Wayne Asbury has played oboe and English horn in the Symphony since the 1975-76 Season, joining for the January concert. In the fall of 1975 he played for West Side Story at P.C.P.A. He had heard about (but never met) a great clarinetist in the San Luis Obispo Symphony named Virginia Wright, and she happened to be playing for the same job. Not long after that, Wayne got a call from Clif Swanson, asking if he would like to play in the SLO Symphony. Clif had learned of Wayne through Virginia, and he had also heard Wayne perform in the Santa Maria Symphony, with which Clif also played.
So Wayne began his drives from Lompoc to San Luis Obispo to play with the orchestra. There he met Alice McGonigal, Virginia Wright (again), and Diana Sheridan. Diana had also just been recruited to the orchestra and Alice had joined at the beginning of that season. They have been the core of the woodwind section ever since.
Wayne’s favorite memories of the symphony include the trips to Spain and Carnegie Hall: “What great trips!” Most memorable was the Carnegie Hall concert. As Wayne says, “I will treasure that experience for a lifetime.”
On his time with the Symphony, Wayne says, “The Symphony has been a part of my life for thirty-four years. The people of the orchestra are my second family. We share our music and our stories. I hope the ride will continue. I am sure we will continue to play great music with great soloists!”
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.”
--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.
Living as we are in the age of Obama, I’m going to step away from my Bush-era role as “decider” of this blog’s content, and instead let a “team of rivals” do my work for me. As in, incorporate some other perspectives.
We all know the conductor is the only guy (or increasingly, gal) onstage who’s not playing an instrument. Well, they actually are playing an instrument: the whole orchestra.
With 70+ musicians in an orchestra, we need someone to keep us together. Musicians learned as much hundreds of years ago. As choirs grew in size during the Middle Ages, it became apparent that someone needed to keep the beat with a large staff. This led to tragic results in one case:
“The large staff was responsible for the death of Jean-Baptiste Lully, who stabbed his foot with one while conducting a Te Deum for the king's recovery from illness. The wound became gangrenous, and despite the efforts of doctors the gangrene spread to his leg and he died two months later.” (from Wikipedia, “Conductors”)
Some things never change. Oboist Dawna Davies recalls:
“repeated experiences of having the baton slipping out of the fingers of various enthusiastic band conductors and flung at me, thankfully not as a weapon.”
(Those of us in the SLO Symphony who sit near the podium experience the runaway baton with some regularity, though it’s more like baton-pong than anything dangerous.)
As orchestras grew, the concertmaster or harpsichordist would sometimes function as conductor. By the 19th century, orchestral music was getting more complex; the orchestra was expanding, and so it became necessary to have a separate conductor. There are several things a conductor has to do:
Tempo Conductors make patterns -- “beat patterns” -- with their hands/arms/batons to indicate the tempo of the music. The tricky thing is the “ictus” – that’s the exact moment in the gesture when they expect the beat to occur. This can vary from conductor to conductor. Tempos vary from group to group – some play “on the beat” – right with the conductor – but some play “behind the beat.” And some do both at the same time, which is always interesting.
Dynamics How loud or soft to play. Some conductors will keep time with one hand, and use the other to indicate dynamics. Raising the hand up usually means louder, putting it palm down (as in “shush”) means quieter. Or they can just shout “Too much viola! There’s way too much viola!” (Stop smiling, Tanya). The scope of the conductor’s gestures also indicates dynamics: big gestures mean loud; tiny beat patterns mean soft.
Cues Telling us to wake up and play, when we’ve zoned out, worst-case scenario. Best-case: gesturing in a way that indicates our part is important and needs to be heard. Cues can be really important for brass, winds, and percussion in some repertoire: for example, Mozart, Haydn, and many operas. I’m not sure I could count 200 or more bars of rest, like they have to do, without actually going to sleep. The viola part can be soporific enough.
Musicality/Expression/Articulation There’s a lot variance here among conductors and musicians’ preferences. Some like conductors to keep the beat, be clear on cues, and to be very precise about expectations. Others prefer more dramatic, Romantic, expressive conducting.
