Archive for the 'Clarinet' Category

Mozart’s Café Chamber festival a Success

Published
by
dtclarinet
on July 23, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Clarinet, Our Supporters, Performances and The Music
. 0 Comments

I just arrived home after a stimulating and busy day. I have to thank Mozart’s Café and Bakery for hosting a delightful evening (5-9 PM) of music and food. Everyone had a great time. Luckily the hot weather let up a bit so people could spill out onto the patio and listen to the music from afar. But no one minded. They mingled in and out if they wanted to hear one piece close up.

All the musicians involved, David Niwa, Ariane Sletner, Ken Matsuda, Luis Biava, David Thomas, Betsy Sturdevant, Robert “Woody” Jones, and Mariko Kaneda seemed to have fun playing a great variety of chamber music, from duos to trios to solos with piano.

I enjoyed playing an early Divertimento, K 229, of Mozart, written originally for two clarinets and basset horn, but arranged for two clarinet and bassoon, with my colleagues, Betsy and Woody. There was a blend between the three of us which, on occasion, went beyond three instruments and became one instrument, like an organ. I have to admit, sheepishly, that we didn’t rehearse. But we have played those same pieces together in the past, thought it was 15 years ago. I guess we have good memories.

I also felt at ease playing the Paul Jeanjean Carnival of Venice variations with the steady and focused accompaniment of Mariko Kaneda.

The food and pastries donated by Anand Saha, owner of Mozart’s, were spectacular and complimented the European music beautifully.

I do not think I am presumptuous in saying that all those involved would love to do something like this again.

I know Columbus loves us.

Somehow the news that the CSO management has canceled more of next season’s scheduled concerts seems like a mouse roaring in a cave. It appears to me like a vindictive and desperate move. Perhaps Columbus would agree. And only God and those in power in Columbus, I mean those REALLY in power, know why they seem to be trying to kill music in our City. Yet, perhaps God knows a bit better, and perhaps he is watching very closely.

David Lundberg’s Wisdom, Urging Passion

Published
by
dtclarinet
on July 16, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Clarinet, Columbus Cultural Politics, Mastery, Off the Record, Our Supporters, Personal, The Music, columbus symphony orchestra, symphony board and symphony management
. 1 Comment

David Lundberg was educated as a musician at the American Conservatory of Music in Chicago. In business in Dallas, he founded the Charter Group, a property and casualty insurance conglomerate whose customer friendly and principle-rather-than-policy driven practices were significant in changing the face of the industry for the better.

Mr. Lundberg’s deep love for people and his passion for music punctuated another long career, volunteering in the support functions of music – as board member with the Dallas Symphony and Dallas Opera, as board chair for Lyric Opera of Dallas, Arkansas Opera Theater, Hot Springs Music Festival, and others too many to list. He has seen orchestras and other arts organizations dip near death, then rise to world renown. In his recent move to Columbus, David has brought a wealth of experience, perspective, and wisdom to share, as you will read in this letter.

Dear Fellow Community Members,

It was my privilege as a student at the American Conservatory of Music in Chicago in the 50’s to watch Fritz Reiner bring discipline and inspiration to an orchestra that had become complacent and lethargic. At that same time Chicago had an arts critic who was convinced that nothing excellent could possibly happen outside of New York, Boston, or Philadelphia and her reviews of the Chicago Symphony (CSO) reflected this belief.

During that period, the CSO also had an extended tour of Europe. The reviews came flooding back to the States and the reviewers were ecstatic. Chicago was filled with pride and excitement for their orchestra. That pride continues to this day as the CSO remains in the Top Five in the Country, with many in the know feeling that the CSO ranks Number One.

In Dallas, as a singer in the Dallas Symphony (DSO) Chorus for 25 years and as a member of the DSO Board for several terms, I saw a very similar phenomenon happen. The DSO emerged from bankruptcy in 1974, at full strength, thanks to some farsighted people including Stanley Marcus (Neiman Marcus). During the 70’ s, the DSO had a series of short-term and guest conductors, who allowed the Orchestra to become uninspired and sloppy. Enter Maestro Eduardo Mata, a masterful technician like Reiner, who awakened the musicians’ desire to perform at a higher level. Same script - sour critic, European tour, great reviews, and wonderful community response. The whole situation in Dallas remains positive to this day – pride in and of the musicians, fiscal stability, great arts community, good endowment, a great new $130 Million venue and no debt.

