I am very honored to have been asked to be a part of the South Carolina Music Educators Association Conference. Materials presented from my "Arranging for Music Educators" session can be found by clicking on the links below.
Diagnostics and Quick Fixes
Instrument Ranges and their Representative Tone Colors
Instrument Tone Colors (A Visual Guide)
Practical Substitutions (for missing instruments)
Simplification Examples
Thoughts on Orchestrations for Solo Lines
If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to send me an email!
Thanks and best wishes!
Jeffrey
Monday, February 1, 2016
Monday, November 2, 2015
I'm Bad at Blogging...
But I am doing pretty well doing that whole "writing music" thing.
It's been a busy year already, and by year I mean "school year." I've already written a trombone quartet, a brass band piece, I'm 4/5ths of the way through my Requiem: foliorum caducorm sketches, and I just received a new commission for a string orchestra piece. Oh, and then there's that whole "teaching" thing as well.
I recently read an article about how almost all composers throughout music history weren't the beneficiaries of the patronage system. I have to admit that this was news to me, as I was taught that most of the powder-wigged types of the Baroque and Classical periods were propped up by fat cats with lots of cash and a desire to look cool by having the hottest new composer on their pay list. But, it turns out that is pretty much bunk. So what was REALLY happening?
Composers had jobs. *gasp* What, Jeffrey? Say it isn't so.
Yep. Jobs. They had 'em. Granted, most of their jobs were actually composing music for their patrons, whether it be church, royalty, or random rich dude, so they were writing music as part of their job, but that's just it. They weren't paid to just "write whatever you want." They actually had to write music for very specific occasions. And, if they didn't do their job, they were fired.
Somehow that gives me a little more hope as a modern composer. It's nice to know that, in addition to chopping wood and boxing the choir boys' ears when they wouldn't sing in tune, Bach had to write cantatas for Sunday's service. That is, Bach had a JOB in which only a part of his gig was writing music. Other composers had various day jobs as well. Mostly they taught lessons or conducted the local orchestra, but they had to supplement their compositional commissions with other work.
So that makes me feel a lot better. Granted, I don't have a powdered wig, but I do have a day job that I love. And it allows me to write great music for people who want to play it.
Now, if you'll pardon me, it's time to get to work. Hand me my wig....
Peace,
Jeffrey
It's been a busy year already, and by year I mean "school year." I've already written a trombone quartet, a brass band piece, I'm 4/5ths of the way through my Requiem: foliorum caducorm sketches, and I just received a new commission for a string orchestra piece. Oh, and then there's that whole "teaching" thing as well.
I recently read an article about how almost all composers throughout music history weren't the beneficiaries of the patronage system. I have to admit that this was news to me, as I was taught that most of the powder-wigged types of the Baroque and Classical periods were propped up by fat cats with lots of cash and a desire to look cool by having the hottest new composer on their pay list. But, it turns out that is pretty much bunk. So what was REALLY happening?
Composers had jobs. *gasp* What, Jeffrey? Say it isn't so.
Yep. Jobs. They had 'em. Granted, most of their jobs were actually composing music for their patrons, whether it be church, royalty, or random rich dude, so they were writing music as part of their job, but that's just it. They weren't paid to just "write whatever you want." They actually had to write music for very specific occasions. And, if they didn't do their job, they were fired.
Somehow that gives me a little more hope as a modern composer. It's nice to know that, in addition to chopping wood and boxing the choir boys' ears when they wouldn't sing in tune, Bach had to write cantatas for Sunday's service. That is, Bach had a JOB in which only a part of his gig was writing music. Other composers had various day jobs as well. Mostly they taught lessons or conducted the local orchestra, but they had to supplement their compositional commissions with other work.
So that makes me feel a lot better. Granted, I don't have a powdered wig, but I do have a day job that I love. And it allows me to write great music for people who want to play it.
Now, if you'll pardon me, it's time to get to work. Hand me my wig....
Peace,
Jeffrey
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
It Doesn't Get Easier
I received another rejection letter today. Not for my music. I've received an awful lot of those of late (which I could wax philosophical about - however I'll save that for another post), but this was for my first novel. This makes sixteen rejection letters over the last thirteen years.
A lot has happened in those thirteen years. An awful lot of stuff. Some of it awful, actually. I never really get my hopes up about publishing the novels. It's too easy to go over the edge of "what if" and lose myself in it. It's better to "keep it real," as the kids would say. But it never really gets any easier, receiving rejection.
It's easy to become jaded or cynical about the prospects of publication. Maybe the fact that I get most of the music I submit published each year, peppered with the occasional rejection here and there, makes it easier to understand why this particular book hasn't been picked up for publication. It has received great reviews on Amazon and people who've read it tell me they like it. But, as the publisher who passed on it today told me, "it's a little too quiet."
And that got me to thinking about the world in which we live. We live in a fast-paced, instant-gratification society in which everything is delivered in 140 characters or less. The world wants fast and easy. I don't fit that particular mold. To be labeled "a little too quiet" is actually quite a compliment to me.
I am a writer. I'm also a teacher, composer, and philosopher. I am a husband and a father. I am a son. I dabble in painting and in calligraphy. I illuminate manuscripts. I mentor young teachers and composers. I am committed to my faith and my faith community. I am all these things and more. And as I look at that list, I understand that none of those particular labels are exactly "loud." Well, perhaps the teacher is, but I have a bunch of kids with noisemakers in my room!
As I settle into my middle aged years, because let's face it, none of us are getting any younger, I embrace the quietude that has surrounded me. My research and my music are just that: mine. I don't write what doesn't interest me, either fictionally, philosophically, or musically. I have the luxury to spend my evenings writing what I want; researching what I want; painting what I want; or burning a few brain cells playing video games.
And as I continue this amazing journey through a life I am just now beginning to realize how very fortunate I am to live, I have to stop and give thanks for all that I have. Not many people can say that they spend their days doing what they love and their evenings doing things that bring them joy. I am blessed and I know it.
It doesn't make the rejection letter any easier to handle. But it does give me hope that somewhere there is a publisher who is looking for a book about a bunch of Critters who deal with some really difficult situations, albeit in a very quiet sort of way. And, if not, that's alright, too. It doesn't mean I'll stop writing.
Peace,
Jeffrey
A lot has happened in those thirteen years. An awful lot of stuff. Some of it awful, actually. I never really get my hopes up about publishing the novels. It's too easy to go over the edge of "what if" and lose myself in it. It's better to "keep it real," as the kids would say. But it never really gets any easier, receiving rejection.
It's easy to become jaded or cynical about the prospects of publication. Maybe the fact that I get most of the music I submit published each year, peppered with the occasional rejection here and there, makes it easier to understand why this particular book hasn't been picked up for publication. It has received great reviews on Amazon and people who've read it tell me they like it. But, as the publisher who passed on it today told me, "it's a little too quiet."
And that got me to thinking about the world in which we live. We live in a fast-paced, instant-gratification society in which everything is delivered in 140 characters or less. The world wants fast and easy. I don't fit that particular mold. To be labeled "a little too quiet" is actually quite a compliment to me.
I am a writer. I'm also a teacher, composer, and philosopher. I am a husband and a father. I am a son. I dabble in painting and in calligraphy. I illuminate manuscripts. I mentor young teachers and composers. I am committed to my faith and my faith community. I am all these things and more. And as I look at that list, I understand that none of those particular labels are exactly "loud." Well, perhaps the teacher is, but I have a bunch of kids with noisemakers in my room!
As I settle into my middle aged years, because let's face it, none of us are getting any younger, I embrace the quietude that has surrounded me. My research and my music are just that: mine. I don't write what doesn't interest me, either fictionally, philosophically, or musically. I have the luxury to spend my evenings writing what I want; researching what I want; painting what I want; or burning a few brain cells playing video games.
And as I continue this amazing journey through a life I am just now beginning to realize how very fortunate I am to live, I have to stop and give thanks for all that I have. Not many people can say that they spend their days doing what they love and their evenings doing things that bring them joy. I am blessed and I know it.
It doesn't make the rejection letter any easier to handle. But it does give me hope that somewhere there is a publisher who is looking for a book about a bunch of Critters who deal with some really difficult situations, albeit in a very quiet sort of way. And, if not, that's alright, too. It doesn't mean I'll stop writing.
