The presence and fading of inspiration (whatever that is)

As I write this, it is April 22—the morning after my final ensemble concert here as conductor.  I will no longer be using these essential tools here.

Whatever “inspiration” is, I think it was in play most of the way toward this performance.  In fact, the way some of the peripheral cookies crumbled, I would have quit a while back if I hadn’t felt regular inspiration in doing music with these good people.  But the inspiration I felt actually began to fade even before the concert.  To an extent, I was just going through the motions.  I expected to be teary-eyed on multiple occasions, but I was not actually emotional. . . .

Not when I wrote a few emails to thank people for their extraordinary contributions.

Not during the final spot-check rehearsal.

Not when I gave the pre-concert pep talk.

Not during any of the beautiful music I got to conduct.

And not even when I spoke with people after the concert.

I did feel something later, while reading a couple of the notes I received, so it’s not a lack of emotive capacity in general.  I would guess, rather, that I was experiencing a fading inspiration with this particular music-making enterprise.

Even a lack of such inspiration is difficult to describe immediately after.  It’s a kind of emptiness, a lack of energy.  It could very well be that I’m subconsciously distancing myself, protecting myself from more pain.  I think I’m fearful of not having the opportunity to feel inspired over this kind of music-making again.  (I later enjoyed a couple of other music activities, e.g., poring over horn part assignments and related details for an upcoming Pinnacle Winds cycle, and simply playing some piano at home, but I don’t think those were “inspired” in the same way.  Maybe in a different way?)

Being “inspired” can carry more than one connotation, including these:

• a vague, “encouraged” or emotionally energized feeling
• a perceived deep or high quality in a work of art, e.g., a poem, a painting, or a piece of music
• a sense of how the scriptures came to be (i.e., “God inspired the scriptures”)
• whatever Paul meant with his single-use word theopneustos (God-breathed) in 2Tim 3

We might also probe by breaking the English word down:  IN-SPIR-ation.  An “in-ness” of the spirit?  When secular speech employs this term, what spirit is referred to?  And how is it “in” me?  We probably shouldn’t project this Spirit-in line of thinking back onto the unique NT word theopneustos carelessly.

I recall that I have an “Inspiration” blog category.  This post doesn’t neatly fit in that category, but I’ll check that box, anyway.  I feel myself getting off track, and that’s what one sense of the word “inspiration” can do when the context is suggesting a different sense.

What’s next, after this concert, and after the death of this particular kind of inspiration, for now?  I could seek to be enspirited differently.  Perhaps some composition and arranging?  I would like to be inspired, to feel inspired, to use inspiration, and to inspire others again soon.

Enjoying almost every minute of it: big stuff

Big stuff is happening.  After a major chamber winds concert that I played in last Sunday, two upcoming events have been large in my life.  They have proven time- and thought-intensive.  They have been, and will be, fulfilling.  Big stuff for this little person!  The first is an Atchison Jazz Express concert, and the second is a Benedictine College/Atchison Community Orchestra concert.

In both cases, I am pleased to have been solely responsible for the programming, the planning, and the rehearsing.  I am the primary musical leader, but that doesn’t mean I worked in a vacuum.  I collaborated with soloists and colleagues in certain respects, but at points I deemed some things better than others and made some decisions unilaterally.

I believe that ensemble programming is an art in itself, and I take the responsibility seriously.  By “ensemble programming,” I mean not only the act of selecting certain pieces for rehearsal and performance, but also the work of pondering and sequencing the individual works, all the while considering the program as a whole, as an over-arching artistic expression.  (This document, written some years ago, provides more of my thinking in this area.)  I consider such factors as style, era of composition, difficulty level, perceived energy level, key/tonality, player stamina, texture (sometimes including chamber groups in a large-ensemble program), and overall “shape.”

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I.  Jazz  Other than jazz ensembles at three two-year colleges, I have not been responsible for much jazz programming.  At two of those institutions, I founded and led small combos, so there was no particular tradition or performance precedent to uphold.  At the other school, there was a big band, and I think I programmed satisfactorily, if not perfectly.

