Archive for the 'Mastery' Category

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

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.

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.

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.

Intimacy With Your Instrument

Published
by
dtclarinet
on October 29, 2007
in Clarinet and Mastery
. 4 Comments

One of the biggest hurdles of longtime professional musicians is maintaining a good relationship with their instrument. Most of us start learning our instruments in Elementary School. How many people are married to their 5th grade sweethearts?

For many of us the beginning starts before we meet our life-long instrument. My relationship with classical music started when I was a few years old. I’d sit in the first row and wiggle and twitch while my mother performed Schubert and Schumann songs. I don’t know how she concentrated. My father played tapes of classical music, mostly Beethoven symphonies and various opera arias. He wasn’t a musician, but appreciated the art.

I began piano lessons at age 6 or 7. Though I don’t remember much, I recall being fascinated by the happy/sad distinction of major and minor keys. My teacher would play a chord and ask me to identify the mood. What intrigued me was that the mood could be changed with only one note shifting down a half step.

When unable to study privately, I remember diligently but laboriously reading a simple Bach gavotte. I also improvised childish tunes and, like any other young pianist, played chop sticks and the boogie woogie. I was not a talented pianist and struggled with every piece. But my passion was undeniable. I enjoyed music, its moods, its shapes and textures.

In sixth grade I was introduced to the clarinet through a demonstration of numerous wind instruments by one man, a music teacher who went from school to school enticing kids with his alacrity on flute, trumpet, oboe, clarinet, trombone and saxophone. He was the pied piper to me, and really enjoyed each instrument.

I picked clarinet because it went the highest and the lowest. Sounds like a kid’s kind of thinking! I had never thought of the clarinet before, or heard it as far as I remember. So that first impression was deep. My choice wasn’t necessarily because of its sound, but I would later realize how its tone also drew me in.

Though years later I would fall in love with the floaty lightness of flute and the dark brooding quality of English Horn, there’s an open, ringing clarity to the tone of the clarinet which has obsessed me since I began playing.

After I’d played my new rented plastic instrument a few months (and had thrown it on the ground in frustration, breaking it), I stumbled upon a recording which would solidify the clarinet as the love of my life. My parents often took me shopping at the Giant Superstore, something like a Wal-Mart. While they shopped for food, I browsed the LPs. One found its way fatefully into my hand: the Mozart Clarinet concerto with Robert Marcellus and the Cleveland Orchestra.

I was 12 years old. I hadn’t formed any opinion of Mozart, and had never heard of Robert Marcellus. But when I heard that recording for the first time, I knew I wanted to be the one playing that piece someday. His tone was what hooked me. Marcellus had a haunting clarity, a round, dark ring to every note. I couldn’t get that sound out of my ear, and I still strive for it.

The struggle begins. I had this sound in my ear, along with a style. Marcellus’ legato was powerful. The connection between notes made you listen to the line. I wanted to get there but didn’t know how.

I started private lessons with the best teacher in town, Sidney Forrest. Through Middle and High School, he hammered technique into me. He quickly saw that I could be complacent (a word Marcellus used years later to describe me to my face) and scheduled lessons at 8 AM Saturday mornings. No Friday night parties for me.

Mr. Forrest didn’t play in my lessons, so I didn’t have a close up model to imitate. I struggled to make the instrument mine. My technique was quite good, except for tonguing. My sight reading was terrible. Musically I had the right intuitions. Mr. Forrest disciplined all those to improve. I became a much better player, but felt no personal style developing yet.

I realize now I still hadn’t respected the instrument deeply. Instead I was infatuated, addicted, like a young lover. I wanted to posses the clarintet, make it mine. I fought to conquer it, and inadvertently allowed a lot of tension into my playing in the process. My successes mounted despite the tension. I won numerous competitions in High School. But I had a lot to learn.

I continued my studies with Mr. Forrest at Interlochen Summer camp (where Robert Marcellus, conducting a rehearsal of Mahler 1, said my head was screwed on wrong) and then at Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore. After two years at Peabody, I became restless and wanted a change. I applied to study with Guy de Plus in Paris and was accepted by him. At the same time I had one lesson with the legend Robert Marcellus, who was at Northwestern in Chicago.

My lesson with Marcellus changed me. Though he was unable play much due to his failing health, his simple C scale demonstration showed me the closeup version of the sound I had had in my ear since age 12. He gave me his famous crash course in clarinet technique: basic legato, staccato, phrasing and tone. Though he wasn’t masterful at the how to, he got across the what to. The rest was up to me.

