Angelica Ng is a Baybeats Budding Writer mentored by Ilyas Sholihyn, editor-in-chief of RICE Media and Eddino Abdul Hadi, music correspondent for The Straits Times.

Many a Singaporean childhood has been spent poring over practice papers and Ten-Year Series books—hallmarks of our uniquely kiasu focus on academic achievement that has transcended generations.

But what happens when you apply that same theoretical approach to something as expressionistic as music?

For musicians who take this leap, formal training promises opportunity: structured guidance and insider connections that open more doors to success in the music industry. Others, lacking the privilege or resources to pursue formal paths, often find those doors closed before they can even knock.

Yet, as Singapore’s music scene evolves, the two worlds of formal training and self-learning increasingly collide. The line that once separated the polished performer from the bedroom producer is fading, giving rise to a richer creative ecosystem.

So, is one path any better than the other? And in an age of YouTube tutorials, is formal training even necessary today?

Lessons learnt

In Singapore, musicians seeking formal training can choose from a range of programmes by public and private institutions. Options for music diplomas include LASALLE College of the Arts, Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts (NAFA) and Singapore Polytechnic. Meanwhile, National University of Singapore’s Yong Siew Toh Conservatory of Music is currently the only autonomous university offering a degree in music, alongside private institutions like LASALLE and Singapore Raffles Music College. Additionally, School of the Arts Singapore (SOTA) offers pre-tertiary specialised art education for teenagers, beyond secondary school and junior college programmes.

Perhaps most obviously, honing hard skills is a key benefit of formal training, which can be indispensable for developing a musician’s talents.

Abdul Hakiim Bin Muhamad Hamim plays keys for Baybeats Budding Band rathmock, but he’s long farmed internet fame under his solo project deførmed. Yet, despite his characteristic irreverence and experimental musical concoctions, Hakiim’s bizarre approach to composing music is actually the product of years of formal training.

The 27-year-old began his musical training young, studying music at secondary school, polytechnic and university. As a teenager, he dropped music at O-levels due to its highly structured nature. However, he made a fresh start after entering Singapore Polytechnic and NUS.

“It was one of the best decisions of my life to go to DMAT [Singapore Polytechnic’s Diploma in Music & Audio Technology],” Hakiim says. “Before poly, I never regarded myself as a musician.”

“[I’ve been] introduced to so many concepts that I can [turn] on and off different features and play with those combinations,” he shares.

For musicians just starting out, having a solid grasp of technical skills can help them define their sound and push musical barriers.

SHINSEINA bassist Mohd Shafi’e Bin Mohd Shahrul went from studying electronics engineering at ITE to playing bass at LASALLE College of the Arts. The 21-year-old’s music is informed by techniques honed through his LASALLE training, and he’s grateful for this strong technical foundation.

“I started off teaching myself bass, and I saw how much progress I had in the last two years in LASALLE compared to my first year [being self-taught], and it's insane.”

Stifling creativity

However, far from a one-way ticket to success, even formally-trained musicians concede that this route has its flaws. Music education may equip them with the tools for sonic experimentation, but that doesn’t mean innovation is actually encouraged. Instead, structured assessments and grading rubrics can limit creativity.

Hakiim shares that in secondary school, he often disagreed with the structured approach of the O-level music curriculum. Instead, he turned to his own devices, experimenting with GarageBand and online tutorials before entering Singapore Polytechnic—a blended approach that fulfilled both his desire for experimentation and his love for the technical side of music.

Meanwhile, Baybeats Budding Writer Pragya Jha, 24, spent six years at SOTA before earning a degree in Computer Science from NUS. In her experience, formal training can be “a bit stifling.”

“You kind of default into familiar patterns, which are easier to break away from if you're not brought up with rigorous standardised training,” she says.

Perhaps this is an area where self-taught musicians have greater freedom of expression. For Jade Lee, a media freelancer and self-taught guitarist, a reluctance to break rules is a lingering effect that she’s noticed when playing with her formally trained bandmates in haldi honey.

“Because I came to it fresh, not knowing what was going on, I'm able to pick up some of those rhythms a bit easier,” Jade, 26, reflects. “It's not drilled into me like a metronome.”

What’s actually important

Naturally, the Singaporean sense of practicality continues to weigh heavily on musicians’ minds, as they chase their dreams amid questioning looks and disbelief from family members, teachers and even outsiders.

Jade jokes:

Hakiim shares that in his school days, he did well in maths and engineering, and scored an A1 in only one subject: Electronics.

“I told my teachers I wanted to do music. Some of them said ‘You're wasting your potential.’ [But] I think if I were the teacher of the student who got good grades in a certain subject, I would want them to continue,” Hakiim admits.

With this focus on practicality, formal training could simply be another way for some musicians to chase legitimacy, seeing it as a more surefire path to success in an unpredictable industry.

But, as Pragya points out bluntly: “Just because you went to music school doesn't mean you did well at it.”

Going through years of exams might not actually create chart-topping hits, while we may just as well discover our next hit musician in the unlikeliest of places. After all, there’s more than one route to success (despite what the most traditional Singaporean might tell you).

For Hakiim, important traits like effective communication go beyond the classroom.

“I’ve met people who are very good at music, but they adopt not-very-good attitudes. I’d rather work with someone who has a better attitude and can communicate better,” he offers. “I think the knowledge that you get from formal education is just a tool, and you, as a person, then decide what to do with it.”

To Shafi’e, what’s truly important is skill, something any musician can develop with practice. “Your skill needs to be more than your certificate,” he says. “A piece of paper can only mean so much, but your ability on stage is a different story.”

Formal training is certainly a good springboard for aspiring musicians, but at the end of the day, one’s success in the music industry comprises so much more: adaptability, talent, attitude, and commitment. You can’t follow any recipe for success when you’re only relying on one ingredient—a shiny certificate.

Choosing the ‘right path’

Overall, formal training will always be useful for musical growth, but it shouldn’t be reduced to merely collecting credentials or following rules. There’s no single right way to find success, regardless of your background.

Do any of these musicians regret their paths? Despite their vastly differing experiences, the answer is a resounding “no”.

“I am the person I am today because of the years I spent at [SOTA],” Pragya says. “And I'm also still the person I am today because of the years I spent with my hiatus from music.”

Shafi’e affirms that he wouldn’t change a thing. “I made a lot of mistakes, but all these experiences shaped me into who I am today.”

In fact, perhaps this diversity of backgrounds is what could give Singapore’s musicians a unique star factor—an edge that could help shape a richer Singaporean sound. At least, that's what these musicians hope for the local scene’s future.

“There are so many different scenes in Singapore… but I think we should explore a lot more. We shouldn't just stick to things that we are comfortable with,” Hakiim remarks. “Give Singapore a more vibrant colour!”