Peace,
Jeffrey
Thursday, August 27, 2015
School Days and Philosophical Nights
Well, as promised, I took the month of July off. I did write a couple of pretty cool brass pieces (he said modestly), but mostly I spent my "off" time resting my mind and playing a lot. I built a bunch of models for a new game I love to play. Painted even more models for said game and, mostly, spent my time with friends and family.
Then August happened.
August is school time. And as I headed back into the classroom here in the oligarchical theocracy that is the great state of Kansas, I was reminded of why it was so important to me to earn my PhD. Education in Kansas is under a constant siege. And, dare I say it, it seems that this open attack on all things intellectual permeates the entire country right now. Every day I see the effects this war against education has on my students and my colleagues.
Nearly four thousand Kansas teachers either left education or chose to teach in another state this past summer. The previous year that number was closer to twelve hundred. Let that sink in a bit. Teachers have become so vilified, so overworked and underpaid here in Kansas, that over three times as many teachers as usual have either quit teaching altogether or fled to another state to teach. It used to be even though we were the most underpaid professional degree holders in the nation, at least there was a modicum of respect for our role as guardians of our young people's education. Now even that is gone.
Teachers are seen as the enemy by some of our politicians, pawns to others, and for the rare one that fully comprehends what we do day in and day out, as unsung heroes. I have to be honest: it's been rough beginning another school year under these circumstances. I've been an educator in Kansas for twenty-two years. I used to jokingly say I was an Iowan just visiting Kansas, but I've come to accept that I've lived here longer than I have anywhere else and, quite honestly, it is home. And I love my state but I worry that the damage being done through the underfunding of our schools will soon reach a point that we cannot recover from it.
So what's a Kansan to do about this? Hopefully vote and raise hell come election time. In the meantime, my PhD brain has become enamored with the idea of educational philosophy and how important it is that everyone, and here I mean EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US, understands how important education truly is to each of us. Not only kids, not only teachers, but every person in this state (and the entire world for that matter) need to understand not only the ACT of how education is delivered and received but also how and, most importantly, WHY we need education. Now more than ever.
So my nights of late have been filled with research and the rambling scribblings and musings of a philosopher coming to grips with the world around him. My thoughts have yet to congeal into a solid philosophical treatise, but I promise you that my mind is fixed on it. I want to tell the world to wake up and to pay attention to what is happening to our young peoples' educational futures.
Now I just have to figure out how to do it.
Peace,
Jeffrey
Then August happened.
August is school time. And as I headed back into the classroom here in the oligarchical theocracy that is the great state of Kansas, I was reminded of why it was so important to me to earn my PhD. Education in Kansas is under a constant siege. And, dare I say it, it seems that this open attack on all things intellectual permeates the entire country right now. Every day I see the effects this war against education has on my students and my colleagues.
Nearly four thousand Kansas teachers either left education or chose to teach in another state this past summer. The previous year that number was closer to twelve hundred. Let that sink in a bit. Teachers have become so vilified, so overworked and underpaid here in Kansas, that over three times as many teachers as usual have either quit teaching altogether or fled to another state to teach. It used to be even though we were the most underpaid professional degree holders in the nation, at least there was a modicum of respect for our role as guardians of our young people's education. Now even that is gone.
Teachers are seen as the enemy by some of our politicians, pawns to others, and for the rare one that fully comprehends what we do day in and day out, as unsung heroes. I have to be honest: it's been rough beginning another school year under these circumstances. I've been an educator in Kansas for twenty-two years. I used to jokingly say I was an Iowan just visiting Kansas, but I've come to accept that I've lived here longer than I have anywhere else and, quite honestly, it is home. And I love my state but I worry that the damage being done through the underfunding of our schools will soon reach a point that we cannot recover from it.
So what's a Kansan to do about this? Hopefully vote and raise hell come election time. In the meantime, my PhD brain has become enamored with the idea of educational philosophy and how important it is that everyone, and here I mean EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US, understands how important education truly is to each of us. Not only kids, not only teachers, but every person in this state (and the entire world for that matter) need to understand not only the ACT of how education is delivered and received but also how and, most importantly, WHY we need education. Now more than ever.
So my nights of late have been filled with research and the rambling scribblings and musings of a philosopher coming to grips with the world around him. My thoughts have yet to congeal into a solid philosophical treatise, but I promise you that my mind is fixed on it. I want to tell the world to wake up and to pay attention to what is happening to our young peoples' educational futures.
Now I just have to figure out how to do it.
Peace,
Jeffrey
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Ah, Summer!
It's been thirty-five months in the making, but my first "real" vacation started a couple days ago. For the first time in three years, I'm not taking classes or teaching classes. It's been a whirlwind, especially in the last couple of months - defended my dissertation in April, graduated in May, wrapped up teaching at the high school for the year and then started teaching a college course in June.
I'm tired!
So, I'm taking a couple days off to rest up and pamper myself a little. But I imagine I'll be bored by next week, so I am looking forward to writing some music and maybe get started on a new book or two (writing, not reading). In the meantime, I've finished up a Christmas Carol for a contest, I'm writing a trombone quartet on commission, and I have to finish up a brass band commission, all while getting sketches together for the Requiem we're premiering in February, 2016.
But first, a nap.
I hope you're having a relaxing, recuperative, and rejuvenating summer, my friends.
Peace,
Jeffrey
I'm tired!
So, I'm taking a couple days off to rest up and pamper myself a little. But I imagine I'll be bored by next week, so I am looking forward to writing some music and maybe get started on a new book or two (writing, not reading). In the meantime, I've finished up a Christmas Carol for a contest, I'm writing a trombone quartet on commission, and I have to finish up a brass band commission, all while getting sketches together for the Requiem we're premiering in February, 2016.
But first, a nap.
I hope you're having a relaxing, recuperative, and rejuvenating summer, my friends.
Peace,
Jeffrey
Monday, June 8, 2015
Professor Bishop
It's been thirty years since I met a college professor who made me change the way I think about music and music education. I was so impressed with him and the band he conducted, I decided to attend that professor's college and major in music education. Best decision I ever made (well, at least in regard to my professional life).
I've done a lot since I was that teenager enraptured by the "big time" college director. I've gone on to teach my own program and to travel the planet as a composer/conductor/clinician/ne'er-do-well. And tomorrow I start down another path. Tomorrow I become a college professor. No, not a "full-bird," tenured-so-you-can't-fire-me professor. Heck, I don't think it's even considered a "professor" position. More like "adjunct instructor," but still. Tomorrow I get to teach at a university.
I've got my lesson plans already to go. I've mapped out all the materials my students will need as they progress through the course. And I even bought a couple new shirts with the university's logo on them. I'm excited and terrified all at the same time. But, I'm also very thankful to the man who inspired me to make my dreams come true, to pursue my musical dreams and make them a reality. So, tomorrow as I'm teaching, I'll be thinking of all the people who helped me get there: my amazing wife and kids, all my teachers along the way (from JJ, my very first true inspiration as a music teacher, to my PhD advisor), and finally, but certainly not least, Mr. Sergel. Thanks for inspiring that small town Iowa kid to become a little bit better than he ever thought he could be. I'll be thinking of you tomorrow.
Academically yours,
Jeffrey
I've done a lot since I was that teenager enraptured by the "big time" college director. I've gone on to teach my own program and to travel the planet as a composer/conductor/clinician/ne'er-do-well. And tomorrow I start down another path. Tomorrow I become a college professor. No, not a "full-bird," tenured-so-you-can't-fire-me professor. Heck, I don't think it's even considered a "professor" position. More like "adjunct instructor," but still. Tomorrow I get to teach at a university.
I've got my lesson plans already to go. I've mapped out all the materials my students will need as they progress through the course. And I even bought a couple new shirts with the university's logo on them. I'm excited and terrified all at the same time. But, I'm also very thankful to the man who inspired me to make my dreams come true, to pursue my musical dreams and make them a reality. So, tomorrow as I'm teaching, I'll be thinking of all the people who helped me get there: my amazing wife and kids, all my teachers along the way (from JJ, my very first true inspiration as a music teacher, to my PhD advisor), and finally, but certainly not least, Mr. Sergel. Thanks for inspiring that small town Iowa kid to become a little bit better than he ever thought he could be. I'll be thinking of you tomorrow.
