Tag Archive for 'conductors'

Saturday’s Spectacular Concert

Published
by
dtclarinet
on July 14, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Musician's Life, Orchestral Playing, Our Supporters and Performances
. 0 Comments


It’s amazing what a group of people can do in a short time when they put their collective mind to it. In the past two weeks the musicians, shut out by their own board and management, went into action and self-produced two concerts, a family concert Friday and a tour de force Saturday in Vets Memorial Auditorium.

Ten days ago we didn’t even know who the conductors would be. Nor did we know where we would get stands and chairs, or who would be generous enough to let us borrow the music we needed. We didn’t have a way to sell tickets, or a box office of any sort. We had no stage crew, and no insurance for the concerts in case someone got injured. Boy, did we learn fast!

With the untiring focus of our “concerts committee”, formed of a dozen or so musicians from the orchestra, the concerts seemed to take shape out of thin air. As I read the email reports, I offered to help, and became involved with centralizing the coordination of volunteers. When Donna Gerhold of the Women’s Association of the CSO, emailed me offering to help, I seized on the opportunity. A few days later, I phoned my friend Jayne Gocken to ask if she would volunteer. Jayne used to run the Granville Symphony, and so has a lot experience working the front of the auditorium as the audience arrives. She jumped on it and shot off a list of questions to me which lead to some very useful outcomes, such as passing clipboards around to gather contact information from supporters so we can notify them of future events.

After one orchestra meeting, David Edge, a violinist in the orchestra, offered to go to Staples to buy the clipboards and lined paper for the signup lists. That was the day before the first concert. Things seemed to fall into place.

The concert itself went very smoothly, with E.J. Thomas as MC introducing each piece from the podium, with Jaime Morales-Matos leading the orchestra through vigorous and exciting tempos, with the heart-felt ceremonial presentation of a plaque from the Musicians of the Columbus Symphony to Marines from the Lima Company for proud service to their country, down to the excited applause between each piece and at the end.

Several musicians commented that the acoustics were not as bad as we remembered it, having rehearsed there for some Picnic with the Pops events. If we could move forward on the stage, toward the audience, the hall would fill with our music even better. The reverb (sound feedback from the hall) was not bad, a bit harsh, but better than the Ohio Theater. The stage of Vets Memorial is also suitably wide to allow the orchestra to spread out, which is the normal configuration for orchestras allowing more of the sound to get off the stage. (Unlike the box shape of the Ohio Theater stage, which bounces much of the sound back into the orchestra, rather than out to the audience. In other words, the Ohio Theater doesn’t give the patron their money’s worth.)

Considering the cavernous size of the auditorium (3600 seats) and a week’s notice for publicity, we had a good crowd, over 1500. Just think what will happen when we REALLY plan it ahead and have learned from this experience. I hope you are able to join us for our next thrilling concert!

Letter from Jennifer Parker-Harley

Published
by
dtclarinet
on June 14, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Columbus Cultural Politics, columbus symphony orchestra, symphony board and symphony management
. 0 Comments

I am writing in response to the article about the Columbus Symphony Orchestra and the picture of me and my colleague, Mindy Ewing, that was printed on the front page of the Sunday (June 1) Metro section. It is important that members of the community know the backstory of the picture - not only was I moved to tears after what might have been the final concert of the Columbus Symphony, but because of the orchestra’s current situation, my family and I will be leaving town.

I came to Columbus in 2000 after winning an audition at which 99 other flutists from across the country were present. At that time, the CSO was considered a ‘destination’ orchestra - an excellent group of musicians with very little turnover in personnel (resulting in their musical cohesiveness), fair compensation, and based in a very livable city. It is as part of this orchestra that I learned the ropes -I played all the major repertoire, I played in Carnegie Hall, I played under world-class conductors, I was the soloist in the Mozart Flute Concerto in G with the orchestra in January, 2008. These were all formative, growing experiences for me and through them all I was supported by the warmth and cameraderie that characterize this group.

