Conservatories have spent centuries perfecting how musicians play, but not how they speak.
In my doctoral dissertation, I interviewed 12 internationally award-winning, entrepreneurial classical musicians. I asked: What is the most essential non-musical skill missing from your formal education that has been a primary driver of your successful career?
The most common answer? Communication.
Not marketing. Not finance. Not networking. Just the ability to clearly express ideas—about music, about themselves, about their work.
These musicians didn’t wait to be chosen. They carved out their own paths, launching exciting projects and stepping into new artistic terrain. They found new audiences, new colleagues, new supporters. But what set them apart? They learned how to communicate their vision effectively.
Most of them admitted that mastering communication enabled the success they enjoy today.
And yet, higher education still drills scales but not storytelling, technique but not talk. We’ve taken a wrong turn. This isn’t to say that the core aspects of our craft shouldn’t be taught. But if you can play Bach flawlessly yet can’t explain why someone should care, you’re at a disadvantage.
As a result of my research findings, over the next few weeks, I’m going to talk about communication—both tips and failures I’ve encountered in my own career and research.
But first, why do I say higher education has taken a wrong turn?
Lost in Translation: How Music Schools Took a Wrong Turn
Ironically, the kind of hands-on, communication-driven training that today’s conservatories lack was thriving in Leipzig centuries ago. In the early 1700s, music education wasn’t just about technique—it was about leadership, persuasion, and adaptability. And it created some of the greatest musical innovators of all time.
During this era, musicians didn’t just train in isolation—they learned by doing. The Neukirche (New Church) became a proving ground for emerging musicians, where performers led ensembles, coordinated with clergy, and navigated the demands of real-world music-making. It was a model of experiential learning that today’s conservatories have largely abandoned.
It was within this ecosystem that figures like Telemann thrived, using the church as a launching pad to develop leadership, compositional, and performance skills outside the stricter frameworks of Leipzig’s main churches. The Neukirche thus became not only a religious alternative but also a musical incubator, fostering a model of learning through direct experience and community engagement that contrasts sharply with today’s conservatory system.
As a result of all the Neukirche activity, Telemann founded the Collegium Musicum, a student-run ensemble that brought musicians together in a hands-on, collaborative setting. This work became a crucial bridge to the celebrated Gewandhaus Orchestra we know today.
But this shift wasn’t without controversy. The Collegium Musicum performed in coffeehouses and public squares, which at the time were considered dens of vice—places associated with drinking, prostitution, and illicit activity. Fighting, loud jeering, and boisterous conversations were the norm. Traditionalists dismissed these musicians as charlatans (and, quite literally, quacks).
But in these unpredictable, noisy venues, musicians learned something invaluable: how to capture attention, adapt to an audience, and make their art resonate. They weren’t just composers—they were communicators.
From Communication to Leadership: Bach & Telemann
By the time Bach became Kantor in Leipzig, he was more than just a brilliant composer. He was an expert communicator—negotiating with city officials, managing choirs, training students, and persuading church leaders to support his ambitious musical projects.
Meanwhile, Telemann, who had forged his own path, thrived by navigating between academic, civic, and religious spheres. He composed and programmed music for different occasions, building networks that later propelled his career. He eventually turned down the Kantor position in Leipzig—which later went to Bach—because he had already developed a thriving, self-sufficient career. His ability to communicate, negotiate, and lead made him one of the most successful composers of his time.
Both Bach and Telemann thrived not just because of their musical genius, but because Leipzig’s system forced them to engage with the world around them. They didn’t just master counterpoint—they mastered leadership, persuasion, and adaptability.
What This Means for Music Education Today
Leipzig’s model shows us that the missing piece in music education isn’t just business training or networking—it’s the ability to communicate.
And until we recognize this, we’re setting up talented musicians to be fluent in their craft but lost in translation when it matters most.
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Kevorkian, T. (2004). Changing times, changing music. In W. Weber (Ed.), The musician as entrepreneur, 1700–1914: Managers, charlatans, and idealists (pp. 61-80). Indiana University Press.
Kevorkian, T. (2007). Baroque piety: Religion, society and music in Leipzig, 1650-1750. Ashgate.
Kevorkian, T. (2022). Music and urban life in baroque Germany. University of Virginia Press.
Sandberger, W. (1997). Das Bach-Bild Philipp Spittas: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Bach-Rezeption im 19. Jahrhundert. F. Steiner.