Academically yours,
Jeffrey
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Jeffrey S. Bishop, PhD
Wow. "Dr. Bishop" is a reality. Thirty-four months after beginning the doctor of philosophy in curriculum and instruction (music education cognate) at Kansas State University, I turned in my dissertation and it's over. Honestly, it's still not "real." I mean, it's very nice to be called "Dr." because I worked really hard for it the past three years, but what does it really mean?
I have a few thoughts on earning a terminal degree, and I think it's appropriate that it's in philosophy as I muse on the following items:
I have a few thoughts on earning a terminal degree, and I think it's appropriate that it's in philosophy as I muse on the following items:
- That term, "terminal," has always terrified me. You mean like "terminal cancer?" That's not exactly how I want to think of my learning - as a dead end. Rather, it's more of a genesis degree - one that will open up a new world of research and exploration.
- Please allow me to keep going on the idea of opening up new perspectives. Anyone who tells you that they are an "expert" is full of crap. Those three little letters don't mean "I know it all," rather they say, "I know how to do the work necessary to seek the answers." But sometimes, there are no answers. A PhD does not give your opinion the strength of science. Your opinion is bolstered by the research you can do with a PhD. But, c'mon, don't give us your opinion, "Expert in the Field," give us your findings and let us sort it out for ourselves.
- After spending a total of ten years in college, I can safely say with all certainty that I don't know anything. That's the joy of a PhD: it makes you realize that you don't really know everything. Now, after nearly three years of research and the culminating research of my dissertation, I have way more questions than I do answers. But now I have the skills necessary to continue to seek out those answers. But I also know that there might not ever be any "true" answers.
- Truth. Wow. There's a small word with huge implications. Having written a dissertation based on qualitative research, I discovered that each person's truth is truly their own: their lived experiences, their life choices, their own answers - and it doesn't always jive with that of other peoples' "truth." And that's okay. I think that is one of the greatest things I learned through all of this - truth isn't a state of being, it's a process by which we live.
- Edit. Edit. Edit. My advisor asked me to rewrite my dissertation twenty-one times. Twenty-one! I have to admit that, at first, I was livid. But, after successfully navigating my defense with absolutely no problems (except for about a dozen typos), I understand why he made me rewrite it as many times as I did. He forced me to look at it with fresh eyes over twenty times and that made all of the difference. It's a nice little reminder that you can always make it a little better.
So, that's it. I'm a doctor now. Wow. I'm a doctor now...still looks funny as I write it. But I'll get used to it as a new phase of my life begins. But for a couple weeks at least, I'm going to savor it. And, as I do, I want to celebrate the people in my life who made it possible: my amaZing wife, SueZanne; my beautiful kids Emily and Aaron (and his fiancé Kelley who we consider "ours" as well); my mom and dad who instilled me with a curiosity that is still growing; my doctor, Rusty; my faith community leaders, Fr. Mike, Fr. Bob, and Sr. Linda; and finally, but certainly not least in their influence, my friends and students, both former and current - I couldn't have done this without your support.
Now, I'm going to write some music, design a new course curriculum for a college class I'm teaching this summer, and spend an awful lot of time reading and writing.
And, maybe more than once every six months, I'll update this blog.
Peace, my friends,
Dr. Jeffrey
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Happy New Year (Already)?!
Wow. Has it really been since the Fourth of July that I posted on here? I really am bad at this blogging thing. Sorry about that.
So, what's going on around here? Hmm.... Nah, too long to explain. Let me sum up a bit:
2014 was awesome! I got married, adopted two amazing kids, and finished up all my doctoral exams and began work on my dissertation. My job is great. My students continually challenge me to be a better teacher every day. And, more often than not, they teach me way more than I teach them. It's one of the few perks of teaching in Kansas these days, I guess.
I'm looking forward to defending my dissertation in April. I'm REALLY looking forward to being done with the dissertation and spending my summer reading books I want to read (and don't have to read for my studies) and painting. And crafting. And walking. And spending time with friends and family. And enjoying life. In short, I'm really going to enjoy NOT being a student any more!
I've got some new music coming out this year: the third movement to my third string symphony (the Christmas Symphony) and the Sarabande (from Bach's Sixth Cello Suite) that I arranged for string orchestra. My "Theme with Academic Variations" is being published as well. That's three pieces from three publishers. Pretty cool for a nerd like me!
And, speaking of seeing stuff in print, I'm very happy (and daresay proud) to say that my "Assemble the Minions" is one of the top-selling pieces in the country right now! Always cool to be "famous" and "not dead" as a composer.
Again, sorry about the hiatus. I'll try and write more before, oh, I don't know...Flag Day?
Peace,
Jeffrey
So, what's going on around here? Hmm.... Nah, too long to explain. Let me sum up a bit:
2014 was awesome! I got married, adopted two amazing kids, and finished up all my doctoral exams and began work on my dissertation. My job is great. My students continually challenge me to be a better teacher every day. And, more often than not, they teach me way more than I teach them. It's one of the few perks of teaching in Kansas these days, I guess.
I'm looking forward to defending my dissertation in April. I'm REALLY looking forward to being done with the dissertation and spending my summer reading books I want to read (and don't have to read for my studies) and painting. And crafting. And walking. And spending time with friends and family. And enjoying life. In short, I'm really going to enjoy NOT being a student any more!
I've got some new music coming out this year: the third movement to my third string symphony (the Christmas Symphony) and the Sarabande (from Bach's Sixth Cello Suite) that I arranged for string orchestra. My "Theme with Academic Variations" is being published as well. That's three pieces from three publishers. Pretty cool for a nerd like me!
And, speaking of seeing stuff in print, I'm very happy (and daresay proud) to say that my "Assemble the Minions" is one of the top-selling pieces in the country right now! Always cool to be "famous" and "not dead" as a composer.
Again, sorry about the hiatus. I'll try and write more before, oh, I don't know...Flag Day?
Peace,
Jeffrey
Friday, July 4, 2014
Sometimes You Just Want to Connect....
I couldn't take it anymore. I was addicted, I admit it. So I had to do something about it. And, I feel strangely liberated because of it. Yes, I did it: I quit Facebook.
Here's what I had to say in my last post:
Here's what I had to say in my last post:
This may be a little “TLDR,” but it will be my last post for
a while, so bear with me.
I’m a social scientist. I’m very proud to say that I am, in fact, a real scientist. Granted, I’m not into quantum physics,
advanced mathematics, or astrophysics, but I am a researcher, and mostly, a
teacher. I’m well versed in
behavior theories enough to know when something is awry and needs to be either
limited or eliminated. I’m at that
point with Facebook.
I believe that Facebook is a wonderful tool by which people
can connect with people, businesses, organizations, and events with which they
want a relationship. It also is a way in which people can insulate, inculcate,
and withdraw from a civil discourse in the greater community outside the
pixilated walls we create. In
short, I’ve seen too much hate, bigotry, ignorance, and anti-intellectualism on
here that I am feeling overwhelmed by it.
I also must protest Facebook’s use of our information to conduct
experiments on us. I am not
willing to be complicit by my own inaction to this activity on Mr. Zuckerberg
and friends’ part.
Instead, I am hoping to enrich my own experiences. I have spent far too many hours on
Facebook. It’s not healthy for me
and for those whom I love dearly.
I would rather talk to them in person or on the phone rather than see
“feeds” as our lives pass by. This
is not an indictment or some kind of vilification of those who use
Facebook. This is me, getting in
touch with who I am and what I want out of life. I am not finding it here on Facebook.
So, with that, I ask that if you want to see what I’m up to,
please give me a shout at (913) 558-1142.
Or better yet, let’s get together and discuss grandiose philosophies
over tea. I’m going to maintain my
SMNW Orchestra Alumni page, SMNOFI page, along with the pages for my music
business and books, because as a business owner and teacher that just makes
sense. Now it’s time for me to
read books, do some research, write some music and a book or two, and reconnect
with the people in my life the old-fashioned way. I wish you only the very best and I hope that we stay in
contact, because if you’re reading this, you’re important to me.
Yeah, so that's it. Now what? Well, hopefully the people who matter are reading this and know how much they mean to me. As for me and mine, well, we're going to be reading, writing, researching, and making connections. Because, that's what's really important.
Pax omnibus,
Jeffrey
Friday, May 2, 2014
May I? Oh, yes I May.
Wow. It's May already. I mean, really? It was just Christmas Break, wasn't it?
Or was that Spring Break?
