Faces in the Orchestra: Martha Uhey

Martha Uhey (flute and piccolo) joined the orchestra in 1971, the same year that Clif Swanson became conductor. She had just graduated from UCLA with a degree in Music Composition. Her parents had moved to Los Osos from Los Angeles to open a piano store (Martha’s father was a piano tuner). He set up an appointment for Martha to meet Clif. At the time, Clif was starting the Mozart Festival, and he mentioned that there was a Symphony, but he wasn’t involved with it yet. Shortly thereafter, Clif called to tell Martha that he’d been asked to conduct the Symphony, and he invited her to be principal flutist. “And that was that!” as Martha says.

Life Before the PAC:
Muddy Pools and Close Calls

Martha faced some challenging situations in the days before the Performing Arts Center opened:
“Cuesta Auditorium in the rain: this was always treacherous, especially for the women of the orchestra! Once one made it across the muddy parking lot, this did not mean that one was “home free” so to speak, because there was the dreaded jump to the hall yet to complete! You see, there was a short stairway down into the backstage area, and at the bottom of the stairway was a landing that turned into a muddy pool during the rainy season. BUT . . . that was not all – there was no door handle on the outside of the very heavy double doors leading into the backstage, but rather a rope that one would hope happened to be caught between the doors. All one had to do was balance their instrument, music, gig bag, and (in the case of a female musician) gather up her skirt while in high heels, grab the rope which was 3 feet away across the muddy pool, and hope for the best. I am proud to say that I never fell into the pool, but I can honestly admit that I was thirty-five years younger then. I’m glad I’m no longer put to that test!”

Martha has had a couple of other close calls over the years.

One time, Helmuth Rilling was guest conducting, and due to a misunderstanding about the program order, as Martha remembers:

“Alice McGonigal and I thought we weren’t playing until the second half of this concert, so we were in the balcony of the church down in Pismo. There were many late patrons, so we decided to help the ushers seat people. The lights came down, the audience hushed, and Mike walked on stage and introduced Helmuth. And then he said, ‘And by the way, if there are two flute players in the audience, we could use them onstage.’ At that point, Alice and I started waving to the orchestra and assembled choirs on stage. I still remember the look on Gary Lamprecht’s face (he was singing that night). All of a sudden Alice and I got it – we were the flute players who were supposed to be onstage! You’ve never seen two grown women in floor-length tight skirts and high heels run so fast! We got to the back of the church panting, collapsing on the floor at Mike and Helmuth’s feet, apologizing profusely as we jammed our flutes together in the back hallway of the church, and then walking ‘calmly’ on stage to the clapping and laughing of the audience. What a way to start an all-Bach sacred choral music program!”

Martha also made it in under the gun for the Carnegie Hall concert, but fortunately she did so in time:

“I was warming my piccolo up backstage and had really waited too long to get onstage, so I was in a hurry! I remember coming through the backstage area as fast as I could without running and seeing Mike just off stage – and then I saw it: I stopped short and looked up . . . and up . . . and up – there were people all the way up to the top of the Hall – ‘We have an audience!’ I marveled. I was so excited just to be playing in Carnegie – that we had a huge, appreciative audience made the whole evening layer upon layer of magic. There was so much flash photography going on at the beginning of the concert that the ushers gave up trying to stop it (it’s usually strictly forbidden). It seems that our spunky Symphony from California playing the wonderful music of Craig Russell was a breath of fresh air.”

What to Wear for POPS: “A Hat or Something?”

Martha and the other flutists are well known for the inventive headgear they sport for the “Stars and Stripes Forever” piccolo soli at POPS concerts. Martha was relieved when the POPS concert found its home in Avila Beach:

“No more private ranches (as beautiful as those could be, my teeth were chattering at the last one when I was attempting to play). NO MORE Budweiser Stage at the Fair Grounds - that just didn't seem the right place for a symphony orchestra, and the stage was too small.”

Here’s how the colorful hats came to be a tradition:

“For a few years at the Fair Grounds the piccolos would stand up at the appropriate place in ‘Stars and Stripes,’ and Tony the Tuba [Tony Clements] would start playing our solo. We'd shake our fingers indignantly at him and sit down. That was the sum total of our shtick. One year Bonnie [Richan] called me and asked if we couldn't do something different - a hat or something? And that was the beginning of the POPS thematic piccolo garb. I was going to stop doing it after a few years, but people have told me that they look forward to seeing what we're going to do next. What started out as Uncle Sam hats has burgeoned into the Statue of Liberty, red-white-and-blue Carmen Mirandas, Hollywood starlets, 1-2-3's (with 5 foot headdresses), and hula girls. Two of us in the flute section have our storage sheds full of costumes. To me, the high point of this wonderful concert is the baton auction [the highest bidder gets to conduct ‘Stars and Stripes Forever’]. The story of why the baton has been purchased is always a moving one, and to be a part of it is very meaningful!”

A Poignant Memory

“When Dave Stade died, his empty chair was onstage for the concert and when Mike walked onstage, he put a bouquet of flowers on Dave’s chair. Dave was in the orchestra when I started – the orchestra meant everything to him and he was such an important part of it for years. Mike’s gesture was so poignant.”

