The Superpower of the Introvert Conductor: When Presence Speaks Louder Than Volume by Chris Maunu

...success started to find me — not because I had finally learned to act like a great teacher, but because I had stopped trying to.

When people think of a successful conductor, they often picture someone electric, charismatic, and full of flair. The stereotype leans toward the extrovert: someone who can rally a room with infectious energy and effortless charm. For a long time, I thought that was the only way to succeed on the podium.

As a young music educator attending conferences and workshops, I remember being captivated by presenters who could light up a room with sheer presence. Their energy was magnetic — bold and seemingly easy. I’d come home inspired, trying to recreate their style: the same gestures, the same humor, the same charged delivery. But every time, it felt a little off — like I was putting on a coat that didn’t quite fit. I could pick up on it from my students: “Why is Mr. Maunu being this way?” I kept repeating the cycle, chasing someone else’s version of what leadership was supposed to look like. It never fully landed.

I thought that my inability to become “something else” was an indication of failure. Eventually, after enough trial and error, I slowly started leaning into something deeper and more personal. I began to feel more comfortable. I was happier, more relaxed, and more grounded. I was finally beginning the journey of becoming my authentic self.

And that’s when everything started to change. That’s when the singers in front of me began to trust more, listen more, take more ownership. That’s when the artistry deepened. More than a decade into the profession, I started to finally hit my stride. MY stride. Incidentally, that’s when success started to find me — not because I had finally learned to act like a great teacher, but because I had stopped trying to.

A Quiet Journey

It still amazes me that I now stand in front of state and national honor choirs, compose and publish music, and travel internationally as a clinician. Because my path here didn’t follow the typical script.

I grew up in a tiny town. Frederick, South Dakota — population 267. There were twelve students in my graduating class. I spent most of my time surrounded by open space, quiet, and the steady rhythms of small-town life. I was a shy kid. I didn’t see anyone in the performing arts who looked or acted like me. Frankly, I didn’t know someone like me could belong. Especially in a leadership role.

I did the best I could to survive socially, pouring myself into sports as a high schooler. Music was there — a steady hum in the background — but career-wise, I nearly missed it altogether. It took the influence of a few great teachers, some nudging from the universe, and a lot of courage to pivot. And still, even after a decade plus of teaching and conducting, I was still trying to lead with borrowed energy, convinced that “more performative” meant better. It took time to understand that what I thought were my limitations were actually my greatest assets.

How Introversion Shines: A Culture of Safety and Trust

In rehearsal, introverted leadership often creates a culture of listening. I don’t fill every space with commentary. I let silence do some of the work. That space signals to singers that their presence matters. That their voices — both musical and personal — are respected.

I’ve found that singers rise to greater heights when they’re trusted. They don’t need to be micromanaged. They need to be heard. And introverted conductors often excel at noticing — when energy dips or when something deeper is at play. That sensitivity helps shape a rehearsal space that feels safe, open, and honest. It’s a slow burn kind of leadership, but the impact runs deep.

I remember a student from a recent honor choir — standing quietly off to the side, visibly reserved and unsure. I didn’t rush toward her with high energy or try to coax them into a forced conversation. I simply met her eyes and offered a small, grounding nod. Later that day, she approached me and said, “Being noticed meant so much. I love singing, but I am incredibly shy. Thank you for seeing me.” It was a powerful reminder: sometimes, the quietest moments of connection are the ones that matter most.

Classroom: Deep Listening and Authentic Connection

In the classroom, quiet leadership allows me to truly see my students. I notice the subtle things — the singer who avoids eye contact or the one whose silence says more than their words. I check in, not with flashiness, but with genuine presence. And that presence matters.

Now, as an Artistic Director of the Pacific Youth Choir, I continue to stretch and grow — stepping into bigger rooms, higher stakes, and more complex challenges. But the principles haven’t changed. I still lead from presence. I still trust silence. I still believe that authenticity builds the deepest kind of artistry. Of course, I bring passion and energy when needed, but I’m careful to channel it through a place of authenticity.

Performance: Grounding the Ensemble

On stage, I’m there to anchor the music, hold space for the artists, and be a conduit so the performance can fully inspire an audience. I’m not there to put on a show for the singers in front of me. It’s about steadiness. A grounding presence helps calm nerves, focus energy, and keep the ensemble centered in the music — and the moment.

I’ve seen how a quiet, composed demeanor can settle a group right before they walk on stage. It remind them: We’re not here to impress. We’re here to inspire through meaningful sharing. It’s about guiding with humanity and depth, letting the artistry do the talking. And for many ensembles, especially youth, that kind of leadership becomes a stabilizing force.

When the Loudest Voices Are the Most Visible

One of the challenges introverts face in creative fields is visibility. In musical spaces — especially at conferences or professional gatherings — it’s often the extroverted personalities who dominate the conversation. They speak up more quickly, network faster, and step into the spotlight easily. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some of the most extroverted voices in the choral field have my utmost respect. But when that becomes the default image of leadership, we risk overlooking the other types of brilliance in our space.

How many deeply gifted musicians, teachers, and conductors are passed over simply because they aren’t “loud” enough? How many young people never consider conducting or teaching because they don’t see leaders who reflect their perceived type of energy?

If we want our field to be inclusive — truly inclusive — we need to recognize and elevate all types of leadership. Not just the loudest ones.

Thriving as an Introverted Conductor

My people, if you are looking for a few ways to authentically show up, connect, and grow your visibility — without pretending to be someone you're not, I humbly offer a few considerations:

• Lead with depth in conversation. You don’t need to work the whole room at a conference. One or two meaningful conversations can be far more impactful than a dozen surface-level interactions.

• Follow up in writing. Thoughtful emails or messages can leave a lasting impression after a workshop, performance, or meeting.

• Share your process publicly. Whether through blog posts, short-form videos, or social media reflections, letting others peek into your thoughtful approach to rehearsal and artistry will build connection and credibility.

• Find one-on-one mentorships. Sometimes it’s hard to speak up in big spaces, but private connections can be powerful. Seek out mentors or colleagues for coffee chats or a Zoom call.

• Let your work speak. Submit recordings, apply for presentations, and share your students’ growth. When authentic and strong, your work will eventually open doors — even if you’re not the loudest voice.

• Attend selectively, engage intentionally. You don’t need to go to everything. Choose events and spaces where you feel safe to be fully yourself — then show up with presence and purpose.

To the Quiet Leaders

If you're stepping into the role of conductor or educator, I want you to know this: you have everything you need. Your presence can be powerful, even if it’s not loud. Your ability to listen, to reflect, to empathize — these are not simply personality traits. They are tools and they are incredible gifts.

Remember:

You can shape an ensemble without dominating it. You can lead by drawing people in, not pushing them forward. You can change lives — not with volume, but with presence.

To the young conductor who wonders if they’re “too quiet” for the podium — I see you. I was you. And I’m here to tell you: some of the most transformational leadership doesn’t shout. It resonates.

Because the podium doesn’t need more noise. It needs more truth.

And sometimes, the truest voices… arrive gently — and inspire authentically.

Chris Maunu is a nationally recognized conductor, composer, and educator, known for his expressive artistry and empowering approach for young singers. In demand as a guest conductor and clinician, he regularly leads honor choirs and workshops across the country and beyond. His compositions and philosophy reflect a commitment to inspiring the next generation of choral musicians and music educators. Visit chrismaunu.com for more.