“In a time of uncertainty, turmoil, fake news, bad news, war, and polarity — this is a song for those wandering through thoughts, wondering: do we even have the freedom of choice? Is the way we were raised, where we were born, our identity — all paving our path through life with nothing more than the illusion of free will?
Reflecting on their past, their path, struggles and pain, the song plays with the idea: if it were possible to go back, erase it all, and choose a different path — would it end up being the same one anyway?”
I rise to see light The same one as before Somehow with each day It gets harder to ignore The pain that follows
Is freedom just a notion I held on to Just a little too long
I find it hard to cope But it doesn’t keep the world From spinning round and round ...

In today’s interconnected creative landscape, the role of programming in music education is no longer a niche topic. For musicians and producers, programming is not just a technical skill — it is a way of thinking, creating, and innovating. Yet, many students approach it with hesitation, especially when their backgrounds are rooted in performance, composition, or production.
This essay reflects on how Max/MSP, a visual programming environment, can be used as a powerful pedagogical tool in higher music education. Drawing on my experience as a Max/MSP Certified Trainer and faculty member at Berklee College of Music, Valencia, I will outline how programming enhances creative thinking, supports artistic expression, and helps students build confidence in their ability to design their own tools and systems.

This is what it’s like to be a composer: I am always thinking about the piece I am currently working on, the pieces I will write after this one, the piece I am supposed to write next year. When you…

Late spring. Minneapolis, Minnesota. A dusting of pollen is starting to give everything a slight golden tinge. Even Peavey Plaza, sitting in its little corner off of Nicollet Mall, with its tiered concrete fountains and abnormally still sheets of running water, has a forest-like look about it.   Traffic in the Twin Cities is not usually too boisterous, but for some reason, there is a constant rushing of noise in my head, like every car on earth is passing by on 11th Street. Luckily, this is not the nauseating stage fright I usually have before a big performance. Just a light, almost pleasant humming between my ears and behind my eyes: more excited than anxious, but anxious all the same.   I am eighteen years old. I graduate from high school in a week, but I debut as a soloist at Minneapolis’s Orchestra Hall today.   On May 22nd, 2022 – the day in question and one of the best days of my life thus far – I performed a choral piece called The Sun Never Says, one of Dan Forrest’s best in my opinion. My youth choir sang their hearts out on risers behind me while I sat center-stage with my cello. I had been playing the cello for almost seven years at that point, and I knew only one thing: that I wanted to make music for the rest of my life. ...