Tag Archive for 'rehearsals'

Before the Music Begins

Published
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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.

The Way It Shouldn’t Be

Published
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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
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dtclarinet
on December 5, 2006
in Behind the Scenes, Mastery and Off the Record
. 3 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.

Pops Concerts

Published
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dtclarinet
on November 30, 2006
in Behind the Scenes and Performances
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We play a lot of pops concerts. If classical concerts are the meat, pops are the carbohydrates of our diet. They keep us going financially.

The orchestra usually plays some light classical pieces on the first half, then a famous pop or rock act plays with us on the second. We only hire acts which use us in their accompaniment. In fact, we’ve played orchestral accompaniments to such bands as Led Zeppelin and Tammy Wynette. Now that’s entertainment.

We don’t rehearse the first half much. And it often has some challenging works on it. Light doesn’t always mean easy. In fact bad arrangements can be extremely difficult and awkward. Those are the weeks I build my “close your eyes and dive in” chops!

When I first got an orchestral job in 1983, it was with a ballet orchestra. Ballet music is often some of the hardest to play. It goes on and on, with thick orchestrations in odd keys and no breaks. After six years of that I had developed some reading chops!

So, during pops weeks, I try new equipment, try new reeds. I show up, sit down, open my folder and dive in!

This week the pops is all about the celebrations of the season. Though it’s mostly about Christmas, it includes some music for Hanuka. It’s a variety show. Our choral director runs it, and it features our excellent all volunteer chorus. But he also includes our top notch local ballet company, BalletMet. The first half is a bit more classical, with selections from Handel’s Messiah, Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms and Respighi’s Adoration of the Magi. The second half has a carol sing along for the audience and lots of traditional Christmas music and finally, a visit from Santa. Though I’ve played it for 17 years here, I still enjoy the spirit of it.

Musicians are Territorial Animals

Published
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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.

Fiber and Play

Published
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dtclarinet
on July 24, 2006
in Clarinet, Mastery and The Music
. 0 Comments

As physical players of our instruments, we need a practice of cleansing the fibers of our muscles as we play. So play becomes the fiber to cleanse and relax the “fibers” of our muscles.

Chamber music, read at relaxed parties, with lots of yummy hors-d’oeuvre and good wine, becomes a necessary part of staying fresh in our playing.

We need play, in the sophisticated setting of Mozart’s brilliance, to ripen our musical souls as expressed through our bodies, and for those corporeal souls to flourish.

Great chamber music offers an individuality rarely present in the orchestra, except in solo parts. But even in orchestral solo parts, the player is subject to so many exterior demands, such as the thoughts of the conductor and acoustics, not to mention the sheer number of other “opinions” extant. So chamber music is “soloing” at home with good friends. Could there be any better way of learning trust and physical poise in an intimate setting?

So, back to fiber. We all need it. Fiber for the body, the soul and the mind.

Dorky Music

Published
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dtclarinet
on December 14, 2005
in Uncategorized
. 1 Comment

As a working American orchestra, we in the Columbus Symphony have to do what ever is necessary to make a buck. Like anywhere in the world these days, the buck is not a lofty icon, and working for it is often not so lofty either.

Today we started rehearsals for our local production of Engelbert Humperdinck’s 1893 Hansel and Gretel, a mediocre but heartfelt opera based on the Grimm’s Fairy Tale. The idea is to present it as the operatic match for the perennial Nutcracker, which I’ve played at least 400 times in my career. (And which, I might add, is a jewelbox of perfect melodies and lush orchestration)

The composer’s name alone should give a hint as to how marvelously mundane his work is. There are a few resplendent moments in the music itself, interspersed with painfully lumpy, starchy stretches which ache for a good ironing.

As an experienced musician, even I am hard pressed to make sense of it, to flesh it out, rather than flush it, which I’d prefer. But that is in fact what I am paid to do, smooth out the wrinkles in this imitation polyester halloween costume of a regal Victorian comforter.

The orchestration is abominable. To give Humperdinck some credit, the reduced version we are performing sours what little is redeeming in the original, much larger orchestration. Perhaps it was arranged by a middle school band director. (no offence to their noble cause) All instruments seem to be playing all the time, with no relief for either the listener or the performer. Not only does it tax the strongest players to the point of dubious, fatigued technical output, but the balance within the orchestra is hampered. It’s difficult for a violin solo to be heard over a trumpet accompaniment. The problems of balance will be further antagonized by having to match childlike voices with so many instruments playing.

Harmonically I can give it credit for being somewhat appropriate for its period. It’s like a bad Victorian crazy quilt with lots of nice material which is horribly matched. Obviously Wagner’s influence features heavily in Humperdinck’s head, among other popular composers of his time. Some of it sounds like Wagner after a spicy Moroccan dinner, with several bottles of moldy wine. It heaves around from key to key, slobbering over each before stumbling to the next, with a wan smile on its face. It is difficult to tune and pharse elegantly under such duress. What little childish innocence is captured in the melody is ruptured abruptly by heavy footed harmonic density, or an inappropriate dissonance in the name of modernity. Before long, the smell of leaky diapers wafts up to meet the listener.

Don’t get me wrong. I think it will delight those mellow holiday revelers who can snuggle up with their children and smile at their good fortunes. They will bask in the warmth of the story and its one or two memorable scenes. And the music will somehow fit. Without anything to compare it to directly, it will sound appropriate, even fitting, though they will wonder why it’s a bit out of tune and perhaps a bit loud for the singers. But they will go home happy, I believe, that they have shared something artistic with the family, and that they have supported the arts. And they will be right. And I will do my professional best to make their money and time well spent.