…is up there with elitism, exclusion, and nepotism. My relationship with pedigree is complicated because, honestly, I often wish I were privy to its benefits! I’ve learned that many of the best musicians in our field follow nearly identical paths to success: musician parents, an early start, consistent participation in high-level grade school programs, private lessons, and a steady stream of accolades from solo and group contests. They attend the right institutions, receive mentorship from the greats, and move through the system with seamless success. Their professional credibility is built on a foundation of institutional approval and the recommendations of reputable peers.
My experience was not quite so linear. I started flute in Kindergarten in community Suzuki classes. I joined the band in elementary school as soon as I was able to, but there was no school-mandated Solo & Ensemble contest and little emphasis on All-State Band in Connecticut. In fact, my public school music experience was significantly more socially gratifying than it was musically fulfilling. Much like a pianist or guitarist might feel in a typical public school setting, I felt a lack of institutional support for my abilities (read: I was bored). To find fulfillment, I had to look elsewhere: private lessons, community bands, youth orchestras, summer festivals, and cross-curricular experiments like choir and guitar. Because my family moved and traveled internationally throughout my childhood, my music education wasn’t just non-traditional—it was global (and, at times, inconsistent).
There were significant drawbacks to this inconsistency. I often felt frustrated in group settings, reviewing basic content for the fifth year in a row while my peers were seeing it for the first time. My private teachers were a revolving door: in Connecticut, I studied with a New England Conservatory graduate and Coast Guard Band piccoloist; in England, my “private flute teacher” was actually a trumpet player. I didn’t have a set curriculum, and my technical skills weren’t always reinforced. Honestly, looking back, I was just a kid trying to process a constantly changing world. I didn’t always have the awareness or maturity to be a diligent practitioner when I was simply trying to find my footing in a new country.
Yet, those diverse cultural and educational experiences are exactly what root my musicianship today. My moves to England, China, and Germany exposed me to the idea that music’s role in the world is multifaceted. Later, marching in Drum & Bugle Corps, attending music school in the Midwest, and eventually teaching in premier band programs in Houston, Texas, widened that lens even further. These stops allowed me to understand the highest levels of the American band tradition and its pedagogy, but through the eyes of an outsider.
I started my career feeling “behind” because I hadn’t lived the systematic American band experience. I spent years trying to prove I had the “chops” to be worthy of the profession. Back then, I thought life would be so much easier if I had just been a regular band kid from middle America, reaping the benefits of a consistent, quality public music education. But today, that thought is followed by a much louder one: I am so grateful for the childhood I had. My aural and technical skills may have started behind the curve, but I gained a lifetime of cultural and artistic exposure before the age of 20!
Now that those fundamental skills have caught up, I realize I have an advantage: Perspective. I can see the forest from the trees. I’ve learned there is no single “best” way to do anything. I have the privilege of cherry-picking tools from a vast array of musical experiences and applying them to my ensembles. My focus on connection and global understanding is what sets me apart as a conductor—and I think the colleagues who value my work see that, too.
Just as I’ve finally reached this new plateau of professional maturity—finding a deeper understanding of what truly matters and accepting my validity as an artist—the graduate application process has forced those old insecurities back to the surface. This past fall, as I applied to programs, I found that the conversation invariably circled back to pedigree. At a symposium last summer, a clinician even remarked that out of all the doctoral wind conducting programs in the U.S., only six are actually ‘worth’ attending. Excuse me? Having spent years connecting with brilliant collegiate directors across the country—far beyond those ‘Top 6’—it is easy to assure there are several world-class conductors and educators, worthy of distinction beyond this microcosm! In a field this small, discounting our peers creates an echo chamber in which the same mentors and students cycle through the same six institutions, effectively muting the rest of the profession.
We have to stop equating a narrow path with the only path. If we continue to value the pedigree of a few over the perspective of the many, we risk turning our art form into a museum rather than a living reflection of the world. My journey wasn’t straight, and my resume doesn’t look like the ‘ideal’ candidate’s—but my musicianship is richer for it. I am no longer interested in proving I belong in the circle; I’m interested in widening it so that those handful of schools aren’t the only ones defining excellence. At the end of the day, music isn’t about where you came from—it’s about what you do with it!