Hi everyone! What a great concert Saturday! The Mahler especially was an amazing experience. A Mahler symphony is like its own world... I'm still at a loss for words, or I would write more about it.
It's come to my attention that some readers aren't familiar with commenting on blogs. Here's how it works for this one:
1. Scroll to the bottom of the entry you'd like to comment on, past the viola joke.
2. You'll see a "comments" link. Click on that.
3. A new screen will come up. Write your comment in the box "leave your comment."
4. You'll have to do a word verification. Type the word in the box provided.
5. If you have gmail, you can sign in with your account information, and the comment will be listed under your name. Same deal if you have AIM.
6. If you don't have gmail or AIM, you can check "Anonymous" and post that way. You can choose to identify yourself in the comment, or not.
--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.
In the late mid-90s, I was in my early late-20s, and I stopped going to hear orchestra concerts. For variety’s sake, I’d choose a movie, play, musical, or chamber music performance – something different from the orchestra playing I did so often.
Recently, I thought I’d make a change. So last Tuesday, instead of Rachael Ray, Rachel Maddow, and American Idol, it was the Munich Symphony under Philippe Entremont (February 17, 2009, at the Performing Arts Center).
I think I will start attending orchestra concerts again.
The program notes mentioned that from its founding in 1945, the Munich Symphony strives toward “flexibility, the ability to adapt to all forms of music without inhibitions, and always being prepared to take on new challenges.” These goals have “shaped the character of the Orchestra.”
True, that. Last Tuesday, they sounded like not one orchestra, but four different ones. I sat on the first row. Up close, you don’t get the blend you do farther back, but you notice more details. At first it was distracting to hear individual string players, but then I started to feel connected to them. I was particularly impressed with the cello section, perhaps because their f-holes were aimed at my head (did that sound risqué?).
The concert began with Wagner’s “Siegfried Idyll.” Wagner wrote this piece as a surprise gift to his wife Cosima. It started subtly and tenderly, gradually swelling to the Romantic intensities more expected in Wagner. The orchestra had a warm and blended sound. I noticed that the strings didn’t use the big, schlocky vibrato that sometimes (to me) makes Wagner a bit over-the-top. This choice seemed appropriate, as the piece was conceived as a private love letter; it’s not Isolde dying for love.
Next came Beethoven’s Piano Concerto #1 (with Entremont as conductor and soloist). Right away it sounded like a new orchestra had taken the stage. The playing was muscular and taut, rhythmically vigorous, energetic: all the things we love about Beethoven. But this is early Beethoven, so the piece required a degree of Mozartean clarity. Entremont captured the blend perfectly. His passage work in the fast movements had fiery intensity without being heavy on the touch, and his choices of tempo and phrasing in the longest of Beethoven’s slow movements left us wanting more. He stayed seated to conduct tutti passages, and otherwise conducted minimally, giving the piece a chamber music feel – I noticed that the players looked at him more often than when he was at the podium.
The only downside of this choice: minor ensemble problems in the quiet passages of the first and third movements, when I imagine some the players couldn’t hear the delicate piano parts clearly. I suspect this slight blurring didn’t register in other parts of the hall.
After intermission came Webern’s “Funf Satze” (Five Movements). I’d studied this piece in music history and learned about its innovations in form, dissonance, unusual string techniques like col legno (hitting the wood of the bow percussively on the string) and sul ponticello (playing close to the bridge to get a whistly, scratchy sound). The 12-tone guys like Webern and Schoenberg are often not appreciated because of these un-beautiful effects, or they’re thought too intellectual and deliberately experimental.
However, in performance I thought this piece conveyed great emotional drama. There’s more than one way to convey emotion, after all, than beautiful sound (think Bob Dylan’s voice). The fragmentation in the writing, deliberate ugliness of tone color, and abrupt contrasts in mood, to me, sounded like the disorientation and confusion of the early-20th-century, post-World-War-I zeitgeist. When I teach Modernist literature again, I may play this piece for my students and show them some slides of Picasso, Matisse, and Otto Dix.
There was terrific solo work in the strings. The principal players evoked musical versions of T.S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock, or characters from Hemingway or Woolf – at turns impassioned, tremulous, iced-over, adrift in a world befogged and befogging – but not hopeless.
Here’s what I mean. Movement Two:
And Movement Three:
Another abrupt mood shift with the last selection of the evening: Mendelssohn’s Symphony #4, the “Italian.” Not exactly an unfamiliar piece, and Mendelssohn’s not my favorite composer (too effervescent – like champagne when you want a good scotch).
This performance worked for me, though -- I think because they played Mendelssohn as if he were Beethoven (I owe this observation to James Cushing). Mendelssohn sometimes calls to mind a game of badminton. This reading was more like rugby. It had guts.
