China Journal, pt. 1

As I have time here at JFK, let me share some notes with you:
1)  China is going to be a large part of the future of our music and our art.  It may not be exclusively the future, but let there be no doubt, the Chinese classical music scene is vibrant, rich and they are ready to go and grow.  Meanwhile, look at Detroit, Honolulu.  "Ni hao," anyone?
2)  Desire is not enough.  La voglia non basta.  Wanting to be a major player on the world classical music scene will demand much more of the Chinese than sheer numbers of talented musicians, new concert halls and countless hours of practicing.  Lang Lang is not representative, to the best of my awareness, of the general level in China.  There is still a lot of remedial work to do.
3)  Will somebody other than me please program some French music in China?  Ravel, Debussy, Poulenc, Faure, Saint-Saens, Bizet, Delibes .  Something, please.
4)  I am advised by Chinese colleagues that triple meter, in the form of waltz or dance, is foreign to the Chinese sensibility and to its traditions.  True, a lot of music for traditional Chinese orchestra (much of it very beautiful and very exciting) is in 2/4 time.  Still, the inability to negotiate or to feel in 3 is a limiting factor, even when playing Tchaikovsky 4.
5)  So many gifted singers, so few (if any) coaches.  Chinese singers are compromised by their unwillingness or inability to learn with precision either the meaning or the pronunciation of Western languages.  I know that rolled "r" is difficult, likewise a proper frontal "l," but if a boychick from New Jersey can do it, so can the Xianese.  Meanwhile, they must put away the Pavarotti recordings (hey, with all due respect, he didn't read music, may he rest in peace) and get out the dictionaries.  Let's make Nico Castel our patron saint.
6)  Just because you like the aria, it doesn't mean you get to sing it.  "L'altra notte" is a lovely piece; please leave it for Caballe.  No, you don't get to sing "Lamento di Federico" just because it is pretty.  By the way, if you sing too big in the middle, don't be surprised if your top is short.
7)  70 musicians sitting next to each other playing the same piece of music at the same time is not an orchestra, be it in China, in Cincinnati, in Toronto or in Dubai.  An orchestra is something else, something more.  Oh, and MUTES ARE NOT OPTIONAL.  Neither is a pencil.
8)  If I open your score and it is clean, it means you didn't study it, no matter how many recordings you listened to, no matter who was conducting them.  I want to see phrasing, harmony, zig-zag, be it in Beijing or Boston.
8)  Don't get me wrong, friends; I love being in China.  I love teaching there, I love eating there.  I love the history, the art, the writing.  I love the eagerness, the naivete, the drive, the talent.  Hate breathing there, but that's another story.  I love it so much I get impatient with it.  I want it all for them, NOW, just like I do with the CCM Philharmonia, which also I love beyond reason.
8)  Last but not least, for God's sake, attack from the string.  Once.  At least.  You might like it :)

Gotta plane to catch...more later.

Bar 28 - Delacroix weighs in

On Rossini, Mozart, Bellini, Weber, Gluck and Verdi:

My dear friend, will you please arrange your affairs tomorrow so that we can go together to the Italians to see the first performance of Othello, del Signorissimo Rossini.  (1821)

How I like those Italians!  At the Louvois theatre I revel in listening to their lovely music and gazing rapturously at their delicious actresses…Galli has arrive. He made his debut yesterday in La Gazza and scored a great success.  I’m looking forward to seeing him at the second performance. (1821)

I hope too, that we shall occasionally go together to admire the magnificent Mme. Pasta.  I’m yearning to hear her.  My heart is still full of the music of Tancredi, which as you know I was lucky enough to see twice.  I am very glad to see that they are reviving the Nozze.  (1822)

I have seen Freischütz in two different theatres, with some music that was omitted in Paris.  There are some very remarkable things in the scene where they cast the bullets.  The English understand theatrical effect better than we do, and their stage sets, although they are not so carefully carried out as ours, provide a more effective background to the actors. (1825, from London)

Belatedly, I send you my sincerest congratulations.  I saw La Juive for the first time yesterday; and I must tell you how wholeheartedly I admired the lively interest you shed over this play, which is certainly in need of it, smothered as it is by all that rubbish that’s so alien to art.  What has become of us, that we need so many extraneous reinforcements for music, which is the most powerful of all the arts…? (to the tenor, Nourrit, 1835)

I shall not be able to come and see you tonight: it’s the last night of my Italian players and I Puritani...  (to George Sand, 1840)

Last night I saw the opera of the famous Verdi about whom that Young German musician I met at your house waxed so enthusiastic; Verdi or Merdi is all the rage today; it’s a rehash of Rossini’s leavings, minus the ideas, nothing but noise...Where is Chopin, where is Mozart…?  (to George Sand, 1847)

Today I heard Rossini’s Stabat.  It’s a cut above Pistolet, and above Jean too.  It isn’t quite Mozart, either; but such as it is, it stands quite a few cubits higher than my friend Halévy. (1842)

As we dine late, we can’t go for walks after dinner, and in the absence of virtuosi such as Batta, etc., we plunge boldly into score-reading.  We must sound very odd stumbling through Don Giovanni, La Gazza Ladra, etc. (1855)

Mme Viardot has just been singing Orphée; the best thing you can do at this moment is to take the coach from Châteauroux and come to Paris to see her in this masterpiece, to which she has really given fresh life. (to George Sand, 1859)

(excerpts taken from “Eugène Delacroix, selected letters, 1813-1863; edited and translated by Jean Stewart)

I recommend to you all the diaries of Paul Klee, who wrote with insight about concerts he attended and in which he performed as an orchestral violinist.  And while we are reading Delacroix and Klee, it wouldn’t hurt to view some of their pictures; among the two greatest painters in Western art.  Composer’s letters are part of score study as well.  There is priceless correspondence between Mahler and Strauss, between Saint-Saëns and Faure.  Get to the museum, get to the library, get to the theatre.  And don’t forget to call your mother!

