A simple riff in music can be unforgettable. Consider Keith Richards’ iconic guitar hook on The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” A handful of notes became one of the most recognizable sounds in rock and roll history. Sometimes a simple musical idea can leave a lasting impression.
There is another kind of riff that I find equally fascinating. It is the free flow of ideas, thoughts, and questions that happens when we feel comfortable enough to explore unfinished thoughts with someone else. There is no script or predetermined destination. There is simply the freedom to think aloud, listen, respond, and see where the conversation takes us.
When people listen and respond without judgment or competition, something magical happens. There is synergy, connection, and trust. I think of jazz musicians like Miles Davis and John Coltrane, listening and responding to each other through their instruments. One musician introduces an idea. Another builds upon it. Someone takes it somewhere unexpected. Together, they create something that might never have emerged independently.
I love those moments when a conversation becomes a genuine riff. There is no pressure to have the perfect answer or even the right words. We can stumble, explore, laugh, reconsider, and discover something new together. A great riff is not always about having the right notes. Sometimes it is about finding the right people who are willing to listen, respond, and create something alongside us.
Those connections matter. The people who give us the freedom to think aloud and make us feel that our voices matter are worth celebrating. They remind us that some of our most meaningful discoveries happen when we are willing to listen as much as we contribute.
Who are the people in your life who make it safe to riff, explore, stumble, and discover something new? Have you told them lately how much their voices matter?
There is something that always brings a smile to my face when I look at my calendar and see the words Record with Donya. Our monthly conversations on Real Riffs with Donya Ball have become one of the most rewarding and enriching creative collaborations I have experienced. We have now recorded six episodes, and I genuinely look forward to each opportunity to connect, reflect, and explore the realities of educational leadership.
What I especially appreciate is how naturally our conversations unfold. We have reached the point where there is no elaborate preparation, no scripted questions, and no predetermined agenda. We simply hit record and start riffing. There is something refreshing about allowing a conversation to develop organically, particularly when both participants bring trust, mutual respect, and a willingness to listen.
The Art of Riffing
I often think about the similarities between our conversations and a jazz jam session. Great improvisation requires more than individual talent. It requires deep listening, trust, and an understanding of what another musician brings to the performance. One musician introduces an idea, another builds upon it, and something new emerges through the collaboration.
That is the dynamic I value in working with Donya. We challenge and expand each other’s thinking in a supportive and trusting environment. Donya brings thoughtful perspectives and a wealth of leadership experience to our conversations, and I appreciate how our exchanges often lead me to consider ideas from a different angle. We are not competing for the spotlight. We are simply having meaningful conversations and learning from one another.
The Sixth Riff: Getting Into the Real Stuff
Our latest episode, The Sixth Riff: Educelebrity Culture, Brokenness, and the Courage to Lead, explores some challenging realities of educational leadership.
We examine the educelebrity phenomenon and the tension between visibility, recognition, and authentic leadership. We also discuss the brokenness that leaders sometimes experience in education, including disappointment, isolation, and the challenge of maintaining a sense of purpose when the work becomes difficult.
These are conversations that deserve more attention. We approach them with honesty, reflection, and a willingness to acknowledge that neither of us has all the answers. That is the spirit of Real Riffs. We are unflinchingly real about the profession we care deeply about and the human experiences that accompany leadership.
Looking Ahead
I am excited that our next episode in November will be recorded in person! After six virtual conversations, it will be a welcome opportunity to continue our discussions in the same room. We will maintain the approach that has worked so well for us: no script, no agenda, and plenty of room for spontaneous conversation.
I am grateful for this collaboration and for everyone who has listened and supported Real Riffs. This experience continues to reinforce something I believe deeply about leadership and creativity. Meaningful collaboration grows through trust, reciprocity, and the willingness to make room for another person’s voice.
Sometimes the best ideas emerge when we stop trying to control every moment and simply listen to one another. That is what makes a good jazz session, a good conversation, and a good collaboration.