For tomorrow’s AJE program, I had more talent at my disposal, and more leeway.   I’m pleased to have been directing rehearsals for three months.  A couple of programming decisions were made as late as a week ago.  I’ve worked all along to enhance the variety and audience appeal of this concert, of course also considering the players’ interests.  I’ve added auxiliary percussion, had a multi-talented player move from bass trombone to electric bass while our regular upright bassist sits out, and added guitar for four tunes. Having substitute players can also affect the constitution and shape of the program.

Certain other aspects have made this concert a bigger deal, at least for me, than one might expect—namely, the inclusion of a young vocalist, Daysia Reneau.  She’s a freshman in college but has already had some significant experience.  Using a vocalist in a jazz program means there are extra issues, at least in our world.  We have only one chart that’s arranged for a vocalist, so some tunes we’re doing with Daysia have required significant adaptation.  We had to (1) change the form and (2) keep the melodic instruments from playing the melody at times.

In addition to Daysia’s songs, we will also perform styles such as “up” swing, gentle swing, a Dixie-ish rock march, Latin-influenced jazz, jazz-rock, and pop.  Our “home” style is medium swing in this ensemble, but I think we’re doing well with the other styles, too.  Here’s the program:

With composers and arrangers such as Count Basie, the Gershwins, Henry Mancini, Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington, Sammy Nestico, and Johnny Carson, we probably can’t go wrong.

II.  Orchestra   Actually, wind band music, including chamber winds, constitutes my first choice of ensemble, repertoire, and sonic possibilities, but my largest responsibility as a professional musician lately has been orchestral leadership.  (My secondary doctoral study area was orchestral conducting.)  For a total of six seasons, I have been conductor of the Benedictine College/Atchison Community Orchestra, and the final spring concert is in a week.  I cannot come close to communicating how significant an event this concert will be in my personal life.  I am going big and then going home, basically, with this group.  Here’s the program:

The 1.5-minute opener, my transcription, centers on fanfare elements, but it also requires complex rhythmic capacities and evokes deep contemplation in spots.

Today’s concertmaster, and violin soloist for the second piece, took lessons with the concertmaster I first worked with, back in 2003-5.

I’ve invited two musicians back who performed with us in 2005, and there are several other supplemental musicians, making it the largest-ever orchestra to fill the stage here.

The largest pieces are the Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra, a true orchestral “tour de force,” three of the four Malcolm Arnold English Dances, and the finale.  The James Bond music that ends the first half is also pretty “big” in spots.  All great music!

~ ~ ~

I look forward to both these programs, for different but overlapping reasons.  The variety of the repertoire is a particular joy to consider, program, and “make work” (a reference to necessary adaptations).  The jazz repertoire comes from about a 50-year time period, and the orchestral selections were composed over about 125 years.  All in all, there is some terrific music, and I intend to enjoy playing piano tomorrow, working with soloists, the final orchestral rehearsal on Thursday, pre-concert pep talks and spot checks, sharing some personal thoughts with the second audience—and of course conducting, which is my first musical love.

Someone recently asked me where God was in what I’d said.  That was a reasonable question in that context, and the same question could be asked here, too . . . so let me just say this, here and now.  Whether I express it or not, God is in all of it.  Thank you, Lord God, for music.

Visual distraction in conducting: elbows, shoulders, and sight lines

Too much motion, specifically of the larger joints and hinges such as shoulders and elbows, inhibits clear, helpful conducting.

This truth is understood at the adage level in the conducting world, yet ignoring this truth proves to be a downfall of far too many.  Or, as a colleague put it, echoing good conducting instruction, “less is more.”  Don’t move too many things too much!

If you want precision and clarity, use mostly wrist and fingertips.  On the other hand, if you want to indulge yourself in afterbeats, showing that you have no gestural control, use more elbow and shoulder.  Worse yet, use your hips and ankles and knees repetitiously.

It bears emphasis yet again:  when the music needs rhythmic precision and stability, don’t flail your elbows and move your shoulders a lot, constantly showing the division of beat and generally indulging yourself.  That is unhelpful and visually “noisy.”  On the other hand (pun intended), rather than risking such visual distractions, consider using only your right hand when the ensemble needs beat clarity, and confine the motion to your wrist.  Some of the best and worst conductors, unaware, demonstrate that they need these reminders.  (I wish I could find or make good demonstration visuals.)

