The Birth of the Singapore School Band Movement

The Band Post conducted this interview as an in-person conversation on 2 August 2025.

It presents the story of Nasir Ibrahim, one of the few living pioneers of the Singapore band movement, told in his own words and from his personal perspective, situated within the early development of music education, uniformed groups, and nation building in post-colonial Singapore.

All facts have been verified, and the transcript has been minimally edited and arranged chronologically for clarity and readability.

Foreword: Building Leaders, Bands, and Legacy

The history of school bands in Singapore is often told through medals, competitions, and public performances. What is less frequently examined is how these bands came to exist at all, who built them, why they were shaped the way they were, and what they were ultimately meant to produce.

This work documents the life and philosophy of Nasir Ibrahim, a central yet understated figure in the formation of Singapore’s school band movement. Beginning in the years immediately after independence, when resources were scarce and systems unformed, Nasir helped build the foundations of organised band education across primary schools, secondary schools, junior colleges, and national institutions.

His contribution went far beyond musical instruction. At a time when bands were treated largely as extensions of cadet culture or ceremonial display, he argued for quality instruments, serious repertoire, and principled teaching. He challenged the belief that excellence depended on elite schools or academically strong students, demonstrating instead that discipline, motivation, and method were decisive. Through his work at schools such as Victoria School and Commonwealth Secondary School, he showed that meaningful results could be achieved wherever commitment and leadership were present.

As the system grew, Nasir also became a reformer. He played a role in reshaping assessment structures so that growth and effort could be recognised, not only top rankings. In junior colleges, he refined a teaching philosophy centred on concepts rather than rote imitation, using bands as training grounds for leadership, responsibility, and maturity. Many of his students would go on to become musicians, educators, administrators, and national leaders, some far beyond the field of music.

Later, within the Ministry of Education, he helped professionalise band instruction at a national level, overseeing instructors, standards, and instrument procurement, and laying down systems that would support hundreds of school bands. Yet when his work was done, he chose not to remain visible. He retired early, gave away his instruments and scores, and stepped quietly aside.

This story is not a celebration of achievement for its own sake. It is a record of intent, of how one educator understood education as formation rather than performance, and music as a vehicle for shaping people rather than producing applause.

In telling this story, we gain insight not only into the development of school bands in Singapore, but into a broader philosophy of teaching, leadership, and knowing when to let go.

Early School Bands and Political Context

The development of school bands in Singapore is closely linked to the country’s political history. Before Singapore became part of Malaysia, there were no formal school bands as we understand them today. During the British colonial period, what existed were cadet bands rather than proper school bands. These were not brass bands, but mainly bugle and fife groups used for cadet calls and ceremonial purposes. At the time, this was what people commonly referred to as a “school band.”

Other music groups also existed outside school organisations. For example, the Singapore Police Force Band, the First Singapore Infantry Regiment Band, and the People’s Association Band. Youth organisations such as the Boys’ Brigade maintained Corps of Drums and bugle bands. Schools like Anglo Chinese School and St Joseph’s Institution had cadet bands because they operated school-based cadet units. These early cadet movements were initiated by individual schools, unlike today’s National Cadet Corps (NCC) Band, which is organised at a national level.

The NCC evolved from these early cadet corps, which were known then as the Raffles Cadet Corps, Victoria Cadet Corps, and similar units. At that time, co-curricular activities were not compulsory, and participation varied widely from school to school.

The real formation and expansion of school bands only began around the time of Singapore’s independence. While Singapore was still part of Malaysia, there was little to no development in this area. Bands that already existed simply continued, but few, if any, new school bands were established during that period.

Family Background and Self-Taught Musicianship

Moving away from the school system, my own musical journey was strongly influenced by my family background. My father was a musician, though he was self-taught rather than formally trained. He played mainly for entertainment, performing in nightclubs and occasionally doing recording work. I inherited both my interest in music and my musical instincts from him.

