It Costs Nothing to Say Nothing

You’re at a festival, and watch as a band finishes their set, and it’s … not great. Missed entrances. Thin tone. A trumpet solo that clearly felt longer to the kid playing it than to anyone else in the room.

You’re walking back to the buses when you hear the two directors behind you start dissecting everything.

• “Tone was rough.”
• “Why would they program that?”
• “They’re not ready for that level of literature.”

You glance over at your students loading equipment. They heard it too.

I’ve been at that festival. I’ve been that insecure young teacher, trying to prove I knew what was wrong with someone else’s group. It feels good for about 30 seconds.

Criticizing another band doesn’t fix your program. It just tells everyone where your head is. And, most importantly, your students are paying attention.

Your Students Are Watching More Than You Think

When you criticize another program in front of your kids, you’re teaching them how to talk about people who aren’t in the room.

Students watch how you react when things go badly. They’re learning from you what professionalism should look like.

If you roll your eyes at another band, your kids learn that that’s part of being a musician. Make sarcastic comments about repertoire, and they learn that mockery is part of being an adult.

I’ve had students repeat comments back to me that I barely remembered saying. They’re always listening. Always (except when I say to put button one down for Bb).

If we want students to show empathy when a peer misses a note, we have to show it when an entire ensemble struggles. Not the fake, patronizing kind. Just simple respect.

“They worked hard. That took courage.”

That’s enough.

You Rarely Know the Full Story

It’s easy to critique a 12-minute performance. It’s harder to understand the years behind it. You don’t know if that director lost staff. You don’t know if half the band shares instruments. You don’t know if their feeder program disappeared three years ago.

I’m the only band director at my school. Some years I’m just trying to keep everything afloat. There have been semesters where students moved in and out constantly. Years where I’m teaching beginners and seniors in the same rehearsal and hoping both groups grow.

If someone judged my program based on one performance, they’d miss the entire story. They wouldn’t see the kid who learned to buzz a mouthpiece six months ago. Or the one who finally came back to school after weeks of being absent.

They just hear a cracked entrance.

The same is true for the group you’re tempted to critique.

Most Criticism Is About Us, Not Them

When I’ve been tempted to tear down another program, it usually had nothing to do with them.

I was tired and felt behind. I was worried about my own scores, my own programming, my own issues. Pointing out someone else’s problems gave me a temporary boost.

I’d think, “Well, at least we sound better than that.” But that thought doesn’t last.

If things are going well in your program, don’t take shots at someone else’s group. Just watch and think, “They’re working. Good for them.” Or, “I’ve been there.” Because most of us have.

Sometimes Professional Just Means Quiet

When I thought I had something to prove, I gave an opinion about everything. Now I think professionalism looks more like restraint.

If a colleague asks for feedback, that’s different. Be honest. Be specific. Be helpful. And do it privately. But unsolicited analysis isn’t mentorship. It’s ego.

There’s a difference between professional dialogue and commentary within earshot of kids still loading tubas. Sometimes the most professional response after a performance is simple: “That took courage.”

Or, say nothing at all. You don’t lose credibility by holding your tongue. If anything, you gain it.

Your Program Won’t Grow Because Someone Else Struggled

If a group has an off day, you might move up a spot in some competitive festival rankings. But ensembles don’t grow because another band had a rough night.

Better tone comes from teaching tone. Better programming comes from studying scores. Higher standards come from raising them in your own rehearsal room.

Most of us don’t have extra energy to waste. The job is already demanding enough. At some point, your group will be the one that struggles on stage. A rushed tempo. A cracked entrance. A piece that didn’t land.

You’ll walk off knowing exactly what went wrong. And as you’re heading back to the buses, you might hear some voices behind you. You won’t need to turn around.

Your students know that it wasn’t their best performance but praise them for working hard and having the courage to perform in front of others. Have a group discussion about the things to focus on during rehearsals and in preparation for the next festival — all while showing your kids professionalism, resilience and kindness.