In the ensuing years, many Fortune 500 companies relocated their headquarters to the Dallas area. Ones that quickly come to mind are American Airlines, JC Penney, Exxon Mobil, Kimberly Clark, Co—America Bank, Fluor, and Ericsson Telecommunications (North America). Is there a connection here? You bet there is. When major companies decide to relocate, they establish a profile of the qualities that they are seeking at the new location. Common to these profiles is the absolute requirement of a superb, vigorous cultural community (led most naturally by the symphony and opera). While this is not the only criterion, the importance of a vital classical art landscape is undeniable.

My wife Katherine and I moved to Columbus two years ago and, Eureka! what did we find but Junichi Hirokami and the Columbus Symphony, and a strong feeling of déjà vu from Dallas and Chicago. Hirokami, whom I had seen guest conduct several times in Dallas, has the same technical skills as Reiner and Mata. And the bonus is that he is highly respected and liked by the musicians. Junichi brings such infectious joy and love of the music to the podium that audiences and musicians alike are exhilarated and enchanted.

Sadly, we began to hear from some in the community that, “the CSO and the Opera don’t pull their own weight financially.” Most are unaware that American symphonies and operas earn considerably less than half of their budgets from ticket sales. The critical mass of support must come from farsighted and benevolent corporations, foundations and individuals who have a keen understanding of the tax benefits, the good will, and public relations benefits they derive from their generosity. Also, we hear questions such as, “Can Columbus support a major symphony orchestra?” Columbus - 15th largest city – state capital – home to the largest university – home to six Fortune 500 companies and fifteen Fortune 1,000 companies? The question is absurd on the face of it. If we fail to save the symphony, Columbus will be the largest city in America without one.

Traditionally, it has been the large corporations that the Symphony has turned to for regular, long-term support. Unfortunately, that is how a small group of corporate funders and board members have come to assume the power to speak for the entire community regarding the future of this rare community treasure. And amazingly, power that seems entirely disproportionate to their monetary contributions.

If given the support, Hirokami will bring fame to Columbus and challenge the Cleveland Orchestra as the best symphony in the state. This vision certainly does not appear to be shared by the Board and the current corporate funders. They are looking to the bare minimum level of funding rather than the challenging, exciting “quest for the best.” Will the community settle for mediocrity or will they step forward and fight for the very best.

Our symphony was on the cusp of a giant step forward in quality and professional respect, which would have brought incalculable rewards to Columbus, many in ways totally unrelated to the arts. Are we to let this treasure, which would take decades to rebuild, slip away because of several years of what appears to be gross mismanagement by the CSO Board and staff? (The musicians are not the problem; their wages — total artistic costs — have been at or below budget the last three years.)

In the bigger picture, if Columbus is to grow and keep pace with other major cities by attracting new business and industry, supporting the symphony right now is absolutely mandatory. This is purely a matter of civic and corporate will. Let’s just determine to do it! And generously, in ways that will ensure its long term excellence and survival.

An enormous outpouring of support is needed from community members and arts lovers from all walks of life. The emergency is real, and the consequences are enormous. Failure is not an option! I invite you to weigh in with your thoughts on this matter at www.symphonycolumbus.com.

David Lundberg

Eerie Silence in Columbus

Published
by
dtclarinet
on June 5, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Clarinet, Columbus Cultural Politics, Technique, columbus symphony orchestra, symphony board and symphony management
. 1 Comment

I feel like I’m in a bad dream, and that I’ll wake up tomorrow to make music for Columbus, as I and my colleagues have done for decades.

Minnesota Orchestra HallA friend just returned from an audition trip to Minneapolis, MN. She described the area around the Orchestra Hall as intensely marketed toward the symphony: a huge poster of their Music Director, Osmo Vänskä, Symphony Restaurants, Symphony Apartments. The whole area boasts of and features the symphony.

Here in Columbus, the silence is eerie from those who should know better: our Symphony Board, our Columbus City Council, our Mayor Coleman, our Greater Columbus Arts Council, our Governor Strickland, the Columbus Partnership, the Dispatch “Ohio’s Greatest Newspaper”, and those whose job it is to do what has been done in Minneapolis, make their orchestra everyone’s orchestra.