He gave me a violin, but he never formally taught me how to play. Instead, I learned by observing him. Later, I also taught myself to play the trumpet. By the time I became a teacher, I was already deeply engaged in self-directed musical study. I studied music theory, most likely through ABRSM, although I cannot recall the exact details, and passed the theory examinations. Much of my learning came from independent practice and exploration of the instrument.

As I was also teaching science, I became particularly interested in the physical principles behind brass instruments. For example, if a brass instrument (such as a trumpet) were stretched out straight, it could measure approximately eight feet in length. Instruments such as the bugle can only produce harmonics. However, with the addition of extra tubing and valves, players can alter the length of the air column, thereby changing the pitch.

By understanding how the instrument functioned acoustically and physically, I was able to grasp the underlying concepts and master the trumpet relatively quickly. Through self-study, extensive research, and consistent practice, I eventually sat for and passed the practical examinations. At the time, music was pursued purely for personal interest and enjoyment.

Student Cadet Experience and Technical Education

During my school years, I was a member of the Cadet Corps, and in hindsight, that experience was crucial in shaping who I became. I was fortunate to be selected, as my cohort was the first intake chosen after the Primary School Leaving Examination. The school was experimenting with new approaches, and I was considered among the stronger students academically. Being placed in the Cadet Corps as my extracurricular activity turned out to be a defining moment in my life.

The discipline, structure, and leadership training I received left a deep impression on me. When I later joined Monk’s Hill Secondary School as a teacher, I carried those experiences with me. The principal at the time was Colonel Karim Bagoo, who was part of the Singapore Volunteer Corps. This was before the formation of the People’s Defence Force. Under British rule, it was still known as the Singapore Volunteer Corps.

Because the school already had a Cadet Corps and the principal himself was a colonel, I was asked to take on the role of Cadet Master. This aligned naturally with my own background and beliefs about character development through uniformed groups.

Monk’s Hill Secondary School and the MOE Music Section

The original Monk’s Hill Secondary School building no longer exists as a school. Today, the site is used for other purposes, including what is now known as the Malayan Council at Winstedt Road. In those early years, secondary schools were few, and facilities were often shared. Even Raffles Institution conducted classes there at one point.

At Monk’s Hill, just before the main school block, there was a small building that was intended to be a music studio. Although the school itself did not yet have a formal music programme, the space housed the Ministry of Education’s Music Section. It was modest, equipped with a piano and basic soundproofing, but it was significant.

The head of the Music Section then was Paul Selvaraj Abisheganaden, elder brother of guitarist Alexander S. Abisheganaden. Assisting him was Benjamin Khoo, and a young David Lim Kim San was also part of the team. David Lim travelled between schools as a singing instructor, teaching students basic vocal skills and helping them learn songs such as the National Anthem. So, within my school, there existed this small but influential unit from the Ministry’s Music Section.

Independence, Education Policy, and the Rise of ECA 

During the period of self-government, Singapore had autonomy over education and finance, though it was still part of Malaysia. After separation and full independence in 1965, education took on even greater importance. By then, I was already teaching at Monk’s Hill Secondary School.

When Singapore became independent, word spread within the Ministry of Education that I could play the trumpet and read music. I was invited to join the Music Section. However, I declined. My principal wanted me to remain in school, as I was deeply involved in both teaching and the Cadet Corps. At that time, promotions and salary increments were significant considerations. Because of my contributions, I advanced more quickly than usual.

Leaving the school would have meant losing seniority and benefits, so I chose to stay.

Education was seen as central to nation building. The new government believed that schools were responsible not only for academic instruction, but also for developing leadership and character. Once Singapore had full control over education, it became clear that extracurricular activities should no longer be optional. The idea was simple: every school should have some form of ECA, even if resources were limited. Schools were encouraged to do whatever they could manage.

The Political Architects Behind the Band Movement

Many people credit Lee Kuan Yew alone with starting the school band movement in 1965. While he was undoubtedly a powerful leader and the most visible figure, the reality is that the movement was shaped by a group of five individuals.

