Wicked composer Stephen Schwartz explores intuition and craft in a musical-writing masterclass

Legendary composer and lyricist Stephen Schwartz joined student theater group First Stages for a brief interview, followed by live performances of four student-crafted musical numbers and a bevy of audience questions. Decorated by three Academy Awards, four Grammy Awards, induction to the Theater Hall of Fame, and a rich legacy of mentoring young composers, Schwartz spent formative years crafting musicals with Scotch’n’Soda, a student theater club at his alma mater, Carnegie Mellon, before going on to pen definitive Broadway shows like Pippin and Wicked, the 4th-longest running musical in Broadway history.

Schwartz began by discussing how he structures a show. Although he used to outline his stories linearly, ever since his days at Disney, Schwartz now uses beat boards: a wall of notecards, each bearing a general description of a story beat in as few words as possible. After writing out the story on these cards, Schwartz begins replacing the notecards with colored ones, which act as placeholders for songs. Seeing whether the musical has visual flow, rather than uneven clumps of color, helps Schwartz determine whether songs are well-organized amidst the story.

Although Schwartz might note down ideas, he tries not to write the full song until he knows the full structure. Afterwards, he identifies points of entry among the colored cards, pursuing the songs that offer the “path of least resistance.” When asked how to find such a road, Schwartz answered that part of the process is simply intuitive: “you know what it is.” For instance, while writing songs for the Disney movie Pocohontas, his path of least resistance was the film’s trademark ballad “Colors of the Wind,” a poignant confrontation between Pocohontas and her lover John Smith. If inspiration is in short supply, however, research will do.

While describing the songwriting process, Schwartz also outlined several questions writers need to be able to answer before tackling their project:

1. What is this about (as opposed to what is happening)?
2. Why should anybody care about it? In other words, does this resonate with others?
3. Character(s):
   1. Who’s the audience rooting for?
   2. What do they want? What’s stopping them from getting it? Why do they want it? 
4. When do I get to go home? In other words, where is the natural end of the story?

Without understanding the answer to all of these questions, Schwartz argued, a writer inevitably reaches a roadblock in their songwriting caused by a lack of clarity in the play’s heart and meaning.

After Schwartz’s introduction to his journey and process of being a composer, the floor opened for questions. For a question asking how he gets inspiration from the world, Schwartz emphasized his effort to become the character who is centered in the song, thinking about the goal the character is trying to achieve within certain moments, and how such thoughts and emotions would be translated into sounds. He doesn’t do this just in his head, but puts his hands on the piano and starts playing until he finds the note that matches his—or the character’s—feeling. From then on, it is his instinct that provides the next step. 

To further give a sense of what he explained, Schwartz moved to the piano at the edge of the room and played the opening chords of “Defying Gravity,” the climactic song of Act 1 in Wicked. This song marks the pivotal moment when the protagonist chooses to defy social taboos and an oppressive government by becoming a witch, despite her friend’s objections. Therefore, Schwartz explained, the song starts off with a D-flat chord lacking its third, an absence that tinges the chord with wavering uncertainty. This opening sequence of chords expresses the character’s moment of ambiguity, emphasizing the opening line of “something has changed within me” more effectively. Then Schwartz played the part where the key changes, introducing B-flat 6(add4) gently arpeggiated in a cascading pattern, where the character dreams out loud for an “unlimited” future. Whether the sound matches emotions can only be felt by our guts—namely, the instinct, as Schwartz convinced us through his brief performance. 

For the next question about the most difficult moments in his career, Schwartz did not hesitate to acknowledge failure. It is inevitable, he noted, for any artist to experience it. The real challenge lies not in avoiding failure, but in learning how to move beyond it. His advice for young artists in the room was to set one’s own artistic goals that do not get swayed by others’ views. In a world that constantly offers feedback, opinions, and criticism, an artist must learn how to filter external noise without becoming closed off or complacent. 

A later question turned to the changing landscape of Broadway and whether shifts in the industry have affected his writing. Schwartz keenly observed that productions have become increasingly, even “ludicrously,” expensive over the course of his career. As financial stakes rise, so too does the pressure to play it safe. In such an environment, he suggested, it becomes more difficult to experiment or venture outside established formulas. Yet the tension between commercial demands and creative risk remains an enduring reality of musical theater.

After the Q&A, the most anticipated part of the event began. Four groups of student composers and musical actors performed their original songs in order to receive feedback from Schwartz himself. The performances included a charming and darkly humorous ensemble number about a mayor who murders townspeople to raise funds; a poignant duet between two sisters mourning their lost childhood innocence; a dynamic duet between historical figures Frances Perkins and Robert Moses; and a solo portraying a ballerina’s rising fury against the unwanted pursuant of her choreographer.

In his feedback, Schwartz began by affirming that all four groups demonstrated strong musical instincts. Even at first listen, he noted, the emotional tone of each piece was immediately perceptible—a testament to their musicality. The lyrics, too, were literate and clearly articulated, with well-crafted rhymes that effectively communicated each song’s intention. Yet he observed that all of the numbers felt somewhat amorphous in structure, making it difficult for the listener to fully grasp and retain their shape. Moments of melodic clarity would emerge—lines that felt like they could define the song—before quickly dissolving without sufficient repetition to anchor them. He encouraged the composers to be more rigorous with structure, particularly through rhythmic repetition, which he called a songwriter’s “friend.”

Through Schwartz’s candid reflections on the agonizing process of creating music, he reminded his audience that all creative work, and perhaps life itself, is a continuation of enduring uncertainty. Confronted with constantly shifting paths, we must learn how to anchor ourselves in discipline and repetition that prevent us from going astray in moments of doubt or failure. Even if the tune is off or the melody doesn’t seem right at the time, our song will somehow begin to take shape as we persevere. Rather than dissolving into nothingness, rigorous time and effort will someday culminate into a sublime piece of music. Schwartz repeatedly attributed his musical decisions to instinct, suggesting that he simply intuits a right note. Yet his words implied a quieter truth: instinct belongs to the one who returns to the piano day after day.

Image via Authors