A comedy of musical omens

Published
by
dtclarinet
on June 4, 2008
in Clarinet, Equipment, Mastery, Musician's Life, Orchestra Auditions and The Music
. 3 Comments

This past Saturday and Monday I spent 7 hours recording a CD of 10 orchestral excerpts to be used as a preliminary round for a major US orchestra, the NY Philharmonic. The hours between were spent mostly practicing those excerpts.

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. Playing in an orchestra is to skating in the Ice Capades what auditioning for an orchestral position is to winning the Olympics.

Olympic athletes don’t have lives; they have only their goal, to win the Olympics. They sleep, eat, play, love and breathe that goal. Nothing else matters. Nothing else can matter, for every electron of their being must be pointed in one direction consistently for years in order to achieve that goal. Or attempt to achieve it. Many do not even gain a medal.

I hired a professional technician to help me with the task of recording and then editing the CD. I’m glad I did. After 7 hours of recording, there were 2 hours of takes from which the best 10 had to be selected to comprise the final 15 minute CD. This guy was top notch. He took detailed notes of my random playing order for each excerpt. (I often gave up perfecting one and tried another, or several others, before returning to the first.)

To be able to play those 10 excerpts with the highest quality, I had tested 50 or 60 reeds and rejected most of them (at $2 a shot) to get one or two which would let my music making shine through. I had practiced those excerpts with numerous reeds, and each reed had to be played slightly differently to make it work. Each excerpt also tended to demand a different kind of reed. Now I sought the one reed to rule them all!

Recording those 10 excerpts is like performing a decathlon, the height of athletic performance for any human. One has to be nimble to play Mendelssohn’s sprightly Scherzo, powerful to lift the heavy drama of Verdi’s Tosca or Kodaly’s Dances of Galanta, rich and somber for the opening of Tchaikovsky’s 5th Symphony, sensual and luring for Ravel’s Bolero, and some of all of the above for Brahms 3rd symphony.

I also had to play parts one of the most deceptively difficult of concertos; Mozart’s. Mozart demands both the purity of expression of a child and the technical mastery of a great artist.

I recorded right up to the deadline, allowing several hours for my engineer to edit the CD. With the finished product in my hands, I dared not listen to it, fearing only the flaws would reach my ears, nothing else.

I reread the very specific directions for sending it, which said to clearly label the jacket with my name. I took out an indelible marker and wrote my name on the CD, instead of the jacket. Since this was to be a “blind” preliminary audition, they couldn’t see my name on the CD. I had to copy the CD to a fresh disk and follow the directions this time, labeling the outside. Not a big deal, but time was running out.

It was now 8:15 PM. It had to be sent 9 PM to have it in the NY Phil office by the next morning. To be sure it copied correctly, I put the CD in my stereo and listened to a bit of each track. My heart sank. In the first 16 bars of the Mozart Concert, I noticed a few slightly out of tune notes.

Musicians are both blessed and cursed with astoundingly powerful and uncompromisingly sharp self-criticism. Those few out of tune notes would be nothing in a live performance, nothing at all. They would be of little consequence in a recording with orchestra, when the listener is taking in the big picture and the shape of the phrase. But when there are hundreds of applicants vying for one of only a few hundred jobs in the country, those first 16 bars are CRITICAL.

I pushed aside the gloomy mood which encroached. I was exhausted, having barely eaten the past two days, surviving on nervous energy. I headed for FedEx Kinkos to send it off. I flipped on the radio, which was playing a recording of Strauss’ Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks. The music came to the part where Till is about to be executed, as the whole brass section plays the doomsday march to the scaffold. It was appropriate music for my current mood.

Till, played by the Eb clarinet in this section, screams out in fear and desperation at impending death. After squealing out an incredibly high note, the parts calls for a low one. In this performance, that low note was flat as all get out! I bellowed with frustrated laughter. Ah, the painful irony of it all.

After mailing off the tainted CD, I returned home to focus on finding the cause of the deathly smell which had permeated my house. After sniffing around a bit, I located the little corpse of a chipmunk under my piano, the room in which I had been recording. (undoubtedly brought in by my cats several days earlier) Another ominously ironic sign? Death inspired music making? No wonder it was out of tune!!

I decided I had to get out of the house. I phoned a friend to meet me at a restaurant for a bite to eat, my first real meal in two days. On the way I turned on the radio again. I immediately recognized the music which had pulsed through my veins since age 12; Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto.

