The Short End of the Stick
Good news: My late entry to the discussion has allowed me to read everyone else’s posts before composing my own.
Bad news: My late entry has allowed me to have already mastered Andrew’s #1 tip for achieving grandeur!
What’s it like to conduct? There are two things that I find endlessly fascinating in our mutual endeavor: the music we play and the oh-so-subtle dynamic between players and conductor. Everyone’s already spoken eloquently about the former, so I’ll chime in a bit on the latter.
What strikes me the most is not the effect of technical matters (e.g., clear/unclear beat), temperament (e.g., calm/tantrum-prone), or rehearsal style (show-it/jabber-about-it), but the emotional effect: How the orchestra’s collective mood as they make music seems to perfectly mirror the conductor’s mood. I try to be calm and easygoing on the podium, but if I’ve had a bad day and lack the inner fortitude, self-awareness, or thespian skill to successfully act “normal,” the orchestra will sound as if they had a day that was just as bad — if not worse!
This works both ways. A couple of years ago I was rehearsing a guest gig in Mexico. Everything was going fine. The orchestra was sounding good, working hard, seeming to enjoy the music-making. But they were in a long, ongoing, messy struggle with management and (even more so) with the government entity that funded them. So at the end of each break a musician rep would get up to tell folks the latest news. My Spanish is feeble at best, but you didn’t need the language to comprehend the gist of things. And when the discussion finally ended and we could get back to music it was SO hard to change their mood back even though they were mad at neither me nor Schumann. I had to work very hard not to let their pissed-off vibe affect me. Fortunately, I found that just a few minutes of don’t-talk-just-play rehearsing would be like the system re-boot that magically restores your computer to proper operation.
As musicians, we pursue a mysterious art, one which plays on our emotions in ways we both understand and can’t begin to fathom. How can it be that even if we think the orchestra isn’t following what we do with our stick or what we ask for with our voice, they’re actually following us so intimately that they mirror our feelings in the way they play and they way they sound?
The only answer I’ve come up with is that while we as conductors might imagine that our most important relationship is between us and the composer, the relationship that’s REALLY the most important is between us and the players. And while the metaphor is over-used, it’s so like a marriage (or any other deep, intimate, personal relationship) that it’s uncanny.
It’s easy, in our workplace, to fall into stereotyped roles, where conductors forget that the orchestra is people and the orchestra forgets that conductors are, too.
And now I feel like Charlton Heston at the end of “Soylent Green”!
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