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There's a moment at the end of every class — after reverence, after the lights dim, when the studio goes quiet and you can feel the room settling. That's when I usually think about the music. Not during class, when you're too busy cueing and correcting. After. When you're packing up and replaying the hour in your head, wondering if the phrase you chose for the waltz combination actually worked.
Music is the one thing that can make a technically solid class feel flat, or a messy class feel transcendent. I've spent years building and rebuilding my go-to playlists. Here are the pieces that keep earning their spot.
Tchaikovsky at the Barre
Every teacher I know cycles through Tchaikovsky. The man wrote for ballet — it's not subtle, and that's exactly the point. Swan Lake gives you everything: swelling drama for your adagio, propulsive strings for your jumps, and those slow, aching passages that make a simple tendu feel like it's carrying weight.
The trick with Tchaikovsky is not to use too much. Pick one movement per class, maybe two. Let the dancers learn the melody. When you return to it three weeks later, they'll have a physical memory of it — their bodies will anticipate the swell before it arrives. That's the good stuff.
Prokofiev's Contradictions
Romeo and Juliet is my favorite for center work, specifically the Montagues and Capulets theme. It's fast, punchy, and refuses to sit still — which is exactly what you want when you're teaching allegro.
But Prokofiev is useful in other ways too. The slower movements, the ones that ache and linger, are perfect for port de bras sequences. The contrast within a single ballet forces dancers to listen, to adjust. You can't sleepwalk through Romeo and Juliet. The music won't let you.
The Rite That Breaks Everyone
I'll be honest: The Rite of Spring is controversial in my studio. I use it for advanced classes only, and I always warn students beforehand.
Stravinsky's rhythms are deliberately disorienting. The downbeat isn't where you think it is. The phrases don't resolve the way your body expects. Dancers either hate it the first time and love it the third, or love it immediately and then hate it when they realize how hard it is. Either way, it teaches something that pretty music can't: how to stay present when the ground keeps shifting under your feet.
I use the opening with younger advanced students for a quick phrase exercise. By the time they hit the "Glorification of the Chosen One," they're sweating and laughing and completely unguarded. That's when the real work happens.
Delibes for Younger Dancers
Coppélia is my secret weapon for kids and teens who are new to classical music. It's whimsical without being silly, and the melodies are genuinely singable. I've had seven-year-olds hum it in the hallway afterward, which means it lodged somewhere.
The lightness is useful too. When a class is heavy with corrections or frustration, switching to something buoyant changes the room's energy in about eight bars. It's not a trick — it's just good instinct. Dancers absorb what they hear. Give them something warm, and they'll round their arms a little softer.
Philip Glass and the Art of Patience
I resisted Einstein on the Beach for years. It felt too austere, too cold for a ballet class. Then I used the Knee Play sections for a modern-based floor warm-up and watched something interesting happen.
Glass's repetitions force dancers to find nuance inside stillness. There's nowhere to hide when the music doesn't give you drama. They have to create it themselves — in their weight, their breath, the micro-movements between steps. For older students working on musicality, this is invaluable.
I pair it with a slow stretch at the end of class. By the time the phrases shift and build, the room is quiet and focused. It's a completely different energy than opening with it. Timing matters as much as the piece itself.
The Playlist Isn't the Point
Here's what I've learned after all these hours curating music: the playlist is never really the point.
The point is that music shapes how dancers move before they even think about it. A march makes them straighten. A waltz makes them weight-shift. A staccato phrase makes them lift through the chest. You're not teaching choreography — you're teaching listening, and the music is your instrument.
So yes, I have my favorites. But I'm always looking for the next piece that makes someone stop mid-exercise and just feel the music. That's the moment worth chasing.