The challenge with Mendelssohn: his music is delicate and transparent, but also hard as hell. You have to make all those noodles and tough licks sound easy. That’s probably why passages from the Italian Symphony often show up in audition repertoire. I couldn’t resist moving my fingers along with some of the more challenging parts I’ve played for auditions. The Munich Symphony violas nailed every one. How does one say “Viola Power” in German?
What I found most impressive was the bowing precision. The fast spiccato passages were clean without sacrificing energy. Oftentimes they can sound too bouncy and frantic. Not so here. The ostinatos in the last movement – hard to keep together as everyone’s bow arms get tired – sounded like clockwork.
I thought the winds sounded great too – but I’ll leave commentary on them to a wind player (Linda, I think I saw you there?)
BTW, CLICK HERE for a great article on Mendelssohn in a recent issue of The New Yorker.
The Munichers, playing this sunny music, on a rainy night, in the middle of a tour, far from home, nevertheless seemed relaxed and even joyful. Many smiled at each other or to themselves, and the principal second violinist, a young Asian man with spiky hair, swayed in rhythm to the dance-like third movement of the Mendelssohn.
How’s that for music as universal language: an Asian guy in a stiff black tux, channeling Sid Vicious’s punk-rock hairdo, playing a peasant dance by a German-Jewish composer, in a German orchestra, for a crowd of Californians.
A symphony colleague told me that for her, this concert epitomized the dream of the Performing Arts Center: that international artists would have a venue to attract them to our community. The PAC has been here longer than I have, so I’ve always taken it for granted. I’ve learned since that it only came to be after years of hard work, planning -- and ultimately, cooperation between the city of SLO, Cal Poly, and private individuals.
In these difficult times, I suppose we shouldn’t take anything for granted. So it’s heartening to know that SLO county music lovers wouldn’t allow a rainy Tuesday night, an economic recession, (and, in my case, the American Idol semi-finals) to keep them from supporting the wonderful artists that visit us through Cal Poly Arts.
DH
BTW: here’s Phillippe Entremont playing Chopin’s Polonaise in C# minor.
PS. Why is the viola called “Bratsche” in German? That’s the sound it makes when you sit on it.
In general, I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to comment on our concerts in this blog. My perspective in the viola section is limited, first of all, and second, I don’t want to get into any trouble. :)
However, this weekend’s concert with Zuill Bailey was such an amazing experience, I can’t resist sharing a few thoughts. Please feel free to add your own in the “comments” section. Whenever I see Patty Thayer, Mother of the Blog, she says “I know people are reading, they’re just not commenting!” So, please do go ahead and make Patty’s day by leaving a comment. I’d appreciate it too. If you’re not sure about what you’d like to write, here’s a suggested template: “David Hennessee is a brilliant writer because ________.” :)
Seriously, and more apropos to this blog, try “Zuill Bailey is a brilliant musician because ________.”
It goes without saying that all the soloists who visit the San Luis Obispo Symphony are wonderful musicians, but for me there’s something remarkable about a cello soloist. To me, watching and listening to a really fine cellist is like peering behind the wizard’s curtain and finding an actual wizard there.
Maybe it’s that the instrument is almost as large as they are and they embrace it like a lover. Or maybe it’s like looking inside a piano while it’s being played… you get a real sense of the physicality of making music… it’s not just sound; it’s arms, legs, fingers, breath, sweat…
So, Saturday night, backstage at intermission everyone was frantically spreading the word: “He’s going to sit down, put the endpin in, and start playing, so be ready.” I felt like a spy: “the cellist plays at once. The crow flies at night.” I thought, OK, big deal, we’re starting right away.
Well, it was a big deal. When Zuill Bailey launched immediately into the Saint-Saens concerto, I felt a surge of energy I’d never experienced in a concert hall. He held us in the palm of his hand and didn’t let go. Gorgeous singing tone in all registers, impeccable technique, tasteful phrasing, thoughtful interpretation, huge dynamic range. He’s a rock star.
After the initial jolt, in the Saint-Saens I was too busy counting and trying to figure out the French rest notations (is that 3 or 5 bars rest? Is that a quarter rest, or an eight rest?) to notice a lot of specifics. The muted middle section I thought was lovely – elegant, music-box-like. Zuill’s parts there were delicate and subtle. The viola part in the Tchaikovsky is less difficult, so I could pay closer attention to Zuill’s playing, and I was blown away by his range of expression, at turns elegant and courtly, plaintive, whimsical, rustic, depending on what the music asked, and that piece asks a lot, both musically and technically. His thumb position work was particularly impressive; his articulation up in the stratosphere was crystalline. How cellists can do that, I’ll never know.