I also noticed several out of tune notes.

Audition Blast Off

Published
by
dtclarinet
on May 19, 2008
in Clarinet, Musician's Life, Orchestra Auditions and Practicing
. 1 Comment

If the Ice Capades are the musician’s daily life, auditions are the Olympics.

Tonight, to begin the process of learning “the list” for one audition I’m taking, I opened the xeroxed and stapled packet of required excerpts to the first page. Many orchestras supply the music to clear up any confusion regarding various editions, articulations, dynamics, tempos and specific sections to be used. This list was concise, serving as requirement for a taped, preliminary round.

I put on an acceptable reed (not a great one, to challenge myself), turned on the recorder and began to play from the beginning of the list. No matter what happened, I kept going, as if it were the audition itself. Most of these excerpts were familiar to me, both from previous auditions and from many years as an orchestral player.

My purpose in doing this exercise was to grasp the big picture of what needed serious work and what only needed tuning up, both in particular excerpts and my general technique. This test also honed my concentration toward the larger perspective of the whole list as the goal, rather than individual excerpts each with it’s own myriad challenges.

Afterwards, as I listened to the playback recording, I found with relief that I wasn’t too far off the final target. Tempos were fairly steady, pitch good, tone good. A few of the excerpts were less deeply ingrained for me, being “tutti” parts, where everyone is playing, rather than the more common solo parts asked at auditions. Those definitely needed some wood-shedding to get them up to the level of the others.

The most important lesson I learned from this crash debut practice session was the need to work on consistency, probably the most elusive of the musician’s skills. I remember Olivia Gutoff, my Junior High School band director in 1974, saying to me, “You cannot just practice until you play it right; you must practice until you cannot play it wrong!”

Those wise words have stuck, like a broken record, deep in my musician’s soul.

I did a google search for Olivia Gutoff, and found her Artistic Director’s summary of the ‘99-’00 season of the Maryland Classical Youth Orchestras, a position she held for many years. After several congratulatory paragraphs, she ends with some suggestions as to how her students might spend their Summer vacation.

It is also time to make scales more fluent, in-tune, and beautiful. And don’t forget that chromatic scale! Take music books you don’t generally work out of, and sight-read often. Ask your teacher to help you sight-read. It also helps to play duets, either with your teacher or with a friend.

One can never be over-prepared for an audition! Keep in mind that obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off the goal.

Ah, Olivia, you haven’t changed a bit! And I am a better musician for having known you.

Muczynski, Times Pieces, Movts. 3 and 4

Published
by
dtclarinet
on May 8, 2008
in Clarinet, Programing, The Music and YouTube Perfromances
. 0 Comments

Robert Muczynski’s 1984 Time Pieces were written for Mitchell Lurie. Movt. 3 is a breezy, lilting a,b,a scherzando; the 4th movt. gives the clarinet center stage with a long opening cadenza, which then leads into a rollicking, jagged molto allegro, ending with yet another clarinet cadenza before the final race to the finish. David Thomas, clarinet; Dianne Frazer, piano, recorded April 13, 2008.

Before the Music Begins

Published
by
dtclarinet
on May 3, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Clarinet and Personal
. 0 Comments

(The following story was submitted to the Columbus Dispatch for their First Person column. I hope it will be printed in the next week or two. It is a heavily revised, more accessible version of my previous post, “Why I am a musician“, with several new paragraphs.)

The powerful symphony we are about to play, and my ability to play it, seem to come from somewhere beyond human capabilities. Yet it highlights my humanity and my frailty, my nobility and my baseness. It reaches across ages and shows me how history and art have formed me and the civilization I live in.

Who wouldn’t want to be inside Einstein’s head, or Picasso’s or Martin Luther King’s as they thought and felt their great deeds? My life’s commitment is to get into composer’s heads and recreate their great music for others.

The first note we play is a commitment to our colleagues, the audience and the music. Egos may clash off stage, but conflict disappears as the conductor raises his baton and we come together to go beyond ourselves.

But a lot happens behind the scenes before the concert.

My clarinet’s reed is the heart of the instrument’s tone; it must be perfect if I am to perform with utmost skill. I carve a tiny piece of wood off the base of the reed. Almost nothing. I put the reed back on the mouthpiece and fasten it with the ligature. I form an embouchure and play the scale I repeat hundreds of times a day to check reeds. The raspiness has gone from the reed’s vibrations. Now it has a bell-like ring through the instrument. Ahh!

