Welcome to the Common Time Podcast, a show designed to give music educators practical, inspiring ideas for you and your program. Each week we sit down with world class educators, composers, and conductors to talk about teaching, leadership and building programs that thrive without burning yourself out. So whether you're a band, orchestra, or choir director, our goal is simple to help you grow and stay inspired and remember why you fell in love with teaching music in the first place. This is season 4, and we're diving even deeper. More real conversations, more actionable takeaways and more voices shaping the future of music education. Let's get into the episode. Our guest today is Amanda Drinkwater. Welcome, Amanda.
Hi there.
So Amanda is Director of Fine Arts for the Lewisville Independent School District in Lewisville, TX, having previously taught at Leander High School, The Colony and Marcus High Schools. And today I'm excited to dive into the ins and outs of running a highly successful band program. John, why don't you get us started?
Thanks, David. Hi, Amanda. It's always good to see you.
You too, guys.
So I say this all over the country and I mean it sincerely. You are the best high school band director who has ever taught — anywhere. You won't say that yourself, but for anyone listening, this is true. Part of the reason we asked you here is because we just want to hear your insights about how to do this. As you look back through your career in the schools — even though you now oversee it from an administrative perspective — what foundations mattered most when you built a program that has truly thrived?
John, thank you for that very kind and superfluous introduction. I appreciate the chance to talk about program efficacy and thriving programs, because they're what drives us. We are threatened by anything that's happening around us with an artificial component to it. So many professions are in danger of becoming obsolete in the next few years, and teaching can't be one of them — and it isn't, because the relationship building is so integral to that teacher-and-learner dynamic. There is no learning that really takes place without the caring you get from being in the room with a teacher. So I'm worried and at the same time confident in our future, because nothing will compare to you and David being on the podium with the baton and the score and the kids in that room. That's such a visceral and real thing. So I'd start with relationships — with the students, between the staff, among the students themselves. All of that has to be there whether you're trying to reach something great or simply something solid. You've got to be OK with the people around you and build trusting, lasting relationships before you can grow as an ensemble.
Absolutely, I couldn't agree more. The idea of building relationships is so foundational for long term success for sure. When you think about day-to-day leadership on a high school campus, I'm curious what habits or systems you think make the biggest difference for you, or even the directors that you're overseeing now.
Greeting students at the door — and maybe that's greeting students at the front of the room — having that welcoming feeling when you walk in, that this is an elevated environment of learning and music making and friendship. If it doesn't feel like a sanctuary when you walk in, you're not going to get the most out of the students. They will not trust. They'll be afraid to make a mistake, or they'll be afraid to make the director mad, and on and on and on. So having that sense that you're walking in with friends and with people who want the best for you. I don't go into a classroom that's great without seeing that kind of an environment. I see very good classrooms where there's much information being given, where it feels like the room is filled with the conductor, filled with the person in the front of the room. And those programs tend to have a ceiling, right? I know you guys know that too, that there is a ceiling to compliant ensembles. There's a ceiling to groups that feel like they have to play to the satisfaction of the conductor, the satisfaction of the director, or else — in my experience, there is no environment that has ego from the leader that is also achieving great artistry, great levels of excellence in playing and music making.
That's exactly right — and what you're describing is culture. Culture doesn't happen by accident. So how did you specifically build student ownership — with pride and accountability — and at the core, how did you build the culture you established in your classrooms?