Bar 27 - Tous les Jours

Bar 27 – Tous les Jours

Marvin Gaye is on in the background, and I left my Ravel score back at the hotel; we won’t be continuing our passage through Valses Nobles today. So my thoughts are turning back to four hours of conducting masterclass yesterday at Seoul National University.  First movements of Beethoven 3 and 4, Mozart 36 and 41 and Schubert 5, plus overtures to Rosamunde and Fledermaus.   All with two pianos; everyone played for each other, just like Beijing.  We had fun; we worked hard, and there were all sorts of Korean sweets on the table.

We talked about the usual issues:  Posture, left hand, looking down, mirroring, beating ahead of the pianists, angle of the stick, saving vertical space, the fold out, wrist rotation, baton grip, traveling through the orchestra, footwork. Even Beethoven metronome markings, at dinner.  They all went after these new ideas with joy and bravery. Over the course of the class, I related conducting to bus driving, surfing and dating 10 women at once.

Tried and (for me) true aphorisms were iterated and explained:
He who lives by the beat, dies by the beat.
Listening to recordings is to score study what watching someone else eat is to having a meal.
What goes up, must come down.
The intersection of gesture and pulse.
There is a reason they hate us.
Nobody gets into conducting for the beating.
Ignore the basses at your peril.
Beethoven had terminal itch.
Language is power and respect, two ways.
What you give to one, you don’t give to the other.
Your mouth conducts your hands.
A prepared subito is an oxymoron.
The best conducting is no conducting.
Active listening trumps active beating.
There is no right and wrong; there is only informed and less informed taste.
If you don’t know the score, it doesn’t matter where you put your hands.
Clarity of intent, not clarity of beat.

The musical concerns were addressed:
No harmonic analysis in the score
Limited awareness of other works by the composer
No sound concept – how does Beethoven sound differ from Schubert?
The three adjectives
The song lyrics
Understanding the continuum of sound and repertoire.

I soliti sbagli sono stati spiegati:
The bob-‘n’-weave
The page-turn two-step
The slalom
The bend-‘n’–beg
The behind-the-back
The hide-‘n’-seek
The look-down
The look-away

Will the beating will start up again when I leave on Tuesday, the beating that precludes listening, that doesn’t convey accurate pulse or tempo, the hyperactive rebounding practiced while listening to the IPod?  Maybe Lao Tse was right: “The Tao that can be explained is not the eternal Tao.”  “He who talks does not know; he who knows does not talk.”  Or is what Seiji told us at Tanglewood true?  “If I can give you just a taste, and you like the taste, you will be back for more of the taste.”  If we don’t share these things, how could they be learned?  There were brief but tangible glimmers yesterday in these wonderful students, these inquisitive young musicians; I will depart hopeful.

Tous les Jours, the newest in a local chain of bakery/cafes, just opened across the street.  GRAND OPENING EVENT TODAY.

Bar 26 - Delicious Pleasure

Valses Nobles et Sentimentales (1911, orch. 1912)

A delicious pleasure – I can think of no better way to describe this work – that is tricky to conduct and remains difficult to put over in concert.  It speaks to another epoch, another place, best enjoyed next to a spot of absinthe, perhaps.  It is dedicated, from de Régnier, to “…le plaisir délicieux et toujours nouveau d’une occupation inutile.”  How appropriate for the conductor: “Useless occupation” indeed, though he wasn’t referring “occupation” in the sense of our métier.

Written for piano in 1911 and modeled after a set by the same name of Schubert, it is one of many keyboard works Ravel later orchestrated, including Ma mere l’oye (1910), “Alborada del gracioso” and “Une barque sur l’océan” from Miroirs  (1904-5), movements of Le Tombeau de Couperin (1914-17), but curiously, not Gaspard de la Nuit (1908).  La Valse (1919-20) went the other way; a piano transcription was made after the orchestral version.

A Schubertian influence is difficult to trace, apart from the name.  Unlike much Schubert, nothing of tangible spiritual import happens over its 16-minute duration.  There are however in Ravel’s work moments of the most sublime, ineffable beauty, harmonic daring amid the melodic insouciance.  It is among my favorite of his works; I often pair it with La Valse, which shares with it only the waltz rhythm.  Two pieces of the same genre could hardly occupy more distinct emotional terrain.

I - Modéré

The first waltz is marked at quarter = 176, although it is conducted in 1.  At slightly under 60 to the dotted half (although that would be a fair tempo), it is slightly slower than the first movements of Eroica, Beethoven 8 and Schumann 3, which are themselves tough (in the case of Eroica at least, inadvisable) to keep together in 1.  The accents on beat 3 offer the first conducting challenge, demanding that we save vertical space on the rebound, so that we can mark the accent with some gesture.  I usually think of the 3^rd beat of ¾ as being on the downstroke (the hand moving towards the downbeat of the next bar) anyway, but many people hang up in the air after a too-vigorous rebound off of one.

In fact, this tendency, to rebound hard and high off and one and wait for the orchestra to catch may explain the “Viennese” waltz tradition, which Swarovsky eschews (see his critical edition of Fledermaus, published by Eulenberg).   But that is a longer discussion; back to Paris!

I love the absurdity of the chords on beat 3 in the first four bars; they scream “silly” to me (did Ravel consider them “noble”?), followed by two diatonic bars of sanity and a most pleasing G Major 7 sonority.  Chromaticism reappears in bar 9, with G-sharps and the resulting E dominant 7 harmony.  Two bars of cascading dissonance lead to a cadence based on E minor 7, some extended dominant function on A, and resolution in D.  There are no articulations indicated on the 8ths in the strings when they are not slurred; I do them detached, even in bars 15 and 16, when they double the legato winds.  Bars 17 - 19 – SAVE VERTICAL SPACE!

Reh. 3 – tricky chord to play in tune in the brass; dim. 7^th chord in the trombones/tuba, underpinning an E, followed by D half-diminished 7^th (go to English horn, clarinets, bassoon and celli on the downbeat of 23).  Another dim. 7^th, followed by A-flat half diminished 7; the harmony over the next few bars may best be described as “loopy.”  The conducting - at least until reh. 6 - is normal.