Conducting isn’t all about technique. The conductor is like the coach or spiritual leader of the orchestra. They’re the one who convinces us to drink the Kool-Aid. Conductors do so by different means. Some are nice and encouraging; others are demanding, and some can be intimidating. Each approach has it benefits and drawbacks.
My teacher, Wayne Crouse, told a story about Sir John Barbirolli that shows the maestro to have been encouraging, but still demanding. The Houston Symphony was playing Elgar’s Enigma Variations, one movement of which ends with a delicate viola solo (red flag!) – buh-buh-buuuuum. Mr. Crouse was nervous, and at the Friday concert, the solo came out – buh-buh-scratch-buuuuum. Sir John spoke to him before the Saturday show (I’m paraphrasing, of course):
“My dear Wayne, what I love about your playing is its human quality. You don’t play like a machine. So mistakes will be made from time to time.” (Dramatic pause.) “Just don’t make that mistake again tonight.” (And he didn’t.)
On the other end of the spectrum, some conductors can be mean bastards. Some can be insulting, inadvertently or deliberately. Oboist Linda Ashworth recalls a performance of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto #1 (which has a 3-oboe soli section) with another orchestra. Afterwards, the conductor said to her and the other two oboists:
"Well, three oboes in unison is better than two oboes in unison."
Linda was a recent convert to the oboe (from clarinet) at the time, so you can imagine these weren’t the most encouraging words to hear.
Sometimes conductors can be intimidating. Here’s another story from Dawna Davies:
“So I was a teenager, playing 2nd oboe in California All-State band, and had the honor of turning pages for the 1st chair oboist. I inadvertently turned 2 pages simultaneously, instead of one. The 1st chair messed up the solo, and points vindictively at me. When I apologized and tried to explain, the conductor raged at me, ‘What are you going to do? Stand up and tell that to the audience?’ I shrunk, and still recall the shame pounding in my ears and the audible gasp from the woodwind players around me.”
Cellist Tracy Sparks tells a great story that illustrates the differences between inspiring and intimidating conductors:
“I think the greatest assets a conductor can have are respect and a sense of humor. I have been to and played at concerts where the orchestra members are so stressed out about making a "mistake" that the pieces sound as tense as the musicians looked. I respect a conductor wanting to bring the best out of a group and musicians need to stay focused, but degrading, humiliating and tearing apart a musician is not the way to get it. Sometimes allowing the musicians a few brain-burp moments can have great rewards.
For instance, I played in an orchestra where there were ten cellists. It felt good to play in this section, because you felt like someone was always covering your back if you were having an off day. Well, during one dress rehearsal we were playing a piece where the cellos had a soli that built up to a glorious climax on a note that was two-thirds of the way down the fingerboard. A risky jump, but we had been making it, albeit tentatively, at every rehearsal. The moment comes and we built up to -- nothing! We all missed it -- we didn't hit the wrong note, we just didn't play it! We were all so uncertain that we thought we'd let the "other guy" get it.
Our conductor kept going, not missing a beat, finished the movement, stopped to talk over a few things with the other members of the orchestra and nonchalantly said, "and cellos, you may want to play that "F#" a little louder next time, it seemed a little, (dramatic pause), weak" (he did have a twinkle in his eyes when he said it -- or were those tears?). We went home and practiced it for hours and when the time came for our big "moment" during the concert, we nailed it -- every single one of us! We laughed about it for years and vowed to NEVER let that happen again!
Of course it could have been a nightmare, but because our conductor had a sense of humor, a lot of patience and an understanding that "poop" happens, we went home to practice the piece, not out of fear, but out of respect for him. He trusted us to bring our best game to that performance, just as we trusted him to consistently guide us through the piece. It was a win-win situation, the biggest winner being of course, the audience. Because of course, that's really why we are there!”
Tracy’s thoughts about trust and communication between conductor and orchestra remind me of this interesting fact Randy Garacci shared:
“Years ago there was an article in Psychology Today comparing orchestra conductors and animal trainers. After observing both, the author concluded that conductors and animal trainers both communicate using gestures. As training progressed, the gestures became increasingly subtle so as to be barely noticeable except by the “trainee.” I think the best conductors I have worked with talked less and expressed more through gesture.”