As a member of the community at large, I put down roots. I arrived here as a newlywed and went on to own a home and give birth to two children at St. Anne’s hospital. I began teaching at Otterbein College in 2003 and in my tenure there taught students that have gone on to teaching jobs in area public schools. I voted. I paid taxes. I built a life here.

This year, as the problems of the orchestra began to escalate, it became necessary to look elsewhere for employment. I am one of the six members of the orchestra who will be leaving Columbus, as I was recently appointed Assistant Professor of Flute at the University of South Carolina. My tears, as photographed after what may have been the CSO’s last concert, were for more than the caption indicated. Even though I was born and raised in SC, Columbus has become my home. I am saddened beyond words to leave such a great orchestra and so many fine colleagues.

Like me, members of the orchestra have come here from across the country and the world to make this city their home. Many of my colleagues have spent their entire careers here, contributing to the orchestra, but also to the community through teaching, raising children, voting, paying taxes, buying homes. If the board does not do what is necessary for musicians to survive, the city will continue to lose these highly educated, contributing citizens.

Most, if not all of us, began music lessons as very young children. We have devoted many years, much time and countless dollars to the pursuit of beauty and expression through music. Here, in this city, we have provided a world class model of orchestral playing that has had a ripple effect on the cultural life of the entire region. I urge the citizens of Columbus and the board to consider what the community will lose, as, like me, other musicians are forced to move away in order to pursue their life’s work.

Dr. Jennifer Parker-Harley
Second Flute, Columbus Symphony Orchestra/Assistant Professor of Music, University of South Carolina

Wading through Columbus’ Arts Quagmire

Published
by
dtclarinet
on June 7, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Columbus Cultural Politics and columbus symphony orchestra
. 1 Comment

Ron Spigelman of Sticks and Drones, a music culture blog written by two conductors, makes an admirable foray into the swamp of Columbus cultural politics with his analysis of the Dispatch’s article announcing the creation of a second arts panel.

The situation can be summed up with the following analogy, which also applies to board’s decision to, among other things, cancel the Summer season, withhold ticket sales for next year, and terminate its contract with the musicians.

A reasonably healthy patient is bleeding to death from wounds inflicted by her doctors to “improve” her health. The doctors responsible for her care have decided to withhold blood, water and nourishment, so as not to waste any, in case she dies. They also decide to call in a second panel of doctors to advise them on how they might save the patient. When asked if the decision to withhold life support might affect the patient’s health, the lead doctor replies, “Terminating life support will not have any affect on the patient’s health”.

It’s like something out of Monty Python! Except the patient is real and the doctor culpable.

Why I Am a Classical Musician

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

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.

The Way It Shouldn’t Be

Published
by
dtclarinet
on March 14, 2007
in Behind the Scenes and The Music
. 6 Comments

We played a family oriented program this afternoon. It involved a quick rehearsal followed by an hour long pops concert. The conductor for this event is a long standing regular with us. He has established himself as our main pops conductor, with good reason. His amiable, energetic and lighthearted demeanor appeals to our pops audiences.

To give you perspective, our pops concerts usually feature a big name artist who plays with the orchestra on the second half. The first half features just the orchestra. Most of the audience comes to hear the big name act, not necessarily the orchestra. So, despite our being “featured” on the first half, most of the audience is patiently waiting for the big act. This conductor bridges that gap well. He has high energy and is comfortable chatting and joking with them between pieces.

He also has talent as a musician. He knows good phrasing, good sound and pitch when he hears it. He corrects valid problems during rehearsals. But he has a disconcerting tension in his body when he conducts. There’s an urgency about him, despite his affable exterior. His face is often contorted and impatient during performances, and his arms move in tight, insistent motions. All this contributes to a tense orchestra. Our demeanor reflects his.

The most frustrating expression of this tension and urgency are his tempos. He tends to take them too fast. Even after setting a tempo, he seems to want to “keep us on our toes” by constantly pushing the tempo forward. It’s as if it’s never fast enough. So we never settle into a rhythm, a beat. As a player, I feel like I’m being dragged on a short leash through a beautiful park, missing all the glorious scenery I am paid to notice and recreate. Perhaps he sees it as a way to keep the audience from being bored, but is that doing justice to the music or the audience?