Martha’s Thoughts on the Symphony: Past, Present, and Future

“I am still continually amazed at our orchestra. I remember the days when we couldn’t even play through a movement of a piece and when we had to wait until the weekend of the concert for the ‘ringers’ from out of town to fill the woodwind, brass, and string sections. There were pieces that Clif wouldn’t even attempt because we just weren’t able to play them. Now we can sight-read them with ease.

This orchestra is successful because of four incredible parts: talented dedicated musicians, a talented dedicated conductor, a talented dedicated staff, and a talented dedicated board. If any one of those parts were missing, our orchestra wouldn’t be the very special organization that it is. This has been true for years, and this is why we are where we are today.

With the talented leadership and community following that we have, there is no reason that this symphony shouldn’t thrive into the future. Our education programs are an important focus of our organization as are our No Ties Allowed dress rehearsals. When I am on stage I always feel that the audience cares so much about us – the feeling is mutual! That is something that I treasure – our relationship with our audience.”

Faces in the Orchestra

When I interviewed Michael Nowak for Moebius over a year ago (the interview that’s been serialized for “Classics in the Cohan” programs this season), we had a brief conversation about moving around, living in one place versus several, etc. I remarked that even after six years, I still felt “new to the area.” Mike replied, “yeah, six years; you’re still new.”

I’ve led a fairly peripatetic life (nine locations), but in thinking about it, I saw that I haven’t always been so keen to move around. For example, in Seattle, I lived in the same apartment for eight years. (I loved that place!) I realized that perhaps I’ve been following Holly Golightly’s advice: when you find a place where you and things go together, buy some furniture and give the cat a name.

Many members of the SLO Symphony must have come to this same realization at some point in the past. So, on the suggestion of Quin Hauss, and as a corollary to Mike’s twenty-fifth anniversary, the blog will feature a series of profiles honoring Symphony members who’ve played with the orchestra for twenty-five years or more. First up: Barbara Blanke and Pat Lamprecht.

Barbara Blanke
Barbara’s primary instrument is violin, though she also plays guitar and piano, mostly for children. She joined the Symphony in 1982 after a neighbor brought over the Tribune to show her a two-line advertisement with audition information.

Barbara recalls those days:

“I had lived in SLO for one and 1/2 years and did not know there was a symphony. I had played in the Bay Area for the San Jose Light Opera and various community groups and really missed not having a musical home in SLO.”

Barbara has “so many!” fond memories of her time with the orchestra, and here are just a few: “Michael's audition was so memorable! Since I was a music major and loved conducting, his style and energy was awesome.” She enjoyed being on the Symphony Board for three years as the orchestra representative, and she also loved “assisting with the start up and initial research for Everyday Etudes,” describing the experience as “so much fun to be a part of.” Barbara holds out “hope that there will be classical music lovers in our future.”

Here’s the Everyday Etudes video, in which Barbara is featured:



Barbara describes the Carnegie Hall and Australia tours as “incredible.” On Carnegie Hall: “We played and then embarked on a midnight cruise around the New York skyline. As we circled the Statue of Liberty about thirty of us out on the ‘cold’ bow of the boat simultaneously broke into song, ‘God Bless America.’ This still gives me chills thinking about that night!” On Sydney: “I loved going to the zoo with Mike, Suzette and Julia and other orchestra friends in Australia. Any time to have real-life time with my musician friends on a different level is what life is all about!”

Barbara is optimistic about the future of the Symphony: “We are so lucky to have Sandi and the incredible, incredible staff at the Symphony office. They are what keeps the heart beating and they do it with such a flair!”

She also has some advice on how to keep music alive in our community: “If all musicians commit to give time and/or money and believe in the music that we all love, the symphony will thrive. Build relationships and give anything you can and classical music will be an important part of San Luis Obispo forever!”

The picture posted above is of Barbara and her husband Dan on the day of her doctoral defense.

Pat Lamprecht
Pat is a longtime member of the viola section, and she also performs in the alto section of the Vocal Arts Ensemble, directed by her husband Gary.

Pat recalls her early days with the Symphony:

“I joined the symphony viola section in 1972 as a newlywed. Clif Swanson was the director at that time and we performed at the old Cuesta Auditorium. The members of the orchestra were very kind to both Gary and me and made us feel very welcome to this community after we had left the Los Angeles area. I have played with the orchestra most of the years since then, only taking time off to have babies, for the most part.”

Ed Lowman was the orchestra manager during this time, and he called Pat to play viola only after she’d had time to recover from having her twins, Amber and Carey, and later, son Darby.

Pat recalls some fun times commuting: “Ed Harris (who still plays bass in the symphony) and I would carpool to rehearsal from Cayucos in his huge Buick -- top down, lots of chrome and gigantic fins -- what a ride!”

Pat sums up her experience with the SLO Symphony: “It has been great pleasure for me to have had both of my daughters (violin and oboe) and husband (rookie percussion) play in the orchestra with me at various times over the years. I know that our symphony will continue to grow and flourish, even in uncertain economic times. I am thankful for the gift of music I receive each time I am allowed to be a part of our symphony. There is no better seat in the hall than where the violas sit.”

And there’s no better seat onstage than the one next to Pat Lamprecht.

Stay tuned for more profiles.
Best, DH

"D" is for Down Time

--Which member of the SLO Symphony is vying with Rush Limbaugh and Michael Steele to be the new "voice of the Republican party"? 

--Who once showed up to rehearsal high on Robitussin and POM, ranting “they should call this group the San Luis Obispo Philharmonic. Get it? S.L.O.P.!”

