"Why Scales Change Everything."

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 listening to what was happening.

And suddenly, theory became reality.

“I’ve been experimenting with it on my own… and hearing the discord.”

This is where music stops being abstract and starts becoming alive.

Scales teach your hands where they belong — yes.
But more importantly, they teach your ears how music works.
They show you why certain notes feel resolved, why others feel tense, and how emotion is created through sound.

This is why scales are vital.

Not because I want people to practice drills endlessly —
but because understanding scales gives you freedom.

Freedom to explore.
Freedom to experiment.
Freedom to play with confidence instead of guessing.

Ben described the experience in the simplest and most honest way possible:

“It was fabulous.”

And that joy — that clarity — is exactly why I do this.

My goal has always been bigger than teaching songs.
I want more people to feel welcome at the piano.
More people to understand music instead of fearing it.
More people to realize that this beautiful instrument is for them.

Scales are not a barrier.
They are a bridge.

A bridge between confusion and clarity.
Between imitation and understanding.
Between “I don’t get it” and “Oh… now I hear it.”

When someone like Ben reaches that moment — that firm, personal understanding — it reminds me why this work matters so deeply.

Because once you hear music differently,
you can never go back.

And that is the beginning of a lifelong relationship with the piano.

You can read Ben’s full story. And if his journey speaks to you, maybe it’s time to begin your own.

With gratitude,
Stephen Ridley