Jedi Orchestral Skills

The world of professional sports is remarkable for its degree of analysis. Like systems of natural selection fueled by competition and survival, those who win are able to do so by taking advantage of the most minute edges in speed, technique, and efficiency. In baseball, measuring to the tenth of a second the length of time for particular pitcher to deliver ball to particular catcher, catcher to second, and second baseman to apply tag, allows base runners the knowledge of when to steal. The slight statistical advantages, added up over the season, can mean the difference between champagne or whine.

Our art, although highly competitive (and analyzed) in the audition arena, is actually fairly unexplored in its day-to-day techniques. How many have ever been taught how to turn a page most efficiently while sitting on the inside of a stand; or how to sit with a stand partner so that both are comfortable, with good sight lines; or how to bow a part while paying proper attention and in proper proportion to politics, opportunity, ergonomics, and musicality; or most importantly, what is the nature of musical radar?

The purpose of these articles is to begin a discussion and exploration of hitherto neglected orchestral skills. Turning the huge compost bin of experience in our professional world, it should be interesting what is uncovered. I’m hoping this could lead to something more useful in conservatory training than audition preparation. Because our actual audition process tests exactly squat, players who get jobs based on playing technique and medication are forced to learn in haphazard fashion what could probably be conveyed in a relatively short course of applied study.

And so, our first topic:

Part One: The Art of Cueing

Like traffic, a decent string section pretty much cruises along unattended. The drivers are reasonably trained, awake (on cells, eating lunch), driving at general group speed, following marked lanes, interspersed at various intervals with enforcers. For us, that means solid section players with enough sleep (but perhaps daydreaming a little), playing with the section, reading off decent parts, with strong confident players interspersed.

So what is the section leader? My carefully considered conclusion, after many years as section player, assistant principal, principal, innocent bystander: A section leader’s primary duty is as a Well-Compensated Traffic Light.

In short, the principal has a primarily negative function. When a light switches to green, whether or not drivers begin is not that important. Annoying, perhaps, but certainly not life threatening. When a light switches to yellow, that’s a clear signal to do something soon (slow down or go real fast). When a light switches to red, immediate compliance prevents immediate death.

And so we have our Fearless Leader. The symphony is humming along, people know where to play given reasonable parts, reasonable ensemble, reasonable conductor (an extreme assumption, perhaps), and reasonable sleep. A musical pothole, also known as a Trap, is spotted up ahead. Our alert and efficient principal, at just the right moment (neither too soon or too late), and with just the right amount of energy (neither too obnoxious or too invisible), makes the Twitch, and we all avoid the obstacle, cruising on our merry way.

Let’s talk about the Twitch. Like a real traffic light, the signal is precise, predictable, high up, and specific in intent. But how does our fantasy leader accomplish this?

As concisely as possible, here is my suggested basic primer:

1. Standard entrances after rests:

Do: Bring instrument up calmly a bar early, to help awaken platoon.

Bring bow up one beat before entrance, in rhythm.

Show style with bow lift energy (perky – accent; smooth – legato).

Don’t: Bring bow up any earlier than one beat. By doing so, you’re deprived of its usefulness in precise cueing. Cueing with scroll or body language is nice in a string quartet, but only visible to people practically in your lap.

2. Tricky entrances:

Do: Bring bow up slightly earlier than one beat, keeping away from string (twelve inches?) in upright position, hold, then last rhythmic twitch before entrance.

Don’t: Bring bow up in rhythm in this situation, as it is really coming up as a warning not to play.

3. Pizzicato entrances:

Do: Bring right hand up two or three beats early to set your own pizz, with hand supinated (out, bow at 45º angle or more to right). Rotate right hand, bringing bow upright in rhythm one beat before.

Don’t: Bring bow upright in pizz hand until you’re about to play. Even though it’s pizz, the bow tip still functions as three expensive feet of baton.

4. Soft entrances:

Do: Nothing, mostly

Don’t: Give any rhythmic indication. By depriving section of accustomed clarity, the entrance will have less confidence (i.e., softer.)

5. Soft entrances at tip:

Do: With bow quietly in place for your own playing, sit very upright with head tilted back, hoping it will be seen by a few. Being Yao Ming or Tammy Faye Bakker (big hair) helps. Slight nod on entrance.

Don’t: Believe any of this. Experiment for yourself, listening carefully for results.

There are other situations (cueing chord changes within a work, showing internal dynamics, waving off a mistaken change in bowings, etc.,) but this is basically it. In summary, most of our cueing is really to prevent entrances. As a leader, getting ready to play prematurely is truly worse than not getting ready at all. By sticking fanatically to this, you find your section trusting you, because your gestures always mean something useful for them. True, with this approach section members get complacent about counting. (You can test for this by bringing your bow up too early sometime; if more than one person comes in wrong, you’ve achieved absolute power.) But this slight drawback is worth the additional payback in real-time unified control over dynamics, style, and sound quality, not to mention Idiot Entrance Avoidance.

I await others’ discoveries and refinements on this topic.