Huh. Well, either way, here we are. And where are we, exactly? We're at the end of another year of teaching. My twentieth, by the way. Twenty years teaching music to kids. I need to let that roll around in my head a little bit. Twenty years. It's funny, really. Twenty years ago I took a part-time gig at a local high school while I was finishing up my master's degree in conducting. I was planning on getting the degree and go straight to a doctoral program. Didn't know if it'd be in conducting or composition, but I knew I wasn't going to be teaching, that's for sure.
Boy, was I wrong about that. And thankfully so, I must add. That first year of teaching I fell in love with the kids, with the process, as archaic and bizarre as education can sometimes be, and I just ran with it. I remember being in the "teachers work room" my first week when an older teacher tried to run me out of there. "This is for teachers only," she snapped. I showed her my brand-new district ID and smiled. "I'm the new band guy," I said. She slunk off, embarrassed. And, now that I think about it, I never did see her again. I also remember how badly the choir teacher hated me and resented my ability to get through to students. Those two situations taught me my first two important lessons about teaching: 1) Learn to laugh; 2) Wherever there are people there are politics.
A couple years later I won a national composition prize while teaching here in my current district. I was a long-haired whipper-snapper who thought I was pretty big stuff. "Award-winning composer, that's me!" I thought. But, then as now, my students didn't really care about that. Or the conducting gigs across the country, or the fact that I have a hundred pieces published. Around here, I'm just Mr. Bishop.
I'm the Mr. Bishop who is up at school early in the morning and stays too late some afternoons. I'm the guy who writes the most amazing recommendation letters, well, as long you deserve a really amazing one. I'm good at writing letters that don't say much, either. But I try to avoid writing a bad one at least. I'm the Mr. Bishop who guides kids through the murky waters of college auditions and deals with the tears when the boy/girlfriend is found to be less than perfect. And I am the guy who gets to stand in front of the most amazing young people on this planet when they rise above themselves and play absolutely sublimely, if only for a moment. Because, at the end of the day, I'm just Mr. Bishop, their teacher.
Twenty years ago, sitting in the band office of that old high school in an urban core, I was daydreaming about writing movie soundtracks or conducting a major orchestra. Now, I'm sending students out to do just that. Two former students of mine were chosen, from two different masters programs, for the Yale School of Music doctoral program. I'm sending another student to major in composition for the first time in my career. And, I'm happy to report, he's already writing music better than I did when I was thirty! I've got several music teacher alums, too. And that makes me so very proud and happy.
May is rough. April is brutal - more required events (concerts, contests, festivals) than all the rest of the school year combined - and it doesn't let up until graduation. But, like tonight, as I'm sitting here in my studio with the sun streaming in, the fan in the window blowing in the smell of fresh cut grass, and the cat lounging nearby, waiting for a belly rub, there are moments in May that I harken back to that first year of teaching. That moment when I decided that I wouldn't be pursuing what I thought was my dream, but instead looked around me and saw that I was already exactly where I needed to be.
It's trite, but it's true: teachers often learn more from their students than the students learn from the teacher. And, as May bashes her way past me once more, ineloquently pushing me to the ground as she makes a mad dash for June, I think I'll just lie here in the cool, fresh cut grass and enjoy the view as I think about all I've learned these past twenty years.
And, if you happen to be one of those students from whom I have learned so much, I invite you to stop by, plop down in the grass beside me, grab a dandelion or two, and just sit and listen to the clouds pass overhead. And, if you can't do that, well, let's just leave it with "Thanks. I wouldn't be here today without you."
Peace,
Jeffrey
Or was that Spring Break?
Huh. Well, either way, here we are. And where are we, exactly? We're at the end of another year of teaching. My twentieth, by the way. Twenty years teaching music to kids. I need to let that roll around in my head a little bit. Twenty years. It's funny, really. Twenty years ago I took a part-time gig at a local high school while I was finishing up my master's degree in conducting. I was planning on getting the degree and go straight to a doctoral program. Didn't know if it'd be in conducting or composition, but I knew I wasn't going to be teaching, that's for sure.
Boy, was I wrong about that. And thankfully so, I must add. That first year of teaching I fell in love with the kids, with the process, as archaic and bizarre as education can sometimes be, and I just ran with it. I remember being in the "teachers work room" my first week when an older teacher tried to run me out of there. "This is for teachers only," she snapped. I showed her my brand-new district ID and smiled. "I'm the new band guy," I said. She slunk off, embarrassed. And, now that I think about it, I never did see her again. I also remember how badly the choir teacher hated me and resented my ability to get through to students. Those two situations taught me my first two important lessons about teaching: 1) Learn to laugh; 2) Wherever there are people there are politics.
A couple years later I won a national composition prize while teaching here in my current district. I was a long-haired whipper-snapper who thought I was pretty big stuff. "Award-winning composer, that's me!" I thought. But, then as now, my students didn't really care about that. Or the conducting gigs across the country, or the fact that I have a hundred pieces published. Around here, I'm just Mr. Bishop.
I'm the Mr. Bishop who is up at school early in the morning and stays too late some afternoons. I'm the guy who writes the most amazing recommendation letters, well, as long you deserve a really amazing one. I'm good at writing letters that don't say much, either. But I try to avoid writing a bad one at least. I'm the Mr. Bishop who guides kids through the murky waters of college auditions and deals with the tears when the boy/girlfriend is found to be less than perfect. And I am the guy who gets to stand in front of the most amazing young people on this planet when they rise above themselves and play absolutely sublimely, if only for a moment. Because, at the end of the day, I'm just Mr. Bishop, their teacher.
Twenty years ago, sitting in the band office of that old high school in an urban core, I was daydreaming about writing movie soundtracks or conducting a major orchestra. Now, I'm sending students out to do just that. Two former students of mine were chosen, from two different masters programs, for the Yale School of Music doctoral program. I'm sending another student to major in composition for the first time in my career. And, I'm happy to report, he's already writing music better than I did when I was thirty! I've got several music teacher alums, too. And that makes me so very proud and happy.
May is rough. April is brutal - more required events (concerts, contests, festivals) than all the rest of the school year combined - and it doesn't let up until graduation. But, like tonight, as I'm sitting here in my studio with the sun streaming in, the fan in the window blowing in the smell of fresh cut grass, and the cat lounging nearby, waiting for a belly rub, there are moments in May that I harken back to that first year of teaching. That moment when I decided that I wouldn't be pursuing what I thought was my dream, but instead looked around me and saw that I was already exactly where I needed to be.
It's trite, but it's true: teachers often learn more from their students than the students learn from the teacher. And, as May bashes her way past me once more, ineloquently pushing me to the ground as she makes a mad dash for June, I think I'll just lie here in the cool, fresh cut grass and enjoy the view as I think about all I've learned these past twenty years.
And, if you happen to be one of those students from whom I have learned so much, I invite you to stop by, plop down in the grass beside me, grab a dandelion or two, and just sit and listen to the clouds pass overhead. And, if you can't do that, well, let's just leave it with "Thanks. I wouldn't be here today without you."
Peace,
Jeffrey
Friday, February 28, 2014
To begin again, anew.
It's tough sometimes, to remember what it's like to feel the rush of something new. That exhilarating thrill of "Wow! I want to try that!"
I've been at our state MEA Convention (Music Educators Association) for the past couple days and I can honestly say that I have been inspired. Not only by the very fine concerts I've attended (I heard some amazing bands, choirs, and orchestras), but also by the sessions given by my peers and guests from across the country.
I'm often asked to give sessions while I'm guest conducting at an event (all-state or regional orchestra conventions). It's a lot of work to prepare these sessions, so when I'm able to attend one (or three), it's a pleasure to just sit and ABSORB. Too often we teach in a vacuum, surrounded by only our students and, if we're lucky, some great colleagues on the music staff. To be able to attend sessions where you are given great information that make you want to get back to the classroom as soon as possible, well, that's a little piece of heaven, thank you very much.
Sometimes it's the littlest ideas that give you the biggest push. And I'm thankful for my colleagues that have helped me renew and revitalize my teaching as we head into the busiest part of the school year for us music teachers. It's time to begin (again).
I wish you peace and a little bit of rejuvenation,
Jeffrey
I've been at our state MEA Convention (Music Educators Association) for the past couple days and I can honestly say that I have been inspired. Not only by the very fine concerts I've attended (I heard some amazing bands, choirs, and orchestras), but also by the sessions given by my peers and guests from across the country.