Does this really matter?  Yes!  The proof is in the music-making, and proof there is.  Things start to tear apart rhythmically, and at least one cause exists.  When a well-trained ensemble is having trouble with rhythmic precision, the issue is generally traceable to too much conductor motion in the elbow and shoulder, or to the lack of ability for musicians to hear across the group, or both.

I have sat under five different conductors during the past two months and have watched others.  Two have shown that they understand these ideas.  One shows that he hasn’t paid attention to it for a while, likely not having seen recent video of himself.  Another used generous motion but was not in a need-to-be-precise situation.  Yet another is perhaps the worst offender I’ve seen in a decade.  There are many offenders, believe you me, so that is no light statement.  (I haven’t watched video of myself from November yet, so I might just be embarrassed!)

Further on visual and motion concerns in conducting:

All gestural noise should be kept to a minimum.  Actually, the ideal would be absolutely no “noise,” that is to say, no non-meaningful, superfluous gesture.  Only gestures that actually indicate something about the music should be used.  But the ideal is not attainable, so I offer two specific sub-goals as examples:

One:  eradicate superfluous motion.  In common time (4/4), it is all too common for the conductor to add an extra sweep or swirling gesture between beats three and four, constituting visual noise.  The goal should be to have no beat stand out above other in a pattern—i.e., beat two should have the same emphasis and shape that beat three has, etc.—so that expressive gestures at specific points in the music may actually be noticeable.  The downbeat naturally enjoys some emphasis, but in most artistic styles, even that might at times be minimized for the sake of the mature flowing of lines and phrases.  Certain spots in music do, of course, call for emphasis, and judicious use of nonstandard gestures can be very expressive.  The idea here is that a normal beat pattern should be balanced, without any asymmetrical incursions.

Two:  limit extraneous prep beats.  Generally, one preparatory beat is sufficient to start a piece.  However, most conductors fall into the pattern (again, pun intended) of giving multiple preparatory beats.  I often give an extra beat myself, and sometimes intentionally.  If the tempo is unusually fast, or if the entrance occurs on a fractional beat, an additional prep beat might be called for.  The principle on which I stand, however, is that even young musicians typically do not need more than one or two beats in order to start effectively, in tempo.  They might think they do, and even some adult musicians will often ask for a full measure of “counting off,” but people actually do just fine without this, and less visual (or sonic) noise translates to more focus on the music itself.  The idea that music needs counting off or a prep is unsupported by reality and is usually traceable to needless insecurity on the part of the conductor, the players, or both.

Yes, the above is true even for elementary-age players.  A director¹ might be afraid that Janey drummer or Johnny trombone player won’t get the instrument ready, or someone might drop a mouthpiece, or the whole band will lose focus or wave at Mom, so the director puts both hands up, looks around, says things like “are you ready?” and “here we go” and “one . . . two … one, two, three, four”) in advance of the start.  This practice trains young musicians not to pay attention to the conductor’s hands, and it also wastes valuable instructional time.

Sight lines are important.  All musicians should be able to see the conductor’s hands and face.  While even non-musicians could get that question correct on a test, musicians themselves ought to attend always to the basic idea of the line of sight.  If someone or something is blocking it, do something to change it!  Often it’s just a matter of moving one or two musicians six inches one direction or the other.  The music stand should also be positioned so it is directly between the player’s head and the conductor.  Looking sideways to see the music will involve peripheral vision more than necessary.

Moreover, the conductor should take care not to let his/her hands repeatedly drop below a natural horizontal plane near the waist.  In a pit orchestra, where the conductor is typically seated, the horizontal plane should be kept higher so that players beyond the front row may actually see beats.  There is some divergence of opinion as to the ideal horizontal plane.  Some wind conducting icons advocate for a plane as low as the waist, feeling that this encourages deep, relaxed, full breathing.  Others advocate for a higher plane, capitalizing on proximity to the conductor’s eyes.  If the central point of my gesture is closer to my face, other nonverbal communication may be enhanced.  Over the years, I have gravitated to a higher horizontal plane, thinking more of sight lines than air flow, but I am not at all sure that’s best.

