Tag Archive for 'music director'

Alive with Music

Published
by
dtclarinet
on July 27, 2008
in Musician's Life, Orchestral Playing, Performances and The Music
. 0 Comments

OK, so I go for the corny, million dollar phrases, but the title Alive with Music captures so much of what we strive for as musicians. Over the past half century, recordings have both stimulated and undermined the popularity of live classical music. On the one hand, recorded music allows ready access and exposure to music by those who might not have had the opportunity to hear much. I could ask myself, “Would I have become a clarinetist if I hadn’t fatefully heard that recording of Robert Marcellus playing the Mozart Clarinet Concerto?”

However, recordings also create a false standard for live music performances. Current technology allows for recordings to be edited down to the level of single notes, so it is possible for all flaws to be removed from almost any recording before it is released. Granted, the music is still performed by live orchestras, but the drama of the moment, with close calls, near misses, and belly flops, has been removed to be replaced by the security of artificial perfection by correction. (I wrote an article about this subject saeveral years ago, called Music Recordings Byte Reality.)

What I am trying to say is this. Though the music may be the same, the difference between a live performance and a recording is as apples are to oranges.

Tonight, the musicians of the Columbus Symphony had a triumphant performance in Vets Memorial Auditorium. The crowd of at least 2000 swarmed in late, with many people caught in the snarled traffic jam involving the Jazz and Rib Fest., which shared parking lots with our event. Even our conductor’s arrival at the hall was delayed by the traffic. One supporter friend emailed me after the performance telling me they were turned away for parking and missed the concert.

The conductor for tonight’s concert was Alessandro Siciliani, who was Music Director of the Columbus Symphony for 12 years. He certainly has an avid following, and the electricity of a live performance is most definitely enhanced by the audience in attendance. Tonight, the repeated standing ovations signaled their adoration for him, and for us through him. Maestro Alessandro had no trouble living up to his reputation in his performance, both with the orchestra and his adoring fans.

His tempos were characteristically exciting and very, very flexible; something akin to riding fast on a rubber roller coaster, most assuredly an exhilarating ride. Yet, despite the musician’s occasional discomfort, something exudes from a performance with “Big Al” which could never happen again, ever. Each moment is unique, and something to be cherished as it passes forever into oblivion. And the audiences of Columbus tune into that energy, as if it’s something they have needed to feel for a long time, to be reminded of the preciousness (and excitement) of the moment.

The musicians of the Symphony were proud to have members of the Cleveland, Pittsburgh and Cincinnati orchestra in our midst tonight, creating a new level of attention and freshness to our playing. Those orchestras in turn are showing their respect for us as a world class musical group by their willingness to play music with us. Again, the unique spirit of this performance will never be recreated.

As an encore, Alessandro wanted to play the entire last movement of the Dvorak 8th symphony we had just played. We tried to start a murmuring revolt, repeating a rehearsal number near the end, which would allow us all to play just the last page. After all, we were tired! But Al persisted, and we played the whole last movement again. And, much as I hate to admit it, I ENJOYED doing it a second time. It gave me a chance to squeeze a little more emotion out of every note. The orchestra sounded fantastic both times, but even more free and spirited the second. That’s something a recording can’t do.

One inside story needs to be shared. During Rossini’s Overture to the Italian Girl in Algiers, someone’s metronome (a clicking device to assist with rhythm practice) somehow clicked on in their case, during the middle of the performance. We were all very busy with lots of notes, and no one had time to search nearby bags and cases to locate the rogue metronome. The thing is, the beat of the clicking device was much, much slower than the piece we were playing. There was something comical about this lazy, summer-night-rhythm ticking away blandly in contrast with the flurry of hurried activity going on the woodwinds (where the metronome was centered). The little thing just happily clicked it’s laid back tempo until the end of the piece. I offer commendations to those woodwind players who had to play difficult, rhythmic solos to play while this lazy beat persisted in the background.

