Archive for the 'Personal' Category

New Musicians Blog

Published
by
dtclarinet
on July 19, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Musician's Life, Our Supporters and Personal
. 1 Comment

Ever since my blog became a central place to disseminate information and opinions on the Symphony crisis, I have lost track of my original purpose for it: to write about music and life as a performer. Though I have gotten heavily involved, as I and all the musicians must, I would like to go back to writing about clarinet, reeds, mouthpieces, my favorite pieces, and other issues specific to my vocation.

So, I created a blog for all of you: musicians, supporters, detractors, volunteers, donors, and music lovers in general. ANYONE can write a post or comment. To comment, just click on the “COMMENTS” link at the bottom of any post you wish to comment on. To post you can send me your email and I’ll register you.

Several substantial posts by other writers have already appeared, notably one by Greg Kufchak, a professional recording engineer in Columbus, and whose son is an extraordinarily talented cellist. Here is his most recent article, Withholding of funding by major donors a referendum.

The blog is listed in the sidebar on the right side of the blog. It’s the Columbus Symphony Musicians Blog.

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

Musicians Concerts this Weekend

Published
by
dtclarinet
on July 8, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Musician's Life, Off the Record, Our Supporters, Performances and Personal
. 0 Comments

Several folks have inquired regarding details of this weekend’s concerts by musicians of the Columbus Symphony. If you don’t have time to read my passionate philosophical explorations :-) on the implications of the phrase “musicians concerts”, all the information you need for the concerts is HERE. Also, we need volunteers to sell tickets and usher for the Saturday evening concert. Please contact Donna Gerhold at gerhold@insight.rr.com to find out what you can do. Breaking news: Now you can buy tickets at MCSO Concerts, the musician concerts website.

Now for my philosophical entreaty on the value of live classical music:

I can’t help but notice the playful redundancy of the phrase “musicians concert”; yet there it is, in all it’s ironic nakedness. It sounds so honest and real, as opposed to the “such and such symphony orchestra”, which already sounds corporate. (although the word corporate, beyond its business use, also means “united or combined into one”, an ideal for a group of musicians from a musical point of view)

When did the “musicians’ get replaced by an “institution” or an “organization”? As if they didn’t exist in the flesh, but only in terms of something else!

Has the time come when all sides will band together, no pun intended, to make the music happen?

Judging from the recent event here in Columbus and also the longterm history of professional music making, the question arises; How do we traverse this sludge of tradition and habit to attain the pure goal embodied in the phrase musicians concert? We don’t want to throw the good out with the bad. Yet, isn’t that part of the American spirit, to look unflinchingly with fresh eyes and see, or attempt to see, what is of real value and what is dead weight?

Another question; Are these upcoming concerts just a “job” for us, the musicians? After all, we have to make a living at what we do to continue to do it. Then there’s the aching question, what constitutes “making a living”? But we won’t go there just now. Let us assume the concept of “free market” thinking will fumble it’s way to some real truth, if we continue to ask the right questions. Such as, what is the value of the music we play? Can a dollar sign really be placed on the complex emotions aroused by great classical music?

The quality of the music is certainly an important factor. Any “product” (I hate to use the word here) has a “value”. But what system, or organization, determines that value? Are fads valuable because they sell well for awhile?

Continuing with the idea of fads, why is it that many, many people gravitate toward classical music as they age? Shouldn’t their wisdom and experience count as a meaningful indication of the “value” of the music they wish to hear?

Bear with me, I need to work this through.

A few weeks ago, I drove the seven hours trip to Bethesda, MD, where I grew up, to visit with my mother and sister for a few days. I always listen to music on the trip. Since classical music has trouble cutting through the substantial hum of the highway, I picked a half dozen pop/world pop CDs from the library to play during the driving time.

I didn’t listen to more than 5 minutes of any of those CDs. These CD’s were so insipid, all of them, Shafqat Ali Khan, pseudo Indian music (I grew up in India, and heard numerous “classical” Indian concerts), Jolie Holland (get a composer), Astor Piazzolla (a real classical composer) remixed (huh???!), even Steely Dan, whom I used to listen to, seemed washed out, stale. Am I getting old? At least “rock” music didn’t try to impress anyone, and won over hearts and minds with that idea!