I learned some of these conducting principles first at sympsosia in the 2000s with Allan McMurray, then at CU-Boulder.  They have been born out time and time again in real-life experience, both as a conductor and as a player.  The main thing here is that those who are liberal or excessive with motion are doomed to repeat rhythmically imprecise history.

Afterword
Now, I wonder whether anything about gestural noise and sight lines might be transferred to other areas.  Of course!  Public speakers such as preachers, all classroom teachers, and pretty much anyone communicating to anyone should pay attention to sight lines.  Preachers may not be bad with visual noise, but they’re re often particularly bad with speech crutches and other sonic noise.  The goal is to reduce the distracting or unhelpful stuff that doesn’t matter, toward the end that the real stuff may be attended to all the more.  Conductors are doing important work with other musicians, and it only makes sense that what they do is worthy of attention.  Now, if preachers are doing important work, too (and not all of them are), they should also work to reduce the periphery.  This will shorten the sermon time, too!

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¹ Here, I have used the term “‘director,” because in this case, the music teacher is functioning as a program director and as an administrator of children who have instruments s/he doesn’t trust them to handle, not as a gesturally sensitive conductor of music.

The renowned may still be criticized

It could very well be the case that the famous and ballyhooed personalities in any field deserve the most critique.  For instance, Tom Hanks is a great actor, but that doesn’t mean he’s perfect.  Kevin Costner is not at Hanks’s level, in my book, yet he’s infinitely famous, and that combination might just be the reason people should analyze his performance.  Max Lucado and Tim Keller and all the rest of the big-name Christian author-speakers aren’t always on target.  Sometimes, they’re just not that good.  Not everything they say or write should be accepted simply because of the source.  The bigger the name, the more important it can be to be discriminating.

I once used a well-renowned, well-respected conductor as a negative example in minor terms.  I mildly called out a sort-of speech crutch in his method, but someone—apparently one of his former students—took offense.  In the present case, I will give a more detailed critique and will not use the name.  This one is equally renowned as a band personality, but more as a composer than as a teacher or conductor.  To start:  the whole experience under this conductor was disappointing, and at many points, quite disconcerting.

To begin, let’s conjure some imaginary scenarios. . . .

Imagine, if you will, walking into a concert hall, opening the door to the middle level, and having an escalator appear at your back . . . then seeing people inexplicably crossing in front of you in a horizontal, Plexiglas elevator.  Then, in a split second, those people are beamed to a position under your feet, where the floor has just been transformed from hardwood to oatmeal.  And yet you continue to stand.  On what?  And what just happened?!!  It’s all so disconcerting!  Is this a dream?  What is reality, and what is not?

Or, alternately, imagine waking up on your back, raising your head and shoulders off the pillow, and finding yourself suddenly flipped onto your stomach, with one foot in horse manure, the other feeling weightless; one nostril inhaling Jell-o, and one eye expelling nitrous oxide.

That is how disconcerting it was for me to play under this conductor.

You see, he is left-handed.

[Pause for effect.]

If you experienced no inner gasp, then you need a bit more information.  For those who are not active ensemblists, and if all they know of conductors comes from TV and marching bands at football games, the “disconcerting” facet will not immediately sink in.  Unlike 99.5% of other left-handed people who are conductors, this one decided at some point to continue with the baton in his left hand, rather than learning the standard way.  The result of that decision?  His leadership on the podium was so disorienting as to be impossible to comprehend at points, especially when sitting on the conductor’s left.

Now, in case you feel my introductory metaphors were exaggerated (and of course they were), add to the mix the fact that the conductor does not have particularly strong technique and ignores basic rules:

1. He persistently divided and subdivided beats in quicker tempos—even in difficult sections in which the ensemble had trouble rhythmically aligning things.  This is an egregious technique issue, and it simply cannot go without critique.
2. He also used unpredictably shifted his conducting planes around and was not always clearly visible because of physical and spatial issues.
3. Also, his beat pattern was not refined or symmetrical.  His antipenultimate beat, i.e., the second beat in a 4/4 pattern, went far across his chest, making it extremely difficult to find that and the next beat, because the whole thing, again, was asymmetrical.