I transferred to Northwestern for my third and fourth undergrad years. I ended up studying with Clark Brody, whose gentle, focused approach to the instrument wouldn’t sink in to my soul for many years. I was still obsessed with Marcellus, with whom I had maintenance lessons several times a year, perhaps a fortuitous stroke of fate for me. I had heard about players he had ruined with his caustic and bitter teaching style. His tragically shortened career had left him justifiably angry.

I continued to imitate Marcellus, his tone, and now his embouchure, which looked like an alien had taken over his top lip and was trying to eat the mouthpiece and his lower lip. He once said me to in a moment of compassion, ‘don’t try to imitate the way I look, just use your ear’. I still had little to go on from my own soul. I could think of nothing but being him, rather that being my own, high quality player.

The best part of the Northwestern experience was mock auditions held twice a year. They helped focus me to the task of getting a job. Conservatory musicians tend to get lost in all the esoteric and aesthetic details of playing and lose the big picture (at least for orchestral players): winning an audition.

But my playing would not be independent until I was on my own. After graduating from Northwestern, I won the first audition I took, for the small Greensboro Symphony in NC. It was there that I would become truly intimate with my instrument for the first time.

I’ll start from there in my next post.

Practicing Techniques

Published
by
dtclarinet
on February 17, 2007
in Behind the Scenes and Mastery
. 8 Comments

A musician can never stop practicing anytime in their career. I believe it was the great cellist Rostropovich (or was it Casals) who said, “If I don’t practice for one day, I notice a decline in quality; if it’s two days without practice, my wife notices; three days, my neighbor notices.”

Over the years my practice habits have sagged. Various illnesses and physical problems struck me down hard and repeatedly for about 5 years. And, to be honest, my passion for my instrument also sagged during those periods. I eventually went through a crisis in confidence and self-respect.

During that time I saw the movie Spiderman 2. In the movie, Spiderman loses his “powers” for some mysterious reason, but which had something to do with lack of belief in himself. He goes through a crisis of identity. I related to his condition at the time. My playing had not changed much from the outside, but my belief in myself as a strong player had declined seriously.

Over my long “recovery” of confidence, I rediscovered the most basic habits of good practicing. They are: Consistency, Physical Relaxation (Poise), Patience, Focus and Efficiency. These habits, of course, are quite general and can be applied to any complex individual task.

Practicing is a lonely task. It is tedious, repetitive, frustrating, and seemingly endless. The “myth of Sisyphus”, where Sisyphus pushes a huge boulder up a mountain everyday, only to find it at the bottom again the next, exemplifies the endless tediousness of practicing. But by cultivating the basic habits outlined above, one can chip away the mountain, or at least find the most efficient route to keep the boulder at the top more and more consistently.

Let’s look at each habit more closely.

Consistency: This is the most basic rule for accomplishing any long term project in life. And it is primary to being a succesful musician. One of my old teachers, Robert Marcellus, claimed that the students who practiced their scales daily were the ones most likely to succeed. A local trumpet player, whose playing is the most consistent I’ve ever heard, warms up exactly the same way before any rehearsal or concert.

I begin the day with slow scales, which can be described as combination of long-tones and scales. I start with the lowest register of the clarinet, where the air can be relaxed and full, where the embouchure can be the softest. I play the scale one octave, whole notes, using a full sound, then descend the next half step up, continuing up the to the highest range of the instrument. I also add some legato tonguing, to be sure that muscle is also poised and focused. This way I slowly warm up the body: fingers, embouchure, tongue and air without stress. This warm also helps me be sure my body is Relaxed and Poised.

Consistency does not just mean regularity here. One must be consistent in attitude and focus during each session and during the entire practice session.

Patience: One cannot practice in a hurry. That is when the most damage is done. An uncanny aspect of the body is that it learns fast, even mistakes. A passage played wrong once takes three times to correct. Slow down, mentally and physically. Find the level at which you can play something and work from there. Anger and frustration accomplish nothing. Take a break if you are on edge. Taking many small breaks helps me stay balanced and focused.

This brings me to the next habit, Focus. One cannot practice without being alert and focused. One of the most difficult aspects of being a professional musician is the odd hours we have to keep. My orchestra can schedule performances or rehearsals anytime from 10 AM to 8 PM. My body and mind must be able to focus at any time. The obvious implication here is the importance of proper rest, diet and exercise to maintain our real instrument, the body.