Many musicians in my orchestra are as frustrated as I am. We don’t presume to know the best tempo for any piece. There are many valid possibilities for tempos for any particular music. That’s not the issue here. It’s whether the music is playable, and also about allowing a tempo to settle.

So, preparing for this short family concert we rehearsed a well known piece. It was very familiar, in fact. Which means we’ve also played it under some top notch conductors over the years. We know what the tempos should be. After we rehearsed is for a half hour or so, with tempos the upper edge of speed, he implored us to perform the music well despite such little rehearsal. (remember we know this music)

Then, during the concert, he pushed the tempos even more. When I tried to stabilize one accelerando to keep it sensible, he just ignored me and pushed ahead to an unplayable speed. It’s a shame he doesn’t have enough respect for us to give us the benefit of the doubt. He always says how much he loves us, but I don’t feel respect from the podium under him. I give my best, and he pushes it more.

I don’t know any conductor who would ignore the collective experience of 55 well trained, very experienced musicians. Does he remember that we have notes to play while he’s zipping away up there? Even if we get the notes at those tempos, they sound frantic with tension. I am happy to give my best, but when it’s never fast enough, I tend to give up and ignore him. I don’t think he would want that. The fact is, many big orchestras ignore their conductors to survive. The Columbus Symphony is unusual in that we really give our best and try to follow any conductor who leads us.

But we do so at a risk. The players are the ones blamed if the musical product is lacking, rarely the conductor. Who will be our advocate in this case if not we? No one. Again, I don’t question this person’s ability or validity as a musician. As I’ve said, he bridges a difficult gap with out pops audiences. But he insists on pushing us to play tempos beyond either tradition or reason. That affects our musical product.

Making music shouldn’t be a tug of war. A conductor can give urgency to a tempo without ignoring the musicians and without looking frantic. A balance of responsibility between conductor and musicians is crucial. It’s a group effort. Each knows what they’re doing. True, each may prefer differing tempos for good reasons. The musicians want playable tempos so the music sounds clear, the conductor wants to create excitement. The two meet in the middle. That’s the way music is made.

…but I’m with the conductor!

Published
by
dtclarinet
on December 5, 2006
in Behind the Scenes, Mastery and Off the Record
. 2 Comments

So what?! It doesn’t matter a pile of feathers if it’s not together. Many musicians, good ones, don’t understand this basic fact of life in an orchestra. You have to factor in delay time for acoustics and human response time. So staying with the conductor is not the blanket solution. But it’s not rocket science, either.

There’s a clear hierarchy of leadership in the orchestra. The concertmaster leads not only the first violins, but also has some leadership of the other string sections. Within each string section, its principal is leader. So, 1st and 2end violins, violas, cellos, basses, have their own leaders. The same applies to every other section. In the woodwinds, the oboe is usually the leader of the whole section, while each section leader is responsible for that section. The brass are similar, with the trumpet leading all the other leaders of the various brass sections. The French Horns tend to be their own section, influencing both the brass and woodwinds.

So how do all those leaders stay together? Well, the conductor leads the way, giving the musical gestures and tempo and style indications. Then each section leader must interpret to make sense of it for their sections. The section leaders moderate and codify the conductor’s lead. For example, if the conductor’s tempo is simply too fast or erratic for a section, the leader may take the sensible path and lead a steadier, more playable tempo. The other sections will follow suit.

Within each small section, the players must follow both the conductor and their section leader. In other words, they get information from both and make sense of it within their group. It’s easier in the woodwinds, where there are only a few players in each section. The second oboe will always defer to the first oboe, no matter what the conductor does. And when the flute and oboe play together, since they are both leaders, they will work out their own hierarchy of leadership.

The leaders have to develop courage and tenacity to lead their sections in times of crisis. Occasionally a conductor will get lost or befuddled, and the section leaders have to become conductors, literally swaying in time to show where the beat it.