Listen to The Sixth Riff
The Sixth Riff: Educelebrity Culture, Brokenness, and the Courage to Lead
We appreciate every listen, share, review, and subscription. Please subscribe so you do not miss our November episode, when we will be recording together in person!
Thank you for supporting Real Riffs and being part of these conversations!
As we wrap up week two of “Four Weeks’ to Rubber Soul,” our landing for today’s word is “Give.” The word blends in as suitable ending for the 2nd week theme of the series being “Collaborate.” Each member of The Beatles willing give of their strengths, ideas, and talents on each track of the “Rubber Soul” album. Their actions serve as a solid lesson for what it means to be a supportive collaborator in the creative process.
For us, the lesson from The Beatles is to give your part everything you have. On Rubber Soul, nobody simply showed up and occupied a role. John brought songs, voice, rhythm guitar, vulnerability, humor, and increasingly personal writing. Paul brought songs, bass lines, harmonies, musical imagination, and an instinct for arrangement. George brought guitar textures, harmony, songwriting, and the sitar that helped transform “Norwegian Wood.” Ringo brought the pulse, feel, personality, and exactly the kind of drumming each song needed. George Martin and the Abbey Road team also gave their creativity to the record. Each groove on the album is filled with sonic excellence.
The lesson becomes bigger than The Beatles. Giving does not require being the person in the spotlight. Giving means bringing your full contribution to the work because the work matters and because your bandmates matter. When you have a full balance of mattering among bandmates, the desire to give of yourself is heightened. It’s a beautiful thing when it happens in within the realm of any team, organization, or creative collaboration.
You may be wondering what is it that you have to give to a band. Ringo Starr once said in The Beatles Anthology documentary that when The Beatles got to focusing on the music, they put in “a thousand percent.” He is talking about this in relation to their final studio album, Abbey Road. That 1000% contribution factor is all over Rubber Soul. Each Beatle brought something different, but each one gave himself to the song.
You do not have to give what somebody else gives. Give what is yours to give. Bring your voice. Bring your gift. Bring your effort. Believe that you have to give matters and helps make the world a better place. The band becomes stronger when everyone gives something to the song.
What if “Drive My Car” had stayed “Golden Rings?” That may be one of the great what if questions in Beatles lyrical history. Paul McCartney came into the writing process with the beginnings of a song and an idea involving golden rings, but the idea was not quite working. Rather than protecting the first version simply because it was his, Paul kept working with John Lennon until they found a new direction. Eventually, “Drive My Car” emerged.
That story says a lot about feedback because feedback is necessary for any creative pursuit. We need thoughts, responses, questions, and ideas from other people because we cannot always see everything in our own work. We all have blind spots. Sometimes another person helps us recognize something that needs attention. Other times, feedback gives us validation that something is working and encourages us to keep moving forward.
Receiving feedback requires openness, and it also requires trust. We need people around us who understand what we are trying to accomplish and care enough to help us grow. The best feedback does not come from someone simply looking for flaws. It comes from trusted bandmates who are willing to listen, respond, challenge, encourage, and help us hear something we may be missing.
Being open to feedback does not mean we have to accept every suggestion. Feedback requires reflection and discernment because someone can offer a thoughtful idea that still may not belong in your work. Another person might notice something you initially resist, only to realize later that they were hearing something important. Creative growth requires enough confidence to maintain your own voice and enough humility to consider another perspective.
The goal of feedback is not obedience. The goal is growth, and that idea becomes even more meaningful when we look beyond “Drive My Car” and consider Rubber Soul as a whole. The album represents a moment when The Beatles knew they had to continue growing. They had already achieved extraordinary success, yet repeating what had worked before was not enough. Their songwriting was becoming more reflective, their musical palette was expanding, and new influences were finding their way into the room.