Back to the subject: musicians concerts! I could go on with the yadayadayada of how dedicated we are, how much time we spend practicing, how much money we spend on our equipment. Even though it’s all true, we made those choices, after all. So what is all our effort worth? Is it up to the public to decide? You’re darn right? People with whom we share all our passion and dedication, the process and the outcome, the suffering and the joy, the growing pains and the growth spurts, will be like family to us, and us to them. They will love us for what we do, not the product we make.

That’s the real value of music, and especially classical music, which is by FAR the most difficult AND rewarding type of music there is, both for members of the audience and the musicians. (except for really great jazz)

OK, I’ve had my say. Now for some details about this weekend’s concerts. Friday’s concert is for kids of all ages. David Tanner, whose untiring efforts to produce the most complete web site about and for musicians and their supporters, has put all the information you could possibly need, including a big satellite photo with big red arrows pointing to parking, and red warnings of problems you might have getting there, plus really nice, big photos of the venue, HERE. (Hint: You will need to bring your own chairs/blankets)

Saturday’s 7:30 PM concert is at Vets Memorial, 300 West Broad St. Columbus, OH 43215. We need VOLUNTEERS for Saturday’s concert, at least 20, to help out with ticket sales and seating and other very important details to make this concert work for all of us! Please contact Donna Gerhold (gerhold@insight.rr.com) for how you can help.

Please forgive us all (the musicians as a group) for any glitches in this process. We are on a steep, steep learning curve. But don’t worry, we learn fast, but we can’t do it without you. We may be experts at the unbelievably complex details of phrasing Brahms, but need all of you to stay the course with us as we begin to make Brahms’ music, and all classical music, YOURS!

The Last Stand

Published
by
dtclarinet
on June 1, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Our Supporters, Performances, Personal and columbus symphony orchestra
. 3 Comments

Clarinet StandTonight, for the first time in 18 years, I brought my clarinet stand home from the Ohio Theater. After 18 years of being thrown around and used, it’s still solid and sturdy.

My grandfather made this double clarinet stand for me in the early 1980’s. He passed away in 1986. He loved making things in his retirement, having been an engineer and fine tool designer for much of his career.

He made things to last a lifetime. I also have several lamps around my house which were made by him. It seems that the knack for making things with that kind of quality has gotten lost, somehow, in the shuffle to make things cheap, and by extension, disposable.

Welsh Hymns and MelodesMy grandfather, William, also loved music. He was Welsh and sang in choirs all his life, though he didn’t read a musical note. He sang and harmonized by ear.

Up to the end of his life, he attended yearly gatherings of Welsh Gymanf Ganu, grand choirs of thousands who came together for a few days annually simply to sing hymns. Can you imagine being in a choir of thousands?

After bringing home the clarinet stand he made, I wondered what William would have to say about the attitude from “on high” in this city about the Columbus Symphony, about the surreal silence Columbus is experiencing from those who should know better about the importance of the Arts?

Tonight we played what may be that last concert as the Columbus Symphony. We couldn’t have had a better person to experience such a poignant and wistful event: Marvin Hamlisch.

Marvin not only put forth his usual wit, humor and beloved music making, but he took the time, he took lots of time, to put forth the argument for sustaining the arts in any city, and especially Columbus, a large and vigorous city which hardly knows it’s own potential.

Before the final number, he stalled and stalled, not wanting to end. He said, (and I paraphrase) “I wish we could stop the clock now, so we wouldn’t have to end; but I promise, I hope, this will not be the end, but only a hiatus.” He said, in the voice of Arnold Schwarzenegger, “We’ll be back!” He said, “Sometimes, you have to lose, or almost lose, what you have to appreciate it.”

He also said, “If and when this crisis is over, I will come back and play a concert here as a fund raiser, and I’ll donate my services. There’s one condition, however; that I will get for my services a pint of Graeter’s black raspberry chip ice cream, with one spoon, not two, because that ice cream is a taste of heaven.”

Appropriately, the encore featured two esteemed senior members in the orchestra, Steve Secan and Randy Hester, who have been playing music with the CSO since the mid 1970’s. Also fitting was the song we played, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”.

