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.

Bar 14 - Good days, better days

The weather in Omaha was beautiful, warm and sunny till Saturday, when it turned a little cooler; still there wasn’t a cloud on the horizon.  I didn’t spend much time outdoors last week anyway; rather there was score study, some writing, running and catching up on reruns of “Law and Order.”  The original; still the best.  No steak, alas, but some tasty snacks at the lounge in the charming Magnolia Hotel.  A wonderful lunch (artisanal cheeses, paté and pinot-soaked fruit on lavash, roast pork over spinach polenta) at M's Pub in the Old Market, and a brilliant used bookstore on Jackson Street where I found an oversized, like-new hardbound piano/vocal score of Manon Lescaut.  Got it for a song...oh, go ahead and laugh.  At least chuckle.

And then there were the rehearsals for my concert with the orchestra, which improved drastically every outing.  And then there was the waiting for results from Trento, in northern Italy, where Annunziata was competing in the Pedrotti Competition.  Which improved as well, with every email.

Until Saturday, when everything reached a climax; our concert went splendidly (El Amor Brujo sizzled), and far more important, Annunziata shared top honors in Pedrotti.  Quite a pair of achievements for two kids from opposite ends of New Jersey.  Hers more so than mine, of course.  Nonetheless, I got to celebrate with a delightful post-concert meal at Vivace (Old Market again), hosted Kristin and Mary, part of the brain trust from the Symphony.  Short rib ravioli over caponata, salsiccia di cinghiale over roast vegetables.  Prosecco, Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, a grappa.  Non c'è male, amici miei.  I still however had not heard how Annunziata had fared...

...got the text message after dinner from my student, Khai.  It is difficult to describe the feelings.  Waves of gratitude pummeled at me, making me light-headed (could have been the grappa...).  Awe and incomprehension, similar to what I felt ten years ago when Xian Zhang won the Maazel/Vilar at Carnegie the same night I was doing Don Giovanni at Indiana.  Tears of joy.

May all of you have moments, days like this.  A certain vindication, a sense that you guessed right, that the good guys (or gals, in this case) do win on occasion.  A feeling of satisfaction in the accomplishment, but more a sense of wonder about a larger design that cannot be perceived or comprehended in its entirety.  I was proud to be a conductor and teacher Saturday; humbled to work with the fine Omaha Symphony and honored to be able to call Annunziata Tomaro my colleague.

Back to work!

Bar 13 - Details we may not teach you enough in school; a baker's dozen

1)   Always greet and engage with the orchestra manager
2)   Always release orchestra 2 minutes early (unless you are trying to prove a point)
3)   Always call a rehearsal break before the orchestra manager makes you
4)   Always allow time to put on/remove mutes, or for winds to change instruments
5)   Always give the strings a chance to discuss and write in bowings if they need to; don't be impatient.
6)   Don't be afraid to insist, gently, positively and with encouragement, on the sound that you think is proper.
7)   Make nice with the orchestra librarian.
8)   Make nice with the stage crew.
9)   Clean up the podium and your music stand after rehearsal.
10)  Don't make a move to start until concertmaster is READY.
11)  You ignore the bass section at your peril (OK, I do teach this at CCM)
12)  Unless it was the worst rehearsal in the history of Western classical music, always thank the orchestra at the end for their good work.
13)  Be grateful you are making music.  SHARE JOY!

This list is by no means exclusive or exhaustive, but it's a start!  Back to work!