Rubber Soul is evidence of creative people taking bold initial steps toward innovation. The Beatles listened to one another, brought different ideas into the room, experimented with sounds and instruments, and allowed songs to change. They responded to new influences and trusted their evolving instincts. They did not have every future album mapped out. They simply understood that growth required movement.
That is one reason Rubber Soul continues to inspire me during this month of creativity. It offers more than a collection of incredible songs because it provides a template for creative growth.Rubber Soul reminds us to begin the work, listen to our creative muse, collaborate with kindred spirits, and experiment our expression. Like The Beatles, we welcome trusted feedback, reflect on what we hear, and keep what helps the work become stronger.
Every creative person needs people who can help them see and hear what they may be missing. The challenge is learning how to receive that perspective without surrendering your own voice. Listen with openness, give yourself time to reflect, and discern what will help the work grow. Sometimes the next creative breakthrough may begin with the willingness to hear something differently.
Today is Day 11 of Four Weeks to Rubber Soul, and our word is Mattering.
Mattering is a word that carries a great deal of meaning for me. People need more than a place in the room. We need to know that we are seen, heard, valued, and needed. We need to know that our presence makes a difference and that our gifts have a place in the band.
Rubber Soul offers a small example of that idea. John Lennon and Paul McCartney will always be at the center of The Beatles songwriting story, yet George Harrison and Ringo Starr also have meaningful space on the album. George contributed “Think for Yourself” and “If I Needed Someone.” Ringo stepped into the spotlight as the lead vocalist on “What Goes On,” which also carried his name in the songwriting credit alongside Lennon and McCartney.
I do not want to romanticize The Beatles. They experienced tension, disagreement, frustration, and complicated relationships along the way. They were human, just like us. Their story still reminds us that collaboration does not require perfect relationships. It does require making room for other people to contribute.
That is where I see the connection to mattering. A band becomes stronger when people know there is room for their voice. A team becomes stronger when people know their strengths are noticed. A community becomes stronger when people understand that they are not simply occupying a chair. Their presence, perspective, and contribution matter.
Mattering has become significant in my own leadership journey because I have seen what happens when people feel invisible. I have also seen the difference that one moment of affirmation can make. Sometimes it is noticing someone’s effort. Sometimes it is asking for an idea or opening the door for someone else to lead. Sometimes it is communicating through our words and actions, we need what you bring to this band.
Those moments do not have to be grand. George gets a song. Ringo gets a vocal. Someone else gets the microphone. Someone gets invited into the conversation. Someone hears their contribution named and appreciated. Small moves can carry tremendous weight when they help people understand that they matter.
Mattering asks us to move beyond simply inviting people into the room. It asks us to notice what they bring once they arrive. It asks us to listen for their voice, recognize their strengths, and create opportunities for those strengths to contribute to something larger.
Rubber Soul works because it sounds like a band stretching together. Different voices, different gifts, and different personalities all contribute to the record. Our organizations, classrooms, teams, creative communities, and relationships need that same spirit.
Take a look around your band today. Consider who needs to know that you see them, whose voice needs more room, and whose gift you have noticed but have not yet named. Mattering grows when we help another person understand a simple and powerful truth: You are here. I see you. We need what you bring.
Welcome back to Four Weeks to Rubber Soul. We are embarking on a month long journey to explore creativity through the lens of The Beatles’ album Rubber Soul. The album took about a month to record, and I am engaging in my own daily challenge during these four weeks: do something creative each day in service of this series through blog posts, reels, reflection, and conversation.
This week, our focus is Collaborate, which brings us to today’s word: Invite. Collaboration rarely happens without someone first opening the door. Someone has to share the unfinished idea, ask the question, make the call, or simply say, “What do you think?”
The U.K. version of Rubber Soul opens with the witty rocker “Drive My Car.” It is The Beatles deep in the groove, telling an amusing story that turns the familiar “boy meets girl” trope on its head. Paul McCartney arrived with the musical idea, but the original lyrics were not working. He had a refrain built around “golden rings,” an idea that Paul later acknowledged was going nowhere.