Do you know all the string harmonics?  Make a chart just in case.  Orchestras love to trip up a conductor on harmonics.  What strings are they played on?  What is resulting pitch, in what octave?  You don’t need to explain how they are played (unless it is a very young orchestra, in which case you shouldn’t be doing this piece anyway!), but as Gustav Meier used to say, “You gotta know!”

1^st violins at two before 6 are an intonation problem, as are the string triplets at five after 6 (compare to the 2^nd movement of La Mer!).  From reh. 6 to reh. 8, check length of quarters in the winds/brass.  Intonation is tricky here; also, what quality sound do you think appropriate?

Note the subito meno forte (marked “mf”) at reh. 9 on the extended G dominant function.  The E dominant 7 that follows (2 before 10) is for me a riotous affirmation; recall how the similar harmony affects the listener so differently at 2 before 2!  Last two bars are sometimes done poco stentato.  If you want that, again, you must restrain your vertical rebound, and show (as opposed to merely “beat”) all three quarters in the penultimate bar.

Before proceeding, MAKE TIME FOR STRINGS TO PUT ON MUTES!  While they are doing so, think about your French pronunciation:  Closed “e” as in “Cédez” sounds like the “a” in the English word, “chaos.”  Open “e” as in the word, “très” sounds like the “e” in the English word, “bed.”  OK, the strings should be ready by now.

II - Assez lent

At quarter=104, this is a deceptive tempo marking.  “Rather slow,” it moves nonetheless, so keep it going.  What does that “expressif” refer to in the winds - a color, vibrato, dynamic contrast?  The same marking for the 1sts at 2 before 12 is clear; a great slide on the G string - not too slow, please, the slide - then pick up the fab bass pizzicato!  The pitch of the F-sharp augmented triad in clarinets and 3^rd horn will be compromised by the stopped horn.  Careful how you address this, if you choose to address it at all.   At rehearsal 12, stick with the harp.  I always have harp play forte, everywhere in every piece by every composer.  Well, just about every piece.  Simple, small 3 here, please; a dotted half would be about 35, so don’t try it in 1 unless you are already dead.  I love the low flute, kind of breathy.  For me, this is one of the “noble” waltzes, though it is sensuous beyond belief; I prefer it not turn “sentimental.”  “Languid” sums it up; tough for the conductor, we can’t really indulge in that quality; ours is more of a vicarious thrill here.  More harmonics coming up; another word of caution – harmonics must still be played in tune.  Many strings just throw up some random note there; if they are out of tune, they sound just as bad as out of tune regular pitches.

“Rubato” at 14, tempo is marked, “Un peu plus lent.”  Is it possible that Ravel uses the R-word as Puccini does “rubando,” that these pitches actually speed up a bit in the first bar and then settle back?  Otherwise, for me it just dies.  5 after 14, “très expressif” in flute. Hmm…don’t be tempted to ask the flute to play more expressively, at least not at the rehearsal. Make sure the strings fill out final quarters of bars; again, save your vertical space on beat 3!

At 15, I go for a special sound, a special vibrato in the strings.  Note the shifting between arco and pizzicato in the violas.   Go with confidence to the high C in the horn.  Not too soon the diminuendo that starts 5 after 15.  2^ND FLUTE SOLO at 16 (shades of Dvorak New World!), magic sound.  Don’t slow down, else you’ll be caught “staring.”  Pitch is tricky at 17, especially so in the trumpet/horn chords at 2 before 18.  Note the wealth of expressive marks at 18 and the parallel passage previously; accents in pp strings, for example – how do you want that?  In the last bar – harmonics IN TUNE, and sustain; don’t let 2nds and violas run out of bow.

III – Modèrè

No metronome indicated, but it is done in 1.  Similar tempo to the first waltz.  Don’t you just love pizzicato passages!  They don’t really have to be rehearsed, other than the rushing. Oh yes, they always rush.  Also, all strings play them differently, so you might pay attention to where they are played on the string, what part of the finger is used.  Bass harmonics at 19; why shouldn’t they get in on the fun?  Make sure their pitch is not vague.  Pitch between flutes, oboe and EH at 19 is less obvious than it appears on the page.  1^st violins and violas have a wonderful passage at 20, make sure there is no accented tug on beat 3 if they change bows there.  At 1 before 21, I put a little accent on the F-sharp in the 2nds, just for fun.  Clever 4-string pizz in the 1sts at 21.  Hey, no conducting issues!  Yet.  Notice the “soutenu” in the violins at 22, this I do without bow change, just a little portato between beats 2 and 3. 

2 before 23 – our first conducting problem.  First of all, you will have to indicate two bars earlier that something is going to happen at the “Cédez très peu”; the orchestra has been going on automatic 1 for too long.  I use a left hand signal – my index finger pointed up – to show that I will change something soon.  The only way that works at the cédez is to drift right off of your downbeat and gently mark a three. The bar before 23 is still at this slower tempo, at least two beats of it.  The upbeat is in tempo primo (“au Mouvt”) and subito f (pick up the bass pizz!).  The shrewd conductor actually does practice gestures for these two bars; I don’t believe this kind of sudden tempo shift comes naturally.  Employ that trick I mentioned in the first waltz; the 3^rd beat is already on the downstroke.   I call this move the “ice cream scoop.”  Lush bowstrokes at 23!  The Cédez before 24 in a genuine (if legato) 3.  I find the transition between 24 and 25 difficult to make sound convincing; 2 before 25 wants a little relaxing, for my taste.  Note a new marking at 25 “(à peine plus lent), in contrast to the similar “un peu plus lent” in the 2^nd waltz.  I actually make more time for the syrupy passage at five after 25 and inflect, inflect, inflect each quarter for those 3 crucial bars, particularly 3^rd beats.  Bonne chance avec ces mesures!  At 26, all is normal until the Retenez, a substantial ritardando in 3.

