Every now and then, a student puts into words something I’ve felt about music my entire life.

Peg recently shared a reflection that stopped me in my tracks. She described music not as notes or rules, but as frequency that creates emotional impact — almost magically. And that’s exactly it. Music isn’t just something we learn. It’s something we feel. Something that moves through us.

What touched me most was her story of being drawn to music at a young age — how a single sound, a French horn fanfare from Camelot, could awaken something deep inside her. That kind of response is not intellectual. It’s emotional. It’s human. It’s the part of us that recognizes music before we ever try to explain it.

Over time, many of us learn to approach music through layers of structure, terminology, and “shoulds.” We’re told what’s correct, what’s allowed, what’s proper. And while structure has its place, it can sometimes bury the very thing that made us fall in love with music in the first place.

Peg...

“All we’re really doing is playing with frequency that creates an emotional impact, in an almost magical way.”

When I heard Stephen say that, I felt something click inside me.
He spoke my language — and that one sentence summed up everything I’ve felt about music for as long as I can remember.

I was drawn to music at a very young age. I still remember the first time I heard the French Horn play the fanfare in Camelot. Something in me stood up. Every cell in my body felt aligned, awake, and alive. Even then, I knew music was more than sound — it was frequency, emotion, and meaning.

What fascinated me even more was learning how the Greeks had already figured this out long ago. How music, frequency, and emotion were deeply understood… until power structures shifted. The Church. The Ages. Control. Singing restricted. Notes labeled as “tonic” or “dominant.” Rules layered on top of something that was once free.

Hearing this explained so clearly felt liberating.

For so long, I’ve felt lo...

“All we’re really doing is playing with frequency that creates an emotional impact, in an almost magical way.”

When I heard Stephen say that, I felt something click inside me.
He spoke my language — and that one sentence summed up everything I’ve felt about music for as long as I can remember.

I was drawn to music at a very young age. I still remember the first time I heard the French Horn play the fanfare in Camelot. Something in me stood up. Every cell in my body felt aligned, awake, and alive. Even then, I knew music was more than sound — it was frequency, emotion, and meaning.

What fascinated me even more was learning how the Greeks had already figured this out long ago. How music, frequency, and emotion were deeply understood… until power structures shifted. The Church. The Ages. Control. Singing restricted. Notes labeled as “tonic” or “dominant.” Rules layered on top of something that was once free.

Hearing this explained so clearly felt liberating.

For so long, I’ve felt lo...

There’s a moment every musician hopes for —
the moment when things stop feeling scattered and suddenly connect.

Gerd experienced one of those moments recently, and it perfectly captures why understanding matters more than effort alone.

A few months ago, he tried to play “Fly Me to the Moon.” Like many students, he loved the song but struggled to memorize the chords. The rhythm felt challenging. Progress felt slow. It was one of those situations where you’re trying hard… but something still isn’t landing.

Then, after continuing his studies and going through Level 5 for a second time, something shifted.

It clicked.

Not vaguely.
Not partially.
But clearly.

Gerd described watching a video on the train, sitting down afterward with a lead sheet, writing out the chords, and within just a few hours, he was playing with confidence and momentum.

That’s not luck.
That’s understanding.

What really stood out to me was his reflection after a lesson with Rex. He spoke about finally seeing how...

Three months ago, I tried to play “Fly Me to the Moon.”
I loved the song — but I couldn’t memorize the chords. The rhythm was another challenge altogether. It felt like one of those pieces that just wouldn’t settle in my hands.

But I kept going.

Recently, something changed.

As I progressed and started going through Level 5 for the second time, it suddenly clicked. Not in a vague way — but clearly, deeply, and all at once.

I was on the train when I watched a YouTube video. I sat down afterward, wrote down the chords based on a lead sheet, and within three hours… I was rolling.

That moment felt incredible.

It wasn’t just about memorizing anymore. It was about understanding.

After a lesson with Rex, everything came together even more clearly. His lesson was perfect — and suddenly I got it. I realized how the 4-5-1 concept works together with inversions, and how it integrates into the way we’re actually making music.