Paul knew he had access to a pretty remarkable wordsmith in his songwriting partner, John Lennon. Rather than protecting an unfinished idea or abandoning it altogether, Paul invited John into the process. The two worked through the problem together, eventually landing on the phrase “Drive My Car” and building the clever story we know today.
That invitation offers a glimpse into the Lennon and McCartney songwriting partnership. Sometimes they wrote together. Sometimes they wrote separately. Sometimes one arrived with a nearly completed song that needed something more. A fragment, missing section, lyric, or unfinished idea could become an invitation for the other person to enter the creative process.
Think about what grew from those invitations. Their collaboration helped change the shape of popular music, yet so much of that extraordinary work began with something remarkably ordinary: an invitation.
The same principle extends beyond Lennon and McCartney. Throughout Rubber Soul, songs changed as they entered the studio and other band members contributed their own musical ideas. Invitation requires trust. It also requires recognizing that another person may possess a gift, perspective, or idea that can take our work somewhere we could not reach alone.
Some of my most meaningful collaborations have begun with a simple invitation. Making that invitation requires a little courage because there is always the possibility that someone will decline. I would rather risk hearing “no” than carry the regret of wondering what we might have created together.
That is how my collaboration with Donya Ball began. I had invited Donya, an author, keynote speaker, and thought leader, to join us as a guest on the Leading While Human podcast. I valued her insights, appreciated her upbeat approach, and recognized that we shared an interest in talking about leadership in real and transparent ways. During that conversation, I realized how much I enjoyed riffing on ideas with her. I decided to extend another invitation.
That invitation eventually became our podcast, Real Riffs. Our conversations have challenged me, expanded my thinking about leadership, and created something that neither of us would have created independently. I am grateful that I made the invitation and even more grateful that Donya accepted it.
As I reflect on Four Weeks to Rubber Soul, I recognize that much of this particular creative journey is a solo pursuit. I am writing the blog posts, recording the reels, creating the social media posts, and showing up every day for a month. Some days, that can be challenging. Sometimes it can even feel a little lonely because I do not have a Lennon or McCartney sitting across from me, ready to riff on the next idea.
Maybe that is where you enter the story.
I hope Four Weeks to Rubber Soul feels like an invitation. Consider this your invitation to share an idea, leave a comment, ask a question, challenge a thought, or tell me what you are creating. I have deeply appreciated the comments and notes of encouragement from those who have joined me during these first nine days. Your words matter more than you probably realize.
Creativity does not always have to be a solo pursuit. Sometimes the next step is simply opening the door and inviting someone else into the room. Your unfinished idea might need another voice. Your next project might need a bandmate. Your creative journey might begin to take a different shape because you had the courage to extend an invitation.
Maybe, over these four weeks, we are all building our own Rubber Soul together.
Today is Day 8 of Four Weeks to Rubber Soul, and we begin a new theme in our four week journey. This week, we will explore the different ways creativity invites us to collaborate. Collaboration is woven throughout The Beatles story, and it is an essential ingredient of “Rubber Soul.” For all of the individual personalities and voices within the group, this is very much a band album.
“Rubber Soul” was not the product of isolated genius. John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr each brought something different into the room. Producer George Martin and the studio team added their own ideas, judgment, expertise, and craft. Great collaboration expands the work without erasing the individual voices that make the work distinctive.
Our word for today is one of my favorite words: Bandmate.
If you know me, you know that I sometimes view the world as one big band. Each of us has a part to play. Each of us brings a gift that contributes to the sound. I often call people I cherish and trust as collaborators my “Bandmates.” It is my way of expressing gratitude, connection, trust, and kinship. When I call someone a Bandmate, I am saying, “I see you. I appreciate what you bring. I am grateful that we get to make something together.”