I'm often asked to give sessions while I'm guest conducting at an event (all-state or regional orchestra conventions). It's a lot of work to prepare these sessions, so when I'm able to attend one (or three), it's a pleasure to just sit and ABSORB. Too often we teach in a vacuum, surrounded by only our students and, if we're lucky, some great colleagues on the music staff. To be able to attend sessions where you are given great information that make you want to get back to the classroom as soon as possible, well, that's a little piece of heaven, thank you very much.
Sometimes it's the littlest ideas that give you the biggest push. And I'm thankful for my colleagues that have helped me renew and revitalize my teaching as we head into the busiest part of the school year for us music teachers. It's time to begin (again).
I wish you peace and a little bit of rejuvenation,
Jeffrey
Monday, January 13, 2014
Well, there you are!
Here I was frantically finishing up my first string quartet, getting stuff ready for my Pilot Study in preparation of my dissertation, and then *BOOM* it's a new year.
Funny how that happens.
But, that's life. And what a great life it is. I have so much to be thankful for as we begin a new year: an amazing fiancé whom I am marrying this summer and starting our family together; a career that I thoroughly love and through which I get to work with some of the most amazing students in the country; and an education that I'm enjoying so much that I find it hard that I'll be "done" this summer (well, except for that whole "write the dissertation" bit).
Whether you've been part of my world through playing my music, being part of a commission, or a student for years or only a couple days; whether you're a friend or part of my amazing family; whether you brought joy into my life by either coming into it or leaving it, I want to thank you for all you've done for me in 2013.
And I wish you only the very best life has to offer you in 2014.
Peace,
Jeffrey
Funny how that happens.
But, that's life. And what a great life it is. I have so much to be thankful for as we begin a new year: an amazing fiancé whom I am marrying this summer and starting our family together; a career that I thoroughly love and through which I get to work with some of the most amazing students in the country; and an education that I'm enjoying so much that I find it hard that I'll be "done" this summer (well, except for that whole "write the dissertation" bit).
Whether you've been part of my world through playing my music, being part of a commission, or a student for years or only a couple days; whether you're a friend or part of my amazing family; whether you brought joy into my life by either coming into it or leaving it, I want to thank you for all you've done for me in 2013.
And I wish you only the very best life has to offer you in 2014.
Peace,
Jeffrey
Monday, September 30, 2013
Hays, America! And the State that I Love....
You can tell that school has started. Long time since my last post. I'm still pretty giddy about having my second symphony played on NPR! (Yes, when you're a living composer, that's a pretty big deal!) So, as I settled into my last class of PhD work this summer, the months rolled by rather quickly. And so, here we are.
I had the good fortune to receive a commission from the Hays (KS) Symphony Guild to write a piece for their 100th Anniversary. The Hays Symphony premiered "Hays, America!" last Saturday evening. I was very proud, not only to be involved in such a storied organization, but also because the music really captured the essence of Hays and Western Kansas. My congrats and appreciation goes out to the musicians, concert master Matt Means, and conductor Ben Cline. They performed beautifully and really brought my work to life.
But that's got me thinking, as a PhD student is wont to do from time and time again, about what it means to not only be a composer, but a composer from Kansas. I've lived here longer than any other state, going on my twenty-first year now, and I am proud to say that I'm a Kansan. (Although, without getting too political here on my business site, I'm not exactly proud of my state government and some of the yahoos who garner national media attention with their hate and stupidity!) And even though I love my home state of Iowa, I'm a Kansan now. And because of that, I feel it's my responsibility to represent what it means to be from a "flyover state," lest someone compare the Great American Symphony to the Tallest Skyscraper in Kansas (see my last post for that inside joke).
I clinic orchestras all over the country as a composer and conductor. When I tell people I'm from Kansas, it's often met with a look of surprise. I used to say I was from Kansas City to avoid any undue rolling of the eyes, but not anymore. Now it's just, "Hi, I'm Jeffrey. I teach and compose in Kansas." I think it's about time people know that there are many intelligent, inspired, and creative people here in the Sunflower State.
And so, it is with great pride, and a little trepidation, that I come to grips with what I only recently coined "Prairie Style." Yes, my music can sound like Copland. But it can also sound like Stravinsky, Kancheli, or any number of composers whom I like to emulate. But mostly, this mishmash of sounds is my own expansive, if not frenetic at times, exploration of what it's like to live in a state with as much potential as it has horizon. "Prairie Style" means open, blocky chords that ring out, clarion-style, like Carrie Nation with her hatchet, or William Allen White tick-tick-ticking on the keys of his typewriter. It means John Brown raising hell and Missouri Ruffians trying to quell it. It means history and progress, sometimes in great leaps, but other times in tiny increments. It's Dorothy and her red ruby shoes and "I like Ike." It's six hundred miles of beautiful scenery along I-70 that's there for the viewing if you just take the time to really look at it.
I'm an ardent tonalist. I'm a Romantic at heart. And, as I come full circle with it, I'm a Kansan. And although I hear it much too often for it to be funny, it is true when they say "There's no place like home."
I had the good fortune to receive a commission from the Hays (KS) Symphony Guild to write a piece for their 100th Anniversary. The Hays Symphony premiered "Hays, America!" last Saturday evening. I was very proud, not only to be involved in such a storied organization, but also because the music really captured the essence of Hays and Western Kansas. My congrats and appreciation goes out to the musicians, concert master Matt Means, and conductor Ben Cline. They performed beautifully and really brought my work to life.
But that's got me thinking, as a PhD student is wont to do from time and time again, about what it means to not only be a composer, but a composer from Kansas. I've lived here longer than any other state, going on my twenty-first year now, and I am proud to say that I'm a Kansan. (Although, without getting too political here on my business site, I'm not exactly proud of my state government and some of the yahoos who garner national media attention with their hate and stupidity!) And even though I love my home state of Iowa, I'm a Kansan now. And because of that, I feel it's my responsibility to represent what it means to be from a "flyover state," lest someone compare the Great American Symphony to the Tallest Skyscraper in Kansas (see my last post for that inside joke).
I clinic orchestras all over the country as a composer and conductor. When I tell people I'm from Kansas, it's often met with a look of surprise. I used to say I was from Kansas City to avoid any undue rolling of the eyes, but not anymore. Now it's just, "Hi, I'm Jeffrey. I teach and compose in Kansas." I think it's about time people know that there are many intelligent, inspired, and creative people here in the Sunflower State.
And so, it is with great pride, and a little trepidation, that I come to grips with what I only recently coined "Prairie Style." Yes, my music can sound like Copland. But it can also sound like Stravinsky, Kancheli, or any number of composers whom I like to emulate. But mostly, this mishmash of sounds is my own expansive, if not frenetic at times, exploration of what it's like to live in a state with as much potential as it has horizon. "Prairie Style" means open, blocky chords that ring out, clarion-style, like Carrie Nation with her hatchet, or William Allen White tick-tick-ticking on the keys of his typewriter. It means John Brown raising hell and Missouri Ruffians trying to quell it. It means history and progress, sometimes in great leaps, but other times in tiny increments. It's Dorothy and her red ruby shoes and "I like Ike." It's six hundred miles of beautiful scenery along I-70 that's there for the viewing if you just take the time to really look at it.
I'm an ardent tonalist. I'm a Romantic at heart. And, as I come full circle with it, I'm a Kansan. And although I hear it much too often for it to be funny, it is true when they say "There's no place like home."
Thursday, July 4, 2013
The Great American Symphony vs. the Tallest Skyscraper in Topeka, Kansas
Maybe I should learn to keep my opinions to myself, after all, who really wants to hear from a music educator/composer/writer anyways? Well, I found out that, apparently, National Public Radio will not only listen (or read), they'll actually respond! Here's how it happened:
I was commuting between Kansas State University and KC (going home from my PhD class) on Thursday, July 3rd, when I heard Robert Siegel interview JoAnn Falletta on the NPR program "All Things Considered."You can listen to it HERE. I was struck by Mr. Siegel's comparison of "should we care about symphonic literature" to "the tallest skyscraper in Topeka, KS." Ironically, I was driving past that very same skyscraper when the story aired.