Our audience gave us a standing ovation several times, showing their appreciation for us as people and for the Columbus Symphony as a valuable asset to the city.

After the concert, there were teary goodbyes between colleagues who have worked and grown together as human beings.

I didn’t participate much in that ritual. I don’t like goodbyes. Call me superstitious. I believe the people I meet and part from will always be in my life.

I also believe “We’ll Be Back!” Like my grandfather’s clarinet stand, the Columbus Symphony was made to last.

Junich Hirokami’s Gift to Columbus

Published
by
dtclarinet
on May 28, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Musician's Life, Orchestral Playing and Personal
. 0 Comments

Ken Matsuda (CSO viola) sent this notice from Japanese news about Junichi.

Junichi Hirokami will be conducting the Mito Chamber Orchestra in Japan this week, May 28, 29, and 30 as a last minute replacement for the ailing Seiji Ozawa. Ozawa (72) has been suffering from a herniated disk and has been told it will take a month to recover.

Hirokami (50) was personally asked by Seiji to replace him. Since Hirokami’s success at the Saito Kinen Festival last year, Seiji Ozawa has complete trust in Junichi.

In all the hullabaloo over whether the Columbus Symphony will survive, we have all but forgotten the great spirit which unites us musically and in politic: Junichi Hirokami. I don’t know if Columbus realizes (yet) what a gift we have. I hope it’s not too late.

This very subject came up last night in a phone conversation with a close colleague, who mentioned Junichi’s vital importance to us as an orchestra.

Orchestras do not become truly great until they have a unifying direction, either from a music director, or in some cases with older orchestras, a unifying tradition. Examples of the latter include Cleveland, whose tradition was formed by Szell, and Berlin, by Karajan.

The Columbus Symphony has been built over several generations by 4 music directors; Evan Whallon, Christian Badea, Alessandro Siciliani and now Junichi Hirokami.

Junichi is the perfect match for the abilities and experience of the Columbus Symphony. From past music directors we gained such skills as discipline and flexibility. Now we are poised for the next step, gelling into the cohesive power of one instrument.

Junichi’s temperament is particularly suited in our case, since discipline and flexibility alone do not make a great orchestra. We need a musical “light” to direct all our various (and individually valid) intentions toward a common goal of one voice. His gentle and charismatic character coaxes us to higher planes of musical detail, with greater coordination and cooperation among our different personalities. This kind of unifying direction is not only Junichi’s gift; it is also a result of our match with him.

As he has said more times than I can remember, he “chose” us because he saw what we could do, and knew he could do it for us. I am only just beginning to believe him. Musicians learn to expect less, being perfectionists disillusioned by an all too imperfect world. Our ideals are not snobbery, but reflect our desire to over-achieve and exceed expectations. We are our own worst enemies at times. But with the right spirit to guide us, we will gladly reach far beyond our normal capabilities. That’s when a simple performance can become a revelation for all present.

Are you curious as to how we might sound after a few more years with Junichi? After all, many of you heard us with Maestro Hirokami in the past few months, and I believe most of you heard a difference. Already, in two years, we have grown immeasurably as an orchestra.

I am eternally optimistic that the “body politic” will hold sway when the intentions of all individuals are focused on the same goal. This not only applies to orchestras, but to cities as well.

Don’t settle for less. Demand what is rightly yours: an orchestra led to greatness by a perfect match with the gifted and beloved Junichi Hirokami.

To members of CSO board

Published
by
dtclarinet
on May 26, 2008
in Personal, columbus symphony orchestra and symphony board
. 0 Comments

“That’s what it takes to be a hero, a little gem of innocence inside you that makes you want to believe that there still exists a right and wrong, that decency will somehow triumph in the end”.
-Lise Hand

May 4 Recital, photos and impressions

Published
by
dtclarinet
on May 5, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Performances, Personal, Programing and The Music
. 3 Comments

Ready to PlayI had a blast playing an all Mozart recital at my home last night. Working with a mix of dear friends, talented colleagues and new-found talents in Columbus, I can’t imagine a better evening for a musician.

This was the second in what I hope will become a regular series of concerts. The program, “Mmiraculous Mmozart- The Deliciousness of Mozart’s Music” (inspired by chocolate truffles) came together as a combination of pieces we wanted to play and people I wanted to work with.