“Rubber Soul” offers a wonderful picture of this idea. Look at the back cover of the album and read the credits. Throughout the track listing, you see combinations of names and contributions. For example, you see credits like “Paul and John with George,” “George with John and Paul,” and “Ringo with Paul and John.” You even see specific musical contributions identified, such as George on sitar, Paul on fuzz bass, Ringo on Hammond organ, and George Martin on piano. The back cover almost becomes a set of liner notes for collaboration.
You can hear the same idea on “Think for Yourself.” It is George Harrison’s song, yet listen to everything his Bandmates bring into the recording. Paul contributes that memorable fuzz bass. John adds organ and harmony vocals. Ringo anchors the song with drums and percussion. The group layers its voices together around George. The song retains George’s voice while becoming richer because his Bandmates bring their voices into the room.
That is what great Bandmates do. They do not diminish your voice. They help you discover what your voice can become when it connects with theirs. The individual strengths of John, Paul, George, and Ringo became something even more powerful when those strengths worked together. Rubber Soul gives us fourteen reminders of what can happen when people bring their gifts into the room and make something together.
Who are your Bandmates?
Take a moment today to give someone your own liner notes shoutout. Send a text. Write an email or a note. Make a phone call. Find them in person and tell them what they bring to the band. Let somebody know that you see their contribution, that you appreciate their presence, and that the sound would not be quite the same without them.
Every great band needs Bandmates. Make sure yours know that they matter.
This is Day 7 of Four Weeks to Rubber Soul, and today’s word is Reflect. We are also closing out Week 1, which has centered on the theme of Begin. The Beatles’ creative growth, so evident on Rubber Soul, came from entering the room with songs, fragments, influences, ideas, and a willingness to work. The lesson is not to achieve perfection before starting. The lesson is to begin the work, knowing that it is completely acceptable if the beginning is rough and raw. What matters is that you enter the room and that the room is the right one, aligned with your creativity and ready to support the gifts you are bringing.
An important part of the creative process is reflection. Creative growth becomes visible when we stop long enough to notice what has changed since we began. Reflection asks us to pause, look back at what we created, and listen again. There is an art to that pause because we do not want to become so immersed in reflection that we lose momentum. Sometimes we need a trusted thought partner or bandmate who can help us listen, notice, and keep our creative work moving in the groove.
That brings me back to Rubber Soul. One reason I am looking forward to the multiple takes and alternate versions included with the forthcoming Rubber Soul Super Deluxe Edition is the opportunity to hear that creative evolution. The Beatles, along with producer George Martin, continually shaped these songs by changing harmonies, sounds, spaces, arrangements, and instrumentation. Reflection does not mean doubting what you created. Reflection means giving yourself enough space to hear what the work still needs.
Sometimes we need to return to what we made and ask three simple questions: What is working? What is missing? What could make this better? On Rubber Soul, a song could enter the studio one way and leave sounding very different on the finished master. That transformation happened because the band was willing to listen to the work as it developed and respond to what the song needed.
For example on “Norwegian Wood,” George Harrison felt that the song needed something different. His growing interest in Indian music led him toward the sitar, and he worked out a part that became one of the defining sounds of the song. That decision helped give the recording its distinctive character and introduced many listeners to a sound they may not have expected to hear on a Beatles record.
“In My Life” offers another beautiful example of reflection in action. The basic track had already been recorded, but the instrumental middle still needed something. George Martin experimented with ideas, including Hammond organ, before developing the Baroque inspired piano passage we now know so well. Since the part was difficult to play at the required speed, he recorded it more slowly and sped the tape up afterward. The result became an essential part of the song and a reminder that sometimes the creative breakthrough comes after we are willing to listen again.
As we close Week 1, take some time to reflect on something you have created. Do not judge it too quickly. Listen to it and ask yourself: What is working? What is missing? What could make this better? Consider bringing a trusted thought partner or bandmate into that reflection because sometimes another set of ears helps us hear possibilities we cannot hear alone.