--Which member of the brass section fathered one of Angelina’s Jolie’s children? 

Obviously, no one. If only it were different, I could channel Liz Smith and have something to write about. But as it is, I’ve got this “D is for Downtime” theme and I’m stuck. It’s just not working, but I couldn’t think of a better D topic. 

“D is for Dvorak?” – too narrow. “D is for David Hennessee?” – too navel-gazing. “D is for Drug Use?” – umm... no. 

Downtime is just not that interesting. In fact, it’s what we do when we’re not being interesting, i.e. playing music. “D is for Downtime” is by definition, dull. And the good parts, I can’t really write about. :) So what am I to do? I know, I’ll throw in a humorous video: “Pachelbel Rant” (cellists take note)



I just realized: the Symphony Ball was this past weekend! I should have sold some shoes or internal organs so I could afford to go (not that tickets were too pricey – it’s a benefit, after all. I’m just saving all my money these days). Maybe I could have come away with some material. Then again, whenever I attend events like this, I end up talking to the wait staff and bartenders all night. They tell great stories, but most are NSFW. 

Still, what a great honor for Pam Dassenko -- “D is for Dassenko!” I’m constantly impressed by her violin playing – elegant, sensitive, fearless – but before now I wasn’t aware that she’s also been a force for music education in the community. Congratulations, Pam!

Anyway, back to Downtime. I’ll soldier on here and do what I can. Be advised that this is not the best writing I’ve ever done (that includes checks and bathroom walls). So part of Downtime is:

Breaks
In unionized orchestras, break times are strictly mandated. The SLO Symphony isn’t unionized, but we have regular breaks. Rehearsals start at 7:30; we play till 8:15-8:45, then take a 15-20 minute break. The obvious reason: using the restroom. You can’t play when you have to pee. Breaks also mean snacks. Nuts, fruits, veggies, cookies, cheese and crackers… meat on rare occasions… there’s tea and coffee, with caffeine or without. Not all groups provide snacks – we’re lucky.

Now, I have no sweet tooth at all, so when I see a table that’s all cookies, I’m bummed. But if it’s cheese, nuts, carrots, or grapes... score! Free food is a working musician’s best friend. I once played for a wedding where the coordinator had to pry me away from the crab cakes by saying, “Umm… they’re ready to get married now.”

You do have to be careful what you eat on break. Wind players can’t eat much (or at all) because food particles could crud up their instruments, unless they brush their teeth before resuming. There are perils for string players as well. Last fall, the Pacific Repertory Opera’s Friday performance fell on Halloween, so the pit orchestra passed around a bag of candy. No big deal, right? Read on…

With opera you have to pace yourself. It can be a long haul. As Ina Davenport joked about a performance a few years ago: “It started at 8 o’clock. Then it’s 9 o’clock, 10 o’clock, 11 o’clock – around 11:30, I wondered if they’d gone back to the beginning and started over!”

So, during this Halloween performance of The Marriage of Figaro, around 9:45pm the bag of candy came my way. The wind players abstained (see above). As I mentioned, I don’t like sweets, and never eat candy, especially not before I’m usually getting ready for bed. But it was Halloween -- so I had a Snickers during a recitative. Big mistake. Not only did it make my hands sticky, but about 45 minutes later I had a sugar crash. For about 8 measures Mozart sounded like Charles Ives. Fortunately, Mary James was there to get me back on track. She does know the entire opera repertoire from memory. :)

Socializing
Usually socializing during breaks is light-hearted, but at times there’s something serious to discuss. Many of us are music teachers, so there might be student-related issues. Or we might need to coordinate an upcoming gig. Or there might be a question about the music that we need to resolve. Sometimes the winds rehearse their parts. What a great a work ethic! 

I’ve written before about the Myers-Briggs/Jung Typology, which provides a framework for understanding Introversion and Extroversion. Introverts gain strength from time alone with their thoughts. Performing spends that energy. Extroverts, by contrast, are energized by external stimuli and seek more.

So, Extroverts come into a break jazzed up, ready to socialize, while Introverts look to a break as exactly that -- a break – a chance to be alone, or talk to a few people, or just walk around and look at things.

Getting Ready
Another issue for downtime – what to do before performances. Musicians have different ways of preparing. Some practice like crazy. Some joke around. Others get really Zen.

I’ll never forget the sight of Kathie Lenski in a yoga position before we did a chamber music concert a few years ago. She looked so peaceful and centered. And then she played the Brahms Trio like it was nothing.

Afterwards
So you play the concert, it all goes well (hopefully). Then what do you do? You’re mentally fired up but physically drained. You’ve got a bunch of tunes swirling around your head. Plus, you’re beating yourself up for any mistakes made, or patting yourself on the back for parts that went well, or wondering how the concert will be reviewed. How to unwind?

When I was in my 20s, it was time to hit the town. After a couple of Long Island Teas and some dancing, cares just melt away.

These days, it’s more like hit the hay -- after some SNL. I can usually stay awake through Weekend Update.

It’s odd, but on Sundays after a Saturday concert, there’s a part of me that’s resting on laurels, glad it’s over, but there’s another part that wants to do it all again. And then I see the folder of music for the next concert.

Best, DH

PS. Why did the violist fall asleep in the middle of the concert?
The viola part indicated 16 bars of rest.

