Beyond the practice room: how musicians and music schools must evolve to thrive in a changing world

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For centuries, musicians worked in service of the nobility or the Church, entertaining, mourning, worshipping and revering those whose patronage sustained their craft as masters of composition, performance and improvisation. With the emergence of the industrialised world, the patronage of individuals was rapidly replaced by the prestige of cultural and educational institutions. Conservatoires were established, music moved from the salons of the aristocracy into concert halls, and national orchestras came into being. Musical training evolved into the specialised instruction that we see today, and the musician’s path narrowed to mastering the instrument, refining one’s personal craft, and finding a place within established systems such as orchestras, ensembles, studios, conservatoires, record labels, management agencies, or the long, patient arc of teaching.

However, that world arguably no longer exists.

Today’s musicians face an interesting paradox in that there are more tools, platforms, and creative freedoms than ever before paired with greater instability, competition, and psychological strain. Technical excellence alone is no longer sufficient. Nor is artistic purity, isolation, or tradition for tradition’s sake. To thrive, musicians must develop a broader identity, and institutions must radically rethink what it means to ‘train’ a musician.

A violinist’s education traditionally values honouring the lineage of the composer and teacher, emphasising the playing of repertoire correctly and reproducing excellence. I recently saw this in stark clarity watching a lesson given by Jascha Heifitz to Erick Friedman, where the master insisted that the pupil should add a ‘G’ to a chord because he felt Bach had missed out the note in the original manuscript. Perhaps eager to respect both Bach and Heifitz, pencil in hand, Friedman modified his score without questioning the implications or interpretation.

A violinist’s education traditionally values honouring the lineage of the composer and teacher, emphasising the playing of repertoire correctly and reproducing excellence

This drive towards finding excellence in ‘correctness’, honed in countless lessons and practice rooms, is not without personal and musical consequence. I vividly remember a masterclass where a world-renowned violinist and musician told a student playing the Cesar Franck violin sonata that the difference between the student and himself was that he ‘really cared about intonation’. The comment, albeit poorly worded, was offered as a suggestion for growth, implying that a musician needs to intensify their attention to intonation to an elite level; to apply greater focus in the practice room listening with real intention and care to every note. However, the student broke down in tears because what she heard was that she was inadequate in a fundamental way as a human being, demonstrating a lack of care that called into question her value as an individual.

It is not uncommon for students to misunderstand critique for criticism and for teachers to mistakenly approach pedagogical judgements with definitive answers. The fallacy is in thinking that the principles of facility on the instrument, lack of tension, sensitivity of touch and attentiveness of hearing translate into a strict set of ‘rules of violin playing’, as noted by a teacher in a specialist music school report. To the teacher, a multitude of micro adjustments of movement, posture and frame may be offered as positive areas for growth in response to some difficulty or point of development, but when these adjustments are offered as a fixed foundational structure, they lose connection to the unique physicality of each student and the expressive requirements of the repertoire. The student is left with a seemingly impossible list of physical movements which require conscious attention rather than development being driven by increasing levels of integrated sensory awareness and cognitive understanding.

When faced with such pressures, human beings constantly make three internal decisions. Firstly, what they focus on. Secondly, what it means; is it proof of inadequacy or fuel for refinement? Lastly, what they do next – withdraw or adapt? Every musician and student of music lives with pressure through auditions, performance anxiety, comparison, rejection and financial uncertainty. These stresses are not new. Managing anxiety, entering flow, regulating stress, and performing under pressure are skills as trainable as scales. What is new is the pace, visibility, and algorithmic amplification of success and failure.

The most resilient artists are not those with the least hardship, but those who convert stress into development. Creativity withers when it becomes inwardly obsessed and externally judged. To set a foundation for students to think in terms of ‘how do I create’ not ‘what do I do’, they should be encouraged to develop and explore an intuitive sense of their own physicality in connection with the qualities of sound generated through their movement and sensory engagement with the instrument.

Music has always been relational in the connection between performer and listener, composer and culture, transferred energy and performance space, tradition and innovation. Artists who anchor their identity solely in their public profile, self-promotion or progression rarely endure over time. Those who orient towards service, contribution, and impact tend to endure as purpose gives meaning to the continual development of the musician throughout a long and fulfilling career. The important learning to be gained is to understand that the artists who shape eras do something more than play. They create new patterns through new sounds, formats, collaborations, narratives, or experiences. This does not mean abandoning tradition. It means absorbing it so thoroughly that originality becomes inevitable; think of Rune Tonsgaard Sorensen’s performance of Mozart’s A major violin concerto with the Copenhagen Philharmonic incorporating an improvised cadenza in folk style with mandolinist Ale Carr and pianist Nikolaj Busk.

Great musicians become masters of pattern recognition through their development in recognising harmonic progressions, rhythmic structures, melodic shapes, stylistic conventions, ensemble dynamics. In early times this pattern recognition was so acute that expression markings were rarely necessary. This changed through the 19^th century as composers tried to influence the performance of their compositions more directly. What many fail to realise is that this skill transfers directly into career strategy, audience development, technology adoption and cultural relevance. The musician who recognises patterns in platforms, listener behaviour, and creative ecosystems gains leverage far beyond the practice room.

In today’s world, technical mastery is still essential but now insufficient. 

How can music education evolve to imagine excellence without compromising the integrity of technique and interpretation or embracing rules and inherited methods with rigidity? Most specialist institutions still train musicians for a labour market that no longer exists. In today’s world, technical mastery is still essential but now insufficient. A modern curriculum must develop adaptive thinkers, not just skilled performers; entrepreneurial creators not passive applicants; psychologically resilient artists not fragile specialists. The modern curriculum should allow students to explore with curiosity who they are beyond their instrument. Music cannot be their only source of worth. This reduces burnout and fosters longevity.

Students need to be encouraged to develop meta-learning skills in understanding how to learn faster, pivot styles, absorb new technologies, and remain relevant across decades. Pattern recognition needs to go beyond music into understanding cultural cycles, audience psychology, digital platforms, and economic models. Creative entrepreneurship needs to go beyond ’how to get signed,’ into how to build value through projects, communities, hybrid careers, and original offerings. Students need to broaden their vision and learning to embed service through contribution-based community work, interdisciplinary collaboration, or socially meaningful creative output.

Technology will not replace musicians, but it will replace musicians who cannot adapt. Those who thrive will learn to see AI as a collaborator not a threat, combining human expressiveness with technological reach and be able to offer what machines cannot: emotion, meaning, narrative, and connection. Music has always been about more than sound. It is about human experience. The old question, ’How do I make it?’ is no longer sufficient. The better question is, ’What kind of musician and human do I want to become?’

The future belongs to artists who grow continuously, contribute generously, and create boldly. Not just as performers but as architects of culture. Music education must evolve accordingly because the modern world does not need more technically perfect musicians. It needs musicians who seek meaning and purpose, bringing a sense of hope by offering a chink of light into the unknown.