I went home and, after really thinking about what I wanted to say, I wrote the following response:
Dear ATC,
I was intrigued by your story today on the "Great American Symphony" with guest JoAnn Falletta. In it, Mr. Siegel and Maestra Falletta debate the fate of our American Symphonic history. I was especially surprised, if not taken aback, by Mr. Siegel's comment comparing the Great American Symphony to the "tallest skyscraper in Topeka, Kansas."
Ironically enough, I happened to be driving past the very same skyscraper in Topeka when he made that comment. I am currently working toward my PhD in Education at Kansas State University (with a Music Education Cognate). I commute to and from a Kansas City suburb, where I teach high school orchestra. And, I am a composer, an American composer with dozens of published works for bands and orchestras, including three symphonies.
I wanted you to know that music educators across this country are instilling in our students the importance of our American musical heritage. It may not be the "Great American Novel" nor the "Great American Movie," but it is alive and kicking and growing and changing from generation to generation. Granted, not everyone can write like Barber, Copland, or Ellington, but there are those of us who are teaching the next generation of composers through our very own "American" music. My second symphony for strings, for example, utilizes American Folks Tunes from the American Great Plains, the "Wild" West, and the deep South. Yes, it is "European" in form, but at its core, it is American music.
I'm not sure exactly why Mr. Siegel's "skyscraper" comment caught my attention, but I guess that it speaks to the attitude that somehow American classical music is an oddity, a relic of bygone eras that fail to garner the fame and accolades of more popular music. Mostly, I wanted him to know that American music is being composed all over this country by amazing living composers (John Adams, Tobias Picker, and Michael Daugherty come to mind immediately), and by those of us who want nothing more than to write music that inspires young people to pick up the mantle of music creation and to make it their own.
Thank you for sharing this article with the NPR audience.
Sincerely,
Jeffrey S. Bishop
Educator, Composer, NPR Listener
I didn't expect a response, but was pleasantly surprised by an email from ATC producer Rob Ballenger asking if they could have permission to use my letter on today's episode. Moreover, I was struck at how even-handed they were in reading my response. And, at the end of the story, they played a portion of my second symphony for strings, "An American Folk Symphony." You can listen to the segment HERE.
I am deeply humbled and honored to have had the chance to advocate for America's music educators on a program that I greatly enjoy and admire.
I've got to admit, I'm feeling rather proud to be an undead, American composer today!
Happy Fourth of July!
Jeffrey
I was commuting between Kansas State University and KC (going home from my PhD class) on Thursday, July 3rd, when I heard Robert Siegel interview JoAnn Falletta on the NPR program "All Things Considered."You can listen to it HERE. I was struck by Mr. Siegel's comparison of "should we care about symphonic literature" to "the tallest skyscraper in Topeka, KS." Ironically, I was driving past that very same skyscraper when the story aired.
I went home and, after really thinking about what I wanted to say, I wrote the following response:
Dear ATC,
I was intrigued by your story today on the "Great American Symphony" with guest JoAnn Falletta. In it, Mr. Siegel and Maestra Falletta debate the fate of our American Symphonic history. I was especially surprised, if not taken aback, by Mr. Siegel's comment comparing the Great American Symphony to the "tallest skyscraper in Topeka, Kansas."
Ironically enough, I happened to be driving past the very same skyscraper in Topeka when he made that comment. I am currently working toward my PhD in Education at Kansas State University (with a Music Education Cognate). I commute to and from a Kansas City suburb, where I teach high school orchestra. And, I am a composer, an American composer with dozens of published works for bands and orchestras, including three symphonies.
I wanted you to know that music educators across this country are instilling in our students the importance of our American musical heritage. It may not be the "Great American Novel" nor the "Great American Movie," but it is alive and kicking and growing and changing from generation to generation. Granted, not everyone can write like Barber, Copland, or Ellington, but there are those of us who are teaching the next generation of composers through our very own "American" music. My second symphony for strings, for example, utilizes American Folks Tunes from the American Great Plains, the "Wild" West, and the deep South. Yes, it is "European" in form, but at its core, it is American music.
I'm not sure exactly why Mr. Siegel's "skyscraper" comment caught my attention, but I guess that it speaks to the attitude that somehow American classical music is an oddity, a relic of bygone eras that fail to garner the fame and accolades of more popular music. Mostly, I wanted him to know that American music is being composed all over this country by amazing living composers (John Adams, Tobias Picker, and Michael Daugherty come to mind immediately), and by those of us who want nothing more than to write music that inspires young people to pick up the mantle of music creation and to make it their own.
Thank you for sharing this article with the NPR audience.
Sincerely,
Jeffrey S. Bishop
Educator, Composer, NPR Listener
I didn't expect a response, but was pleasantly surprised by an email from ATC producer Rob Ballenger asking if they could have permission to use my letter on today's episode. Moreover, I was struck at how even-handed they were in reading my response. And, at the end of the story, they played a portion of my second symphony for strings, "An American Folk Symphony." You can listen to the segment HERE.
I am deeply humbled and honored to have had the chance to advocate for America's music educators on a program that I greatly enjoy and admire.
I've got to admit, I'm feeling rather proud to be an undead, American composer today!
Happy Fourth of July!
Jeffrey
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Hello, Summer, How Ya Been?
Well, we got school over with as painlessly as possible once again. Another successful year of educating America's finest students in the art of making music together, and now we turn toward the promise that is Summer Break. Except, wait a minute, I don't get one this year!
But it's not that bad, I promise. Two more classes toward my PhD are on the schedule. And to think, one year from this August, and I'll be DONE with all of my coursework! At that point, it'll just be writing the dissertation. And that's a piece of cake, right?
In other news, I'm very proud and happy to report that Alfred Publishing Co. has accepted two of my recent commissions for publication. I'm thrilled! Alfred is a major player in the educational composition realm, and they not only publish string orchestra literature, but also literature for full orchestra. "Aethelinda" for symphony orchestra and "To Guard and Guide" will be released by Alfred in the next year!
I hope that you're doing well. Keep making music, creating things, heck, just make some beauty in the world, would ya?! That's all we really need and we sorely don't get enough of it.
Peace,
Jeffrey
But it's not that bad, I promise. Two more classes toward my PhD are on the schedule. And to think, one year from this August, and I'll be DONE with all of my coursework! At that point, it'll just be writing the dissertation. And that's a piece of cake, right?
In other news, I'm very proud and happy to report that Alfred Publishing Co. has accepted two of my recent commissions for publication. I'm thrilled! Alfred is a major player in the educational composition realm, and they not only publish string orchestra literature, but also literature for full orchestra. "Aethelinda" for symphony orchestra and "To Guard and Guide" will be released by Alfred in the next year!
I hope that you're doing well. Keep making music, creating things, heck, just make some beauty in the world, would ya?! That's all we really need and we sorely don't get enough of it.
Peace,
Jeffrey
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Oh, April, How I...Love...thee?
I used to love April. I mean, really, really love it.
April means spring. And that means fresh cut lawns, rain showers, and best of all, my birthday (which means presents)! But then I became a music teacher and that all changed. Now April is little more than a blur: a day-to-day spectacle of preparing for the "next thing," whether it be a clinic, a concert, or a contest. But every now and then, take like, now, for instance, I stop and regain a little perspective about my favorite month of the year.
A month ago my students were rough around the edges musically. They were still trying to get stuff figured out. But they worked hard, forgot a bunch of stuff they learned while on spring break, came back, screwed their brains back in and got down to work. All of my string players attended early morning rehearsals, the Orchestra Leadership Team took charge of logistics like seating charts and moving chairs, and the Symphony kids continued the tradition of two-hour,"8th hour," rehearsals on Monday evenings. In short, they went above and beyond to make sure our tradition of excellence continued.
Except today that streak was broken. Or was it? Sure, the String Orchestra earned a Division II rating (in Kansas, they're rated from I to V, with I being "superior" and V being "you sure you should've played today?"), for the first time in thirteen years. But is that what's important? Thirteen years ago I might've said "yes!" But not today. Today the streak was kept alive. The more important streak, that is.
Just like the government's attempt at creating a "level playing field" by enforcing standardized testing as a way to "grade" all schools, music contests are a "snapshot" - a one-off look at how an orchestra (or band, or choir, or jazz band, insert musical ensemble here) plays at any given moment on a single day. However, what standardized testing and music contests fail to take into consideration is all of the preparation that went into it behind the scenes. Believe me, I'm a good enough teacher to make a "C" feel like you just won the Nobel Prize and an "A-" feel like the worse thing you've ever done. So I wanted to make sure that my students knew what the really, and I mean this, the REALLY important stuff about today's contest was.