"C" is for Critics

For the promised entry on conductors, I’d like to gather anecdotes from the rest of the orchestra. I’m sure we all have lots of stories– inspirational, humorous, or horror – about conductors. So “C is for Conductors” is forthcoming.

But first, here’s something to brighten your day.
C is for Clark, Petula:

Now on to more serious matters...

Anyone working in the arts has encountered...

"The Dreaded Critic."

Criticism can make or break, or it can be dead wrong. Capote’s In Cold Blood became a cultural phenomenon largely because of universal praise in the media. Keats’ early poems were panned; he was crushed, and then he died, yet his stature has grown ever since. All those critics who ran screaming from the first performance of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring couldn’t know that his music would one day accompany animated images of dinosaurs in Fantasia.

Musicians are no strangers to criticism. It starts from day one: no, hold the bow like this… position your arm like that… breathe here, not there… play louder… softer… faster… slower… it’s a treadmill of criticism.

I got on this treadmill early, like a lot of us. Beginning at age 11, I started going to solo and ensemble competitions. I’d play my piece for a judge, then they’d give a rating and a written evaluation of the performance. Over the years I got lots of helpful criticism: “work on speeding up your vibrato,” “your bow technique is weaker than your left hand,” “practice scales and arpeggios,” and “give the piece room to breathe” (at 14, I had no idea what that meant. I’m still not sure I do. But 20-something years later, I still work on vibrato, bow technique, scales and arpeggios). 

As a young violist, I didn’t know that I’d grow up to be a teacher/critic myself (at 14, I wanted to be the next William F. Buckley, Jr. -- this was during my Reagan phase). Teaching in any field involves criticism. It’s your job to praise students when they do something well, but also point out what could be improved. “Constructive criticism” is the goal. Destructive criticism comes more naturally. It’s like the dark side of the Force… easier, instant, more seductive. How many times am I tempted to write on a student essay “Your ideas are simplistic and superficial” but check that impulse and write “this is a good start. Think about how you can complicate the analysis by considering…” When criticizing, I always ask myself, “what would Yoda do?”

Harsh criticism sometimes works, though. A teacher once said to me: “You’re a viola-playing machine.” Ouch. He meant that I was all technique. I took it personally, but afterwards I did work on musicality. On the other hand, it’s frustrating when a teacher never criticizes. A high school teacher peppered my essays with comments like, “wonderful!” and “wish I’d written it myself!” Where do you go with feedback like that? The David-Hennessee-Is-Perfect Ride at Disneyland?

I think a lot about criticism because, technically, I’m a critic myself: a literary critic. My job involves writing hardly-ever-read analyses of hardly-ever-read literary texts. Come to think of it, grading student essays (which I should be doing right now) is a form of criticism. Hmm. What does it mean to be a critic, anyway?

And what is criticism for? Would my students write good papers if they knew they would all get A's? Would I work so hard at teaching if I knew that student evaluations would all be marked “excellent”? Would Britney Spears ever wear underwear if she weren’t constantly stalked by paparazzi? If a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, can I still save 30% on auto insurance by switching to Geico?

So what exactly is criticism? According to Dictionary.com...

crit⋅i⋅cism /ˈkrɪtəˌsɪzəm/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [krit-uh-siz-uhm] –noun

1.	the act of passing judgment as to the merits of anything.

2.	the act of passing severe judgment; censure; faultfinding.

3.	the act or art of analyzing and evaluating or judging the quality of a literary or artistic work, musical performance, art exhibit, dramatic production, etc.

4.	a critical comment, article, or essay; critique.

5.	any of various methods of studying texts or documents for the purpose of dating or reconstructing them, evaluating their authenticity, analyzing their content or style, etc.: historical criticism; literary criticism.

6.	investigation of the text, origin, etc., of literary documents, esp. Biblical ones: textual criticism.

So criticism can involve description, analysis, or judgment. Academic criticism is mostly descriptive/analytical. For example, when writing an article on Dickens’ Great Expectations, I spent not one moment considering how well the book is written. Instead, I analyzed how Pip’s coming-of-age represented and commented on mid-Victorian British debates about the nature of gentlemanliness. If you have a couple of free hours, I’d be happy to hold forth on this topic. Just give me some advance warning -- I’ll need to get my Pip and Estella sock puppets out of storage and make sure my Miss Havisham dress still fits.

The kind of criticism we encounter in the arts involves analyzing and evaluating quality, but it also includes description and context. I love reading theater reviews in The New Yorker. It’s almost as good as going to the play itself. There’s information on the playwright, some background on the play’s performance history, a plot summary, and then the red meat: evaluation of the sets, costumes, and acting. Carnivores, vegetarians, vegans – it doesn’t matter – this is the protein we need. Should we spend our hard-earned money on this thing? Or will we want those three hours of our lives back? Should I switch to Geico and save 30% on auto insurance so I can I afford to take my niece Chloe to see The Little Mermaid on Broadway this Christmas?

A critical article on a classical music concert is different. It’s basically an autopsy: retrospective, not prospective. It’s not done primarily for the purpose of encouraging or warning off potential patrons. What’s it for, then? Raising the profile of the group? Recreating the event for those who weren’t there? Helping concert attendees relive the experience? Giving them another point of view to put next to theirs? Encouraging musicians always to play their best, knowing their performance will be evaluated? Aspiring to be itself a work of artistic merit (as Oscar Wilde suggests in “The Critic as Artist”), before it ends up catching parakeet droppings or disappearing into the internet ether?