Phew!  That’s a lot already.  We’ll cover the rest later.  Such a great piece.  À plus tard, mes amis!

Bar 25 - In the beginning

In the beginning was the score.


The composer painstakingly organizes notes by pitch and duration horizontally to form melody; pitches are aligned vertically to define harmony and counterpoint, which in turn puts melody in context, giving it meaning.  Dramatic ebb and flow are generated through rhythmic activity and pulse.  Rests in the musical texture create drama and bring interior lines into relief.  The language of our musical notation is sophisticated and rich, incorporating 4 different written languages (apart from musical symbols themselves), 12 different pitches over 6 octaves, a complement of meters and note lengths, spoken in sound by an organism of as many as thirty different instruments capable of a host of distinct sounds.  The depth of what can be said through this notation is limitless.


We study the score for days, weeks, months, even years trying to learn the score's logic, grasp its structure and intuit its poetry.  We so earnestly want to find a way to understand what the composer is saying; some of take the time to read the composer’s letters, discover other works by the composer, explore the times during which the composer lived.  


Then we face the orchestra, meaning to share what we have learned to our orchestra so that it can play what we believe the composer wanted to say.  And what tools do we use to express the composer’s artistic intent?  


One is down.
A four pattern goes down, left, right and up.
Three looks like a triangle.
Make bigger gestures for more sound.
Point to the player in time for them to come in.
Make a big round gesture to cut off the ensemble.


We work so hard to understand this musical language, yet our own language – the language of gesture we employ to express the score physically – is so limited.    How can we ever bridge the gap between the poetry of composition and the prosaic act of leading an orchestra to play together?


These and so many other thoughts challenged me during last weekend’s conducting workshop at CCM, devoted to Schumann 3, 4, the Cello Concerto and Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony.


It was such a pleasure to work with interesting, interested young conductors!   Thirteen maestros-to-be came to CCM to learn and share something about the craft from my teacher, Gustav Meier, my colleague, Ulrich Nicolai, and with me.  The level was quite good, and those who have been with us in the past demonstrated remarkable growth.


The same issues nonetheless arose from time to time, too much beating and unnecessary rebounding, resulting in or stemming from vague musical ideas and an inability to shape sound and time.   Those with “easy hands” – to whom beating “clearly” either came naturally or was practiced into security - didn’t use their beats to shape phrase, show dynamics or define sound specific to and appropriate for Schumann and Schubert.  Some simply didn’t trust the orchestra to maintain pulse and continued to beat in spite of the ensemble.  Often the orchestra seemed to play on its own, though curiously, it did sound different with each conductor.   Clearly, body language was being read by the orchestra, but there was very little traveling in much of the conducting, very little sense of who needed what information when.  


And yet. There was one conductor who dared during the brief bridge leading into the development of the 1st movement of the Schubert. The descending scale in the low strings was allowed to unfold virtually without gesture but with the clearest musical intent; no beating, only the very slightest indication of when pitch changed.  The reentry of the upper strings was rendered with merely a glance.  The sound left us speechless.


Another conductor expressed Schumann through a sheer joy in conducting I've rarely seen, working from memory, confidently sharing shape and sound with the orchestra.   Yet another demonstrated his maturity with a light touch, his face communicating his love for this music so powerfully that the orchestra barely needed a gesture.  Careers are made of such moments.  And that is the next beginning.

Are we going to change what conducting looks like? 

Are we going to reestablish the primacy of gesture and pulse over beat? 

Are we going to expand our physical vocabulary to encompass the composer’s will?

In the beginning, there was the score.

How will you now begin to conduct?

Bar 23 - Jojo weighs in on 8th-notes

Guest columnist, Josephine Gibson, is taking time from her busy farming activities today to respond to a reader’s question.  I'd like to thank her for washing her paws before she takes over the MacBook.

I. Stravinsky from Hollywood, CA asks:

"How long is an 8th-note?  I am having difficulty getting the proper length and distinction without writing articulations over every note."

Jojo responds: Thanks for the question, Isabelle; I recognize your handwriting.  Do you remember that we met at conference last year?  You were asking about the length of a 16th, I came up with a hairball (just send me the bill, please). Well, as you may recall from that chat, I offered the view that musical notation, being a language, is approximate in meaning.  It cannot be translated or interpreted with absolute precision.  So it is with an 8th-note.  Its length depends on many factors, including the context within a piece, within a stylistic/historical period, or within a composer’s oeuvre.  Not to mention the size and acoustic of the performance space. My dad, Mark, is working now on Brahms 2 and is urging the orchestra to play very long 8th’s, but just last month he was conducting Mozart 29 and sometimes couldn’t get the 8th’s short enough.  It also depends, in string playing, on vibrato.  Sometimes Dad asks the violins to add one or two “shakes” of vibrato to a note; I guess he uses that to give an 8th-note length and quality.  It also makes it sound pretty ☺.  He occasionally quotes his old piano teacher, Theodore Lettvin, saying that an 8th-note can be anywhere between a "5th"-note and a "15th"-note in length.  I don't know; I've never seen a 15th-note, but I guess he meant that it can be nearly as long as a quarter note or nearly as short as a 16th-note.

Meanwhile, if there is a dot over the 8th, what does that mean?  Dad encourages the orchestra to define the dot - indicating “staccato” - as “separated,” as opposed to merely “short.”  The Italian infinitive, “staccare,” means, “to detach.”  How short? As Pitti-Sing from “The Mikado” says, “Bless you, it all depends!”  I think that the composer can add all the articulations s/he wants to an 8th-note passage, but every musician will arrive at a different conclusion as to what they mean.  

CONTEXT and TASTE.  These are among the primary factors to consider when establishing the length of an 8th-note, articulations not withstanding.  It is the conductor's job, as the arbiter of taste, to define thoughtfully how the ensemble will execute 8th's.  Let's hope that Maestro did his/her homework!

Thanks for the question, Isabelle.  Dad, can I get back to the farm now?  I've got sugar beets to harvest.