After two hours of working on reeds, I am tired. Add several hours of rehearsals today and that’s a full day. But I haven’t finished. I still need to review sections of tonight’s music. I need to be sure the reed will resonate in the low register for the famous opening clarinet passage of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony. The clarinet’s dark, brooding low notes are perfect for the mournful melody.

Why do I do this? I smile as I ask myself. “Because I love it” might be one answer. But that’s not quite it. It’s more like an itch that needs to be scratched. Since age 12, after hearing a recording of the instrument (Robert Marcellus), I had the “ring” of the clarinet’s tone in my head, an ideal to strive for.

As a child I always enjoyed science, especially botany, chemistry and physics. I also enjoyed music, perhaps because it seemed a bit like science to me. I began studying piano at age 6. During one of my first piano lessons my teacher had me face away from the piano and listen as she played various chords. I was to identify their happy and sad qualities. It fascinated me that a few musical notes could render such varied emotions.

Upon returning to the US after growing up abroad as a Foreign Service Diplomat’s kid, I was treated like an alien by other children my age. When I was introduced to clarinet in the 6th grade, I latched on to it as something secure and knowable. Over the years clarinet became my identity. While other adolescents grappled with the meaning of life, I strove to climb the mountain before me: mastering the clarinet. I competed in and won many competitions to hone my skills. My parents never had to push me to practice. However, I often took criticism hard, as it exposed my fervent desire to be the best.

10,000 hours of practice is the only way to master an instrument. Like an athlete wishing to win the Olympics, I constantly strive for machine-like perfection with an all-too-human body and life. Beyond practicing clarinet, I have worked a great deal behind the scenes to make it seem “effortless” on stage. I exercise regularly and I have studied various techniques for focus and poise.

Of course, playing the instrument alone is still only part of this process. I am a clarinetist because I love classical music. I’ll never forget playing Brahms’ fourth Symphony for the first time, age 17, at the Interlochen Summer Music Camp, an intensive “boot camp” for aspiring young artists. Brahms’ gypsy spirit shone through the almost tortured discipline of his North German Protestant upbringing. I related to the conflict of those emotions; freedom emerging from limitation. That sense of balance in conflict, and other such ideas learned from music, have fed my attitudes in life.

Being able to communicate music directly to an audience is my dream come true. A live performance reflects a unique snapshot in time and, like sports, happens in real time. And just as the excitement of a supportive crowd can urge a team to victory, an audience affects a performer with its attention and enjoyment. The smiles of listeners inspire me to fresh new depths of expression and heights of emotion.

Many in the audience probably think they know how this piece will sound. They have undoubtedly heard it in recordings. But tonight they will enjoy a fresh, new journey through this rich music, as performed by me and my fellow musicians. Maestro Hirokami brings down his baton and I am fortunate to be able to recreate the sad beginning of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth symphony. The end is never clearly known, and tonight I somehow sense that the ending of this symphony will be more optimistic than usual.

Moving On?

Published
by
dtclarinet
on April 27, 2008
in Clarinet, Mastery and Orchestra Auditions
. 3 Comments

While Columbus decides if it wants to have a real orchestra, I’ve decided not to wait for that outcome, as some others in the orchestra have already done. Sometimes bad things happen for a good reason. Perhaps it’s my time to move on.

I auditioned for St. Louis Principal Clarinet opening a year ago, the first audition I had taken in at least a decade. I could feel the old, deep instincts sluggishly resurging in my veins. While practicing hours of excerpts, like soliloquies from a play, the familiar convoluted logic of making music minus 80 began to resurface.

I not only had to be in top mental and physical condition, but my equipment also had to be world class. Compared to playing one or two difficult excerpts during an average concert, to play all the big excerpts one after the other was like taking a 5 year old Audi with 60,000 miles for a race at the Indianapolis 500. Though a great car, it probably won’t win, and certainly not if in need of a tune up. No, I don’t blame the outcome on the instrument or barrel or reed or mouthpiece. It’s just one factor which inhibits the fastest race. Anyway, equipment issues began to settle before the audition, but not in time for me to be completely comfortable before the audition date.