I got some early experience confronting these questions. When I was 16, playing in my hometown’s orchestra, the local paper got a new music critic. She was a good writer, but highly critical of our playing, and not used to the politics of a small town. People in the orchestra – and the community – got quite upset with her critical reviews. After all, we were lucky to have a symphony orchestra in an Oklahoma town of 80,000, and no one came to our shows expecting to hear perfection. So she toned the reviews down. By contrast, a few years later, the critic for the newly formed Oklahoma City Philharmonic didn’t pull any punches. His candor, many of us felt, was appropriate, as the orchestra strove to raise performance standards.

"Criticism isn’t criticism without some element of judgment and evaluation, even if that’s negative. That’s what separates it from advertising."

An issue that recurs with criticism: who are you to judge me? One hears this question all the time on American Idol (I have a lot of ideas on American Idol – be warned, and be afraid... very afraid). In post-audition interviews, rejected contestants who sing like cats with amoebic dysentery always say things like, “what do the judges know? I’d like to see Simon get up there and sing. @###%$!  %%$$##@, ^&%%*!” This is fallacious reasoning (I once knew a drag queen named Fallacious Reasoning... OK, not really). One’s inability to do something doesn’t mean that one can’t judge others doing it. I can’t write or direct films, but I can perceive that Woody Allen is a superior filmmaker to, say, Judd Apatow. Annie Hall vs. The 40-Old-Virgin? Come on.

Recently I came across this article in the Tribune. (click the link below) The orchestra critic for the Cleveland Orchestra lost his job because he was too consistently critical of the Music Director.

"Critics bellow over orchestra reviewer losing beat"

As a writer and writing teacher, I pay a lot of attention to the conventions of various genres. I've noticed that reviews of classical music concerts include description and evaluation of the performance, some context on the composer and their times, a few words on the audience’s response, and perhaps some discussion of past or future concerts.

The SLO Tribune’s classical music critic, Jim Cushing, incorporates these elements in his reviews. He also discusses the visuals (like what the soloist wears) that make a live concert such a radically different experience from listening to a CD on one’s stereo at home. What I particularly appreciate about Jim’s reviews is that he draws on his knowledge of Western history and culture to locate our concerts within ongoing conversations about human nature and artistic expression. To me, these ruminations are more worth reading than blow-by-blow accounts of what was technically right or wrong about our performance. But that’s just my perspective. There are no doubt others. 

A problem with criticism can creep in when one is asked to criticize someone or something in which one has some degree of personal and emotional investment. Some folks favor absolute honesty, a “cruel-to-be-kind,” “tough love” approach. I’m more of a utilitarian, and most people I know are. To us, one has to weigh the pros and cons of absolute candor. Will any purpose be served? Will anyone be made happier? Will future problems be avoided? Will I save 30% or more on my auto insurance by… AHH! Get thee behind me, gecko!

I’m reminded of a situation with a good friend years ago. He had just gotten a great new apartment. He invited us over to see the place, which he’d spent a fortune decorating. It was like Ikea had thrown up. A soulless, pre-fab nightmare. Two days there and I would have been reaching for a shotgun – not for me – for the furniture. Did he need to know all that? No. So I said, “the furniture is perfectly arranged to manage traffic flow.”

Though not entirely up front, I would call such criticism a deliberate act of kindness. Love, even?

DH
P.S. almost forgot the viola joke:

What is the main requirement at the "International Viola Competition?"
Hold the viola from memory.

"B" is for Bowings

I’ve been thinking that these blog entries could be more concise. In MS Word, they’re Bruce Banner; online, they’re the Incredible Hulk. As we know, online attention spans are shorter than those for print media. I can read a ten-page New Yorker article in one sitting, but online, anything beyond one screen seems like too much. So I’m determined to tighten up this blog. The other day, talking with friend and colleague Jim Cushing, I expressed confidence that this entry would be short, maybe even too short: “I just can’t think of what to say about bowings.” After some hysterical laughter, Jim replied, “Dear David, you have too much to say about bowings.”

He was right. Strap in, kids. This will be a long ride.

Bowings.
Have you ever wondered how string players know to move their bows in the same direction? Read on to find the answer to this and other burning questions about bowings. (String players may want to scroll down, as what follows might be like detailed instructions on how to tie your shoes.)

In this clip of the Berlin Philharmonic playing the last movement of Dvorak’s New World Symphony (on the program for the November 8 Classics in the Cohan concert) notice how they don’t just move their bows in the same direction; they also play in the same part of the bow, with the same bow stoke, the same bow speed – it’s as if they were part of the Borg Bowing Collective.



Here’s a breakdown of how this uniformity is achieved. There are (thankfully) only two ways to move the bow, down or up.

Downbow: You pull the bow down toward your lap.

Upbow: The upbow goes up toward the ceiling.

String players mark these “bowings” in their music: a downbow is indicated with a mark like an upside-down U, an upbow with a V. Simple. There’s a little more to it. Generally, pickup notes and upbeats are played upbow. There’s more anticipatory energy with an upbow. Loud chords (like at the very end of a piece) are downbow. The bottom part of the bow (the frog) is heavier than the top part (the tip), so playing at the frog gets a louder sound. You also have to decide how many notes to play in one bow, what part of the bow to play in, what kind of bow stroke to use, and above all else, bowings have to feel natural and achieve specific musical effects. All these bowings have to be decided, marked in the parts, and practiced so that at the concert we’re all bowing together.

