The Hook
🌺Part of the Essays Series
The hook is the moment you stop playing music and start feeling it—when it shifts from something you’re doing to something you’re in.
I felt it in high school.
We played Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves for graduation.
Up until then, music had been something I was figuring out—notes, rhythms, trying to keep up.
But this was different.
I had heard this music before.
In a theater. In a story. In something bigger than me.
And suddenly, I wasn’t just playing it.
I was inside it.
For me, that felt like the best it was ever going to get.
And I was in awe of being part of it.
I chased that feeling to Colorado State.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing with my education, but I knew one thing—I was going to be in the marching band.
When I was asked to play in Symphonic Band, I felt that hook again.
I was inside this living, breathing ensemble—an experience shared with my friends, something bigger than any one of us.
I played a featured solo.
And somewhere in that moment, it became clear—
music was going to be part of my life.
When I was teaching, the hook wasn’t always easy to spot.
It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t announce itself.
It showed up in small ways—
quiet shifts,
a student leaning in just a little more,
trying again when they didn’t have to.
I’m sure I missed some.
There is a student I still think about.
Jason.
He was a beginning trombone player in summer band, and he couldn’t play an F.
After class, I caught him after class him to encourage him—to remind him he had time.
I wasn’t worried.
He came back the next day playing that F.
He had gone home and practiced.
Something had shifted.
Later, he and two trumpet player friends formed a trio.
They played solo and ensemble pieces together, just because they loved it.
I saw them again in high school.
And then in college.
They kept going.
And sometimes the hook showed up in even smaller ways.
A student would come in, practically bouncing:
“Mrs. Horn! I found this band and I’ve been listening to all their music! Do you know Journey?”
“Yes,” I’d say. “I know Journey.”
And that was enough.
It was never about becoming a musician.
It was about that moment—
when something opens up,
and they’re in it.