Probably the same way both of you did. As you both know, the culture cannot come from the leader — it has to come from within the ensemble. No matter how hard you try, you can make a difference over a year or two or three and really move the ball pretty slowly. But all it takes is one great student leader, one section leader, one drum major to shift the culture in a few days. If someone within the ensemble — if Fernando Mendoza shows up and decides to change the culture — you can change it pretty quickly, as we've seen on national TV this year. But top-down culture change is less effective. Less authentic. It takes longer. And you end up right back in that compliant ensemble. The students have to be driven to what they want to see in their own organization. You've heard me tell this story before, John — there was a program I served that had a pretty strained culture when I arrived: the work ethic, the commitment to ensemble efficacy, the listening skills — all of it. They would start every preseason marching day by sitting in the backs of their trucks playing whatever music they wanted, until the drum majors went and blew whistles at everybody. And these drum majors would run around — they had a dog whistle — go to the middle of the field, blow the whistle, run around, and it'd take about 20 minutes to get everybody on the field. And then rehearsal started. I walked into this and thought: we're blowing whistles at kids to get them to do things. Don't they want to practice? Do they know we have a football game in three weeks? I knew very well, being new there, that I couldn't say: hey guys, this is inappropriate. I don't like what you're doing, your music taste is bad, and you don't want to rehearse. I couldn't say all of those things. So I waited until rehearsal was over and pulled the drum majors aside. Tell me about the whistling. And they said, well, if we don't do that, the band won't know when to start. And I said: I think the band will know — they do have watches and clocks in the car. I said, tomorrow we're not going to blow the whistles. They all looked at each other, very concerned. And I pulled the seniors at the end of that day and said, hey — we're not going to blow any whistles to start rehearsal tomorrow. We'll start whenever you guys want. I'll be here at 7. Just get on the field when you're ready. The next day it took about 18 minutes for the kids to realize there weren't going to be any whistles. Some of the seniors got on board — hey, let's mosey on out there without losing our cool image. Slowly everybody came out. I was sitting on the tower with a newspaper, just waiting. After they got out there, I turned on the mic and said, good morning. Let's get started. And there was a hush over the group — I think they felt, rut-roh, this is not exactly what I thought I was going to get with the new lady. The next day we started about 7:03. From dog whistles and 20 minutes late to 3 minutes late. After that, we never started a rehearsal without everybody on the field and ready before the downbeat. That's one story, but there are many.
I remember when the two of us were teaching together. Even at Marcus, you never raised your voice in a rehearsal setting — not even to get people's attention. I've never seen you do that. It's because of the expectations you set for the students to understand the environment, the culture, what was expected — all of that has always stuck in my mind. You would raise your hand, I think, wasn't that it? But you never raised your voice. I just remember that.
I think first and foremost, no one wants to hear anyone raise their voice in a setting where learning is taking place — not unless it's an exuberance or, you know, good for you, or something like that. I think that's a perception that was left decades ago, that you have to be strong in vocal timbre or vocal content to get the attention of the group. It's just kind of an old school way of thinking about it or doing it. And I certainly knew that I didn't want to be yelled at in drum corps or high school band or college band — I would not want someone to yell at me. Maybe if there was a discipline problem, I would like to see somebody get spoken to with a little bit of vim and vigor. But in terms of the instructional piece, why would we ever want to hear that delivered in that way? And secondarily, no one's voice really sounds very good doing that. Very few people can get away with that kind of timbre with a group without scaring kids. And so it just didn't seem necessary or desirable to have yelling in the environment. But there were a couple of times I've raised my voice — but that's for another day and another story.
I think we've all done that once in a while. I agree, John — I've watched you teach, and sometimes you have to lean in to hear what you're saying, but I think it's purposeful. The students are so engaged, they're hanging on every word. There are approaches to teaching that are the complete opposite of that. It's something I've always found unique about watching you teach. So I want to ask specifically about the effective rehearsal. How did it look in your program? And how did you balance musical growth with the relationship building we just mentioned, and student well-being — all together — while also putting together a very high-level product on the field or in a concert hall?
