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
Tag Archive for 'soloist'
While Columbus decides if it wants to have a real orchestra, I’ve decided not to wait for that outcome, as some others in the orchestra have already done. Sometimes bad things happen for a good reason. Perhaps it’s my time to move on.
I auditioned for St. Louis Principal Clarinet opening a year ago, the first audition I had taken in at least a decade. I could feel the old, deep instincts sluggishly resurging in my veins. While practicing hours of excerpts, like soliloquies from a play, the familiar convoluted logic of making music minus 80 began to resurface.
I not only had to be in top mental and physical condition, but my equipment also had to be world class. Compared to playing one or two difficult excerpts during an average concert, to play all the big excerpts one after the other was like taking a 5 year old Audi with 60,000 miles for a race at the Indianapolis 500. Though a great car, it probably won’t win, and certainly not if in need of a tune up. No, I don’t blame the outcome on the instrument or barrel or reed or mouthpiece. It’s just one factor which inhibits the fastest race. Anyway, equipment issues began to settle before the audition, but not in time for me to be completely comfortable before the audition date.
My own physical conditioning had also sagged during years of driving on auto pilot. Living as a musician is like being a professional skater. You need to stay in shape. But doing it week after week you learn to prepare enough for tonight’s performance, not winning the Olympics. Few can do that over and over. Musicians maintain a great deal of flexibility to play one or two different styles on a few days notice. But the “Olympics” of music is auditioning, when one must do it all, top to bottom, side to side, now!
Even a soloist has time on her side, playing the same music over a series of performances, opportunities to fine tune and improve. The audition taker is not privy to such luxury. He has to perform a multitude of varied and even conflicting styles and techniques at the drop of a hat, in succession. A tall order for anyone.
Hundreds of applicants seem to feel up to the task, though, since auditions are always peopled by a herd of regular faces who are convinced they will win the jackpot if they put in another quarter. I don’t feel that way. The few auditions I took in the 80’s were successful, meaning I was at least a semi-finalist if not a finalist. I prepare for auditions with every cell in my body, mind and spirit. It takes years to prepare the foundation, then as the date nears, it becomes my life for months.
St. Louis was not meant to be for me, or perhaps I wasn’t meant for St. Louis. I wouldn’t have hired me! I was frightfully insecure and doubtful, not a good way to win. I’m sure my playing demonstrated my abilities, but certainly not at an Olympic level.
Someone recently told me she avoided broadcasting their intention to audition, especially to non-musicians. Even a good player loses more than they win. She recounted how frustrating it was to be asked innocently by non-musicians of the outcome of her “job application”, then have to explain that repeatedly failing, even chronically failing to win an audition is a relatively normal event in a musician’s life, unlike applying for a clerk or server position. One oboist I know took some 49 auditions before nailing a top 10 job. Something akin to building the Pyramids in Egypt, day by patient, persistent day.
So now I begin, again, to take auditions. This time I have secured (most of) my equipment to a high and stable level of quality. For the past year I have also gained, or perhaps refreshed, my self-confidence using all available techniques, including good old fashioned positive thinking and supportive friendships. I’ve also practiced and performed more solo works to put myself under more pressure.
I got “the list” a week ago. The list of music required is your map to the treasure, the puzzle to be unlocked. A lot can be learned from the list. Most big orchestras keep their lists fairly short, perhaps eight or ten excerpts. And most will specify the sections they wish to hear. Some will even make copies of all the parts they require, to clear up the often confusing issue of various conflicting editions of any one composition. This list cites 18 entire pieces, without any indication of movements or sections to be emphasized.
Clearly, they seek a Federer or Rodick for the job. Somehow I am not daunted. Since I have played principal clarinet for 25 years, I have played all the music they request in its entirety. I am as experienced for this position as anyone.
It’s one thing to be experienced, however, and another to be ready. To be ready to play any of those pieces any time, day or night, I must increase my endurance, flexibility and consistency. I have two months to do it.
The first thing I did was pull out a scale book, the most advanced I have, and began a daily regimen of several hours of basic technique. So that’s where I am as of this report, in audition “boot camp”.
I will report regularly on what and how I’m practicing. See you soon. I’m off to do scales.
As an orchestral clarinetist, I don’t play concertos very often. I do it more often than others in my orchestra, but it’s by choice. There is no obligation to do so. My job is as a principal orchestral player, which has its own set of challenges specific to the job. I could be content to play from within the orchestra, but I like to be out front once in awhile.