Bar 22 - The Sound of One Hand Conducting

Years ago in Munich, I was working with a young conductor on the opening of the prelude to La Traviata.  Picture the opening chord; hushed strings, pianissimo, starting upbow. Trying to conduct two pianos, the student was unable to bring them in together using two hands.  I suggested that it might work better with one hand, using the smallest possible gesture: Two hands, one holding a baton, cannot convey the same information at precisely the same time, and the strings need just the slightest piece of information to indicate when to begin moving the bow.  Conducting the first bar with one hand, it worked, even with pianos, because the size of the beat allowed for no margin of error; there was only one point of focus, there was simply no space for the pianists to enter late, and so little space as to limit their options for when to attack.  Having tried it successfully, the student insisted, "Well, if it works with one hand alone, it must work better with two, no?"

Where is it written that we need to start or that we need to conduct at all times with both hands?  

Surveying the 7th edition of "The Modern Conductor," I am pleased to report that in this most traditional of approaches, even though there are beating and gestural exercises for the left hand, nowhere in the book does it state explicitly that we must start the orchestra with both hands up, parallel to each other, as is so often seen (although it is perhaps assumed that one will) and continue that way.  For the record, one can start an orchestra as easily with one hand as with two, and often with more precision.  Why?  Because seeing one hand alone, the orchestra only has to focus on one "target.”    

One reader has said that the orchestra might misconstrue the use of one hand as being overly casual.  I can see this reasoning, but it would only be perceived as too casual if the conductor him/herself were too casual in general.  I usually do begin with two hands, but I also employ “the drift.”  This is a super tool from my teacher, Gustav Meier, in which the hands begin apart and slowly, but with intent, drift together until the moment of impulse for the upbeat, at which point the left hand is withdrawn.

We need to do better with our left hand, all of us.  Some podium tricks for developing a more independent, useful left:

1)             Start with your hands in different positions, i.e., if your right hand is holding the stick palm down, turn your left palm up.  We call this “holding sound.”

2)             While conducting, when using the left, keep in higher than the right.  This will also keep the right from getting too high!

3)             Separate the hands in space - though never too far away from the body - in depth as well as in height.

4)             In practice (not in front of the orchestra!), try holding a cup of hot coffee or tea steady in your left while beating with your right.  For extra credit, try drinking the beverage while conducting and maintaining a consistent pulse.  Careful – don’t burn yourself!

Consider what happens when we don’t use these tools: In the same position, on a parallel plane, mirror conducting is almost unavoidable.  When the left drops below the right, its effectiveness is usually compromised.  Keeping the hands in the same position and plane limits the expressive range of both hands.  Furthermore, when the hands are parallel, the right hand never has the opportunity to use space to the left of center.  While this may be fine when conducting an ensemble that faces the conductor, in an orchestra where many musicians sit on the periphery, keeping the right hand on the right side of the body is often confusing for the outside strings.

Here’s another great tool for practicing independence of the hands: While at the piano, try tapping out the pulse on the fallboard with one hand while the other plays the tune, or another part of the score.  Then switch hands.  Not as easy as it sounds, just ask any of my students!

Another suggestion, from an unlikely source - the Buddha.  Take a look at the placement of the hands in almost any sculpture of a sitting Buddha.  Find a way to “translate” that placement into your setup and gesture.

We are not doing the orchestra any favors by the constant use of a “codependent” left.  It limits our hearing, it limits our communication with the orchestra and it limits our ability to express the music.  In fact, it is a crutch, one of many we resort to.  A later bar will be devoted to more of these crutches, such as the bob-‘n’-weave, the conducting two-step and the count-off.  For the moment, turn that left hand over, use it to hold sound and draw a phrase, and then let it go.  If you are wondering what to do with the left hand when it is not actively engaged, that is why God invented lapels. 

Back to work…

Bar 21 - Allegro con brio

As I came to conducting late, playing rehearsals from the piano in the opera house, I confess that I never really learned how to beat, though I did learn how to follow a beat.  Furthermore, never having taken a formal course of instruction in conducting, I was never even taught how to beat.  And working for years with (or against) various conductors, I eventually learned how to ignore a beat.

The notion that the first step in learning how to conduct would be to learn how to beat is to this day foreign to me.  The only way I can reconcile the meaning of "beating" and its role in conducting is to define it as a (not "the") physical manifestation of pulse.  The conductor does need to find a way to express pulse in hand and body.  The orchestral musician does at times need accurate information as to where s/he is in a measure; the measure having served for centuries as a primary building block in the organization of musical composition and sound.  The conventional wisdom for the intersection of these two "needs" seems to have led to establishing a physical framework of beats placed in space, usually traced by the right hand.  I accept the convention of beating as necessary, but ask continually how and why it became the primary focus of instruction and the basis for much of the conducting I see on podiums these days.

While I never learned how to beat, I did learn how to conduct.  Much of what I learned was imparted to me by my teacher and mentor, Gustav Meier.  Over the years, I was blessed to work with and learn from other great conductors, notably Edoardo Müller, Ozawa, Bernstein and Maurizio Arena, but a basic vocabulary of gesture I learned from Mo. Meier, who himself has never been a conventional beater.  What I will share with the reader for the duration of this "first movement" is what I have learned about conducting and physical gesture, from my own experience and from what I was taught, which might be summarized thus:

In the beginning, there was the score, not the beat.
Conducting is the intersection of gesture and pulse, not gesture and beat.
Clarity of intent is more important than clarity of beat.
Active listening trumps active beating,
If you don't know the score, it doesn't matter where you put your hands.
The size of one's beat is frequently in inverse proportion to how well one knows the score, and
S/he who lives by the beat, dies by the beat.

These concepts are familiar to my students, but may well be new to those who haven't either studied or worked with me.  Over the next several weeks, each of them will be discussed and explored.  I hope that the reader will consider them and apply them as I try to explain, demonstrate and define these and other fundamental aspects of my approach to the craft.

Back to work!