Well, this is an ironic thing to talk about, since I have dogs barking incessantly in the background. But the musical environment is best served on a canvas of silence, right? If there's noise in the room, it's much more difficult to ask a freshman or a sophomore to really listen to the third trumpet player sitting two chairs away from him. It's much more difficult to ask for an elevated attention to pitch, or to have the kids listen — OK, do you hear where the snare drum comes in at beat three? You guys are a little behind that. Let's breathe in time before that entrance and really listen to it and get your sound inside of that so the eighth notes are together. If all of that's not taking place on a canvas of silence, then it's hard to get more out of them. So it's not a pet peeve — it's just a desire to want it to be quiet. And when the kids are along that journey with the conductor, it's a beautiful thing. So sharing the beauty of silence with the students, and encouraging them to listen to the ambient sounds in the room — that can just be, instead of, you know, line it back up and get out of here and come back in and be quiet — at the beginning of the year, when you're setting the standards, you don't have demonstrations. If Sally in the clarinet section lets her binder slap to the floor, have her do it again — have her demonstrate it again in a very kind way — and just say, OK, let's talk about mutes and getting mutes into place, and what that feels like. That's a sound you can make or not make. One of my favorites is the necessity to blow spit out of the horn instead of letting gravity do its work, right — we've got to put everything down and let that whole sound emanate through the room. So again, when you do this at the outset, in the first quarter, the first eighth of the school year, it can really make a difference in your rehearsals the rest of the year. You don't want to be trying to teach that when you're making an honor band recording in May. It's just part of preserving the sanctity of the rehearsal and creating that sanctuary for sound and for artistry in the room. The kids should know what the pitch is of the school bell so that they listen to it in a different way. In our case at Marcus, it was a very sharp B natural — so that was lovely. Every day the trumpet kids would try to match it as the day was ending. And again, then they get sensitized to it. You'll see section leaders getting annoyed when somebody shuts their slot door too loud or sets their case down or anything like that. And then of course it makes the performances seem extra special when the kids have that awareness of how everything is connected to that canvas of silence.
I love how you connected this to having them recreate that sound and listen to the disturbance and let that sink in. I never even thought about doing that. That's really genius. Making the kid feel good about it too — it's like, no, it's OK, we all need to learn this. So thank you for doing that. But you know, let's go ahead and do it again.
And yeah, it's quite a sound, isn't it? Or if you've got your tonal energy or whatever running in the room, you're like, wow, look at that number of decibels. Thank you for teaching us about that today. So everybody got that.
I love it because it's turning a negative into a positive in a way that informs the culture while building a positive habit at the same time. There are so many good things about that moment. And I'm not a young teacher — that's the first time I've actually heard someone say that out loud. So that's fantastic.
Sophomore boys only move stands one way, which is to drag them on the ground. That's their job. In fact, I think they have that listed on their job description.
Yeah, so — for anybody listening, I think it's important to understand the message that is underlying all of this.
Expectations are critical — you have to have high expectations and the students need to meet them. But how they get there is exactly what you're talking about, right? You have a very clear set of expectations about everything. You're going to teach in a positive, engaging, empathetic, compassionate way. But your standards are not going to bend. Am I right in that?
Yes — and that's a reflection of how you teach as well, John. And you as well, David. I think master teachers — when you see one in a room, it feels like an invitation. No one ever felt oppressed by Professor Reynolds' gestures or comments. They felt invited to the party to make music. And so much was said without being said — in the facial interaction, in the gestural quality and the expectations. I think the more you can pull the students into the room and fill it less and less with your voice or your actions, the more you'll get out of them. And that goes for sixth graders and college seniors and everything in between.
Every strong program faces challenge. All programs do — and especially now. That can be staffing, scheduling, motivation, enrollment — all the things. So from your experience, what obstacles tested you most and how did you learn to navigate them?
I would let the interpersonal challenges of a student really get to me. That was hardest. You know that knock you get on the door in July — hey, can I talk to you? You know what that means. A student who wants to disengage from the program, going in a different direction, doesn't have the fire anymore. They don't want to major in music. They didn't get the section leader role and didn't say anything at the time, but now they're really thinking about it. So many sleepless nights were dedicated to those students you wanted to keep — not as a number or a dot on the field, but because you wanted to believe you were offering something they'd find as invaluable as you do. That's not always the case. Those are the hardest days. Everything else pales to that. The outside noise, all the pressures around us — and I know it's very discouraging right now. The post-COVID era is a marker for the rest of our lives. That was a historical event we're still living through — we talk about recovery, but we're just different. We're not going to recover from it because we're a different society now. It's not going to be the way it was before. When I was teaching, if it was a nice day, we'd open the band hall door and let chamber ensembles go outside and play in the sunlight. Now there are strict protocols, ID badges, keyless entries, security cameras, and everyone goes through the front. It's a much more secure environment. But there's a loss of innocence — that sense of we're safe here, before you couldn't even open the door. It's a different world. But everything else is manageable. The things we can't change ourselves — we just have to keep trying. Not give up on a scheduling problem. Not give up on a staffing problem. To do, in the words of Bobby Floyd at his retirement speech for Team EA, keep our heads down and teach — because that's the thing that gets us through the next chapter. Nothing can replace that interaction from podium to student in real life.