This is getting too technical already. Let’s back up further. There are two ways to make a sound on a string instrument – plucking the strings, or using the bow. Beginners start with plucking until they can read music and make a few notes with the left hand. Only then is the bow introduced. Each instrument has its way of holding the bow. For the violin and viola, the hand is perched on the bow; for the cello, it’s more draped; there are two kinds of bass bows; one kind is held overhand, the other underhand.

The bow hair is actually that – horsehair – and the little barbs in the hair catch the strings and pull out sound. We have to get our bows “rehaired” (isn’t that a great word?) -- because those barbs wear off with use. When your bow needs rehairing (did I just make up a word?) it slides around and won’t pull out a good sound. You can compensate by applying more rosin (a hardened sap-like substance that helps the bow grip the string) but that’s not a real solution. Here in SLO County, worn-out bow hair means a trip for you and your bow to Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, or San Francisco (or you can live dangerously and send your bow UPS) because there are no locals who rehair bows.

Learning to use the bow is vital because that’s how you get sound out of the instrument. You can have the best left hand technique in the world, but without good bow technique, the sound won’t be good. There are lots of different ways to bow, and each requires years to master. Legato, Detache, Martele, Marcato, Jete, Sautille, Spicatto… and others whose names I don’t recall. I was never good at memorizing musical terms. In music history, I failed the test on the Requiem Mass. I still can’t keep the movements of the Requiem straight. Pie Jesu Domine Sanctus Lux Aeterna Salon…umm… Agnus Moorhead Doris Dei Sic Transit Gloria I think they got your number, I think they got the alias that you been living under… in Excelsis Deo? (I know, I’m going to hell.)

Click below to learn more about bow techniques.

http://www.siegelproductions.ca/calvinsieb/bow.htm

I learned a new bow technique when I joined the SLO Symphony – “brushy.” “Brushy” is hard to explain, but it makes sense when Michael Nowak or Kathleen Lenski demonstrate it. We’re very lucky in the SLO Symphony to have a conductor who knows bowings. Conductors always have ideas about how they want the music to sound, but if they don’t understand the technical issues of the instruments, those ideas can get lost in translation. This is especially true for the string section, the heart of the orchestra. In the past, I’ve played under conductors who might say, “this needs to sound like a foggy, gloomy sunrise after a long night of storms, leaving everyone in the sleepy hamlet uncertain about the new day.” OK. Poetic descriptions can be helpful, but it’s even more helpful when a conductor like Michael can tell us -- and show us -- how to make that sound happen: “play at the tip of the bow, over the fingerboard, with two bow hairs, and no vibrato.”

Like John McCain and Sarah Palin on energy independence, I’ve observed that Mike has an “all-of-the above” approach to bowings. The first time I played for him I murdered a Bach minuet, but he gave me a second chance, and I played some of the Handel Concerto with a “grande detache” bow stroke. He asked me to play it again with the “brushy” stroke and demonstrated it. I mimicked him, and that’s how I got in the SLO Symphony. Blame it on “brushy.”

A few years later, when I was “guest principal” and playing Hindemith’s “The Four Temperaments,” Mike had very specific suggestions about bowings for my solos. But what really made the style of the piece click-in for me was when rehearsing the solo movement – reminiscent of bohemian café culture – he mimed having a drink and a smoke in a café (I spent most of my 20s drinking and smoking in cafes – or Seattle beer bars, rather). After that demonstration, I knew exactly how to play. There’s technique and there’s poetry, and I guess the challenge is to figure out how to marry the two.

Conductors who don’t know string technique can be either frustrated or amused by bowings. A few years ago during a recording session for PCPA, violinists Carol Kersten, Tanya Streder and I would sometimes need to have little “bowing summits” before the session could continue. The conductor took it in stride, saying he was always amused when “strings players go into their own little world” – bowing world.

On the other hand, some conductors are sticklers about bowings. Our conductor at the University of Oklahoma, a fine violinist and Diet-Coke fueled dynamo named Akira Endo, would bow every part himself. In rehearsals, he’d tell us exactly how to play his bowings. I remember his yelling at me during one rehearsal, “David, get to the frog! You’re the only one not at the frog!”

My teacher, Wayne Crouse, had great respect for Maestro Endo because Mr. Crouse had played for years under another string-player-turned conductor: Sir John Barbirolli. Sir John was a cellist, and obsessively detail-oriented about bowings. He imported the carefully marked parts from his Halle Orchestra (of Manchester, England) to the Houston Symphony. When a bowing change was made, it was a moment of high seriousness. There was a meeting of all the principal players. Prayers were said, incense burned, animals sacrificed, and then the Maestro insisted that the change be marked in every single part. From Sir John, Mr. Crouse also learned the importance of playing pianissimo passages at the tip – the very tip – of the bow. Sir John said, “only those with advanced cases of arthritis will be excused from this practice.”