Here’s what really stood out to me — my personal takeaways from t...

Every once in a while, a student shares something that perfectly captures why I teach the way I do.

Ben’s message was one of those moments.

He was recently asked to watch a new video on scales — and at first, like so many students, he wasn’t entirely sure why they mattered. He assumed they were important, of course, but something was missing. There wasn’t yet a personal connection. No real understanding of why they mattered.

And then something clicked.

After watching the video, Ben didn’t just “learn” about scales — he felt them.

“I gained a firm understanding of why they are important… from an exercise in it.”

That sentence means everything to me.

Because scales were never meant to be memorized mechanically.
They were never meant to be lifeless patterns or boring routines.
They were meant to unlock understanding.

For the first time, Ben began experimenting on his own — playing with different scales, intentionally stepping outside of them, hearing the dissonance, and truly ...

There are moments when music isn’t about meeting a deadline, completing a challenge, or checking a box.

Sometimes, music arrives simply because it needs to be shared.

Pamela reminded me of that in a beautiful way.

As the Christmas season came and went, Pamela didn’t complete the Christmas Song Challenge in the way she originally intended. But instead of turning away from the piano — or turning that into disappointment — she chose something far more meaningful.

She shared her Solstice Song.

What followed wasn’t judgment or comparison. It was a connection.

Her fellow students responded with kindness, generosity, and understanding. They didn’t hear imperfections — they heard honesty. They didn’t focus on what wasn’t finished — they felt what was true.

Pamela described how her song carried what was in her heart through her hands at the piano. Even with a vocal that felt less than perfect and piano playing still in progress, the emotion came through.

And that is the point.

Music do...

I was recently asked to watch a new video on scales — and to be honest, it was exactly what I needed.

During my studies, I always knew scales were important. At least, I assumed they were. But if I’m being honest, I didn’t have a firm, personal understanding of why they mattered. They felt like something you’re “supposed” to do, without a clear connection to real music.

That changed after watching this video.

For the first time, I gained a solid understanding of why scales are so important — not just as an idea, but through actually doing the exercise. Something clicked.

Instead of just repeating patterns, I began experimenting on my own. I tried different scales. I intentionally played notes outside the scale. I listened carefully to what happened when the notes didn’t belong.

And suddenly, I could hear it.

The discord.
The tension.
The difference.

That’s when it became real.

I realized that scales aren’t just about finger movement or discipline — they’re about understanding h...

This is a win I didn’t expect — and one I’m deeply grateful for.

This winter, instead of lamenting the fact that I hadn’t completed the Christmas Song Challenge yet, I chose to do something different. I posted my Solstice Song.

I wasn’t sure what would happen.
What surprised me most was the response.

Some of my fellow piano students — many of whom did complete the Christmas Challenge — responded with such kindness and generosity. They understood what was going through my heart and how it poured out through my hands when I played my lyrics. They felt the emotion and my sincerity, even though my voice wasn’t “perfect” and my piano playing, of course, is still a work in progress.

And that meant everything to me.

“I can take satisfaction in knowing that my song touched listeners.”

That, to me, is what music is meant to do.
The song did its job — and for that, I call it a win.

The truth is, I didn’t complete the Christmas Song Challenge on time, even though I’m still working on i...

With the coming of Christmas, I found myself doing what so many musicians do — playing the big three carols late into the quiet hours of the morning. Fingers numb, my pedal foot begging for relief. The dog had long since given up and gone to sleep, probably wishing I would close the door and finally call it a night.

And then, Silent Night appeared.

My mind wandered, as it often does, and suddenly I was no longer at the piano. I was back at a Christmas gathering from my teenage years — a moment that has never left me.

My mother had suffered a massive stroke when I was in high school. Overnight, everything changed. She lost her speech. Her mobility was limited. She wore a specially engineered leg brace, and for two years, we watched her struggle through both good days and not-so-good days. She communicated through her eyes, shared our exhaustion, and somehow still showed up — attending my graduation and every one of my chorus concerts.

Music never left her.

As I sat down at the stag...