As a follow-up — we have many listeners from smaller school districts struggling with advocacy and funding. Now as an administrator, do you have any advice for them about how to make people understand the relevance and value of their program, why it shouldn't be cut — whatever the threat happens to be?
They cannot — you can't throw in the towel. You have to use every mechanism in your power to influence the decision makers who will determine what happens next. And no one was more shocked to hear from Gene Pokorny, at a clinic he gave, that he grew up in a tiny program in Arizona — 22 kids in his high school band. He rode a bicycle back and forth to the band hall with a tuba. The quality was very poor. The instrumentation wasn't even a full concert band. And I asked him what kept him going. He said it was always the promise of being great — the promise that the next day would be better, that they would be able to achieve something. The idea that the craft had the potential to be better. And I think that lives with the teacher. The teacher is the one who, with 13 students or 21 students, in any setting, can share with students the joy and hope that tomorrow can sound better. Just by looking at the kid with the weakest sound in the group and saying: all those E's were a little less sharp today. That's progress. Give a fist bump and move on. The promise of progress, the promise of joy in music making, the promise of that relationship being safer and more fun. I know that sounds maybe over-optimistic for someone dealing with very serious things, but positivity from the leader is always a good idea when you're under fire. In an age of scorched-earth handling of interpersonal things, just sharing positivity and building relationships and taking that to whatever level you need to. And I'd be remiss not to say — you have to be good at your craft. There is a much greater chance of your program thriving if the students are thriving. Your students should be the best academics in the building. Your students should hold the door open for teachers. Your students should help get teachers out of the parking lot when there's ice. Your students should pick up the trash in the front of the building. Culture is something we can spread because we have a lot of kids relative to other programs on campus. If we want to be an indelible part of the fabric of that campus, we've got to be more than just down in our cave chasing scores and grumbling.
The success of your programs is well known — I've heard them, I've watched them, I've judged them. I think the last time I saw your group was a state marching contest here in Texas. I don't remember the year — ten or twelve years ago — but you did an all-Bach show. I was judging music in the box and I didn't write anything. I just listened for ten minutes and at the end I thanked you for what I had just experienced. I remember a chord specifically — I think you had piccolo trumpets on the field, maybe I'm making that up, but there was a chord of such clarity, and this was in the Dome, so you could just hear it resonate. You could hear every voice from low to high. Whatever it was, something sounded like piccolo trumpets. How is this possible with students? On the recording, I literally said thank you. I appreciate what all of you have given me today. But that doesn't happen by accident. You don't fall into that. Being good at your craft and creating a culture where all of those things come together — that's the work. So I'm curious how you thought about long-term planning for your students — not just the concert in March, but developing students as musicians and as people across a four-year span.
