The Project Manager
There’s a stubborn myth that refuses to leave the building: a project manager must know everything. Truly everything. Every technical detail, every piece of specialist jargon—and ideally the entire history of the industry, too. A walking encyclopaedia, sector oracle, and certified superbrain rolled into one. Naturally, they also make coffee, rattle off three programming languages, and juggle the business case across five Excel sheets—one-handed, during the status meeting.
A lovely fantasy. And about as useful as insisting that the maestro tune every violin before rehearsal.
The conductor doesn’t play every instrument
Anyone who expects the project manager to be the universal expert is essentially demanding that the conductor master every violin, every trumpet, and the bassoon—otherwise, how could they lead the orchestra?
Spot the nonsense?
A conductor reads the score. They hear when something slips out of tempo. They notice when the brass enters too early or the strings are drifting into their own private interpretation. But they do not leap off the podium mid-performance to play the trumpet solo just because the principal trumpeter has a cold.
Projects work the same way: leadership is not an audition for “Most Helpful Specialist.” It’s the craft of coordination—keeping the ensemble aligned, the cues clear, and the overall interpretation intact.
Wagner: genius, with a side of control mania
If you want a shining example of the opposite approach, look no further than Richard Wagner. Composer, poet, conductor, stage designer, director—and, when needed, financial controller. A genius, unquestionably.
But his appetite for control at the Bayreuth Festival became legendary: he wanted to dictate every detail, from lighting technology to the final brushstroke. The result reads like a case study every PMO should keep under glass: exploding costs, chaotic timelines, and musicians hovering at the edge of collective nervous collapse.
That is what projects look like when the manager tries to do everything personally—and, in the process, loses sight of the whole. A project can be brilliantly “managed” into the ground.
Mozart: a conductor with an instinct for collaboration
Mozart, by contrast, understood something fundamental: the magic happens in the interplay. His operas thrive on the precise alignment of music, text, and staging—and he worked masterfully with librettists, musicians, and theatre practitioners.
Had he micromanaged every costume seam or every lighting cue in The Magic Flute, the opera might never have reached opening night. Instead, he focused on his strength—music—and trusted others with the rest.
Which is, in project terms, the difference between a confident leader and a nervous bottleneck in a nice suit.
Expertise? Yes. Specialist tunnel vision? No.
Of course a project manager needs domain knowledge. They should understand the vocabulary, the processes, the constraints—absolutely. But the moment someone believes they know better than their experts across the board, they are on a fast track to becoming Wagner in full control frenzy.
And then the real question arrives—quietly, but mercilessly:
Who keeps the tempo? Who ensures the orchestra stays in harmony? Who protects the narrative thread of the story when every section is convinced it has the most important melody?
Conclusion: Conduct Instead of Playing Everything Yourself
A project manager doesn’t have to know everything. They have to know whom to ask, whom to appoint, and how to make the whole ensemble sound like one performance rather than twenty competing solos.
They hold the production together, ensure clear communication, and bring the work safely to the stage.
Anyone who believes they can play every instrument themselves isn’t “dedicated.” They’re auditioning for a breakdown. The rest of us prefer professionals— and we let the conductor conduct.
And if we’re honest: Wagner’s music is divine. But his project plans often sounded like an orchestra without a conductor.