One thing I do know is that principal French horn Jane Swanson nailed her solo at the beginning of the Tchaikovsky. It was note-perfect and melancholy – a lovely introduction for the piece. I thought Mike’s conducting was brilliant, as always, with all the clarity and fire we’ve come to expect, and I’m sure that his joking with Zuill at the dress rehearsal and concert showed concertgoers that classical music concerts aren’t such stuffy affairs.
Here’s a video I think you'll enjoy about Zuill Bailey’s recently released CD, Russian Masterpieces, on which he plays Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich.
We get to hear and see yet another master of the cello – Lynn Harrell – this fall. I hear he might persuaded to do some master classes. Here are a couple of previews of what those might be like:
I thought the Mahler (March 7th at the PAC) would be the highlight of the season for me, and maybe it will, but it would be hard to beat Saturday’s concert. I’ve seldom seen such an enthusiastic standing ovation. What a privilege to have helped make the music that gave so many such joy.
DH
PS. The inevitable viola joke: Why did the violist give up learning a transcription of the “Rococo Variations”? He couldn’t figure out how to do thumb position on viola.
A fringe benefit of having family who live in New York: one has a home base for exploring the Theater District – Disneyland for folks like me who enjoy seeing plays and musicals. And treating my brother Paulto a show is the least I can do for imposing my smelly, hairy, often grumpy self on his family (that's them in the photo: Audrey, Rebecca, Chloe, Paul).
Recently we saw Equus. You know, the one where Harry Potter (I mean, Daniel Radcliffe) gets his kit off and then blinds a bunch of horses?
I won’t write much about this play (since it’s not a musical) except to say that it was thoroughly engaging, a bit melodramatic, wonderfully acted and staged, reductive in its portrayal of the psychiatric profession and the spiritual opportunities of “madness” – and that Daniel Radcliffe isn’t a kid anymore. He’s quite diminutive – 5’ 2’’ I’m guessing – but has great stage presence nonetheless.
Speaking of short folks… “hey Shorty!” -- that’s what a homeless guy shouted at my niece Chloe on New Year’s Eve, right before he fell onto 59th street. Ah, New York… someday I’ll have to visit again with my ten Brazilian brats. Name that reference and I’ll give you $50 for the powder room.
Anyway, Chloe is six now – and this Christmas, my present was to take her to see Stomp. (I’ve already bought her every Polly Pocket imaginable.) You may have heard about or seen Stomp – it’s all percussion, no dialogue beyond grunts and shouts, and the “instruments” are everyday objects like brooms, lighters, basketballs, tubing, sticks, newspapers. This show is extraordinarily entertaining and inspiring. Here are a couple of clips:
The performers played characters: the leader, the joker, the jester… and it had a great dramatic arc – intense and loud numbers were balanced by quieter ones, with humor thrown in. Let me put it this way: six-year-old Chloe was never bored by the hour-and-forty-five minute show (neither was Uncle David), and she laughed out loud several times. Actually, her laughter became an obbligato to the performer’s improvisations – and at one point, part of the show, when they did a John-Cage-inspired number – coming onstage, totally silent, then riffing on the audience’s coughs, laughs, and assorted shufflings.
The audience was more actively involved as well. We did call-and-response clapping, and at the end the “leader” encouraged us in this activity as he slowly exited, the message seeming to be “go feel the rhythm and music of everyday life yourself.”
Unfortunately the only rhythm I could feel upon leaving the theater was the chattering of my own teeth (December in New York…). However, at the Virgin Megastore on 14th Street over hot chocolate and Doritos (don’t ask), Chloe let me know that the Stomp outing had been a success: “they were really good! I want to do that!” She also kept saying “I want to be her!” in reference to one of the performers: a tall, muscular African-American woman with dreadlocks.
Just as an aside -- not to get political, but I’m writing this on the eve of the historic inauguration. I’m old enough to remember a time when, and from a part of the country where, for a 6-year-old white girl to say that she wanted to “be” a black woman would have been almost unthinkable. So I think it’s pretty cool that Barack Obama is the first president that Chloe and my other nieces, Ande and Audrey, will remember. Ande (who’ s Chinese, BTW) was recently given a choice of 2009 wall calendars for her room: Disney Princesses or Barack Obama. She was adamant: “I want Rock-a-Bom-Bom!” Audrey is only 13 months old and as yet apolitical. The change she seeks almost always involves a diaper.
Back to the theater -- I was less satisfied by the other show I saw in New York: Spring Awakening. It’s a rock musical in the tradition of Hair and Rent, with music by indie-pop star Duncan Sheik, set in 1890s Germany, dealing with various teenage challenges: oppressive teachers, clueless parents, raging libidos, depression, suicide, abortion… all set to rock music. I’d been warned away, but when the show won a bunch of Tony’s (including Best New Musical) I thought I’d check out this phenomenon for myself. So I did with my dear friend Heidi, who bussed up from New Jersey.