I'll answer it this way. The group was competitively successful before they knew how to load the trucks. They were getting attentive to musical and visual detail without necessarily getting the attention to detail in the other areas of the program. They weren't crafty enough to be concerned about the competitive outcome — that part just interested them more. This really sticks in my mind. I've told this story in public before, but the very first time that group earned an ABOA Regional Championship — you're in this moment wanting to celebrate, and it was very surprising, certainly nothing anybody expected. I had realized just before retreat that we had never talked about how to do retreat. People were coming up to congratulate me and I was completely distracted — I could only think about what I was seeing in retreat that I hadn't addressed. I thought we were far enough along that our leadership could have handled it, but they were elbowing each other, pulling faces, and it was just undignified relative to their peers. The whole drive home I felt nothing about the outcome of the contest, because all I could think was I hadn't taught them how to be in that moment. After break ranks was called, the tuba section went to the 50-yard line and laid down in their uniforms, and there was somebody doing a snow angel. So they all started doing snow angels. I was walking around with the Home Alone face going, please get up, please do not lay on the ground. I was mortified. And it wasn't the students' fault — we had never talked about how to channel that moment. After those announcements, they showed they didn't yet have the sensitivity or awareness of what it means to become a leader whether you liked it or not — going to your competitors and shaking their hands, all of those things. It was a personal lapse — a really big one — because I had not anticipated it. All the way home I kept thinking: we are so young. Not the band — we were so young in our leadership culture that when something unexpected happened, they couldn't transfer what we'd built in other areas. That's not an exact answer to your question, but it does take time. And once the majority of the students have an understanding of the group's identity and culture, it just spreads exponentially to everyone. At that point your leaders are essentially assistant directors — even at the middle school level, an eighth grader has great power to show the rest of the section how to be. But there's a critical mass — once you get past the point of having everybody pulling in the same direction, they do it themselves. When I knew it was really thriving was when so much less had to be said. It could just be eye contact — musically especially. Looking at a student in the second band and they would just nod — yeah, that was me. Or you'd look over, the second beat was supposed to touch the third and they played it lifted and heard it, and they would just acknowledge it — you wouldn't even have to say anything out loud. That to me was the ultimate thriving culture: the student self-assessed. They gave you that acknowledgment. They picked up the pencil. They set the water bottle down silently without being directed. The less directing there is, the more successful the program — that sounds strange, but it's true.
That makes total sense. I'm envisioning your trajectory and how things evolved over time. For someone listening who doesn't have that yet — they're thinking, I wish I had that culture. I wish my students raised their hands when they made a mistake. Do you have some practical steps to help them start thinking that way and build that mindset?
This is old school, but just record your rehearsal — set up the iPad from the back of the room. It's the terrifying thing, the thing we had to do in undergraduate conducting: watch and listen to ourselves, which is always terrifying. But awareness has to precede everything else. Whatever is happening in your band hall is because you want it to happen or you allow it to happen — one of those two things. So set that up, as painful as it is, and then watch it and listen to the timbre of your voice, watch how the beginning of class unfolds. The way we take attendance matters. The way we do everything matters. If there are portions of the rehearsal that seem perfunctory or clunky or that don't belong in a musical environment, minimize those things. If you hear comments coming from your mouth that aren't helpful, they need to be eliminated — anything we say to a student that made no difference, that was more for the sound of our own voice than anything else, just cut it completely. And listen for the frequency of helpful comments, the frequency of directives, the frequency of things you tolerated without responding to. How are your ears working? You may be in the saxes the whole time because Johnny is screwing around over there and you can hear everything they're doing — meanwhile, the French horns are building a vegetable garden and you have no idea because you're focused on this one kid. I always recommended that teachers and student teachers record from the back, then from each side. It never failed to shock me. Whenever I recorded myself from the left side, my natural instinct was to focus in that direction and respond there — and then when I recorded from the other side, it was constantly shocking that I had not honed in on something. So there's that. Self-assessment.
That question — is what's happening what I want, or what I'm allowing — is so important. If every one of us asked that daily, it would help us self-assess and make better choices. And for anybody listening: this is going to take time. It isn't going to happen overnight, but if you don't have a plan, it's not going to happen at all. It'll be inconsistent. She mentioned having a system for literally every single thing — we've heard that from others as well, and if you can let that sink in, it takes time to build those systems but they are so worthwhile when you think about the culture she's describing. The systems make a huge difference, and you can see it continue. My niece is currently in the Marcus High School band and plays bass trombone, and it is so exciting to hear her. She loves it and comes home talking about the teachers and the staff — but really, it isn't about the teachers. It's about the student leadership, the process that was built, the culture, the love of music. She loves the process. Part of it is because she knows what to expect — and that's a critical piece for all students, from elementary through college. If they have an idea of what to expect, it takes away stress and anxiety and they can focus on what's at hand. Her eyes light up when we talk about the Marcus Band and I love that — because obviously I consider you a dear friend and master teacher, and the system works. For anybody listening: it is possible, but you have to start and you have to have a clear plan. I just want to make sure everyone takes that in. So my question, Amanda: now that you've seen programs through a wider lens as an administrator, what do you think high school directors underestimate most? About their influence on students, their role in the community, their craft — anything.
