Finding Harmony by Quinn

Finding Harmony by Quinn - December 2024 Scholarship Essay

In my journey as a musician, I’ve faced many challenges—complex pieces, high-stakes auditions, and hours of practice that left my fingers sore. But nothing tested my resolve quite like my first advanced music theory class. For someone who had always found joy in the creative and emotional aspects of music, delving into the mathematical precision of key signatures, counterpoint, and harmonic analysis felt like trying to translate poetry into a foreign language.

When the semester began, I approached the class with excitement. I loved music, and theory sounded like an opportunity to deepen my understanding of it. However, my enthusiasm quickly faded when our professor introduced us to secondary dominants and figured bass. Suddenly, music didn’t feel like an art form—it felt like a code I couldn’t crack.

Assignments were grueling. We analyzed pieces by Bach and Mozart, identifying Roman numerals and chord inversions as if we were solving a crime. I remember one particular night when I stared at a four-part harmony exercise for hours, pencil in hand, unable to decide whether the soprano should leap up to a G or step down to an E. The rules of voice leading, which I’d previously admired for their elegance, now seemed to box me in at every turn.

Adding to the challenge was my perfectionism. Every wrong note felt like a failure, and I began to doubt my ability to succeed in a field I had always loved. I considered giving up and resigning myself to a life of “just playing” music without ever truly understanding its inner workings.

But music has always been more than a skill or a subject to me; it’s a language that connects me to the world and myself. I wasn’t ready to give up on that connection. So, I sought help. I met with my professor during office hours, where we worked through my misunderstandings step by step. I formed a study group with classmates, and together we turned theory exercises into collaborative puzzles. I even began to see patterns in the chaos, treating harmonic progressions like melodies in their own right.

Gradually, things started to click. Voice leading became less rigid and more like guiding characters in a story, each with their own arcs and interactions. Analyzing a Bach chorale no longer felt like decoding a secret message but like discovering the intricate beauty behind its structure. For the first time, I could hear the theory in the music I played, and it transformed my understanding of pieces I thought I knew inside out.

By the end of the semester, I wasn’t just passing music theory—I was thriving. I went from dreading assignments to taking pride in my work, and when our final project required us to compose a short piece, I approached it with confidence. The rules I had once resented became tools I could wield creatively, and the piece I wrote felt like a small triumph.

This experience taught me that the most challenging moments often lead to the most rewarding growth. Theory didn’t strip the joy from music; it deepened it. I came to appreciate the balance between technical mastery and creative freedom, and I carried that lesson into my playing, composing, and even my everyday life.

Now, when I encounter a difficult concept or piece, I think back to those late nights wrestling with secondary dominants and four-part harmonies. I remind myself that, with patience, persistence, and a willingness to ask for help, I can find harmony even in the most dissonant challenges.