Ah, there’s nothing quite like a live performance of music, or I should say a performance “alive with music”.

Today’s Dispatch Article

Published
by
dtclarinet
on July 15, 2008
in Behind the Scenes, Columbus Cultural Politics, columbus symphony orchestra, symphony board and symphony management
. 6 Comments

Korine Fujiwara, a violinist with the orchestra, responded appropriately to the hypocritical attack on Junichi Hirokami by Tony Beadle in today’s Dispatch. While it is common for a Music Director to “jet set” from city to city to make a living, and thereby hardly ever residing in any particular city in which he directs, Tony Beadle’s has lived in an Extended Stay hotel since he began working for the Columbus Symphony, which is unheard of for an Executive Director.

It should also be known that Junichi Hirokami, during any visit to Columbus, made himself completely available for meetings with prospective donors. Yet Tony Beadle failed to schedule Maestro Hirokami to lobby for the orchestra.

Hello all,

Regarding the following quote from today’s Dispatch 7/15/2008: (emphasis mine) “Hirokami should have remained neutral, said Tony Beadle, executive director of the symphony — adding that Hirokami has also failed to perform key duties of a music director for a major orchestra, partly because he hasn’t put down roots in central Ohio. “A good deal of the work is not done on the podium,” Beadle said. “A music director is the face of the orchestra and ambassador of good will to the community and potential donors.”

I still haven’t had the opportunity to meet Mr. Beadle’s family. Have he and his family moved from Boston to Columbus yet? Where does he currently reside? In what state? Do they still live in the Boston area?

The fact that Hirokami doesn’t live in Columbus has been widely touted in the press, but if it is indeed true that after more than two years, Tony Beadle, THE EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR of the Columbus Symphony, HAS STILL NOT “PUT DOWN ROOTS IN CENTRAL OHIO” either, shouldn’t this also be newsworthy? Isn’t it also a HUGE problem for fundraising and the overall general health of an organization IF THE EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR DOESN’T HAVE A PERMANENT RESIDENCE IN CENTRAL OHIO?

We all have had the pleasure of meeting Junichi Hirokami’s family on many occasions, and it is my understanding that they even visited potential schools for their daughter on at least one occasion.

Korine Fujiwara

I would like to add that the board hired Junichi two years ago. Yet management has failed to effectively market him and utilize his time wisely when he visits Columbus. Who is to say he wouldn’t move here if given appropriate support from a functioning board.

Eerie Silence in Columbus

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

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

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

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

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.

Letter from CSO musician Betsy Sturdevant

Published
by
dtclarinet
on May 12, 2008
in Behind the Scenes and Musician's Life
. 1 Comment

Betsy, principal bassoonist with the CSO, wrote this letter to the Dispatch after Saturday’s momentous concert. So far it remains unpublished, which means it’s a good letter, since the Dispatch avoids reasonable truth like the plague.

As a musician of the Columbus Symphony, I am grateful for the opportunity given to me by the city of Columbus to perform professionally as a bassoonist. It was my dream since age 8.

Last Saturday’s performance under our Music Director Junichi Hirokami was a highlight of my life. Before the concert, we musicians mingled with audience members, thanking them for their support. Without them, there would be no orchestra.

During the concert, Maestro Hirokami lit the orchestra on fire, and the audience knew it. As the orchestra members played as one unit, I felt proud of my colleagues for being such masters of their instruments and of the art of ensemble. Never before have I heard such lengthy and enthusiastic applause!

We now stand on the precipice between an orchestra which has been thriving since the 80’s and silence. We musicians are ready and willing to take necessary paycuts, especially if outside assistance is brought in to plan administrative improvements. The currently proposed cuts are too drastic- most of us would leave and we’d be left with not the Columbus Symphony, but the Family Dollar Philharmonic. It would not be professional, but part-time, much like the housewives’ orchestra which existed here many decades ago.

Columbus deserves better than that!

Music Making versus Playing

Published
by
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.

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.