All this processing takes some time, so there’s an inevitable delay from the time a beat is given by the conductor and the resulting music follows in the orchestra. As a kid seeing a live orchestra or the first time, I thought it was rude and lazy of the orchestra to play so far behind the conductor’s beat. Now I know why. In order to get 80-100 people in lock step doing a subtle ballet of ever changing music, it takes time.

Like a huge, delicate machine, the orchestra undulates in subtle response to the various leads within it. Like a flock of birds or a swarm of insects, the group will stay together no matter what. At least it should, if the professional hierarchy is intact. But that’s another post.

Music Making versus Playing

Published
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dtclarinet
on November 13, 2006
in Mastery, Technique and The Music
. 2 Comments

Sometimes your heart is into it, and other times, well, you just go through the motions. We had a tough week for the orchestra last week. Our ex music director was engaged for a guest appearance. A few years ago the orchestra and board were deeply divided over whether to keep him on as music director. Ultimately, one faction won and he was “allowed to move on” in his career.

So when he came back last week, only a week after our new music director whom we LOVE, conducted us, it was an uphill struggle to keep our spirits up. The program consisted of the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto and Brahms 3rd Symphony. Brahms 3rd is one of my favorites, not only because it has a gorgeous clarinet solo in the second movement, but it’s also a masterpiece of symphonic composing. So, our ex director, who always explores the limits of every phrase, is leading us through this incredible piece, and half of us are suffering through it while the other half are trying to get into it.

To credit the orchestra, everyone did their best to do make music. This guy, despite his passion, is known for his unpredictable interpretations. And that’s putting it lightly. To him, all music is Italian opera, full of drama. He can swoop down on phrase from the middle of nowhere and wallow in it like a girl in a bubble bath. Meanwhile, we’re turning blue or purple, his least favorite color, waiting for the next beat. And sometimes the next beat is really a beast, which swallows the bubble bath whole, girl and all, moving ahead to the prowl on the next unsuspecting phrase.

Now don’t get me wrong or anything…I like him. He’s a great cook and in love with life, something most Americans know little about. We are a culture of bean counters, note takers, fact checkers, time keepers, rule makers, and on. Making music is not about those things. It’s about being free of the structures which convey its language. It’s about letting time float. Occasionally, he creates a brilliant nuance I could never imagine, which shudders through me like a homogenization beam from another planet, and I realize what music is all about.

Each musician eventually finds a personal balance between subjective and objective interpretations of music. Subjective interpreters seeks the meaning through the emotions, the feeling of the music, while objective ones strive to recreate the composer’s intentions. Both are valid. In my opinion, George Szell maintained the perfect balance between the two.

I lean toward the subjective camp. There are times when I feel I’m only playing the music, not feeling it, not really making music of it. Freshness helps wake me from the blindness of familiarity, especially with pieces I’ve played many times. This week’s Brahms 3rd gave me a chance to see it new, as through a microscope.

Over the years of being under this guy as music director, he has shown me the wonderful nuances and magic which can be pulled from an ordinary phrase of music. Really there are infinite ways to play any piece. The objective camp believes there is one ideal way. I think there are numerous ideal ways. And often you don’t know what might work until you try it. Inspiration is critical to making music.

After the show I argued with some colleagues, many of them string players, about these issues. I have to concede, this guy stretched Brahms way beyond the traditional, North German, stoic interpretation which works best with his music: the latent passion struggling to be free of its shadows, the yearning Bohemian dreaming of a better world.

Yet, from my little island of music making within the group, I relished wallowing in the secret depths of Brahms’ introverted complexities, in the rich density of his tonal language, the Escheresque rhythmic structures. And many of my colleagues in the winds and brass felt similarly. We were “gellin”!

The strings, however, saw it completely differently. They are the sea sprawled around our little windy islands. Spread apart and in much greater numbers, they couldn’t rely on the intimate person to person connections to stay together like the winds and brass did. They were lost at sea, while the guy up front was busy getting signals from outer space. They were not happy. Nope. Not!