Did I mention that his technique was not very good?  Also, he tends to be a bit gruff, especially for a guest who is meeting and working with a group of musicians for the first time.  (He was a guest conductor, slated for approximately half the programmed music.)  This never stopped over the course of four pieces and two rehearsals.

All he conducted was his own music.  I found his two original pieces to be beneath an adult ensemble in terms of musical content, whereas the arranged or transcribed pieces were well done and pleasing.  Since his conducting technique wasn’t very good, you could desire with all your heart to play well for him, so all his music would sound good even though you didn’t like it very much, but it would be too difficult because of the left-handedness . . . and also, well, his because technique wasn’t very good.  (I imagine this conductor was self-trained, possibly because his ego wouldn’t allow him to study with someone else.  That was a needless dig.)  Also, he was difficult to follow.  Because his technique was lacking.  Are you getting the picture?

Aside:  another self-trained conductor, the famed composer Eric Whitacre, was far easier to follow when I observed him in 2006.  Despite being unconventional at times, he looked like the music; as long as all of us were engaged in what was going on, it was a communal, energizing experience.  That’s quite a contrast with the present scenario, which required way too much energy simply to try to figure out what was going on.

Back to the subject.  Beyond the left hand (to which which one would get accustomed over a period of months, but only if he was working with a left-handed conductor exclusively) and beyond the bad technique (to which one gets acclimated but never satisfactorily), this man apparently never looked at his music’s horn parts, or he would have known that it’s very difficult to read when the 1st and 3rd parts are on the same staff and large swaths are only a step apart.  If he had just done the normal thing and printed 1st and 2nd together instead of 1st and 3rd, it would have been far easier.  One over-bright stage light in my face made it even more difficult to find notes on the page.  Also, I didn’t like his original music very much, and also, his conducting technique wasn’t very good (have I mentioned that?), which made everything more difficult.

All in all:  better conducting technique and better-formatted parts and a better demeanor and higher-quality music would have made it a better experience, but the left-handed conducting would still have made the experience disorienting.  It was really difficult to figure out what this guy was doing at times—and admittedly more so because I am a trained conductor.

Postlude
I once surveyed the CBDNA membership on the left-handed conducting issue.  I received a surprising number of affirming/accepting replies (perhaps 15% or so), indicating that using the left hand for the baton and beat patterns was a possible solution—at least in conducting courses.  Regardless of that view, which I consider ill-advised, the simple fact is that the left-handed conductor is a species that is not really extinct, because it never really evolved into species status in the first place.  The left-handed conductor is so rare as to be ineffective at best, and downright impossible to follow for some of us who live and breathe conducting and ensemble music-making . . . always, always with right-handed conductors.

The principal conductor in this same ensemble—interestingly, also a left-handed person, but one who made the right choice years ago to put the baton in his right hand!—also manifest a few technique issues when he led other pieces on this program.  Both men shared a certain lack of “beat inevitability,” which added to the insecurities felt (perhaps unconsciously), especially by those of us who conduct, personally connecting gesture to sound.  The humility, character, and far better rehearsal technique of this gentleman helps to cover anything lacking.  (And I aspire to that.)

I’ve only observed one other left-handed conductor (who wasn’t even that good), and I don’t think I’ve played under one in my entire ensemble-music-making life of more than four decades.  Long live the right hand.  I think it’s no accident that the ascended Jesus is said to be at the Father’s right hand!  It’s the correct side to be on.

Precision in conducting

Instrumental conducting truisms include these:

When you want to speed up, decrease the size of your beat pattern (in addition to increasing the tempo).  Narrowing the vertical and horizontal dimensions of your “window”—the area in which your baton moves—will tend to aid the musicians’ precision as they perceive the accelerating tempo.

For the conductor, staccato and light styles are best served by the use of fingers and wrist, as opposed to the elbow, shoulders, and other hinges and joints in the body.  The lighter the music, the more the conducting movement should be concentrated out toward the baton, not in toward the center of the body.

