It is no accident that the word 'chord' rhymes with 'word'. Chords, indeed, are musical words and developing a choral vocabulary is the essence of musicanship much as language skills are built upon a wide verbal vocabulary.
What if we treated music as seriously as we do reading and writing? What if musical literacy—like language—were seen not as a privilege for the gifted, but as a foundational skill that all people should have the opportunity to learn?
In this post, I argue for a radical shift in how we approach music education. I propose that we abandon the current, fragmented systems in favor of a framework that mirrors language acquisition. Music, after all, is not just art—it is a universal human capacity.
Language learning gives us a useful template for rethinking music education. We don’t expect children to jump straight into reading and writing. Instead, we nurture four distinct competencies:
Music can—and should—follow the same progression:
Each level builds upon the previous, and not everyone needs to master all four. Just as most people can speak and read without ever writing novels, most people can listen and sing without composing symphonies. But the infrastructure for these pathways should be in place for everyone.
One of the most overlooked aspects of music education is the foundational role of chords.
The word “chord” in the musical sense originates from the Middle English word cord, which is a shortened form of accord, meaning agreement or harmony. Here’s a brief etymology:
So, the musical “chord” literally stems from the idea of hearts or sounds being in accord—that is, multiple notes sounding together in harmony. Therefore, a chord is a group of two or more notes played together to create harmony. While melodies move horizontally—note by note—chords stack notes vertically, giving music its emotional depth, tension, and resolution.
Think of notes as letters, chords as words, and progressions as musical sentences. Chords help set the mood—happy, sad, suspenseful, peaceful—by combining notes in specific ways.
Music rarely uses just one chord. A chord progression is a sequence of chords, like a musical storyline. One of the most famous is:
I–V–vi–IV
(e.g., C–G–Am–F in C major)
Used in countless pop songs.
The sad reality is that many traditional teaching methods skip dwelling on chords entirely. Instead, students are often taught to read individual notes and laboriously assemble them into complex pieces—without ever internalizing the vocabulary of musical language. This is like teaching someone to craft sentences before they are familiar with words. They will remain perennially baffled at words without ever achieving mastery at all.
Chords are not just technical tools; they are expressive units that unlock access to a wide range of music. They provide an intuitive, accessible entry point for anyone—regardless of their musical background.
And in the same that one's language fluency is realised through a wide verbal vocabulary, the same applies in music: being able to navigate subtle semantic cues though chord sequences is how we would appraise the gifted musician.
We must stop treating music education as a luxury or an extracurricular perk for the privileged. Just as literacy is a right, musical competence should be a common good.
Current systems are inefficient, opaque, and poorly structured. They often assume either a conservatory-bound level of commitment or offer little more than passive appreciation. There is almost nothing in between for the vast majority who simply want to participate meaningfully in music—whether in worship, cultural traditions, or personal expression.
We need a new educational architecture: one that recognizes the universality of music, lowers the barrier to entry, and allows people to grow in their musical ability as far as they wish to go.
Imagine a society where music is not the preserve of the gifted or the wealthy. A society where children learn to sing and play chords as easily as they learn to write their names. A society where people carry musical literacy with them through life—not for exams or applause, but for joy, connection, and expression.
The tools are already in our hands. What we need now is the will to reimagine—and rebuild—the system.