Mr. Crouse had had a quite different experience earlier in his career, performing under Leopold Stokowski. After WWII, flush with oil money and hope, the Houston Symphony wanted to raise its profile, so they hired a slew of East-coast-conservatory-trained musicians, but still needed a big name to draw crowds. Who better than Mickey Mouse’s costar in Fantasia: Stokie, as they came to call him. He ruled the orchestra with an iron fist, and he insisted that they adopt “free bowing” -- he didn’t want the strings to bow together. He thought “free bowing” produced a sound that was more open, unstructured -- “free,” I guess. This technique posed a problem for the Houston Symphony strings, who’d been trained, as everyone is, to bow together. Stokowski would lose patience and cry out at rehearsals, “don’t bow together! You Americans, with your canned soup and your Social Security!” (These stories come from personal communication and from an article Wayne Crouse wrote called “When the Maestros Came to Houston.”)

The SLO Symphony is a bit more relaxed about bowings. We don’t have anyone to copy in bowings beforehand, so we get them at rehearsals. I put in bowings before first rehearsals, but often one has to wait to see what other sections will do, or what Michael might have in mind. He can be as detail-oriented as anyone. Before the opening concert last season, he called me up at home.

Mike: “Oh hey, Dave, it’s Mike Nowak.”
(Me: “Crap, what have I done now?”)
Mike: “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and trying it out, and you guys' opening line in the Brahms – (singing) duh-duh-duh-duh-duh – I think it’s better down/up than up/down.”

Whew! Then we talked about other viola issues on the concert. It’s so great to play under another violist who can talk in detail about the viola part. Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.

I told Ina Davenport (a pianist friend of mine and Mike’s) about this down/up, up/down conversation, and she replied with her trademark wry humor: “Oh well, I hope poor Mikey didn’t lose too much sleep over that.” As the pianist in our group, the Lumiere Quartet, Ina’s left out of “bowing summits,” and I think she gets bored. She’s figured out, though, that when we go into bowing world, that’s a good time to stretch her legs, use the restroom, hop down to the Inn at Morro Bay for a martini, or at least call someone on her cell phone. “Hi honey, what are you doing? Oh me, nothing, those guys are just talking about the bowings again.”

I’ve learned a few things about bowings since becoming principal violist. It’s not always possible to bow with every other section all the time. Just last week, there was a minor mutiny over an awkward bowing I’d put in to keep us with the violins. I should have taken to heart Mark Hatchard’s exhortation: “they can be be the violin section, and we’ll be the viola section.” To quote Mary James’s wardrobe: Viola Power!

Also, it’s important to get the bowings set as soon as possible so the section will be able to practice them and feel comfortable. This is not something that comes naturally to me, for two reasons. First, I was trained to mark up rented parts as little as possible. Second, I’m more of an intuitive than an intellectual musician. Too many markings in the part actually mess me up, so I prefer not to write in a ton of bowings, and I’m pretty flexible about them. When I first started as principal, this flexibility posed a problem in that I would sometimes change the bowings right before a concert. These eleventh-hour changes ceased when I learned that the other violists had constructed a David Hennessee voodoo doll, complete with miniature Steve Madden shoes, tiny sideburns, and a melancholy countenance. 

One way to think about bowings is vis-à-vis the Myers-Briggs Jung Typology. You can take the test here: www.humanmetrics.com (I’ve learned from my students that no blog is complete without a personality test.)

Sometimes a bowing just feels right for the music and you do it. I think this is iNtuition being expressed. Other times you really need to think bowings through and mark everything. This sounds like Judging. I feel a lot of tension between these two approaches since I’m an INFJ. It’s kind of challenging to take in information about the world through non-linear, non-rational imagination and still want that world to be ordered and decided. I guess it’s the same with bowings – remain open to inspiration, or attend to every little detail?

I guess the best solution to questions about bowings – as for so many of life’s other burning questions – is an “all-of-the-above” approach. (This is not an endorsement of McCain/Palin.) If it feels right, do it. If it doesn’t, figure something else out. If a metaphor or an image helps get it done, go with that. If nothing comes to mind, fall back on details and technique, and hope for inspiration.

At last, the ride through bowing world is over, and I didn’t even cover ponticello, sul tasto, col legno, Baroque bows vs. modern ones, carbon fiber vs. pernambuco, or why really good bows can cost more than some instruments, or why Lisa Davidson’s bow broke from the heat at last year’s Pops-by-the-Sea-in-Hell Concert.

Here are some parting gifts. Unfortunately, the soloist for the November 8 concert, Alyssa Park, isn’t on YouTube yet, but here’s Anne Akiko Meyers (who’s returning for the May 2, 2009 Season Finale) playing the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto (on the program for November 8.)



Click here for an encore.

(sorry, youtube "embedding" was not available. You'll have to click-thru.)

And here she is back when Reagan was in office:



Finally, here’s an on-topic viola joke: how can you tell when a violist is playing out of tune?

Their bow is moving.

DH

P.S. up next, C is for Conductors, or, It’s Payback Time!

Music at the Mission Premiere

On Saturday, January 12th, Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa was filled to capacity for the first San Luis Obispo Symphony concert there in over fifteen years. The reason? The world premiere of Craig Russell's Ecos armónicos. (seen in rehearsal at the Mission on the right) Commissioned by conductor Michael Nowak and written especially for violinist Kathleen Lenski, the piece will be presented at Walt Disney Concert Hall later this year (more on that later!)

For those of you who may have missed the concert, check out the review below by Jay and Marisa Waddell. You can also check out the pre-concert article about Craig Russell and Ecos armónicos, in The San Luis Obispo Tribune from January 10th by clicking here.