I could wish that instead of seeing this show, Heidi and I had continued our pre-show activities: eating pub food, drinking Guinness, browsing music stores, and talking about Emily Dickinson. English Teachers Gone Wild!
Spring Awakening is basically Rent meets High School Musical minus brain cells. It’s Rent-like in its high tragedy (people dying for no good reason, others carrying on despite their pain). It’s like HSM in that it features almost completely clueless kids confronting tough ethical dilemmas for the first time. It’s Rent for those who’ve never had to pay rent.
Even though its characters were dealing with heavy stuff, Spring Awakening didn’t make much impression on me because I found it almost impossible to care about what I was watching. I began to wonder why, and thought about it. Heidi and I talked about it (English Teachers Gone Wild! Deluxe Edition: The Critical Review). I realized that I had a hard time engaging with Spring Awakening because its characters were presented in no recognizable historical or social context. They could have been anywhere, so they were nowhere. It was a musical starring teenaged Platonic forms: here’s Libido, here’s Misunderstood, there’s Naïve and her friend Sexual Abuse Survivor, Oppressed will now sing a ballad…
I could care about the characters in Rent, by contrast, because that show is forcefully located in Reagan-era Alphabet City, when AIDS and gentrification were systematically destroying the bohemian culture of the East Village. Even to High School Musical I could relate – I know what it’s like when you have to choose between high school friends who don’t get along. Another example: West Side Story… I’m not a Shark or a Jet, or even a Maria (except for that one Halloween…) but their particular environment is presented so convincingly that it becomes universal. Other examples: The Breakfast Club – a more “80s movie” can’t be named, but it’s timeless in its portrayal of in groups and out groups. The Graduate, Hair, Harold and Maude: quintessentially 60s/early 70s, but universal in their themes of angst, desire, and hope for the future.
With Spring Awakening… eh. It didn’t flesh out its 1890s German context at all, aside from telling us in the program that the show is “set in 1890s Germany,” giving characters names like “Wendla” and “Melchior,” and dressing the cast in old-timey costumes. The characters were located in a Never-Neverland of teenage angst.
I suppose that’s where teen angst lives – a timeless world of self-doubt and self-discovery – but to get adults to care about that, a few details would be helpful. Perhaps the point of this vagueness was to bridge past and present: “hey look! What was going on then is still going on today!” Hopefully this awareness would be of some comfort to younger audience members.
And it seemed to be, judging by the head-banging of the emo-teens seated in front of Heidi and me. Still. I can’t help but think that substandard art like this dumbs down the experience of adolescence, and does a disservice to kids trying to figure out who they are through the representations our culture gives them.
Consider the contrast in the poetry: lyrics from “Somewhere” (West Side Story):
There's a place for us, Somewhere a place for us. Peace and quiet and open air Wait for us Somewhere. There's a time for us, Some day a time for us, Time together with time to spare, Time to look, time to care, Someday! Somewhere. We'll find a new way of living, We'll find a way of forgiving Somewhere.
Or High School Musical (admittedly, lesser poetry, this is Disney-fied adolescence, after all):
Now I know you’re not a fairytale And dreams were meant for sleeping And wishes on a star Just don't come true Because now even I can tell That I confused my feelings with the truth Because I liked the view When there was me and you.
Here are the lyrics I remember from Spring Awakening:
“We’ve all l got our junk and my junk is you.” “Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah!”
Don’t kids today deserve more than “junk” and “Blah”?
Well, at least no one blinded any horses. The actors did get partially nude, though, and have simulated sex onstage, which had all the appeal of an Ann Coulter interview.
Sometimes good music can make up for a weak book (hello, Funny Face). I didn’t find this to be case with Spring Awakening. The songs alternated between forgettable plaintive ballads, more forgettable heavy, angry rock, with a few gems scattered throughout that I would have loved to hear songwriter Duncan Sheik sing himself.
Now, I’ve been a fan of Duncan Sheik for quite a while. He writes tender, intelligent chamber pop; his voice and delivery are heartbroken and vulnerable. He’s capable of some beautiful work.
Check this out if you’re interested:
Sheik has said that he’d like to write for Broadway again, and I hope he does, and if so, perhaps he’ll find better source material. His talent requires it.
I’ve gone on longer than I intended. Substandard art just really disturbs me. It’s a wonder that I can stand to hear myself play the viola. But then, I keep practicing. It’s the activity that matters. As John Updike said: "Creativity is merely a plus name for regular activity...any activity becomes creative when the doer cares about doing it right, or better."
DH
PS. Viola joke: In addition to shouting “fire!” in a crowded theater, what else can land you in jail?
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?
Posts