Practice time must be kept clear of distractions to allow focus as intense as a surgeon’s in order to refine and improve the smallest details in one’s playing. There is no other way to improve. Bludgeoning away at something without close attention will only ingrain sloppy habits. This brings me to efficiency of thought and action.

Efficiency: Like a scientist, we must closely observe patterns in our playing and analyze limitations for solutions. Developing problem solving skills is crucial. Experimentation is recommended if a solution is not obvious. A good teacher can help student learn efficient problem solving.

If I am learning a difficult passage, the first thing I do is isolate the biggest problem spots. Let’s say I am learning a passage of fast sixteenth notes where a group of four notes are slowing me down. I drop the rest of the passage and focus on problem group. I may repeat them slowly a few times, or try different rhythms to gain finger dexterity.

But I also look at all aspects of those notes and check off what might be causing the glitch. Is my air steady through those notes? This is often the hidden problem with technique on a wind instrument. Without steady air, no passage will flow easily.

Then I look at each change of fingering in the passage. Are the fingers moving as efficiently as possible, staying over the keys without tension or gripping? I may notice that the fingerings between just two notes requires 5 or 6 fingers to move. This may be the tripping point. If so, I’ll create a trill exercise using just those two notes. This is just one example of how detailed focus can improve one tiny passage in a larger work.

During this detailed analysis, I occasionally remind myself to “stay in the room”. By this I mean keep the body and mind in the physical present, so as not to lose awareness of creeping tension in any part of body or mind while focusing narrowly on a detail. Staying open physically and mentally during tedious practice is probably one of the most important habits one can cultivate as a musician.

The underlying foundation of all good playing is belief in oneself. A musician cannot accomplish much without that basic self trust. But by employing the habits detailed above, one can gain confidence and control over one’s body and instrument.

My First Masterclass

Published
by
dtclarinet
on January 11, 2007
in Clarinet, Mastery and Teaching
. 5 Comments

Yesterday I gave my first masterclass to a bunch of 8th graders. Ultimately, I’m fishing for new private students. In Columbus, it’s not enough to be the best player in town. There are several other area teachers who canvas and solicit individual schools and who are willing to teach on site. Parents love this, since they don’t have to shuttle the kids to lessons halfway across town. I won’t be doing that, but I’ll give master classes free in all the middle schools to introduce myself and show my abilities. Then, if a student becomes serious about studying privately, they’ve already been introduced to me as a possible choice.

The teacher at this middle school impressed me with her spirit and enthusiasm’s for her job. She follows each student’s development from 6th grade on. She has also turned down offers to teach higher grades because she loves teaching the middle school ages. I learned a lot from talking with her.

I admitted to her I had not done this before. I’ve taught privately for most of my career, and I’ve coached a few woodwind sectionals for the local youth orchestra. But in that case, the material is the music they’re working on, not a group lesson in clarinet technique, and not 22 8th graders. So I was a bit nervous.

I had scribbled some notes about basic clarinet technique: how to hold the instrument, how to breathe, forming an embouchure, etc. The truth is, I work on these basics every time I play. I kept the descriptions as clear and direct as possible, without under-rating their importance.

8th graders are at that in between age, neither children nor young adults, but some of both. Since I don’t have kids, I have little experience with them. Most of my private students have been high school age. I decided to start off very honestly, and told them I had not done this before, and that I would appreciate their indulgence and feedback. I also told them that I myself practice the basics everyday, even though I’ve played clarinet for 30 years. I showed I was willing to meet them at their level, with some valuable advice to offer. It seemed to be a good way to start. Whew!

I tried to make eye contact with most of them as I spoke. There were 22 students in the class, so I scanned the individual faces every few seconds. They knew I was watching.

After a brief warm up and a quick lesson about hand position, I singled out two students with particularly good embouchures, and had them demonstrate for the class. Those two felt honored to be in such a position.

As the class progressed, their attention occasionally slipped and I adjusted accordingly. For the most part, they were attentive. Once or twice, one boy chatted with a friend while I spoke. I gently asked his cooperation in allowing me to speak un-interrupted. His teacher went over and stood behind him. I barely noticed this at the time, but the reason became apparent later.

Near the end of the class, during a question period, he asked an impressive and valid question: Why does his breathing become more labored after playing a few phrases of music in succession? I answered the question with an appropriately complex answer; many factors, including the reed, embouchure and breathing skill, affected the ease of breathing.

