfuls of sugar glaze in the smaller side. Leftover from a birthday celebration across the street—the first year without the person they were celebrating. “I saved you a piece,” he said simply.
A few weeks later, I returned the Tupperware with a wedge of peach cake—vanilla cake with sugared peaches in the middle and on top.
“It’s a Southern tradition,” I said, standing on the doorstep and squinting up at him in the evening light. “Never bring back an empty container.”
Who doesn't love a Christmas party in September (even if it’s still shorts weather)?!
A Christmas choir party is a fun and festive way to welcome new members, build community, and generate excitement for the season ahead. Whether you're leading a church choir, community chorus, or small ensemble, this kind of event sets a warm, enthusiastic tone for the year and offers your choir members a sneak peek of what's to come.
It was Wednesday, 5:05 p.m.
I propped up the lid of the old 1927 Steinway in the school theater and turned to face a small group of 3rd graders, sitting in the red cloth chairs, munching on pretzel sticks, piano books resting on their laps.
It was our final studio class of the year—the one where we practice performing our recital pieces.
“Before we play today, I want to talk about three things that every musical performance needs,” I said. Hands shot up in the air without hesitation.
“I know, I know,” one student said. “You need an audience.”
“Yes, that’s true,” I said, “But I’m thinking more about things you can bring to the performance.”
Handbell choirs are a wonderful opportunity for community, creativity, and collaboration. And starting a new group is much less intimidating than you might think.
Whether you’re a church musician, a classroom teacher, or a community music director, you can bring people together to make beautiful music—even if they’re mostly beginners. The key is choosing flexible repertoire, using thoughtful teaching strategies, and creating a welcoming, supportive learning environment for all.