My own physical conditioning had also sagged during years of driving on auto pilot. Living as a musician is like being a professional skater. You need to stay in shape. But doing it week after week you learn to prepare enough for tonight’s performance, not winning the Olympics. Few can do that over and over. Musicians maintain a great deal of flexibility to play one or two different styles on a few days notice. But the “Olympics” of music is auditioning, when one must do it all, top to bottom, side to side, now!

Even a soloist has time on her side, playing the same music over a series of performances, opportunities to fine tune and improve. The audition taker is not privy to such luxury. He has to perform a multitude of varied and even conflicting styles and techniques at the drop of a hat, in succession. A tall order for anyone.

Hundreds of applicants seem to feel up to the task, though, since auditions are always peopled by a herd of regular faces who are convinced they will win the jackpot if they put in another quarter. I don’t feel that way. The few auditions I took in the 80’s were successful, meaning I was at least a semi-finalist if not a finalist. I prepare for auditions with every cell in my body, mind and spirit. It takes years to prepare the foundation, then as the date nears, it becomes my life for months.

St. Louis was not meant to be for me, or perhaps I wasn’t meant for St. Louis. I wouldn’t have hired me! I was frightfully insecure and doubtful, not a good way to win. I’m sure my playing demonstrated my abilities, but certainly not at an Olympic level.

Someone recently told me she avoided broadcasting their intention to audition, especially to non-musicians. Even a good player loses more than they win. She recounted how frustrating it was to be asked innocently by non-musicians of the outcome of her “job application”, then have to explain that repeatedly failing, even chronically failing to win an audition is a relatively normal event in a musician’s life, unlike applying for a clerk or server position. One oboist I know took some 49 auditions before nailing a top 10 job. Something akin to building the Pyramids in Egypt, day by patient, persistent day.

So now I begin, again, to take auditions. This time I have secured (most of) my equipment to a high and stable level of quality. For the past year I have also gained, or perhaps refreshed, my self-confidence using all available techniques, including good old fashioned positive thinking and supportive friendships. I’ve also practiced and performed more solo works to put myself under more pressure.

I got “the list” a week ago. The list of music required is your map to the treasure, the puzzle to be unlocked. A lot can be learned from the list. Most big orchestras keep their lists fairly short, perhaps eight or ten excerpts. And most will specify the sections they wish to hear. Some will even make copies of all the parts they require, to clear up the often confusing issue of various conflicting editions of any one composition. This list cites 18 entire pieces, without any indication of movements or sections to be emphasized.

Clearly, they seek a Federer or Rodick for the job. Somehow I am not daunted. Since I have played principal clarinet for 25 years, I have played all the music they request in its entirety. I am as experienced for this position as anyone.

It’s one thing to be experienced, however, and another to be ready. To be ready to play any of those pieces any time, day or night, I must increase my endurance, flexibility and consistency. I have two months to do it.

The first thing I did was pull out a scale book, the most advanced I have, and began a daily regimen of several hours of basic technique. So that’s where I am as of this report, in audition “boot camp”.

I will report regularly on what and how I’m practicing. See you soon. I’m off to do scales.

Why I Am a Classical Musician

Published
by
dtclarinet
on January 18, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Clarinet and Personal
. 2 Comments

I carve a tiny piece of wood off the base of the reed. The shaving isn’t much larger than one or two hairs of daily growth on a man’s face. Almost nothing. I put the reed back on the mouthpiece and fasten it with the ligature. I form an embouchure and play the scale I repeat hundreds of times a day to check reeds. The raspiness has gone from the reed’s vibrations. The difference is huge. Now it has a bell-like ring as it pings through the instrument. Ahh!

After 2 hours of working on reeds, I am tired. Add five hours of rehearsals today and that’s a full day. But I haven’t finished. I still need to review specific sections of this weekend’s music. And the reed I just fixed might not make it through five minutes of playing, with the time spent on it lost after that.

Why do I do this? I smile as I ask myself. “Because I love it” might be one answer. But that’s not quite it. It’s more like an itch I have to scratch. From age 12 on I had the “ring” of the clarinet’s tone in my head, an ideal to strive for. Such a goal is elusive; it shifts and hides moments after being within your grasp.

Reeds are part of the problem, but so is being human. I am not a machine. I have to eat and sleep. I get tired. I have good days and bad. Yet the goal is always there; to outdo myself. Like an athlete wishing to win the Olympics, I strive for perfection with an all too human body and life. I may not always achieve it. But the striving tenures me to strong and tenacious character.