After the class, his teacher brought him up to me to continue the discussion privately, which I was happy to do. We had a good talk, and eventually figured out that his mouthpiece had been damaged, and was causing undue resistance, causing his labored breathing. He seemed happy and comfortable talking to me.

In my follow up feedback discussion with his teacher, she gave me encouraging feedback; I had involved and engaged the students, no easy task at this age; I had chosen the right level of language, neither condescending nor babying; and I had adjusted to changes in their attention by shifting to a game or contest to bring them back. I was happy with the success.

But the icing on this gratifying cake was this. She explained to me that the boy who had asked the question had developmental problems, specifically in relating to men. Apparently, he had to be sequestered for belligerent behavior when a male substitute teacher taught the class. Somehow I had engaged him at a level he could trust. We had each overcome a block; he in relating to a man, me in relating to an 8th grader. I can’t imaging a better reward for an hour’s work.

How to Play True Legato

Published
by
dtclarinet
on January 8, 2007
in Mastery
. 6 Comments

Legato playing, the smooth connection between notes in a musical line, is difficult on any instrument. Piano has more difficulty playing legato, since it’s basically a percussion instrument. Voice wins easily for the most true legato, since the larynx can shift subtlety from note to note with a pure connection.

You would think wind instruments, begin fairly close to the voice in their use of air to phrase, would have an easy task with legato. But the physical fact of a finger or pad covering a hole to change the length of the vibrating column commits an act of minor violence to it.

To compensate for this limitation, many woodwind players “chew” on each note with their air to give the impression of legato. The legato then turns into “wa-wa-wa” instead of a smooth line “wa-a-a”. Yet, though this alleviates the symptom of a note changing with a clunk, this quick fix doesn’t really solve the problem. Rather, it creates other problems, namely tension in the air column and lack of direction in the phrase.

During my studies at Northwestern with Robert Marcellus and Clark Brody, I learned the mechanism for the best possible legato on the clarinet. The key is in the steadiness of air support. This may seem obvious, but it’s actually very difficult to do. Remembering the “violence” of moving from note to note, and keeping in mind that each note will resonate differently depending on which holes are opened or closed on which part of the instrument, keeping the air steady is more elusive a task than it may seem. Our ears tend to tell our bodies to “wa-wa” to cover the clunkiness of notes changing. Our bodies will tense and flinch in anticipation of the sudden change in tone and resonance. So how do we resolve these issues?

To create beautiful legato on the clarinet, one must override these urges and discipline the body. The first step is to ensure one is using the highest quality support. This simple act takes years to master. The air must be released and sent into the instrument using the whole torso and diaphragm in a harmonious motion. (This will be the subject of another post) When this is accomplished, one must consciously play “one note” with the air while moving the fingers with disciplined commitment. Most importantly, one must summon the courage not to flinch as the note changes. This detail takes a great deal of self-awareness, since the tiny movements of embouchure, air and fingers are barely noticeable, especially if one has been unconsciously adjusting to alleviate the bumps between notes.

As an exercise, one might play a single note and imagine playing a simple scale. The fingers do not move, but the mind pretends they are, helping separate the integrity of air and embouchure from the air. Then play the scale very, very slowly, moving the fingers extremely slowly, so as to explore each muscle movement in every detail. This may cause some fuzziness or dead space between notes, but the exercise will accomplish its goal of giving the player full awareness of the movement. Meanwhile the air must remain a pure stream as it was during playing one note. Lastly, be aware of any changes in embouchure and override them. Play “coldly”, like a machine.

Ultimately, when the motions of the three components of legato are separated, namely air stream, fingers and embouchure, the player will have a chance to idealize the connection between notes. Flinching the embouchure and air will be reduced to the minimum necessary to “voice” the next note, no more. The fingers will move with disciplined commitment, with no unnecessary violence of movement. Then the player may give the smoothest direction possible to the line of the phrase, creating a clear, musical statement of intent and direction.

Organic Rhythm

Published
by
dtclarinet
on December 29, 2006
in Mastery and Technique
. 10 Comments

I used to play in a woodwind quintet, the wind equivalent of a string quartet. It was a pretty decent group made up of successful freelancers from around town in Washington, DC.

During one rehearsal, we had trouble playing some passages together. The oboist complained we needed to practice with a metronome. I countered with the idea that we needed to feel the rhythm together, regardless of the metronome. We were both right. Metronomes help, but “live” rhythm is rarely ever metronomic. Like tuning, “scientific” correctness is not necessarily what sounds best. She never conceded my point.