I'm talking about kindness. I'm talking about politeness. I'm talking about 150 kids walking into a building and being quiet and respectful of the students, faculty, and volunteers running the contest. I'm talking about students holding open doors, saying "please" and "thank you" and meaning it. I'm talking about a whole lot of high school kids eating bag lunches in a little theatre and leaving it cleaner than they found it. I'm talking about kids, some of whom have ADD, ADHD, IEPs, whatever you want to call it, who concentrated so hard that they were twitching in their seats. I'm talking about parent volunteers who took time away from work to deliver those meals, to run kids between venues (because they're so darn talented they just had to be in choir and band, too), and to be there and support their amazing children.
THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!
The most important streak, that streak of keeping our humanity along with our musicality, was kept alive today and I couldn't be more proud of the people who kept it going.
So, April, you just go ahead and bring it. I've got about 150 people standing behind me who will kick your butt right back into that happy place you used to be. I'm tired of being tired. I'm going to celebrate my students today. It was the best "2" I've ever seen a bunch of kids earn. And, April, you just can't take that away from me.
But can I still have the birthday presents?
April means spring. And that means fresh cut lawns, rain showers, and best of all, my birthday (which means presents)! But then I became a music teacher and that all changed. Now April is little more than a blur: a day-to-day spectacle of preparing for the "next thing," whether it be a clinic, a concert, or a contest. But every now and then, take like, now, for instance, I stop and regain a little perspective about my favorite month of the year.
A month ago my students were rough around the edges musically. They were still trying to get stuff figured out. But they worked hard, forgot a bunch of stuff they learned while on spring break, came back, screwed their brains back in and got down to work. All of my string players attended early morning rehearsals, the Orchestra Leadership Team took charge of logistics like seating charts and moving chairs, and the Symphony kids continued the tradition of two-hour,"8th hour," rehearsals on Monday evenings. In short, they went above and beyond to make sure our tradition of excellence continued.
Except today that streak was broken. Or was it? Sure, the String Orchestra earned a Division II rating (in Kansas, they're rated from I to V, with I being "superior" and V being "you sure you should've played today?"), for the first time in thirteen years. But is that what's important? Thirteen years ago I might've said "yes!" But not today. Today the streak was kept alive. The more important streak, that is.
Just like the government's attempt at creating a "level playing field" by enforcing standardized testing as a way to "grade" all schools, music contests are a "snapshot" - a one-off look at how an orchestra (or band, or choir, or jazz band, insert musical ensemble here) plays at any given moment on a single day. However, what standardized testing and music contests fail to take into consideration is all of the preparation that went into it behind the scenes. Believe me, I'm a good enough teacher to make a "C" feel like you just won the Nobel Prize and an "A-" feel like the worse thing you've ever done. So I wanted to make sure that my students knew what the really, and I mean this, the REALLY important stuff about today's contest was.
I'm talking about kindness. I'm talking about politeness. I'm talking about 150 kids walking into a building and being quiet and respectful of the students, faculty, and volunteers running the contest. I'm talking about students holding open doors, saying "please" and "thank you" and meaning it. I'm talking about a whole lot of high school kids eating bag lunches in a little theatre and leaving it cleaner than they found it. I'm talking about kids, some of whom have ADD, ADHD, IEPs, whatever you want to call it, who concentrated so hard that they were twitching in their seats. I'm talking about parent volunteers who took time away from work to deliver those meals, to run kids between venues (because they're so darn talented they just had to be in choir and band, too), and to be there and support their amazing children.
THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!
The most important streak, that streak of keeping our humanity along with our musicality, was kept alive today and I couldn't be more proud of the people who kept it going.
So, April, you just go ahead and bring it. I've got about 150 people standing behind me who will kick your butt right back into that happy place you used to be. I'm tired of being tired. I'm going to celebrate my students today. It was the best "2" I've ever seen a bunch of kids earn. And, April, you just can't take that away from me.
But can I still have the birthday presents?
Sunday, March 10, 2013
"Why" to the Nth Degree
I've never been accused of being lazy. If anything, I've been accused of being a little hyper-active, constantly exploring new things, and, well, suffering from "attention deficit disorder." I've never really minded the accusation, as I probably do seem a little hyper-whatever from the outside looking in toward the life I lead.
But I'm not sure "ADHD" or any other diagnosis accurately describes it. "Curious" probably comes closest to defining my nature, but even then that doesn't accurately describe the process by which I live my life. Well, unless you go with the secondary definition of curious, which is "strange, or different." I'll own that definition with great pride!
Yes, curiosity comes close, but I think what best describes my drive to create and discover is more accurately summed up, at least in the past couple years, by one word: "why."
I blame it on the fact that I'm currently pursuing my PhD in Curriculum & Instruction with a Music Education Cognate. I've done extensive research the past year into different philosophies and methodologies in the music classroom. I've explored Bloom's Taxonomy, Piaget's Theories, and come face-to-face with Gordon's Music Learning Theory (I'm not a fan, by the way, as I see him as a musical elitist, dividing children into those "who get it" and those "who don't"). And all of this research has led me to one simple word: "why."
As music educators, we're very good at the "what" and the "how." We know we have to teach the kids to get through particular pieces of music using specific techniques and methods that will create the best performance with the least amount of stress (in other words, we want to make sure the kids can perform their very best without pain, be it physical, mental, or emotional). We rock "what" and "how." One area that we never truly explore, or at least explain to our students, is "why."
I recently asked my orchestra students (my "kids") if they knew what "Common Core Standards" were. I also asked them if they knew about other state and federal standards that are being used to decide whether they'll graduate or not. A very small percentage (maybe 2% of my VERY unscientific poll), knew what these standards were or could articulate how they impacted students' lives. My question to my students was then "Doesn't it scare you that there are people making decisions about your future that you have no idea what they are?" Most of the students hadn't thought of it. And I blame myself and my fellow educators for that.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm a fan of teachers. In fact, other than police officers, I don't believe there are more important and more under-appreciated people on the planet. It's the system that's the problem. We are so busy trying to get the kids to the next test, the next "checked box" on the list of our educational goals, that we forget to explain to the students why we're doing what we're doing. And, at least in my classroom, that has got to stop.
Why do we warm up on scales? Why is it important to know when this composer lived and who his contemporaries were? Why do I need to be able to hear the difference between major and minor? Why can't I hold my instrument pinched between my chin and shoulder? Why do you care so much, Mr. Bishop?
I want, or probably more accurately, I need my students to ask "why" more. It will help me become the teacher I need to be in order to help them reach their ultimate potential. As I tell my kids, "I don't expect you all to become professional musicians, but I will teach you as though you were heading that direction."
"Why?" Because I care, that's why.
That one little word drove me crazy as a young teacher, nineteen years ago. And now, I can't get enough of it. What drives you crazy? And why aren't you exploring it?
Peace,
Jeffrey
But I'm not sure "ADHD" or any other diagnosis accurately describes it. "Curious" probably comes closest to defining my nature, but even then that doesn't accurately describe the process by which I live my life. Well, unless you go with the secondary definition of curious, which is "strange, or different." I'll own that definition with great pride!
Yes, curiosity comes close, but I think what best describes my drive to create and discover is more accurately summed up, at least in the past couple years, by one word: "why."
I blame it on the fact that I'm currently pursuing my PhD in Curriculum & Instruction with a Music Education Cognate. I've done extensive research the past year into different philosophies and methodologies in the music classroom. I've explored Bloom's Taxonomy, Piaget's Theories, and come face-to-face with Gordon's Music Learning Theory (I'm not a fan, by the way, as I see him as a musical elitist, dividing children into those "who get it" and those "who don't"). And all of this research has led me to one simple word: "why."
As music educators, we're very good at the "what" and the "how." We know we have to teach the kids to get through particular pieces of music using specific techniques and methods that will create the best performance with the least amount of stress (in other words, we want to make sure the kids can perform their very best without pain, be it physical, mental, or emotional). We rock "what" and "how." One area that we never truly explore, or at least explain to our students, is "why."
