Why Wind Band Music Needs Honest, Productive Criticism
A Necessary Question
In their 2005 article published in the Journal of the World Association for Symphonic Bands and Ensembles, Stephen Budiansky and Colonel Timothy Foley posed a question that continues to resonate in wind band circles:
“Why is so much of the wind band repertoire so bad?”
Their concern wasn’t about the ensemble’s potential — which is vast — but about the lack of critical filters that shape its repertoire. While orchestral music is subject to reviews, academic debate, and long-term curation, band music is often programmed with little scrutiny and rarely subjected to aesthetic evaluation. Convenience and playability frequently trump musical substance.
What Other Arts Take for Granted
Compare this to fields like literature, visual art, or film. Publications such as the London Review of Books, The New Yorker, or The New York Review of Books regularly publish long, reflective essays examining the merits, flaws, and historical contexts of new works. Even in disagreement, these critics offer something vital: a conversation about value.
Film has a similarly robust ecosystem. In Sight & Sound, Film Comment, or through thousands of video essays and podcasts, critics engage in thoughtful discussion about narrative, form, and innovation. There’s an expectation that films — even popular ones — will be analysed, not just consumed.
In wind band music, we rarely encounter such criticism. If a piece is well-orchestrated, appropriately timed, and well-received by players or judges, it is typically accepted without further reflection. And when the cycle repeats — concert to festival to commissioning project — aesthetic stagnation sets in.
A Longstanding Problem
This lack of scrutiny is not a recent phenomenon. Over a century ago, the German critic and music historian Eichborn addressed this very issue. In Kritik der Musikgeschichte (1898), he wrote:
“One should not think that the military band, with its particular instrumentation, ought to enjoy immunity from criticism. The exact opposite is the case! Precisely because it holds a privileged place in the hearts of the people… it must be approached with the greatest artistic rigour. And yet, it is the least criticised of all musical genres.”
That indictment still rings true. The wind band remains one of the most widely performed ensembles, especially in schools and civic life — yet the artistic value of its repertoire is rarely questioned.
What Happens When Criticism Disappears
Without criticism, mediocrity takes root. Works are programmed because they are available, not because they are valuable. Over time, we confuse utility with worth, and lose the ability to distinguish the profound from the merely effective.
Eichborn, again writing in Zur Geschichte der Instrumental-Musik (1902), observed this erosion of taste with striking clarity:
“We might again have somewhat more of that productive criticism which was once not uncommon, but which nowadays has almost entirely been swallowed up by the vast gruel of superficial agreement, purpose-driven flattery, disdain and neglect, corrosive negation and ignorance—in short, by everything that is the very opposite of true, honest, and competent criticism.”
This is not just a complaint about music. It’s a diagnosis of what happens when a culture gives up on evaluating itself honestly.
The Repertoire We Deserve
Of course, the wind band world has produced magnificent works. The music of Holst, Grainger, Hindemith, Persichetti, Maslanka, and others proves that the medium can support genuine artistry.
But these pieces are exceptions, not the standard.
Much of what fills our concert programs is designed to serve practical purposes: contest requirements, curriculum frameworks, commemorative dates. The result is a landscape cluttered with safe, familiar, and emotionally shallow works.
Imagine if cinema operated this way — if film festivals programmed nothing but structurally competent but artistically hollow productions, chosen solely for ease of viewing or thematic convenience. Would we still call it an art form?
The Disregard of the Past
Eichborn also lamented music’s tendency to neglect its own history. Unlike painting or sculpture — where even minor works of past centuries are preserved, exhibited, and studied — most music falls into obscurity unless it bears the name of a canonical genius.
In Zur Geschichte der Instrumental-Musik (1902), he wrote:
“Only when we have remedied the disgraceful inequality shown by music in comparison to the other arts—whereby nearly all that was produced in past centuries, save for a few geniuses, is summarily condemned as old rubbish… only then… shall we be in a position to form a reasonable and reliable standard by which to judge the productions of the present, and thereby to chart the surest course for future progress.”
This speaks directly to our current moment. Rediscovering forgotten works is not about nostalgia. It is about context. It is about knowing enough of the past to judge the present with clarity.
What We Can Do
To raise the standard of wind band music, we need to build a culture of aesthetic discernment. That means:
- Encouraging conductors to curate, not just program.
- Publishing long-form reviews and essays on new works.
- Creating dedicated platforms for repertoire analysis and critique.
- Teaching students how to engage with music critically, not just technically.
- Holding conferences and festivals that welcome disagreement — that invite discussion, not just celebration.
We can also take inspiration from adjacent fields. Could we imagine a publication — even once a year — that does for band music what Film Comment or the London Review of Books does for its respective art? A place for dialogue, argument, praise, and rejection?
Without this infrastructure, the art form remains vulnerable to complacency.
Criticism as a Moral Obligation
Eichborn offers the final and perhaps most enduring word. In Kritik der Musikgeschichte (1898), he wrote:
“Artistic criticism is not the enemy of performance, but its moral conscience. Without it, there is no advancement, only repetition; no soul, only sound.”
We have plenty of sound. What we need now is soul — and the courage to ask whether the music we’re playing deserves to be played.
Let us not be curators of convenience. Let us be curators of meaning.