I know a lot of musicians like her. Their goal is to play more or less like a machine: perfectly in tune with a tuner and in rhythm with the metronome. But music played like that puts me to sleep. Why have humans play at all when a computer program would be more efficient?

Great musicians can play a phrase of music with incredible rhythmic accuracy, and yet never quite match up with a metronome. Great chamber groups and even whole orchestras can do the same. It’s obviously a lot harder for the latter, but with years of experience and trust among players, a larger group can be free and stay together rhythmically.

One form of freedom is called “rubato”, which means “to steal or borrow” time from one part of the phrase to add to another. The total sum of time is the same as the metronomic phrase, but with much greater freedom. That kind of phrasing says keeps the listener interested with its unpredictable freedom. The player can then emphasize the natural tension and relaxation and explore the infinite possibilities with each repeated phrase or section of music.

Played by a great artist, a fairly conservative phrase of music, which may sound completely rhythmic to the listener, will still have subtle freedom. The allure of a great performance is how it floats and flirts with with stodgy rhythm without committing to any predictability.

In the case of chamber music, each player still has the freedom of a soloist, but has to interact conversationally with the other players.

A good orchestra will have a rigorous system of trust and hierarchy, starting with the conductors interpretation and freedom, trickling down through the various leaders of each section and on down to the lower ranks. Unfortunately, this means the lower ranks do have have much freedom at all, and have to be content following their leaders. But even in this case, each player has the responsibility to commit wholeheartedly to recreating the freedom and direction of phrasing set up by the conductor.

Knowing what rhythmic freedom to take and where to take it is the sign of a master musician. It can only be taught to a degree. The rest is experience, talent and intuition.

Trying out new equipment

Published
by
dtclarinet
on December 12, 2006
in Equipment and Mastery
. 2 Comments

Musicians are as reliant on their equipment as they are their arms and legs. Great equipment is half the battle to playing well. But the search is not so easy.

I’ve been trying out new mouthpieces for months now. Actually, I’ve been searching ever since I started playing clarinet. The perfect mouthpiece is an extension of your body, your musical soul. The more it matches you, the easier it is to make music with it. The less it matches, the more fighting you do just to get past its limitations.

The old mouthpieces from the 40’s and 50’s are still unmatched. Like the Stradivarius violins, there is something mystical about those old mouthpieces. Some say it’s the hard rubber they were made of, and how it’s aged and tempered over the decades of aging.

But the material only accounts for some of the qualities in a good mouthpiece. There are the interactions acoustically between the facing, where the reed vibrates, and the baffle, where the vibrations expand, and the chamber, where the sound is sent into the bore of the instrument.

The facing is the flat table where the reed is held by a ligature, a device to fix the reed in place. (Even the ligature has multiple designs to help with tone and response, but that’s another post) The facing consists mainly of the tip opening, which is the space between the tip of the reed and the mouthpiece. It’s where the vibrations (flapping of the reed) begin. The length of the facing is how far down the flat table the facing begins to curve away from the reed. The length of the facing gives depth to the sound, since the reed is vibrating further down. The shorter the facing, the more flexible it is at the expense of depth, and the longer it is, the less flexible but deeper it sounds.

The baffle is the inside, curved “beak”, where the sound expands into the bore. The swoop of the baffle, how deep or flat it is, affects the speed and expansion of the tone. It also affects response in articulation.

The chamber is the transition from the beak to the round bore of the clarinet. The size and shape of this transition further affects how the sound forms as it enters the instrument.

Each of these areas interacts with another, and so is dependent on the others. One type of baffle may work with one facing, but not another. One chamber may hinder a deep baffle, but not if the facing is very open.

Then there is the interaction between the player and the mouthpiece. Each mouthpiece has a certain character. The craftsman does his best to make each “blank” into the best mouthpiece it can be. The player then chooses between these various “works” and finds the one which best matches his playing.

Reeds are another maddening variable. One mouthpiece may work well with one reed, but may be fussy about reeds in general. So when trying mouthpieces, I have to try many different reeds on them over a period of time to test its consistency. I also need to test mouthpieces in the context of the orchestra to see how the pitch settles and how the response and tone work under pressure.

The process of trying mouthpieces can take years. At some point, a sane person needs to just put away all but one and work with it, get reeds to match it, and give it time to become and extension of the body which plays the music.