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

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

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

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."

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

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

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?