Resolutions
Maybe they're closer than we think.
New Year, new you… right?
That’s not what the data says. Upwards of 80-90% of New Year’s resolutions go up in flames—in pretty short order, too.
A quick confession: I used to embrace resolutions wholeheartedly. I would make lists, tidy the spreadsheets, and set the reminders. But usually, whatever it was wouldn’t take. So now, in my middle age, I’m not as compelled to make any large or long-term commitments on January 1. I still get the urge, though; something about a fresh start and the turning of the calendar brings it out in me. I think it does in most of us.
Planet Fitness relies on this urge. If only we could change ourselves with no money down and just $9 a month.
If you’re one of those optimistic resolution-setters, I have no stones to throw. I’m generally pro-commitment, and even if we don’t reach whatever goals we set, there’s value in the trying. It moves us forward.
But the word “resolution” in music takes on a bit of a different tenor, and I think it might be worth thinking about today.
“Resolution” has a bunch of meanings. On New Year’s Day, it obviously means to make a firm decision to do, or not do, something. We’re going to stick with it this time (cue the laughter). But in musical terminology, it means to move from dissonance into consonance. For laypeople and any non-musicians, it means that musical tension moves toward the release of that tension. It marks cadences, fashions the ends of pieces, settles the harmony, and provides clarity for what came before it. It’s fairly complicated to explain, but it’s pretty simple (or can be) in practice.
Your musical ear knows when something is unresolved. It’s like there’s a question hanging in the air. You can feel it. And when those notes and harmonies settle, it doesn’t really feel like you’ve created something new. It feels inevitable, like the only place that tune could possibly go.
Unlike the New Year’s resolutions, which require willpower, grit, and accountability, musical resolutions feel inevitable. Our ears beg for them.
Here’s an easy example:
Who doesn’t know this song? (And did Whitney Houston really make a movie with Kevin Costner way back when?)
You know the moment I’m talking about, the one where she holds that pause. The accompaniment drops away. There’s just space and silence. And for the music nerds, you know it stops on a V (five) chord. The ear desperately wants it to go somewhere.
That cliffhanger isn’t empty. It’s full of everything that came before. The music, the lyrics. There’s a ton of emotion. There’s a single drum hit.
And then she sings.
Our ears are blown away. It’s satisfying. It resolves the pause and moves the song into its final resolution. And again, for the music nerds, she even changes keys! The resolution is literally and figuratively uplifting.
Her singing after that pause is a musical resolution, the culmination of all that came before it. We feel it in our guts. It’s like the ending is inevitable.
Here’s one more, perhaps a shade deeper, example. Elgar’s Nimrod, from his Enigma Variations, comes to mind. It’s a famous tune, widely beloved in classical music, except for a friend of mine who might be a little broken inside.
Elgar wrote this piece as a musical portrait of his friend Augustus Jaeger, a man he called “Nimrod,” after the biblical king and hunter. Jaeger was Elgar’s editor, his champion, and his ride-or-die during years when Elgar wasn’t sure he belonged in the world of classical music. While others dismissed him, Jaeger supported him. He saw something in Elgar and stood by him.
Nimrod is more than a quick musical sketch. It’s a meditation on that friendship itself, on being truly known by another person.
The piece rises slowly, almost unbearably. There’s a calling in it… deep waters stuff. There’s no rush, only a steady building of something profound. The intensity grows, and your chest tightens with anticipation, waiting for some sort of resolution.
Leonard Bernstein does it great justice. Have a listen. I’ve timestamped the pivotal moment.
And then it arrives. Strong and satisfying at first, but then it settles into a calming diminuendo. Resolution.
The music comes to rest in a place of such profound peace, such quiet gratitude, that you understand: this is what love and friendship sound like. It’s a deep, settled arrival testifying to the bond between two folks. This sort of resolution makes sense to us, even if it’s wordless music. There’s a reason this piece is often played at memorials and funerals.
You probably see where I’m heading with this. As we sit here in a new year on a Monday, reckoning with 2025 and trying to steel ourselves for 2026, my hope for you is this: good resolutions.
If it’s the New Year’s variety, go get ‘em. If it’s the musical variety, have at it.
If you’ve been working on something, if you’ve been building something, if you’ve seen challenges, or if you’d simply like to continue a good thing, I hope it resolves—or settles—in a good way.
Pakachoag is no different. There’s a lot of good work going on at the school, and I hope that it continues in 2026. Between the faculty, staff, board, and students, many people are invested in this “symphony” we call a music school. I’d love to see this winter and spring—and all of 2026—come and go with great musical resolutions.
Those are the kind worth making, and I hope that you find them this year.
Note by note,
Nick