Bar 20 - Cadence and Fermata

As in any good classical symphony, we've begun with a slow introduction that sets the mood, establishes recurring motives, draws in the reader and is to be followed by a more active discussion of the most intriguing topics.  Before proceeding with the Allegro, let me offer my own view of the Indianapolis situation:

I was there, at Orchestra Hall, for Esa-Pekka Salonen's debut with the Minnesota Orchestra when he was in his early 20's (Duka's "La Peri"), as I was when my friend, Antonio Pappano, began his meteoric rise from the New York City Opera to the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, as I was when Xian Zhang arrived in Cincinnati and effortlessly joined me in a reading of Debussy's Petite Suite (later going on to win Maazel/Vilar), as I was when Seiji was a fellow at Tanglewood in 1960, when I was all of four years old.  There is genius in our business, and one feels blessed when one is lucky enough to witness it.  I have not seen the young Maestro appointed to the ISO, but I did run into a musician from the orchestra two days ago who, beaming, assured me that Urbanski's appointment marked a historic moment for that orchestra.  

It will be noted that, traditionally, conducting appointments operate like pendulums; if the outgoing music director was a taskmaster, the incoming might be more user-friendly; if the old was, well, "older," the new might well be younger.  If the incumbent was flashy, the successor might be more discreet.  It is certainly possible to identify equally gifted Maestros with differing approaches to the job.  It is also clear to me that, although evaluating the level of a conductor is more complex than that of a pianist (most audience members don't see, hear or recognize the conductor's "wrong notes"), ultimately the Maestro who can't cut it isn't reengaged; the business simply can't afford someone who isn't that good or someone who can't maintain the rigors of the career (and it is brutal, this career on that level).  None of the younger generation have faked their way to their present positions, but there some truth in Milstein's remark to the effect that young talent is only useful because it gets old; it will be interesting to observe these talents as they mature in life and music.

In summary, my best wishes go out to Maestro Urbanski and the excellent Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra as they embark on a new artistic/musical path, and I look forward to cheering them on for years to come.  A hopeful GBGA.

Bar 19 - GBGA, or, The Matrix

A reader asks me about the impact and import of the appointment of a 28-year old to the music directorship of the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra.  First a story:

Many years ago, I had the opportunity to guest conduct the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra on tour in upstate Minnesota while being considered for the assistant conductor position. Interesting program, including a "symphony" of overtures by Chabrier, Mendelssohn, Rossini and Mozart, Appalachian Spring and Mozart 39.  The orchestra was fabulous, the concerts went well, and Bobby McFerrin was named assistant conductor.  Now before we all raise our eyebrows (oops, too late…), let me offer this: Mr. McFerrin is one of the greatest musicians alive, in my book.  What he does, be it jazz or Mendelssohn 4, he does brilliantly.

That said, I did wonder at the time if maybe, just maybe, non-artistic factors might have entered into the selection.  It occurred to me that this appointment was clearly good for the "business" aspect of the SPCO; Mr. McFerrin would certainly generate both interest in the orchestra and ticket revenue.  Was it also good for the art?   I began to envision other matters of current artistic interest, not only pertaining to conductors, but to larger cultural trends as well. 

For instance – and remember, this was in the early 90’s – what if you were a subscriber to the Minnesota Orchestra, and it was an icy Friday night in January?  You had tickets to the concert, but you just didn’t feel like dealing with driving downtown when it was 10º below.  Suppose as one of your subscription options, you could have the orchestra miraculously “beamed” into your home, available live on your television set?  Would that be useful?  Well, of course it would be; anyone who has ever tried to start a 15-year old Buick on a frigid winter’s night in the Mini-Apple would concur.   But aside from being more convenient, would it add or detract from the orchestral experience?  If it enhanced the home viewer’s listening pleasure, would it be a negative for an ever dwindling, Gore-Tex clad audience gathered at Orchestra Hall?  Would it in fact eventually lead to a hall devoid of concertgoers, even if they did pay for and watch the event from the comfort of their living rooms?  Would making it easier NOT to go to the hall ultimately be a positive or a negative for the orchestra, financially and/or artistically? Ultimately, was what we now call Pay-Per-View, like Bobby McFerrin,

a) Good for the Business and Good for the Art (GBGA),

b) Good for the Business but Bad for the Art (GBBA),

c) Bad for the Business but Good for the Art (BBGA), or

d) Bad for the Business and Bad for the Art (BBBA)?

Hence the matrix. It has provided over the years a useful departure point for many cultural discussions among friends and colleagues.  So let’s play with this concept and visit the subject of “Wunderkind” conductors tomorrow.  While we are thinking about it, let’s consider some historical perspective:

Mahler was named music director in Kassel at the age of 23.  At 26, he took over a Ring production from Nikisch; at 28, took over the Royal Opera in Budapest.

Bernstein – at 26, took over for Walter at the New York Philharmonic Society, began his affiliation with the Israel Philharmonic at the age of 29.

Spohr – took over the court position at Gotha at the age of 21, led the orchestra at the Theater der Wien at 29, Frankfurt at 33.

Ozawa – won Besançon at 24, was music director of the Ravinia Festival at 29 and of the Toronto Symphony at 30.

Salonen – Principal Guest of the Philharmonia at 27, principal conductor of Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra at 26.

Bruno Walter – at 24, was chief conductor at Unter den Linden, at 25, became Mahler’s assistant in Vienna, conducting the local debut of Aïda.

Karajan – at 21, conducted Salome in Salzburg, became the youngest Generalmusikdirector in Germany at the age of 27.

More tomorrow…back to work!

Bar 18 - Quiz Show

In rehearsal on Brahms last week, ensemble disintegrated at one point.  The concertmaster, who is wonderful, immediately turned to her section and urged them to watch me.  I didn't mean to contradict her, but I suggested precisely the opposite, "No, let's try it again; do it without me."  I didn't beat at all, and as usual in any repertoire this side of Le Sacre du Printemps, it worked just fine. The solution wasn't to watch the conductor; it was for the musicians to be more connected with each other.

This anecdote does beg several questions, which I raise from time to time with my students, and that is the subject of today's quiz:

1) How many musicians are actually looking at us at any given time?  