Absolutely — we have an extraordinarily diverse setting in our district. Nearly every type of community culture you can imagine in North America exists within our district. It's a very large district with five feeder patterns. And the most underestimated component is how much the kid brings to the table from home. We look at each other and say, well, of course they do — of course everybody brings what they have from home. But when you're going through undergraduate music education, you never talk about the fact that some students can't afford these reeds. We're going to tell you the great list of instruments, the great list of reeds, the great things to do in sectionals. What if the kids can't get to sectionals? What if you're in front of a group you only get in class? Or what if you have a culture where parents pull their kids out at will because they have the means to go to Vail when there's a sale on plane tickets? We have those extremes and we don't often think about them. Most of what students are bringing is what they're getting at home. So welcoming families into what it means to be part of a music program has to be something you communicate beyond just the kids you already have. You're communicating it in the community, upward to administration — connecting to what David raised earlier. It's all-encompassing. I was foolishly under the impression early in my career that advocacy was the responsibility of the Fine Arts office. I always thought: that's our Fine Arts director's job, not mine. And in a certain way, yes — there are meetings where schedules and course credits and electives are discussed and not everyone can be at those. But there's no greater act of advocacy than taking 13 kids to play at the YMCA at the grand opening of the new swimming pool, or going down during the principal's birthday with a few kids to make them feel good, or playing at the pep rally. Those are the things people from the outside see as important. At a football game, John — you know this better than anybody — if the national anthem doesn't sound great and feel like it should, almost nothing else matters to a good portion of the listeners in that stadium or watching on TV. It really doesn't matter all the hoo-ha at halftime if we can't get those ceremonial things to be perceived as greatness by the stakeholders. The most underestimated thing is what kids bring from home — and if they're in music at all, that usually means it was a supportive experience.
I've been working on a research initiative around advocacy and this lands right in the middle of it. I appreciate the idea that music advocacy isn't just what happens at the highest administrative level. As a high school director, I thought of my trajectory as years one through four leading to college conducting — and I never thought about advocacy as part of my job, not even outreach to middle schools. Coming out as a music educator, it just wasn't on my mind. And this goes all the way up to every nonprofit arts organization in the world struggling for advocacy right now. We as music teachers are teaching our students, but we also have this responsibility — if we choose to take it — to advocate for music and create those opportunities, like playing at a care home or anywhere you're adding value to the community. I wish I saw more of that. It adds so much depth to building the full student, not just the musical part — the empathy, the giving back. So I appreciate you bringing that in. As we wrap up: you've had remarkable success, and you and John both mentioned it takes time. I'm curious about directors who want to elevate their programs but have so much else on their plate. Do you have practical advice for them — how did you do it?
I have to give all credit to a great team. I was very fortunate to be in a place where we were staffed for success — and that is very commonplace down here in Texas. We were scheduled for success. And the amount of time our middle schools see students — every day. At the high school level, every day. In our district we're in a double block schedule: 90 minutes a day. So when you talk about that, it is difficult to tell the rest of the world you can do it when they may only see their middle school students twice a week. I'd start with that disclaimer: it doesn't get any better than having a great team and having the time to really focus on this. There's no replacement for those two things. However, I grew up in a high school band program in little Thibodaux, Louisiana, and was brought to love this profession and the craft because of a passionate band director who gave his all to a ragtag group of kids in the middle of nowhere. His love of the craft, his love of music, his inspiration, his high expectations. He was funny, he was endearing. He loved music. He exuded empathy. He created sanctuary. All the things we've talked about today enabled that to be a very special place. A fertile place. I look back at that little high school band — eighth grade through 12th grade, about 100 kids in a school of 800. Out of my class of 25 seniors, I think nine of us went into some form of music, stayed through college, played in college bands. Not all nine are band directors, but there are a few. Several marched drum corps, did college band, and still play. That's a huge percentage out of 25 seniors. It was just him — him and a paid percussion instructor — but the culture was amazing and he made things happen that you didn't think could happen in the middle of nowhere. There are places that are fertile because of the work of one person, and I admire that so very much. I had the great fortune of many support systems in place, and it's easy for people to say: well, if you had all those things, of course it was easier to be good. And I agree.