And please don't forget to come back often to the "real. live. music." blog for Symphony news, thoughts, reviews and more about our debut at Walt Disney Concert Hall on June 8, 2008.

Symphony Chamber Concert Premiers New Russell Composition
By Jay and Marisa Waddell

An enthusiastic audience enjoyed a special concert by the San Luis Obispo Symphony Chamber Orchestra at a packed Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa Saturday, January 12, 2008. Titled “Music at the Mission,” the program featured violin soloist Kathleen Lenski performing Ecos armónicos, a new composition by Dr. Craig Russell; The Four Seasons by Antonio Vivaldi; and Battalia (the Battle) by Heinrich Biber. The beautiful mission church, with its gorgeously restored interior, trompe l’œil effects and lively auditory quality, was a perfect place to enjoy this fine concert. Conductor and Artistic Director Michael Nowak’s programming choices were complementary to each other and well suited to the mission setting. Russell’s Ecos armónicos employed thematic ideas from the mission period of Mexico and California. The other two works were European pieces from the 17th and 18th centuries.

The Symphony Chamber Orchestra can be proud of their highly capable presentation of the diverse and challenging pieces. The string players are led by professional and highly competent section leaders who help to unify their sections, playing responsively to Michael Nowak’s knowledgeable and well-prepared conducting. Kathleeen Lenski, an internationally recognized violinist and a SLO County community treasure in her own right, gave us lovely soaring melodies and technically inspiring passages as featured soloist in two of the evening’s pieces: Ecos armónicos, the new work by musicologist and educator Russell, and Antonio Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

The concert opened with Biber’s Battalia, a programmatic composition in eight short movements, written in 1673. It began with a coordinated and rich string ensemble sound. Then, in a manner rare for its time, the composer had the musicians use numerous unusual devices to create the effects and sounds of an army being assembled and trained. The violinists actually tramped their feet briefly to simulate marching. There were the sounds of fencing and cavalry practice. Dissonances, pounding on strings with overturned bows, and over-layering of folksongs, represented a drunken evening of singing and revelry among the soldiers. At one point, the bass viol had aluminum foil placed in the strings to imitate a snare drum to accompany the principal violin sounding as a fife. Forceful plucking on the strings made the sounds of cannon. Audience members laughed aloud as these effects were carried off with cheerful enthusiasm by our musicians. Finally, beginning with descending melodic lines, in statements and responses between the higher and lower strings, the last movement reminded us of the tragic losses in war. This performance was most entertaining, but could have had tighter ensemble playing, with more definitive starts and stops.

Dr. Russell’s new work, Ecos armónicos (Harmonic echoes), written specifically to feature violinist Kathleen Lenski, had its origins in Russell’s study of music written by monks at the early Spanish colonial missions in Mexico and California. The piece includes passages that feature Lenski’s preferred mode: to make her violin sing. In six movements, it outlines some of the activities of a mission day, including worship, meditation, marching and celebration. Many of the melodies and the themes used and developed by Russell were found during his deep and dedicated research in mission libraries, where he discovered the music of a number of masses and other forgotten manuscripts. The opening passage, taken from the Introit of a Mass, uses the violins to whisper a melancholy and beautiful “Gaudeamus” theme. Low strings fill in the bottom and soar louder in the “Alleluia” section, as if the sun was dispersing a fog. A Swiss march was included, impulsive and jaunty, with bouncing bow effects from Lenski. Russell’s occasional modern harmonies, nicely voiced and resolved, reminded us that this melodious and pleasing work is contemporary. Lenski pulled a high and singing cadenza off of her fine, historic Guadagnini violin in a tocatta section. Then a peaceful O que suave (O how gentle!), a popular song of the mission period, preceded the closing Spanish-sounding Fandango. One could almost hear castanets in the Fandango’s rhythmic patterns in the strings while Lenski’s violin yielded Vivaldi-like flourishes over the orchestra’s pulse. Immediately after the last note, the audience rose and applauded enthusiastically. Russell was called to the front to take bows with the soloist while audience members in the front rows showered roses on the musicians. The capricious Russell celebrated the moment by catching a rose and offering it to Lenski, then caught another and placed it between his teeth. Cheers and laughter rose simultaneously.

In Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, the orchestra members had a chance to show their strengths. The tempos were up where they belonged and the players rose to the challenge. All the effects of cheery birds, languorous heat, thunderstorms, and dry, icy cold were played with good accuracy, speed, and energy. The audience had the satisfaction of hearing a familiar piece well played. Concert master Pam Dassenko played many duets with Lenski and nailed them admirably well. Her bird chirps in the first movement of Spring were right on. Principal cellist Nancy Nagano also was most reliable and frequently featured in a nearly perfect performance. Harpsichordist Barbara Hoff was solid, providing a subdued but vital backbone in the continuo part. Principal violist David Hennessee also had first rate moments. The highlight of Lenski’s solos was the Allegro non molto in the first movement of the Winter concerto. She was precise and drove it like she was driving a Ferrari.

After the concert, several musicians remarked that they love the Vivaldi. Over all, they played together, and on note. One audience person asked; “How can you not be happy listening to this music?” Other comments included; “Thrilling!” Exciting!” In spite of the rare missed note or trouble with togetherness, the evening was a fine success for the musicians as well as the audience.

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