This brings me back to making music versus playing. The two are codependent. This week, while some of us were able to make beautiful music within the relative chaos coming from the podium, to flourish within it’s spontaneous freedom and compulsive freshness, others struggled just to play the notes together. Ultimately, if we can’t all enjoy the same spontaneity and freedom while playing together, it lacks the most important feature of a great performance: cohesiveness.

So, here’s to guzzling music raw when ever we can, whether it’s 60 or 100 proof. But the lasting impression comes in the richness of a balanced meal accompanied by an aged wine, when we can actually remember what we did the night before.

Entertaining the Conductor

Published
by
dtclarinet
on October 25, 2006
in Behind the Scenes, Off the Record, Programing and The Music
. 4 Comments

The other night we had a pops concert, a tribute to Arthur Fiedler. The program style reflected his unique balance of light music with one substantial classical piece. We played about a half hour of “medium” light classical, some Wagner overtures and a Puccini Arias arrangement for orchestra. After an intermission, we played the entire Tchaikovsky violin concert, a hefty chunk of music for a pops audience. Then came another intermission. Yes, two intermissions. At the Boston Pops, much of the audience is set up at tables, so they can eat and drink during the concert. Then two intermissions make sense. Anyway, onward.

The third half was all schlock. “Fiddle Faddle”, a tough little bugger, especially at the caffeinated tempos our conductor likes. Then a piece for typewriter and orchestra, very cute. Our principal percussionist dressed as a sleazy secretary, with a blue beehive wig and a cigarette hanging out of his/her mouth. The typewriter was the real thing, a heavy, old battle ax. The part was mostly the ticking of the keys, inter-spaced with the ripping of the carriage and the infamous little bell to warn you to return the carriage. Fun.

Anyway, one of the traditions of Fiedler was to spontaneously insert an encore in the middle of the third half. Our conductor warned us. On Saturday night he decided to do it. The piece was “Stars and Stripes”. My music had gotten shuffled into the mix of everything in my folder, and I couldn’t find it. He started the piece, as I frantically looked for the part. Bum, bum-t-um tum, tum-tum-tum-tum-tum-TUM! The music started. I’ve played it many, many times, but in different keys, and with different repeats, etc. It’s not an easy piece, and I don’t have it memorized. So I kept looking. It wasn’t there. I thought someone had played a joke on me, but our orchestra doesn’t play jokes, they just get even. I started at the beginning of the folder and turned each piece over. I’m right in the middle of the orchestra, dead center, in sight of all. There I am calmly (now I know all are looking at me, so calm is the key) paging through my music…The piece is not that long, so it’s about a third over…and finally, there it is, hiding between Fiddle Faddle and Buglers Holiday. I knew it, it was a conspiracy between the string and the brass! Anyway, I dove in and played the rest.

After the concert, as I walked out of the hall, the conductor happened to see me, and laughed as he said, “Dave, I had so much fun watching you frantically looking for your music during the march. Thanks for breaking the monotony and making me laugh!”

I smiled. At least someone enjoyed it.

Dreaming Big

Published
by
dtclarinet
on February 26, 2006
in Behind the Scenes and Personal
. 8 Comments

I’m still pinching myself. I’m sure I’ll wake up and find it was all a dream. In all my 17 years as principal clarinetist of the Columbus Symphony, I’ve never been this optimistic about my career.

Four years ago I was chosen to be on the search committee to choose a new music director of the Columbus Symphony Orchestra. The music director is much more than a conductor, especially in the US. He not only shapes the musical product of the orchestra, but fashions the image of the organization to draw financial support. The music director IS the organization to the public eye. Big shoes.

Oddly enough orchestral musicians have not traditionally been asked to help choose the MD (music director). We are obvious choices, considering our experience and skill in the orchestra, and since it’s our jobs which are at stake. Who better to choose our musical soul mate than us? But we are perfectionists. Our relationship with the MD is intimate, so the glamor sometimes wears off. Hirokami even joked about it, saying “I hope the honeymoon lasts”. Something tells me it will last this time.