The Clarinet Trio of Mozart, K 498, is a piece I have wanted to play with Brett Allen, assistant principal viola with the Columbus Symphony, since we decided to do some recitals together a few years ago. The viola-clarinet-piano combination has several substantial works written for it. In March, 2007 we performed the romantic and brooding Max Bruch “Eight Pieces” for viola, clarinet and piano with Dianne Frazer. Another delightful work for that combination is the Schumann “Fairy Tales”, which we look forward to performing in the future.

Making Music with FriendsTonight we played the “Kegelstatt” (”bowling alley” nicknamed for where Mozart is said to have conceived the piece) Trio with pianist Ahlin Min, a talented new face in the Columbus music scene. Ahlin moved to Columbus with her husband, Noah, last year, after graduating from Indiana University, where she studied with Menahem Pressler, founding member of the Beaux Arts Trio. Ahlin came to my attention at the suggestion of pianist Nina Polansky, wife of Leonid, Assistant Concertmaster of the CSO. I have to say, Ahlin Min has earned my full respect as a musician after tonight’s concert, having performed an intricate and demanding part with impressive technical and musical alacrity. Along with Brett’s top notch viola playing, the synergy among the three of us led, in my opinion, to a convincing and detailed reading of Mozart’s lighthearted masterpiece.

Appreciating our Audience after the performanceFor the second part of the program, the famous Mozart Quintet, I was joined by Robert Firdman, violin, longtime friend, colleague and passionate musician from the CSO; Orieta Dado, a gifted violinist and amazing friend and Associate member of the our orchestra; Brett Allen, mentioned above; and Mark Kosmala, cello, another shining star among the Associate players of the orchestra. Let it be known that the Associates of the Columbus Symphony contribute to the brunt of serious music making by adding their expertise and passion to virtually all of our major classical series concerts. They may be part time by definition, but their music making is full time for our orchestra.

It was a revelation for me as a wind player to rehearse this piece with four string players who have never played together as a quartet. I learned a great deal about the intricacies of string playing. Primary among those techniques, the discussion of bowing, whether to bow up or down for a particular passage, continued through the last moment of rehearsal. I began to get a feel for the significance of each bow stroke, up or down, and how it contributed to the shape of the phrase. Up bow is more anticipatory in tone and phrasing; down bow more emphatic and directed.

Deep in Music MakingThe performance found us all coming together in spirit and technique. Some parts could have been better, as they always can, but the output of these players, from beginning to end of this intimately impromptu recital, was nothing short of 110%. Personally, I experienced moments of blissful music making which cannot be surpassed, and I have my friends to thank for joining in that collaboration. I am honored and pleased to have been able to make music with these fine artists. We are already talking about our next venture into the rich repertoire of chamber music available.

Our Audience Before the ConcertOur loving and enthusiastic audience, which numbered at least 35, filled the West Dunedin house with careful attention during the performance and a healthy applause after. Enjoying the MusicAll of us, audience and performers, maintained our focus even during the unexpected soliloquy by my kitchen smoke alarm. (the oven had to be turned on ahead of time to prepare the post concert h’ours dourves) Members of the audience promptly dismantled the noisy interloper while the music continued. However, we all agreed that a repeat of the ending of the Quintet sans piercing beeping was in order.

Learning about the Music MakingMy sincerest thanks goes out to all who participated in the music making and music appreciating during this lovely Sunday evening in early May. I was doing what I loved doing; making music with and for those who loved it. And despite all the hubbub in Columbus, Ohio about whether it can (or should) afford a good orchestra, I am convinced that the music is what really matters, at least to those who attended tonight.

Vivacious Discussion after the ConcertA bustling reception followed, with delicious h’ours dourves and lively conversation. The music is alive in Columbus. And more will follow. Let there be no doubt, more music will follow.

Many thanks to all those who helped with planning, invitations, food, underwriting and recording, including among many others: the Columbus Symphony Orchestra League, the Women’s Association of the Columbus Symphony Orchestra, Symphony Strong, John and Valerie Gibbs, Gayla and Robert Ebersole, Grace Sharp, Joseph Sarah, Jan Ryan, Phyllis and Randy Hester, Frank and Ann Hurd Thomas and Steve Bennett.

