In recent years, I have noticed a growing discomfort with terms such as “canon” and “standard repertoire” in artistic and academic conversations. In some contexts, these labels are treated not simply as descriptive categories, but as symbols of exclusion or hierarchy. It is not uncommon to hear calls to retire them altogether.
There are understandable reasons for this unease. What becomes canonical is never the result of musical merit alone. Publication networks, access to training, institutional priorities, patterns of patronage, and broader social conditions all play a role in determining what music is preserved, performed, and taught. Over time, repeated exposure can make historically contingent choices appear inevitable. A repertoire that was shaped by specific constraints may come to be heard as timeless or universal.
Acknowledging this history is important. It invites us to ask how traditions form, whose work circulates widely, and whose remains peripheral. It also encourages thoughtful expansion of programming, research, and curricular design. Many musicians are now exploring neglected composers and repertoires with renewed seriousness, and that work has enriched our understanding of the past.
At the same time, the terms “canon” and “standard repertoire” describe practical realities that continue to structure musical training. Shared repertorial expectations inform auditions, juries, competitions, and ensemble rehearsals. Technical development is often sequenced through works that have proven pedagogically effective across generations of students. Notation, style, and performance practice are taught in part through commonly encountered pieces. These shared reference points do not exhaust the musical landscape, but they do provide a framework within which musicians learn to communicate.
From a pedagogical perspective, eliminating the language does not eliminate the structures it names. Students still encounter audition lists, recital requirements, and curricular sequences built around works that are widely taught. Institutions still make decisions about what to program and what to require. If anything, avoiding the terminology can make these processes less visible and therefore harder to examine.
A more productive approach may be to treat the canon as historically contingent and open to revision. Rather than a fixed body of works to be defended, it can be understood as a set of practices that evolves over time. Expansion need not require erasure. Bringing additional composers into circulation does not depend on denying the pedagogical function of repertorial norms. It depends on teaching how those norms developed, what they enable, and where they may fall short.
Good teaching involves helping students navigate inherited frameworks with clarity. It also involves encouraging curiosity about what lies beyond them. When repertoire is presented honestly, with attention to context and function, students are better equipped to make informed artistic choices. They can recognize both the value of shared traditions and the importance of questioning how those traditions were formed.
Terms like “canon” and “standard repertoire” are imperfect. They carry historical baggage, and they should be used with care. But they can also serve as starting points for discussion rather than endpoints for judgment. Naming a structure makes it possible to analyze it, revise it, and, when necessary, expand it.
Our responsibility as educators is not to sanctify inherited categories, nor to pretend they do not exist, but to teach students how to understand and engage them thoughtfully.