2) What percentage of the time are they looking at us?

3) How often do we want/expect them to be looking at us?

4) How often do they really need to look at us?

5) What part of us exactly are they supposed to be looking at?  The tip of the stick?  Our face?  The turn of our left hand?  

6) Why after all do we want, need or expect the orchestra to look at us? 

Before jumping all over that one, think carefully, and consider the next question:

7) How much of the orchestra do we actually look at when we conduct, how often, and why?

Many other factors to take into account:  Is it a rehearsal or a concert?  If a rehearsal, is it a rehearsal to fix "mechanics," or to establish geist and flow?  Are we seeking to "inspire" the group?  If it is a concert, do our expectations change (does the orchestra's?), and if so, how?  My colleague, Imre Pallo, once told me that he didn't like to rehearse too much.  That way, he said, he knew the orchestra would be looking at him during the concert. Well, there’s a tradeoff:

8)  Would you give up rehearsal time if you knew the orchestra would pay more attention to you in performance?

I don't mean to overwhelm with questions; the point is that the concept of "looking" is far more nuanced and complex than it first appears.  Think of the layers of interpersonal and technical complexity involved in the perennial (and loaded) question:

Bonus question:

9) "Where do you want us/are we supposed to play on your beat?"  

God, don't you hate it when they ask us that!  It is usually preceded by a loss of pulse and ragged ensemble after the group is already frustrated either with themselves or with Maestro, invariably delivered with a soupçon of 'tude.  Of course, it's a trick question, to which there is no single satisfactory answer.  But that is to be addressed in another bar, on another sunny day.

In closing, if you really want to orchestra to look at you, to hang on your every word and gesture, consider becoming its personnel manager.

Possible Answers:

1) All of them some of the time; none of them all of the time.

2) Depends on many factors, from who is playing to what they are playing to where they are sitting.

3) Consider this: Have you ever looked at the 1st violin part of Don Juan, much less tried to play it?

4) My rule: The orchestra will be happy to look at us if we give them something worthwhile to look at. 

5) Good question, think about it: How much of us can an orchestra member actually focus on, spatially, between the music on their stand, our two hands (usually parallel, separated and away from our bodies), the stick in one of them and our face, while actually playing an instrument?  

6) Your wants mean nothing, “need” is a big word and expectations will break your heart every time.

7) Physician, heal thyself.

8) Well, would you?

9) A little like the lawyer who asks you, “Have you stopped beating your wife?”

Back to work!

Bar 17 - The Rules, part 1

I have been reading a lot lately about bullying and firing orchestral musicians, about conductors taking cellphone calls in rehearsal (literally while in the act of conducting), of conductors asking orchestras to do "questionable" things in Mozart.  Time to stop the madness; time to lay down the law.

1)  Lose the cellphone.
There is no reason to have a cellphone or electronic device in rehearsal, or in performance.  That goes for both orchestra and Maestro.  Texting, checking the IPhone or trolling the Blackberry for messages in the rehearsal room, on either side of the podium, distracts from the task at hand.  Nothing short of one's wife giving birth - not even one's husband getting a hole in one - is worth breaking the train of thought and concentration required to play serious music.  Legendary orchestras and conductors throughout history have managed, somehow, to make great music and art without PDA's in hand; we can do it, too. I admit, I have at times used my phone to check the time in rehearsal; no more.  From now on, I'll rely on my watch.

2)  Conduct with your hands, not your words.
Replace verbal instruction with ever more precise gesture.  The best rehearsing is and always has been great conducting.  Working on physical craft (notice I didn't use the "b" word) is just as necessary and useful for the experienced 'stro as it is for the newcomer.  Tiger Woods still has a golf coach, professional pitchers still use pitching coaches, experienced singers have voice teachers.  We even expect orchestral musicians to practice their parts.  How is it that only conductors don't have to continue to improve and refine their craft?

3)  Replace beating with listening and observing.
Was rehearsing Brahms 2 the other day at Indiana with a young orchestra.  It took some effort, but I succeeded in stopping making an effort, physically.  I simply set up a tempo and intently OBSERVED.  I let the orchestra play, let the orchestra find its own interior communication.  They were great; tentative at first, but ultimately very responsive and grateful for the trust.  Sound poured forth, the symphony ebbed and flowed without me.  Remember: The bigger the beat, the less secure you are in the score.  Active listening trumps active beating.  And no one appreciates having a big stick constantly being swung at them.

4)  Be sensitive to the ensemble and collaborate intelligently with it.
No one in your orchestra is there because they don't want to play or they aren't musical (though they may not want to play with YOU...).  Everyone brings what they have, in terms of talent, ethic and spirit, to the communal endeavor of making orchestral music.  That said, orchestral musicians don't like being "told" what to do any more than we like to be told, particularly when they are told to do stupid, dishonest, or unmusical things.  This doesn't mean that we should ingratiate ourselves through witty banter or smiles.  We win the orchestra's trust by excellent craft, impeccable score study, exquisite taste and diplomatic communication - verbal and gestural - that shows respect for the individuals in the group and for the group as a whole.

5)  Three-part rule no. 1:
a)   "If you don't ask, you don't get."  The orchestra will revert to and never improve from its "default" sound and level unless and until you insist that they do something different (hopefully, better).  That insistence can be communicated gesturally or verbally, rudely or politely, but unless and until it happens, the orchestra's capacity for improvement or growth will be limited.  It won't get better of its own accord anymore than a rosebush will blossom without being tended. It is both our right and our responsibility to ask for better.
b)  "If you ask, you get."  Part of the compact between orchestra and conductor is that they must, to the best of their ability, do what you ask them to do, at least until your contract expires.  It is their job, literally, to execute the artistic will of the conductor.  Whether they do it willingly or unwillingly, with joy or with a disgusted smirk, because or in spite of us, they will, sooner or later, if we are persistent, execute our direction.  That said, be inclusive, musically motivated, non-personal and patient in your asking.
c)  "The more you ask for, the more you get."
In my experience, most orchestras LIKE to play better and appreciate it when the conductor encourages and motivates them to do so.  So keep on asking for more - be it more sound, more piano, more short, more accented, more phrased, even more together (assuming that you are helping, not hurting their ensemble through your gesture).  Feel free to insist on what you think is right, as long as you do it with respect for the score and for the musicians.