The search had been rocky, with some candidates popular among the elite supporters of symphony and not the orchestra. The point was to choose someone who could flourish both on and off the podium. We were all worried that a universally loved candidate would not appear.

The very last candidate was Junichi Hirokami. He is Japanese, 4′2″ in height, and spoke broken English. But the musicians loved him. His natural ability with musical phrasing, rhythm and style elicited our best playing. His charisma was infectious. My friends who attended that first weekend raved about him. So after only two “dates” with him, we used our newly acquired clout to recommend him the sole candidate.

As a committee member, I felt the responsibility of my position in shaping the future of the orchestra. There were some contentious meetings where reasonable doubts were raised about Hirokami’s ability to raise money and commune with needed donors. I wondered myself. He had never run an American orchestra. But he promised full attention to anything necessary for us to succeed and flourish. He really, really loved us as an orchestra and desired to take us to the next level. I believed him. So did most of the orchestra.

In response to the non-musician committee members doubts about his ability to flourish off the podium, I used a business model to clarify my point. I asked them which is more important in the long run: a great marketer or a great product? Ultimately, the quality of the product is what sells it. My arguments, along with the excitment of the other musicians on the committee must have had an effect. They chose to take a chance and agreed to hire him. I was elated, but uneasy.

The negotiations took several months. The musicians became apprehensive, perhaps a lover’s fear of being jilted. Understandably we were nervous that our dream would pop. Hirokami was slated to appear in February, and only two weeks before his engagement it became official. Finally. He was to be our next music director. We were relieved. But I still didn’t exhale.

In the first rehearsal his familiar, friendly way of leading continued from the two “dates” we had with him before “marrying” him. In fact, he was almost too friendly. He kept saying, “Just relax and trust yourselves.” Why? Now that he was our boss, shouldn’t he criticize us more to improve the product? His tempos were relaxed. Perhaps too relaxed. Where was the excitement? Uh-Oh! Were we merely drunk with love on the first two dates? Was I the nervous bride with cold feet?

A press conference was held after the rehearsal to splash the news of his arrival around town. President Bush happened to be in town, so the press crowd for us was bare minimum. Lucky for us. In responding to the first question asked of him by a reporter, Hirokami became confused and had trouble understanding. My spirit sank. This wasn’t looking good.

Thankfully he perked up soon after and gave an impressive interview to Barbara Zuck stating clear goals for the orchestra. At the many hobnobbing parties held through the week, he was direct about asking for money. He began to fashion an iconography, using a green handkerchief to symbolize peaceful world relations. He hailed the American principal of “freedom” as the reason for his being hired and emphasized the value of international connections. He was building bridges artfully and skillfully. His wife and daughter were a big hit. His charm and charisma reached beyond his differences. This relieved me, but I was still apprehensive about the musical product.

Friday night arrived. I showed up early to work on reeds and warm up thoroughly. I wanted to play my best, especially since the we in the orchestra had chosen him. Junichi Hirokami walked out on stage. The musicians all stood in the traditional respect for the conductor. The maestro was dwarfed among the towering American bodies. He stepped onto the podium, and after acknowledging the audience, he smiled at us. He lifted his baton and gave the downbeat.

The first piece was Dvorak’s Carneval Overture. Though the tempo matched what he had rehearsed, the spirit was fresh. Maestro Hirokami exuded control and confidence far beyond his diminutive stature. He was larger than life. He knew exactly what he was doing. The orchestra played buoyantly, as someone who jovially laughs in celebration of great fortune. Music was encouraged and allowed to flow from us. Our desire to play well rose up to meet the maestro’s geniality. The audience seemed to agree, judging by the enthusiasm of their cheers.

After the concert, I remembered a question Maestro Hirokami had asked us rhetorically; “Why isn’t your orchestra more famous?” Now, rather than doubting him, I was thinking, “Why not?”

Pinching myself never felt so good.