Alongside Lee Kuan Yew were S. Rajaratnam, an intellectual force in journalism and diplomacy, Toh Chin Chye, and Osman Wok. However, in my view, the most critical figure was Dr Goh Keng Swee. Without him, much of what was achieved would not have been possible. He was the strategist, the man with the long-term vision. As Minister for Education, Defence, Finance, and later Deputy Prime Minister, he understood systems, structure, and planning.

I came to know these leaders not through newspapers, but through direct work. When the first generation of Members of Parliament underwent basic military training at Beach Road, I was an instructor. I had already been commissioned as an officer, recommended by my principal. Through this work, I learned directly from people like Osman Wok and Fong Sip Chee, a colourful and outspoken figure who shared many accounts that never entered the public record.

From all this, I am convinced that Dr Goh Keng Swee was the true architect. He believed firmly that schools must have bands, not primarily for performance, but for character development. Music was important, yes, but more important was discipline, teamwork, and leadership developed through ECAs. That philosophy guided my own assignments in both uniformed groups and music, even if I never openly articulated it at the time.

1965 and the First Five School Bands

After independence in 1965, the Ministry of Education moved quickly to establish a band programme. I was told directly, “Nasir, you start a band. You will be the first.”

The original idea was to form British style brass bands, brass instruments and drums only, no woodwinds. Because there were no trained percussion instructors, I had to teach myself percussion, staying just a few lessons ahead of my students. Support from the ANZUK forces, Australia, New Zealand, and the United Kingdom, was available, but limited. Their musicians were performers, not teachers. I allowed them to assist with marching, but I took full responsibility for music instruction.

At the outset, there were five government school bands: Monk’s Hill Secondary School, Victoria School, Raffles Institution, Gan Eng Seng School, and a combined band from Beatty and Bartley schools. Although Raffles had a Bugle and Fife Corps, this was different. The proper school brass band programme began only in 1965.

All five bands were tasked with preparing for the 1966 Independence Day Parade. In the end, only one succeeded, Monk’s Hill. We marched at the Padang wearing simple white school uniforms, as proper band uniforms had not yet arrived. In 1967, we finally received uniforms and became the first fully equipped school band to perform publicly.

Despite rain, long routes, and limited repertoire, my students played from memory. I relied on short marches and simple drum features, repeating them when necessary. It was not ideal, but it worked. We had about 38 students in that first group. What mattered was that they were taught properly from the beginning.

Transfer to the Music Section and the Birth of the Teachers’ Band

In 1969, when the ECA scheme was formally established, I was transferred from Monk’s Hill to the Ministry’s Music Section. Initially, I resisted, but the Ministry adjusted my grade and scale to reflect my qualifications and experience. I was assigned to both the Music Section and the Uniformed Groups Section, effectively doing two jobs at once.

At the same time, the Cadet Corps was being reorganised into the National Cadet Corps. I helped expand training and worked closely with teachers, many of whom later became school principals. The leadership training was effective because it was practical and grounded in responsibility.

As part of this expansion, the Teachers’ Band was formed in 1969. Teachers from across schools were trained as music instructors, even if they had little prior experience. This band became a training ground, and many of those teachers later went on to start bands in their own schools.

Eventually, I shifted my focus fully to music. By the early 1990s, shortly before my retirement, I became the conductor of the Teachers’ Band myself.

Founding the National Cadet Corps Band

By 1970, the number of cadet units had grown significantly, and National Day parades had become larger. It was then suggested by Mr Lee Kuan Yew himself that a National Cadet Corps Band be formed to lead the National Cadet Corps contingents in the parade. I was told there was only one person who could do it. So, no escape for me.

In early 1970, instruments arrived quickly. Cadets were selected from schools around Farrer Park and trained intensively. I focused on fast, effective instruction, teaching students to read music and play confidently within months. Interest mattered more than prior experience.

The result was a full military band, including both boys and girls, capable of performing at national parades. I marched alongside them in full uniform, overseeing the band while my assistant, LTA Hj Yussof Hj Ali, handled the drums from behind. We marched past City Hall and took the salute from then President Yussof Ishak. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.

