MY PHILOSOPHY

Teaching is trying to predict the unpredictable while expecting the unexpected. It's an ongoing challenge that never quite repeats itself.

My very first composition teacher told me, "A good composer never repeats the same thing exactly and never does anything only once." I've come to realize that's true of teaching, too. No two lessons are ever exactly alike, because no two students are.

Years ago I started an after-school music theory and listening lab. I imagined we'd spend most afternoons talking about harmony and composers, recordings and patterns. Some days we did and some days I realized some students weren't staying because they loved music theory. They were staying because it was somewhere they could be curious or simply exist for an hour. They could ask questions, work on music, finish homework, close their eyes for a few minutes, or just be around others who were glad they were there.

That experience changed the way I think about teaching.

I think one of the things adults lose is curiosity. Children don't have that problem. They want to know why an instrument sounds different from another one. Why a melody feels sad. Why a chord works while another doesn't. Whether  dropping a handful of pencils on the floor counts as music.

And my answer, by the way, is usually, "let's find out."

Sound is everywhere. The air conditioner outside might be humming a slightly sharp B-flat. The microwave may have a different pitch today than it did yesterday. The turn signal in your car has a rhythm. Once you start noticing these things, it's very difficult to stop.

Every student notices something I wouldn't have noticed myself. They ask questions I wasn't expecting. They make connections I'd never considered. I may be the teacher, but I leave every lesson having learned something too. That's what keeps it interesting. Teaching keeps me young. 

Composition begins with curiosity... although sometimes the beginning becomes the middle. 

Some pieces begin with a melody. Others begin with a rhythm, a texture, a question, a limitation, or even a happy accident. No single process works every time, and that's one of the things I enjoy most about writing music.

I believe composers should be willing to borrow ideas from anywhere. Electronic music, orchestral traditions, jazz, minimalism, popular music, world music, improvisation, and even children's creative tools all have something valuable to teach us. Every project asks different questions, and every project deserves its own approach.

Much of my work explores patterns. A tiny musical idea can grow into an entire movement through repetition, variation, inversion, layering, orchestration, or unexpected transformation. I enjoy letting music evolve organically instead of forcing it into predetermined formulas.

Technology has become an extension of my sketchbook. Whether I'm working in professional notation software or experimenting with accessible tools like Chrome Music Lab, I value ideas over appearances. A compelling musical thought can emerge from almost anywhere.

Ultimately, I hope my music rewards repeated listening. There should always be another connection to discover, another layer to hear, or another reason to come back.