I recently asked my orchestra students (my "kids") if they knew what "Common Core Standards" were. I also asked them if they knew about other state and federal standards that are being used to decide whether they'll graduate or not. A very small percentage (maybe 2% of my VERY unscientific poll), knew what these standards were or could articulate how they impacted students' lives. My question to my students was then "Doesn't it scare you that there are people making decisions about your future that you have no idea what they are?" Most of the students hadn't thought of it. And I blame myself and my fellow educators for that.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm a fan of teachers. In fact, other than police officers, I don't believe there are more important and more under-appreciated people on the planet. It's the system that's the problem. We are so busy trying to get the kids to the next test, the next "checked box" on the list of our educational goals, that we forget to explain to the students why we're doing what we're doing. And, at least in my classroom, that has got to stop.
Why do we warm up on scales? Why is it important to know when this composer lived and who his contemporaries were? Why do I need to be able to hear the difference between major and minor? Why can't I hold my instrument pinched between my chin and shoulder? Why do you care so much, Mr. Bishop?
I want, or probably more accurately, I need my students to ask "why" more. It will help me become the teacher I need to be in order to help them reach their ultimate potential. As I tell my kids, "I don't expect you all to become professional musicians, but I will teach you as though you were heading that direction."
"Why?" Because I care, that's why.
That one little word drove me crazy as a young teacher, nineteen years ago. And now, I can't get enough of it. What drives you crazy? And why aren't you exploring it?
Peace,
Jeffrey
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch
The Composition Ranch, that is.
I've been busy with a new commission. It's for the Hays Symphony (Hays, KS). They wanted a piece to celebrate their 100th Anniversary and asked me to write a work that will be premiered next September at their opening concert. Wow. One hundred years as a symphony orchestra in a town in Western Kansas. It's pretty amazing really, but not if you know the people there.
I had the opportunity to play some sketches for the conductor and concert master when they were on tour here last week (they play as a violin/cello duet as part of Fort Hays State University's Department of Music). I'm very happy to report that they loved the sketches and "Hays, America!" is born! Apparently there was this really funny, homegrown series of commercials for a car dealership back in the 1960s where the owner would yell, "Right here, in Hays, America!" at the end of every commercial. The music is sweet, almost nostalgic, but also has a bit of hectic, neurotic flair. I think we're capturing the spirit of not only the Hays Symphony but of the city as well.
I'll continue working on the sketches and orchestrations as time permits this quarter, but right now my meagre attention turns from composing, right past teaching, and headlong in my PhD studies. "EDLEA 838: Qualitative Research Methods " was scaring the bejeebers out of me prior to our first class meeting yesterday. Now that I've met the teacher (awesome), gone over the syllabus (doable), and learned how the grading system will work (four major papers - yikes!), I feel like I've got a good handle on it. I know it may sound absurd, but I am a little, nay a tiny bit, right-brained. *Gasp* I know, I know, but don't worry, I'll wrap my head around this research stuff and get it all figured out. Besides, by the end of the semester I should have the first chapter of my dissertation completed (or sketched out pretty darn well). And that'll be downright alright with me.
I hope you're doing well out there!
Peace,
Jeffrey
I've been busy with a new commission. It's for the Hays Symphony (Hays, KS). They wanted a piece to celebrate their 100th Anniversary and asked me to write a work that will be premiered next September at their opening concert. Wow. One hundred years as a symphony orchestra in a town in Western Kansas. It's pretty amazing really, but not if you know the people there.
I had the opportunity to play some sketches for the conductor and concert master when they were on tour here last week (they play as a violin/cello duet as part of Fort Hays State University's Department of Music). I'm very happy to report that they loved the sketches and "Hays, America!" is born! Apparently there was this really funny, homegrown series of commercials for a car dealership back in the 1960s where the owner would yell, "Right here, in Hays, America!" at the end of every commercial. The music is sweet, almost nostalgic, but also has a bit of hectic, neurotic flair. I think we're capturing the spirit of not only the Hays Symphony but of the city as well.
I'll continue working on the sketches and orchestrations as time permits this quarter, but right now my meagre attention turns from composing, right past teaching, and headlong in my PhD studies. "EDLEA 838: Qualitative Research Methods " was scaring the bejeebers out of me prior to our first class meeting yesterday. Now that I've met the teacher (awesome), gone over the syllabus (doable), and learned how the grading system will work (four major papers - yikes!), I feel like I've got a good handle on it. I know it may sound absurd, but I am a little, nay a tiny bit, right-brained. *Gasp* I know, I know, but don't worry, I'll wrap my head around this research stuff and get it all figured out. Besides, by the end of the semester I should have the first chapter of my dissertation completed (or sketched out pretty darn well). And that'll be downright alright with me.
I hope you're doing well out there!
Peace,
Jeffrey
Saturday, December 15, 2012
In Light of Recent Circumstances
The more I think about the tragedy in Connecticut and about "why" it happened, I can't help but come back to a simple conclusion. Yes, gun control in this country is an issue. Yes, mental health issues are often ignored or, worse yet, made to be a sign of weakness or shame. But I think it's a much simpler reason and a much, much more pervasive problem that we're facing: we have lost our sense of connection.
We live in a world where it is too easy to argue on the internet, to insult someone for how they think; we can send a nasty text instead of owning up to our feelings eye-to-eye; in short, we don't have to SEE someone with whom we disagree. We can avoid them and yet still insult or hurt them. We have lost our civility, our humanity, and until we are able to come together, to look each other in the eye, and say "I disagree" without hatred or malice, but with understanding and cooperation, there's not much hope.
I teach children, young adults really. I don't teach orchestra nor do I teach music. I teach human beings. I love and live with human beings. And I hope to teach them that through music, and all the arts, we can share love, passion, and connectivity. Please, don't just "share" on Facebook. Get out in your community, your schools, your world and share real connections. I truly believe it will make the greatest difference in our world.
I wish you peace this holiday season,
We live in a world where it is too easy to argue on the internet, to insult someone for how they think; we can send a nasty text instead of owning up to our feelings eye-to-eye; in short, we don't have to SEE someone with whom we disagree. We can avoid them and yet still insult or hurt them. We have lost our civility, our humanity, and until we are able to come together, to look each other in the eye, and say "I disagree" without hatred or malice, but with understanding and cooperation, there's not much hope.
I teach children, young adults really. I don't teach orchestra nor do I teach music. I teach human beings. I love and live with human beings. And I hope to teach them that through music, and all the arts, we can share love, passion, and connectivity. Please, don't just "share" on Facebook. Get out in your community, your schools, your world and share real connections. I truly believe it will make the greatest difference in our world.
I wish you peace this holiday season,
Jeffrey
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Giving Thanks...
Wow, is it November 20th already? Where has the time gone? Oh, yeah. It's gone into an amazing year spent with some of the most incredible people. I've had another great semester at SMNW, working with some of the most talented young musicians. I've nearly completed my second semester of PhD coursework at Kansas State University. And, I've published my second novel on Kindle and saw my first novel come out in paperback.
Not too bad, really. But what is more important, I have had the most amazing period of personal growth as a person and as a composer. My creativity has been off the charts - several commissions already completed and an amazing new one on the horizon. So what's my secret?
Family.
I have an amazing partner who inspires me. She is the most amazing woman I've ever known and every day I give thanks for her presence in my life. And then there's her kids, two of the most amazing young people I've ever known. They have accepted me into their lives and I am so thankful for that. And then there's my biggest fans: my folks. Every year, every day, they never give up on me.
So, as we pause this weekend to give thanks for all that we have, I want all y'all to know how much I appreciate the love and support I have in my life. And if you're a former student, colleague, friend, or family member, or a newfound fan of Bartemus or my music, I want you to know how much I am thankful for YOU.
Peace,
Jeffrey
Not too bad, really. But what is more important, I have had the most amazing period of personal growth as a person and as a composer. My creativity has been off the charts - several commissions already completed and an amazing new one on the horizon. So what's my secret?
Family.
I have an amazing partner who inspires me. She is the most amazing woman I've ever known and every day I give thanks for her presence in my life. And then there's her kids, two of the most amazing young people I've ever known. They have accepted me into their lives and I am so thankful for that. And then there's my biggest fans: my folks. Every year, every day, they never give up on me.
So, as we pause this weekend to give thanks for all that we have, I want all y'all to know how much I appreciate the love and support I have in my life. And if you're a former student, colleague, friend, or family member, or a newfound fan of Bartemus or my music, I want you to know how much I am thankful for YOU.
Peace,
Jeffrey
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