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.

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.

Musicians are Territorial Animals

Published
by
dtclarinet
on November 6, 2006
in Behind the Scenes, Off the Record and Personal
. 12 Comments

People think musicians are sophisticated, cultured creatures.

Yes, of course we are. At least in public.

Behind the scenes, though, we are animals. We may act polite, but don’t get in the way of a musician who has delineated his or her territory.

In my section, the second clarinetist will politely push away any stray objects which have slid or flopped into his circle of peace. He often comes to rehearsal early to push up all the chairs of the row in front of us. That way, when those players inch back they end up where they started the day before. He is always quiet about it. When another player crosses the line, he will bide his time and move them (or their “stuff”) at the first opportunity.

Our principal oboist needs lots of space side to side and front to back. He and the principal flutist are constantly sliding back into my turf. But our oboist spreads wider than most wind players, not because he’s width challenged, but he likes to spread his legs way apart to make room for all the air he takes in before a solo. Elbows splay and legs anchor in an open V. His torso rises way up and back, so his head usually touches the music stand behind him, violating the turf of the first bassoonist.

Our bassoonist likes her music stand about as far from her as she can get it. It’s pushed right up against the chair of the oboist. She needs the distance to accommodate her far sightedness, or something or other about seeing around the bassoon. So here we have a dangerous intersection of turf claims. One can feel the tension rising. Though there is rarely an outright war, the persistent jogging for turf bubbles beneath the surface, a cold war of sorts.

String players are another breed. They don’t ask for space, or move chairs quietly between services. They just push their chair where ever they want and claim it as their own. You see, string players have the perfect excuse: they need tons of room for their bow arms!! Yes, they need a few feet in either direction outside the area necessary to move their arms. They need air space in which to vibrate their auras.

Now we begin to see tensions beyond members of our own tribes. When situations develop between separate races and cultures, the peace talks become untenable, with little in common to allow sensible negotiations.

The winds need a clear line of sight to the conductor. Granted, each musician needs to see, but the principal winds have numerous solos, and so feel an urgency in this matter. In our orchestra, we have a number of string players with big heads. Huge heads with big hair on tall bodies! Or so it seems to us when they are positioned in front of us. Before each concert or rehearsal, one of the principal winds usually needs to ask a string player to move a bit to allow us to see. Boy, if looks could kill. “You want me to what?!”

They usually relent and move. But within minutes after the concert starts, guess what? Yup. The stage seems to miraculously move under the chair of that string player and they end up back where they know they deserve to be. Pooh on the sight-lines of anyone else.

Most wind players unpack a huge array of paraphernalia before each service. We set up house. I used to bring in a little table on which I kept all my tools, reeds, etc. Oboists, bassoonists and clarinetists need an array of knives, chisels, drills, files, water holders, backup reeds, reeds to be tested, stores of old reeds, reeds kept for nostalgia. We need these to function. We cannot breathe or think without them. In the chaos of preparing for a big concert, there’s a flurry of activity in the reed sections as they fine tune their reeds for the weather that day, and for the particular needs of the repertoire we are about to play. Tools are strewn about, reed cases opened up, dozens of vulnerable reeds spread out for testing. You get the picture.

Occasionally the dam bursts and hell breaks loose. Once in awhile, a conductor asks us to move up a row, usually to fill empty chairs during a piece with a smaller orchestration. Being closer also helps the players hear each other better. For the reed players, it’s a huge undertaking to move all their stuff up to the row ahead. And the stage hands who are usually available to help us move know better than to touch anything, lest they lose a hand or worse.

When we are asked to move, the rumbling begins. The battle cry sounds. “I refuse to move all my stuff up there! The acoustics are more familiar back here. How are we expected to sound our best when all our stuff has to be packed up and moved? I’ll never remember that special reed I was going to play. There’s just NO WAY this is going to happen!! How dare they impose such ridiculous requests on us!”

Though the conductor usually gets his way, there are occasions when the players shouts of dissent hold sway in order to keep the peace. And we are allowed to remain in our cozy caves, surrounded by all our beloved and familiar tools.