Of course, playing the instrument alone is only part of this puzzle. I am a clarinetist because I love music. Why do I love classical music so much?

As I ponder this question, my ear wanders to a CD I have playing of Bach’s Goldberg Variations performed by Andras Schiff. It’s a new recording for me. I have at least four recordings of this piece by different performers. Each player creates something fresh with their interpretation. So while the music is very familiar to me, it sounds new in this pianist’s hands.

Bach’s variations are accessible, dancelike and intimate, humorous and poignant. One in particular, the 26th, breaks my heart each time I hear it. I hang on every note. Schiff’s version is surprisingly feminine and coquettish, but with amazing facility and control. The tone of the particular piano he plays is also exquisite.

This brilliant music, and the performance, seems to come from somewhere beyond human capabilities. Yet it reflects human emotions in a crystalline way. It says something to me which I cannot articulate. It tells me who I am and who I could be. It reminds me of my humanity and my frailty, my nobility and my baseness. It reaches across ages, like sculpture or painting, and shows me how history and art has formed me and the civilization I live in.

Classical music offers a place of sanity in a harsh world. It clears the haze of daily life and allows us a glimpse of the thoughts and feelings of great people and a connection to our higher selves. And of their vulnerabilities. Who wouldn’t want to be inside Einstein’s head, or Picasso’s or Martin Luther King’s, as they thought and felt their great deeds? Well, I do. My life’s commitment is to be the instrument which recreates the vision of great composers for others.

Unlike painting or literature, classical music is experienced directly in time. Though I enjoy recordings of great pianists and orchestras, I relish hearing one as it happens. A live performance reflects a unique snapshot in time, much like sports are reality in action. Just like the excitement of a supportive crowd in sports, the audience affects performers with their attention and enjoyment. In a live performance, the history of today day can cue a great performer to fresh new depths of expression and heights of emotion for those listeners.

Orchestral performances are an intersection of many parts. First you have the music itself and the history of its style, something like recreating Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Then you have the particular orchestra and conductor, the “repainters”, if you will. Each member of the orchestra brings their own ideals and experience to the table, which then has to amalgamate into one voice. Then there are the acoustics of the hall, and the audience’s interest. It comes together each time to form a unique experience. When it all gels and the energy builds towards perfection, a particular performance can become an epiphany for all concerned.

Back to my own life and career. I may fix numerous good reeds at home, but few withstand the test of playing in my hall. The acoustics are deplorable, sadly, for the orchestra and especially the audience. This is not a concert hall, but a movie theater. It is not meant for the sublte voice of great music. I need a dense, resonant tone to carry my musical intentions to the odd corners of the cavernous room and the ears of listeners. Dozens of hours of work are usually spent to find the right reed for the hall, one which responds in the weather of that day and the demands of that night’s music.

Recently, I have been experimenting with other aspects of tone production, especially mouthpieces. When I first got this job 18 years ago, I had a great combination of reed type and mouthpiece which fit perfectly with the hall. I thought it was all the practicing I had done before winning the audition. I was naive. When that mouthpiece warped, ruining it, I searched for a decade and never found one with such beauty of tone. In the process I became a better musician. But it wasn’t without its cost in tens of thousands of dollars and countless hours and stress. Somehow I wonder if it’s worth it. I warn students of the gravity of choosing a music career.

All this thought and activity is before I play a note in a concert. In a live performance, a musician is naked. Even beyond practicing clarinet, I have worked a great deal behind the scenes to make it seem “effortless” on stage. I have studied various techniques for focus and presence in order to overcome fatigue and stress from so many hours of repetitive practicing. In truth, much of my daily life since age 12 has been working toward the present performance. The goal may be ideal, but a human plays for it. Personally, I play better when I know I am being heard and appreciated. A great conductor helps bring my focus together, and a great audience.

When the concert finally begins, the first note is a commitment to the rest of the piece and to my colleagues. Egos may clash on and off stage, but conflict usually disappears as the conductor raises his baton and we come together to go beyond ourselves. All my work may or may not pay off this time. Even the best athletes fall.

Is it worth it? All this for the love of great ideas!? I guess that tiny shaving of reed is worth a great deal to me.