There is such a thing as visual noise; a noisy baton and baton hand will tend to contribute to a lack of clarity and therefore will also detract from an ensemble’s rhythmic precision (also referred to as rhythmic alignment).  Since this truth is not well understood, and since it is commonly ignored in actual practice, it is probably not aptly called a “truism.”  Examples of visual noise include excess motion in the shoulders and forearms and the glare from a watch or other jewelry; these can hamper the ensemble and therefore detract from the desired musical effect.  Even the pinky finger shown in this image can become a distracting, competing “mini-baton,” as it were—creating subconscious, visual confusion.

Persistent division¹ of the beat within a beat pattern—also a type of visual noise—is categorically unhelpful.  Showing the “and” after every beat might feel good, but it is too much visual information and is a detriment to rhythmic precision.

Putting all the above together:  in a faster passage that’s marked by light notes and/or syncopations and/or other metric/rhythmic challenges, the conductor should make it easy for the musicians to focus on one thing, that is, the tip of the baton, as it indicates metric pulses.  He should focus movements in the wrist, show only the beats (not the offbeats), and avoid visual distractions.

Case in point:  in a recent ensemble experience, I found it difficult to play some of my parts well.  Probably 85% of the issue resided in my own limitations. The other 15% was because of the visual noise and lack of precision in the conducting.²  When an ensemble is having difficulty following and staying together in a challenging and/or fast passage, the conductor should look to himself even as he corrects obvious errors in the players’ rhythmic execution.  The face may certainly be expressive, but too much expression becomes visual noise.  If the eyebrows are going up and down, the “and” is seen in the beat pattern, the chin is jutting out rhythmically, the head bobbing, and the body moving back and forth on the podium, and/or if the left hand is persistently mirroring the right, visual noise exists.

Any of those difficulties, while noteworthy, can still fade into the joy of music making and the exhilarating moments shared.  Writing/reading/performing music (and the reading and interpretation of texts,³ too) benefits when one takes care to be precise.

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¹ This post is about precision, and I use the precise term “division of beat.”  Most say “subdivision,” that term is redundant and less precise.

²  The 85% ought to be addressed first, but that side of things is a long-term concern and isn’t likely to be materially changed during a single rehearsal sequence or performance.  On the other hand, the conductor’s 15% of the whole may be addressed on the spot, and mitigation of that 15% can certainly make a difference in the performance.

³  Precision can be key in interpreting written language, too.  One should pay attention, for instance, to punctuation, which is, as British author humorist Lynne Truss has asserted, both the cause and the sign of clear thinking.  Stated another way:  if one knows what one wants to say, yet punctuates imperfectly, imprecisely, or not at all, the effectiveness of the written language is compromised.

Particularly in ancient texts, textual elements other than punctuation merit much deeper attention.  It bears mention that the oldest, most authoritative manuscripts of ancient Jewish and Christian texts are not punctuated.  Why?  I suppose linguists and archaeologists would say that the materials of writing (“paper” and “pen”) were not in plenteous supply, and that also relates to the lack of spacing between words.  Some of the goals of modern punctuation were achieved by other means then.  Certain elements, for instance, of Koine Greek text, such as word and tense choice, word order, and structural elements such as chiasms and inclusios, can contribute to clarity.  Known structural elements might be relied on more than the punctuation inserted into modern Greek texts, where there appears to be a conflict between the two.

Conducting tips (no-nos and more)

I love conducting, so I’m going to post about it today.

There are some things one should not do as a conductor.  Some of these are particularly egregious, such as behaving like a tyrant.  Overbearing, egocentric behavior on the podium went out of style several decades ago, although it still raises its unattractive head once in a while.  You might check this video out to see whether you think Bernstein is behaving badly.  (It’s not easy to find such video recordings, because they are either too old or too unpopular.)  Personally, I think context is important, and this one doesn’t necessarily repel me.  Sometimes there is a fine line between being passionate and appropriately exhortational on the one hand and tyrannically demanding on the other.

Here are a few comments on a couple other (less important) no-nos—things a conductor should avoid when at his best.