He speaks about several topics I didn’t have room to cover here: programming, working with soloists, music education, conducting professional vs. community orchestras, etc. Here’s a sample:
“At the free dress rehearsals I’ll look out at the auditorium and think ‘there are 1100 people here who want to hear us. There’s a real desire for what we do. And it’s just a rehearsal.’ I’ve been here 24 years, and my goal is to stay here long enough that the next conductor, to beat my record, will have to live to be over one hundred years old!”
How’s that for encouraging?
Best, DH
PS... A conductor and a violist are standing in the middle of the road. Which one do you run over first, and why?
The conductor. Business before pleasure.
Alternate version:
A conductor and a violist are standing in the middle of the road. Which one do you run over first, and why?
Neither. Take evasive action, and look for a music critic standing in the middle of the road. ;)
I’m back from my holiday sojourns to Texas and New York, and notwithstanding travel delays and bad weather (including turbulence on the runway in Dallas), I had a great time. I wish I had a video of my one-year-old niece Audrey saying “Baaa?” (that’s “bottle” in baby-talk) then grabbing an empty beer bottle and putting it in her mouth.
Since I really have no idea what I’m doing with this blogging thing, for Christmas I asked for “The Huffington Post’s Complete Guide to Blogging.” And I got it, from my computer-savvy brother-in-law. I also got some really great Steve Madden shoes. Mmm… shoes.
In keeping with La Ariana’s sage advice on blogging, here’s a short post, not-very-well-written-or-edited, that incorporates visuals.
In Fort Worth, my sister, 5-year-old niece, and I attended a performance of The Nutcracker, along with another 5-year-old and her mother. I hadn’t seen the ballet since I was a child, and I’ve never played it (just the orchestral suite), so I was really jazzed. They used recorded music, which was disappointing, but I got used to the tinny sound after a while.
Maybe it was being surrounded by children, but the performance really took me back to my childhood love of Tchaikovsky. When I was a boy, I would listen to The Nutcracker for hours, lying on my bed, letting my mind fill with the images conjured by the music. Later, I got into the 1812 Overture and Marche Slave, and eventually the symphonies.
At some point, though, I began to turn off Tchaikovsky. I still enjoyed playing his music (the viola parts are very satisfying, and challenging) but I didn’t really enjoy listening to his work, live or recorded. Shortly after joining the SLO Symphony, I had a conversation with Mike Nowak about Tchaikovsky. He’s not a huge fan either – doesn’t program the symphonies – even though Tchaikovsky is a crowd-pleaser. That made me feel a little better.
Now, when I decided to do this blog, I knew I wouldn’t pretend to be a musicologist, but I’ve been reflecting on Tchaikovsky lately and thought I’d share some of these thoughts.
What’s the appeal of Tchaikovsky? The melodies, first of all, are immediately attractive. They’re memorable, too, because they are based on scales and arpeggios, and they get repeated a lot. His work is not cerebral or abstract – it appeals first to the emotions, which, I daresay, is how most people experience music. The emotions evoked are fairly straightforward:
Heroism (1812 Overture) Heartbreak (4th movement of Symphony #6) Joyful exuberance (last movement of the Serenade for Strings)
I think Tchaikovsky would have made a terrific film composer. To this day, as when I was a little boy, his work conjures mental images. Perhaps this is why (in my view) his most successful works are the ballets – his talent found fullest expression when he was composing music with images in mind.
I feel the symphonies and his other “absolute” music suffers in comparison with his ballets, and when compared with other masters of absolute music, like Bach, Beethoven, or Brahms. But maybe this is an apples and oranges issue.
Here’s a little bit of Nutcracker:
I guess for me, Tchaikovsky was a sort of “starter” composer. He paved the way for my later appreciation of guys like Brahms, Mahler, and Shostakovich.
I guess it’s normal to grow in and out of music. After all, in junior high, this was my favorite song:
Best,
DH
P.S. Stay tuned for reviews of Stomp and Spring Awakening, and “C is for Conductors.”
P.S. Why was the violist not allowed to carry his viola on the airplane?
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.)
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.)
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