On the other hand, there are many clarinetists who solo exclusively, such as Richard Stoltzman. Once, while having a drink with him after he played a concerto with us a few years back, he said something like this to me, “I wish I had the skill to play in an orchestra like you. I became a soloist because I didn’t get a symphony gig”. Mind you, this was meant as a light and supportive comment to me. He is made to be a soloist, and I am quite sure he is every bit as much or more skilled as I to play in an orchestra. The point is, it’s a specialization, like being a medical researcher versus being a doctor. Both are skilled in medicine, but one is more public.
Playing a concerto is a very different experience from playing in the orchestra. Not better or worse, just different. The feeling is more exhilarating, but also more stressful. The playing position is usually standing, not sitting, which changes the way the instrument feels as I play. Even the approach to sound is different, more open and “soloistic”. By contrast, as a principal clarinetist, where I also get to “solo” from within the orchestra, the feeling is usually more reserved so as to blend better. Think of two paintings, one of a really cool looking cat, the other has a cool cat somewhere in the painting with people and furniture and books around it. I’m still the cool cat in each, but less prominent in one.
The pressure of concerto-ing is higher, much higher. After all you are standing out there right in front with everyone staring at you, rather than sitting, somewhat hidden about halfway back in the orchestra. Preparing a concerto is also far more time consuming than orchestral music. In my case, this is partly because I am much more familiar with orchestral music than concertos, since it’s my regular job. So the preparation is intense and long. It usually starts many months in advance. I pick apart the piece and focus on the really difficult passages, breaking them into manageable mini-projects which I slowly build back together.
To hone my musical ideas, I listen to several recordings of reputable soloists, taking style from those players and forming my own interpretation from them. While learning the piece, I allow my imagination to run free with the interpretation, taking far more liberty in my phrasing that I would in the final performance. This is to encourage my muse to be creative. I find this is necessary to help break free of the habitual constraints of playing orchestral repertoire. In that case, I am interpreting only a small part under the larger interpretation of a conductor’s.
Sometimes I hire a pianist to rehearse with, to get a feel for interacting with the accompaniment.
Yet, as a concerto soloist, one has more liberty to create a style which matches one’s ability. Many factors are the choice of the soloist. Obviously the selection of a particular concerto is one. Otherwise there is the choice of tempos, the amount of rhythmic freedom, the amount of dynamic contrast, etc. Naturally, a soloist should emphasize his or her best features. If he is a more expressive player, the tempo can be set accordingly. If pyrotechnics is her specialty, then the style is set accordingly. Here again, as an orchestral player, I need to adjust my attitude toward having more control over the interpretation. But the resulting freedom can be very gratifying.
As the final days before the first rehearsal approach, I meditate on the music I will play. I hear it in my head, sometimes to the point of madness. Little snippets will run in a playback loop, over and over and over. But, thinking about the piece, getting one’s mind around it, is as important as actual practice. When I play, I will go over the most tricky spots, playing slowly, cultivating a calm physical and mental attitude. I often say to myself, like a mantra, “You know this piece, you can play it, your fingers can play it. Trust yourself”. It’s so easy to become frantic as the day approaches.
I had one stressful incident in my preparation for a concerto recently. I had stayed up quite late working on reeds. (another post altogether) I placed the reeds on my practice table, cleaned the cat litter box, put out the trash for morning pickup, and went to bed. I acknowledged that I should have started working on those reeds a few days earlier to have them stabilize by the performance. (reeds, made plant cane, need several days to adjust to being wet and played) The next morning, the reeds were missing, gone. I looked all over the house, near the cat box, in the bathroom, in the trash, outside. I don’t have a dog, so I only had myself to blame.:) In my fatigue, I must have inadvertently thrown them out with the cat litter and trash, which was then picked up the next morning.
Now I was really behind. I had to spend several more hours that day getting enough reeds going to give me a decent choice before the performance. A delicately timed schedule is easily upset.
Getting the right reed is crucial. Ideally, I can get on stage just before the first rehearsal to test my reeds and pick the one which flourishes in the hall. Our hall needs a full, resonant sound. It’s difficult to pick a reed for that in my small living room where I practice.
After the first rehearsal of the piece, I can usually begin to enjoy the whole event. I say begin to enjoy. It’s not over yet. However, many of the unknowns are now known. I know how the piece feels live, I know how my reeds are doing, or not doing, I know how the conductor will follow me, I know how I’ll interpret the piece. I also know there’s not a whole lot more preparation I can do. Back to the little mantra above, “Trust Yourself.”
Now, my focus is to stay primed and calm, ready and poised. I care for my body and smile a lot at my Muse, for that’s who will transform me from a person playing a concerto into a musician playing music. It’s a world of difference.