That's absolutely right. But you also have to be good at your craft. You just have to. You had success because you're really good at your craft — for anybody listening, I do think that's a critical piece, and I just want to put that out there. So Amanda, we've come to the point in the podcast where we ask all of our guests three standing questions. I'll take the first one. Do you have a soapbox topic? It can be about anything — music, life, band directing, whatever you want.
Do I have a soapbox topic? Wow. Can I come back to that one while I make sure I say what I should say? Let's go to the next question, then I'm going to bounce back to that one.
Sure. Next question: is there a book — or several — that has inspired you in your journey? Doesn't have to be musical, just books you love.
I always go back to Dr. Tim's articles and books — there's only one Dr. Tim, and in those pages there's a wealth of inspiration and experience and life to back it up. That man has given more to music education than one should and could. He's been the giving tree of music education, and someone I admire and love very much. If I'm having a bad day, any of his materials. The one that stays on my rotation is The Six Thinking Hats by Edward de Bono. It's about the need for a variety of perspectives when you're trying to run a great team. Everybody has a specific color hat and there's room at the table for everyone, whatever their nature. If you have a yellow hat wearer who always thinks everything is going to work — you need that person. The black hat wearer who thinks nothing is ever going to work — you really need that person too. That book taught me to welcome all types of input and all types of personalities, because it takes all of us — with the right direction — to accomplish anything we're after. It's an easy read.
Great, we're going to add it to our list. OK, Amanda — the soapbox.
I get concerned when directors are overtly negative about their surroundings, their students, their administrators, their problems. There is a place for that and a time for that, and those things should be something you can share — but not in a way that's unhelpful. Not standing around having a gripe session at convention, not posting online, not talking to a crowd when it's really one specific person you should be talking to, not throwing cheap shots at a superintendent or a student's parent. I know it's a microcosm of our society — that's what we're all busy doing, reading all of those things online, turning on the news. But each of us has the power and self-restraint to counter that with genuine good intent. I always wonder: if someone is willing to ascribe good intent to someone's actions, how much calmer and less stressed they'd be. If you think, OK, I really don't like this decision — I can't believe we're having a pep rally on Friday. But surely there's a good reason. Oh, it's because it's the swim kids and we never get to celebrate them. So I don't really want a pep rally on Friday, but I'm not going to go scorched earth and call my principal an idiot. I do coach — maybe over-coach — when I walk into settings with lightning rounds of criticism directed at people making very difficult decisions every day. And when directors model that behavior, students do it too. Teachers talking about adjudicators sends me over the edge. You made them fundraise to go to this contest. You sold it to the parents, took their Saturday, and sent them there for eight hours. And then you came home and said, well, this judge doesn't like us, that judge's friend was teaching in that group, they just don't like us. It makes the director look bad to tell kids that the adjudicators were not legitimate — when the director is the one who picked the contest and put them through that experience. That's my soapbox: be a good leader.
Thank you. Now for the ultimate question and arguably the most important that we've talked about today. What is your favorite time signature?
3/4.
OK, that was quick. Didn't have to think. Why?
You know, my Country Tis of Thee. I mean, anything that pulls the heartstrings is 3/4, I think.
All right, I think that's a very good answer, but the right answer is common time.
Common time. Of course. Well, just on this podcast though.
Hey, Amanda, thanks so much for your time today. It's been a great conversation and just so much depth in there for us to dig into and our listeners to dig into, so we really appreciate your time.
With you guys too, it's so good to see your faces on camera. Thank you for the chance to talk band and I just appreciate everything you guys do.
And that's a wrap on today's episode. Thanks for spending part of your day with us on the Common Time Podcast. If today's conversation gave you something to think about or something to try with your students, we'd love for you to share this episode with a colleague. And you can also follow us on social media for episode clips, behind the scenes content, and updates to our upcoming guests. And if you haven't already, please be sure to subscribe so that you never miss an episode. Until next time, keep making music and keep making a difference.