This band was not small, nor symbolic. It was a real, functioning military band, and it proved that music, discipline, and nation building could grow together.

Victoria School and the Shift from Military to Concert Band

In 1976, I was invited to Victoria School to develop its band. The request came from both a teacher and the principal, who had heard about my work with the National Cadet Corps Band. I made it clear from the start that I could only serve as an instructor. I would come in, do the work properly, and return to my office. I could not be everywhere at once.

I treated Victoria as an experiment. Whenever I take on a project, I set clear goals. One of the first things I realised was that the band could never improve without proper instruments. Poor quality, out of tune instruments would always limit sound, no matter how hard the students worked. So, I began rejecting inferior instruments and demanding better ones.

This required funding. At the time, asking for over a thousand dollars was considered excessive. I told the school plainly: if they wanted results, I needed proper tools. Otherwise, I would not waste my time.

The principal, the late Mr Looi Sek Cheong, was initially hesitant, but Victoria had resources, and donations were possible. Eventually, the school supported me. The old instruments were condemned, and a new set was purchased. That was when real progress began.

Victoria was required to compete in both marching and indoor categories at the Singapore Youth Festival (SYF). This created a problem. As a full secondary school, the band consisted of boys of very different ages and physical sizes. From an army perspective, I knew immediately that this would never look neat as a marching unit. No matter how disciplined they were, the visual effect would always be uneven. Meanwhile, girls’ schools, with uniform height and proportions, naturally looked better.

Victoria was never placed in the top three for marching. Eventually, I stopped fighting a losing battle. I withdrew from outdoor competition and focused fully on indoor performance. That decision marked a turning point. We renamed the ensemble the Victoria Concert Band, signalling a fundamental change in identity and direction.

At that time, school bands were not playing true concert band literature. Many performed pop songs, folk tunes, or novelty arrangements. I wanted something different. Victoria became my testing ground for proper symphonic band music.

The first serious work I introduced was Heritage Overture by Jim Claudill. It was not technically difficult, but it had contrast, structure, and musical depth. I emphasised expression and musical intent. The students responded wholeheartedly, and that was when the band’s sound began to change.

Finding quality repertoire was difficult in those days. There was no internet. I wrote letters, made overseas contacts, and worked with instrument suppliers such as Amadeus Music Association to order better quality musical instruments and band scores.

Commonwealth Secondary School: Proving a Point

As Victoria’s success became visible, criticism followed. Some people said, “Of course you succeed, you’re in a good school.” I found this deeply unfair. Success, I believed, came from teaching, not prestige. So, I decided to prove it.

In 1977, I volunteered to take on Commonwealth Secondary School. At the time, it was housed in an old primary school building with no hall and minimal facilities. Many students were over aged; some having failed the PSLE multiple times. It was considered a “weak” school.

My supervisor then, Charles Lazaroo, supported the decision. I wanted to demonstrate that discipline, motivation, and respect mattered more than academic background.

The work was difficult. The students were rougher, less disciplined, and initially suspicious. I focused first on earning their respect. Fear might come early, but respect had to follow. Once they trusted me, they were willing to work.

The following year, something unexpected happened. Commonwealth placed among the top three at SYF, alongside my other band, Victoria. That result silenced many critics.

But what stayed with me was not the award. It was the pain I saw in students from other schools, bands that worked hard but received no recognition because only the top three were acknowledged. Some students cried on stage. That broke my heart.

I proposed a reform: separate divisions so that developing bands could be judged fairly alongside stronger ones. This led to the creation of A and B divisions, later expanded to include junior colleges as a separate category. Eventually, the Gold, Silver, and Bronze system was introduced so that effort, growth, and progress could be recognised more meaningfully.

These changes did not come from theory. They came from seeing students struggle and believing that education must be humane.