Intimacy with your Instrument, part 2

Published
by
dtclarinet
on November 2, 2007
in Clarinet and Mastery
. 0 Comments

If you think of intimacy with a person, the first words that come to mind are commitment, trust and communication. Also, to be close to someone, you need to know yourself first. That in itself is a lifelong process. No matter how compatible a couple might be, there will be problems: misunderstandings, a build up of bad memories, and plain complacency and boredom. All these things can kill a relationship if left unresolved. It is the same for your long term relationship with your instrument.

After graduating from Northwestern, I knew a lot about how I wanted to play the clarinet, and how others had accomplished that goal, but I didn’t know myself very well yet, and though I played well, I didn’t know my instrument very deeply. To carry the analogy of a human relationship further, it was as if, during eight years of private study I had been told by a very wise but dominant mother in law how to best relate to my partner, the clarinet.

During my year in Greensboro, I had plenty of time to be alone with the clarinet. The job only entailed 6 or 7 concerts and a dozen or so quintet gigs. It gave me a structure and some cash, but it was far from full time. Luckily my parents still helped out financially, so I didn’t need to seek other work and could focus on mastering clarinet.

I thought a lot about what I wanted to accomplish on the instrument. I knew how to sound good on it, but only with a lot of effort. In my attempts to sound and look like Robert Marcellus I had lost flexibility and adaptability. So rather than continue along that path, I threw out the idea of sounding a particular way, and strove for physical composure and balance.

At some point I wrote a few notes summing up the ideas I employed during many of my practice sessions. These ideas can easily be translated into a set of simple guidelines for any relationship.

1- Hear, Don’t Listen. The Ideal (sound) is always in your ear. You will move toward it, so don’t struggle with it. Let it happen. When I found my notes years later, I was perplexed by what I had meant by “hear, don’t listen”. But after studying the Alexander Technique for the past few years, I rediscovered the importance of keeping judgment out of self-analysis in any relationship. When interacting with your instrument, avoid all judgment of good, bad, right and wrong. Your goal is self-evident. Your love of music, your instrument or your partner is the ideal which will promote your development. If you stumble over every little mishap and error, you’ll lose sight of that goal very quickly and will get tangled in a morass of sticky judgment.

2- The breath should feel like a two way tube going from the bottom of the gut to the end of the instrument, at all times, especially during articulation. This advice obviously applies only to wind instrument players. Even so, I puzzled at the meaning of this strange image from years ago. Here again, the Alexander Technique helped me find a more concise and relevant way to put it. Breath support is just that, nothing else. It’s not breath “force” or breath “rigidity”. When the breath is let out, it is balanced by the resistance of the instrument. When this balance of resistance is accomplished, it does in fact feel like a two way tube! In a personal relationship, this particular advice might be translated to mean: give and take. You cannot push harder than the other is able to handle. It’s counter productive.

3- Play with your whole body. This advice seems obvious, but few of us follow it. We play the instrument using a bunch of rules about how to play or not play, forgetting our direct involvement all all times. Some of us think, “once learned, that’s it.” Others approach the instrument daily with fear and anxiety. A relationship, whether with a person or an instrument, is never “finished” or “complete”. It’s a continuous process. Every time you play, it’s a new experience. Leave the baggage behind and travel light. Look forward not back.

Beyond the above advice, some other ideas came to mind while re-examining my relationship with the clarinet the past few years. Try new equipment (with caution) and techniques to keep things fresh. I’ve been dabbling with mouthpieces and have learned the hard way to be circumspect before changing equipment. I’ll soon be writing a post about that experience, but I still stand by the suggestion to try new toys. They teach you to be flexible and adaptive. I’ve also been experimenting with new techniques such as double tonguing and circular breathing, not because they will make me a better musician, but because they keep me humble about my abilities. There’s always something more to be learned.

I also improvise occasionally, very late at night when no one is around, with the windows all shut. I have never been comfortable with improvising, but I know it’s the best way to free up one’s playing, both physically and mentally.

To be intimate with your instrument you need to trust yourself and play fearlessly. You need to face your limitations with an open mind and delve into problems systematically and without judgment.

Keep your love of music in sight. If you lose that, you lose direction. That’s the hardest one for me as a long time player. It’s easy to become jaded and resentful of the repetition involved in maintaining high playing standards. It’s difficult to keep attitude and playing fresh. Writing about it or talking about it helps. Playing voluntary (unpaid) recitals is a great way to stay fresh.

Don’t ever just play. Make music.