Reflection is not about doubting your work. It is about asking what the work still needs and then having the courage to make the adjustment. I would love to hear how reflection fits into your creative process as we continue this journey through Four Weeks to Rubber Soul.
Check out today’s daily reel. Thanks to Starbucks for serving as my own Abbey Road Studios!
Welcome to Day 4 of Four Weeks to Rubber Soul. Today’s theme is practice.
Long before Rubber Soul, The Beatles had already spent years learning how to become a band. Hamburg was one of their great laboratories. During their early residencies there, they played punishing schedules in clubs like the Indra, Kaiserkeller, and Top Ten. At the Indra, they were playing four and a half hours on weekdays and six hours on weekends. When they returned to Hamburg in 1961, the Top Ten schedule stretched to seven hours a night and even longer on weekends. Night after night, they had to keep an audience engaged, stretch songs, improvise, recover from mistakes, and keep playing.
That kind of work mattered. Hamburg did not magically turn them into The Beatles we know, but it gave them something difficult to manufacture: musical instinct with one another. They learned how to listen, anticipate, adjust, and respond. They developed stamina. They developed confidence. They developed a shared language.
By the fall of 1965, all of those hours were in the room with them when they began making Rubber Soul. The album sessions began in October with a looming Christmas release deadline, giving them roughly a month to create one of the defining albums of their career. That speed was not the absence of practice. It was one of the results of it.
Still, practice did not mean everything came easily.
Take “I’m Looking Through You.” The Beatles spent nine hours working on the song on October 24, 1965. They completed a version that they initially considered finished. Then they came back on November 6 and remade it. They still were not satisfied. They tried again on November 10, arriving at the arrangement that became the master, and completed the recording the following day. The earlier version was slower, arranged differently, and did not even contain the familiar “Why, tell me why” section. I love that.
One of the great songs on a classic album was not simply delivered fully formed. They worked it. They listened. They changed it. They discarded something they had spent hours creating and began again. That is practice.
Practice is not simply repeating something until you stop making mistakes. Practice is remaining curious enough to ask, What else could this become? It is having enough commitment to return to the work when the first version does not quite say what you want it to say.
Maybe that is why this idea feels especially relevant to me during Four Weeks to Rubber Soul. I am practicing, too.
Every day for four weeks, I am showing up and trying something a little different. I am writing. I am recording reels. I am listening more closely to an album I have known for years. I am experimenting with ideas, formats, stories, and connections. Some days will flow better than others. Some reels will land. Some will need another take. Some ideas may evolve completely before this journey is finished.
I am not waiting until I have perfected the series before I share it. The series itself is the practice. I am learning by doing it.
The Beatles had Hamburg before Rubber Soul. They had thousands of performances, rehearsals, writing sessions, mistakes, arguments, breakthroughs, and countless hours of playing together. Then, when opportunity and pressure collided in late 1965, they had the craft and the connection to create something extraordinary.
Whatever you are working on, give yourself that same permission. Practice. Experiment. Take another run at it. Rewrite the paragraph. Record another take. Play the chord again. Change the arrangement. Keep chiseling away at the thing that matters to you. Do not make perfection the price of continuing. Stay with it.
One of the things I love most about Rubber Soul is hearing The Beatles become more confident in their own voices. They were still evolving, still experimenting, still figuring things out. Yet you can hear them trusting themselves more.
That matters.
Finding your voice does not mean having everything figured out. It means believing that what you have to say, create, contribute, or share has value. It means resisting the temptation to sound like everyone else and giving yourself permission to bring your full self to the work.
Voice and mattering are connected. When you know you matter, you become a little more willing to speak, create, take a risk, and put something into the world that sounds like you.
That is one of the lessons I hear in Rubber Soul. John, Paul, George, and Ringo were stretching beyond expectations and discovering new possibilities in the process.
Maybe that is our invitation today.
Listen to Rubber Soul. Pay attention to the voices, harmonies, ideas, and creative risks. Then consider your own.