Junior Colleges and the Philosophy of Leadership Through Music

In 1986, I founded the band at Victoria Junior College. By then, my teaching philosophy was fully formed. I welcomed students with no musical background. Interest mattered more than experience.

I taught concepts, not blind imitation. Students were given responsibility for their own learning. They practised independently and returned to rehearsal prepared to apply what they had learned. Leadership was built through accountability.

I later worked with Temasek Junior College, Tampines Junior College, and Raffles Junior College. In each case, I began by working with school leadership, then student leaders. Once direction and ownership were established, improvement followed quickly.

At Raffles Junior College, I deliberately avoided competition at first. Instead, we focused on concert performance through a series called A Tempo. Competition can distort priorities, especially in high achieving environments. Music, I believed, should develop character and depth.

It was during this period that students such as Leonard Tan and Eric Wong emerged. Eric is now a conductor, film director, film scorer, and producer. Leonard, now a professor, was encouraged to compose and conduct while still a student. I gave him structure, then stepped back. That was how leaders grew, by doing, not watching.

These moments defined success for me. Not trophies, but lives shaped.

Administration, Inspection, and the End of a Chapter

In the later years of my career, I worked in the Ministry of Education’s Music Section as a supervisor and band inspector. I oversaw instructors, observed rehearsals, guided teaching methods, and managed national instrument inventories.

I personally evaluated instruments, negotiated with suppliers, standardised procurement, and computerised the entire system, long before such processes were common. Together with my deputy, the late Harold De Rosario, we oversaw all school bands across primary, secondary, and junior college levels.

The workload was immense. By 1999, I was exhausted.

I chose to retire early at 58. Financially, I lost little. What I wanted was peace. Shortly after, Harold also retired early. With our departure, much of the structure we had built slowly dissolved as instructors returned to schools and the ECA branch transitioned into CCA structures within schools.

Co Curriculum, Not Extra Curriculum

I had always disliked the term extracurricular. It suggested something optional, something peripheral.

Education is more than academics. Band, scouts, cadets, these are different ships sailing toward the same destination: leadership, maturity, and character.

I have taught future generals, police commissioners, principals, and professionals. Many tell me today, “Sir, you taught us more than music.” That was always the intention.

Letting Go

After retirement, I helped only one more school briefly, as a favour. Then I let go.

I gave away my instruments, scores, and arrangements, donated them to schools and instructors. I dismantled my studio. I moved on.

Throughout my life, I learned what I needed to learn, reached the level I wanted, and then stepped away. That has always been my way. I did not chase titles or wealth. I chased understanding.

My legacy is not in institutions or systems. It lives in the people who carried the movement forward.

And that, to me, is enough.

Closing Reflections

When I look back now, I do not think first of the bands, the competitions, or the results. I think of the people.

I never believed that my job was only to teach music. Music was the medium, not the destination. What mattered was what students became through the process, how they learned to think, to take responsibility, to endure difficulty, and to lead others. Whether they stayed in music or left it behind was never the most important thing.

Throughout my life, I set myself challenges. If people said something could not be done, I wanted to understand why, and then try to do it anyway. That was how I worked in so called good schools, and how I worked in weak ones. The principle was always the same. Students will rise if they are taught with clarity, respect, and purpose.

I never chased recognition. I worked, and if the work was good, recognition came on its own. When it was time to stop, I stopped. I retired early not because I had nothing more to give, but because I knew I had already given what I set out to give. To stay longer would have been for myself, not for the system.

Letting go was not difficult. I gave away my instruments, my scores, my materials. Objects are only tools. Once their purpose is fulfilled, they can move on to someone else. What remains cannot be given away so easily, the habits, the discipline, the confidence planted in others. Those continue without me.

Today, when former students greet me, some speak about music, others about life. Many remind me of things I said that I no longer remember saying. That tells me that the teaching reached further than I realised at the time.

That is enough.

Every generation must build its own work. Mine is done.

I live quietly now, at peace, knowing that whatever was worth carrying forward has already been carried, not by institutions or systems, but by people.