I promise we'll talk about firing musicians soon, but not now.  It's too nice a day outside.
More rules later.  Back to work!

Bar 16 - Drinking buddies

On January 1, 1888, when Brahms was 54 years old and Tchaikovsky was 47, they met for the first time over New Year's dinner at the home of the violinist Adolph Brodsky in Leipzig.  A great friendship was not born that evening, though they did get sloshed.  And not for the last time that week.   Pyotr Ilyich describes Brahms as a dreadful drunk, which didn't keep the tall Russian from knocking back more than a few himself.  His opinion of Brahms the man was, after further acquaintance, tempered; he found Johannes to be a "nice person."  Of course, multiple pours of the grape would do that to him.  To both of them, for that matter.

In rehearsal yesterday, we finished reading the excellent "Things Left Unsaid," by Eric Knechtges, which is based on the last movement of Tchaikovsky's "Pathètique."  Fa, mi-re-do, si-do.  We segued into the 2nd movement of Brahms 2, which starts...well you know.  Obviously a coincidence, but it does say something about these two titans, and it certainly begs for more insight into their relationship.

Of Brahms the composer, Tchaikovsky was harsh and harsher, calling him a "scoundrel," his music "hideous," ranting about it to his British friend, Ethel Smyth, to his brother, to his publisher and to his colleagues.  Brahms himself was more discreet in his feelings, but never warmed to the Russian's compositions, apart from one movement of the Suite No. 1.  Hostilities were maintained, especially by Tchaikovsky, even as he studied the Brahms Violin Concerto and grew to appreciate its craft, if not its content.

They saw each other one last time, on March 12, 1889 in Hamburg.  Tchaikovsky arrived to conduct his own 5th Symphony; upon hearing this news, Brahms stayed around an extra day to hear a rehearsal.  He himself was there to conduct his 4th Symphony and the Academic Festival Overture.  They had another debauch at lunch, during the course of which they acknowledged that they still didn't appreciate each other's music.  Nonetheless, Tchaikovsky invited Brahms to conduct in Russia (he refused) and supposedly they parted as "good friends." I am trying to picture them now at table, drinking.   Several bottles of wine.  At lunch.  What did they eat?  Some overcooked boar?  At what point did Brahms undo his belt, or suspenders or whatever he had to loosen to make room for his Spätzel?  Can't you just see Johannes, famous for both his appetite and his girth, midway through Bottle No. 2, carelessly letting food fall onto his beard?  What did they talk about, other than their distaste for each other's music?  Girls?  I doubt it.  Probably bitched about orchestra musicians: "...here, have some more, Pyotr...now about that concertmaster, did he play one note in tune?...What was that reed made of, a pine cone...oops, excuse me, what did I do with that herring...what's it doing down there?"  And then off to rehearsal, after a nap, one hopes.

Their opinion of each other's music never did improve.  Brahms was humbly honest at that lunch in his assessment of Tchaikovsky's music; it wasn't to his taste.  While Tchaikovsky admired Brahms's mastery of compositional technique, he found the music cold, uninspiring, devoid of real emotional interest, unappealing to the Russian character.  His negative view of Brahms was perhaps reinforced by his resentment at Brahms having been anointed Beethoven's successor in the German press.   Ultimately, they simply didn't see eye to eye on aesthetic, artistic matters.  There is it, two of the greatest composers who ever limned a tune, unable to agree on more than what to order for dessert.  And maybe a schnapps.

It is altogether appropriate to pair these two in performance.  Think of that week back in 1889, in Hamburg.  Tchaikovsky 5th, Brahms 4th.  Wow.  What wouldn't you have given to have been there!
At the lunch, if not at the concerts.

Back to work!

Bar 15 - Bill of Rights

Yesterday a colleague told me of a conductor who, annoyed, recently urged the musicians he was guest conducting to "Listen!" to each other.  I can visualize their reaction.  First the muttered expletives, then the visible slump in the chairs, the checking of watches, cellphones.  Was Maestro wrong?  Should the orchestra be listening to something beyond their own sounds?  Well, "should" is a big word.  No, Maestro is not necessarily wrong, but in my experience, most orchestral musicians would prefer we actually listen more to them before admonishing them for not listening to each other.   Where in the orchestral contract is it written that orchestral musicians are required or expected to listen to each other?  Is it a legitimate expectation?  Let's take this further: What other expectations do we have of the orchestra?  Are they fair?  Are they realistic?  Are they practical?  Do we have the right to expect that strings will vibrate, or that they will match strokes?  That winds will adjust their pitch, or play on adequate reeds?  That orchestral members will look at each other?  Is it really part of their job, as much as we expect or want it to be?  Is it part of their job to practice and prepare for rehearsals?  And what does the orchestra have the right to expect from us?

These are big questions, for which I devised the document below:

ORCHESTRAL BILL OF RIGHTS and RESPONSIBILITIES

ORCHESTRA MUSICIAN’S RIGHTS                                                     

What do I have the right to expect from the conductor?                                               

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

What do I have the right to expect from my colleagues?

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

ORCHESTRA MUSICIAN’S RESPONSIBILITIES

What does the conductor have the right to expect from me?

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

What do my colleagues have the right to expect from me?

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

CONDUCTOR’S RIGHTS

What do I have the right to expect from the orchestra?

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

CONDUCTOR’S RESPONSIBILITIES

What does the orchestra have the right to expect from me?

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                    

I'd urge the reader to consider this carefully, and file it away for future use.  By the way, before, if and when you  list "respect" under any of the categories, "Pesa le tue risposte," as Scarpia urges the Sacristan in Act 1 of Tosca.  

Back to work.