First, a conductor should not wear clothes that distract from his nonverbal communication.  Shirts that are too ostentatious could distract the musicians as well as the audience.  Even (or perhaps especially) in rehearsal, it’s advisable to wear a solid, dark shirt or jacket.  This coloring helps set a non-distracting background, so the baton’s tip (and hands) can be seen and followed well.  A patterned shirt, or even a white one, can make the baton more difficult to see.  The pair of shirts below would likely be particularly bad.

Notice the contrast and visibility of the hands and baton in the image below.  The background makes a lot of difference.

If the conductor is extreme in the use of horizontal and vertical planes (not recommended), the baton might frequently travel outside of the background created by the shirt or jacket.  In other words, he might have his hands above his head, or far out to the side.  In that event, even the color of the wall behind him should be considered.  If I had a very light wall immediately behind me, I might opt for a wood-colored baton shaft rather than a white-painted one.

Not wanting anything to distract from the musical leadership through non-verbals, an attentive conductor will consider everything that’s in view of the ensemble members.  Sight lines are obviously important, for instance, and most issues can be resolved simply by having the musician move a little to one side, or perhaps by changing the height or angle of the music stand.

Next, notice the rolled-up sleeve.  While it can quickly get warm on the podium for an active conductor, it’s not advisable to conduct with sleeves rolled up.  Imagine the rolled-up portion flapping about during conducting:  it’s visually distracting.

Even little things like pinky fingers can be a problem.  A better hold on the baton will not result in an extended pinky as shown here.  The finger can almost become a little, secondary “baton” to the musicians’ eyes.  Again, distracting!

Attentive conductors also won’t wear a wristwatch that reflects light.  Further, I consider it good etiquette not to look at one’s watch on the wrist while on the podium:  that tends to point up a conductor’s lack of focus and perhaps even would suggest his impatience with the rehearsal.  On the other hand, if the conductor sets a watch or other timekeeping piece on the music stand, it can be monitored unobtrusively.

I’ll now attempt to describe a couple of gestures that are to be avoided.

1.  Multiple preparatory beats.  One rarely needs more than one preparatory beat.  (Count-offs are also unnecessary in most cases.)  In particularly fast tempos, two prep beats might be called for, but most can be effectively begun with a single preparatory beat (and breath).  When the entrance is on a fractional beat, i.e., on the “and” between pulses, a “dead” or passive prep beat followed by a live fractional prep beat can be the right thing.

Commonly, an insecure ensemble will seem to need or want two or more prep beats.  They might even express that desire, but that is their insecurity talking.  The wise leader will insist in most cases on providing only one preparatory beat.  If one engages in a host of non-musical preparatory stuff before the pickup beat, the ensemble is unwittingly trained not to pay as much attention to what the conductor does.  The conductor should be fully “in the music” before raising the baton, and he should make the preparatory gesture full of intent, so that the musicians will subconsciously ascertain the tempo and the style of the music.

2.  Crossing the arms.  A conductor should not cross his hands/arms in front of him while conducting.  Mirroring beat patterns (with both left and right hands doing the same thing, in mirror image) is rarely if ever the best idea for a concert group.  (Marching/field/pep bands are exceptions to the rule.)  When mirroring is used, the hands will approach one another on beat two of a 4/4 pattern, but they should not cross. 

A sensitive instrumentalist feels a lack of linear intensity when the hands cross.  The conductor’s ability to conduct flow and line suffer almost imperceptibly at first.  Whether a player or the entire ensemble realizes what is happening or not, the lack of musical intensity is almost palpable.  I have experienced this phenomenon on the playing end just recently, when I wasn’t looking for it, and the negative effect of hand-crossing was duly confirmed in my mind.

Here is an excerpt from a Midwest Clinic handout from Allan McMurray, from whom I’ve learned much over a period of many years.  Here, McMurray advises briefly on the use of the hands together

Creating the “open area in front of the chest” assists not only in symbolically “baring the soul” so the ensemble can sense more of more how the conductor feels about the music, but it tends to model an openness of air flow, which in turn suggests an intensity in the melodic line and/or the resonant sustaining of tones.  On the other hand, crossing the hands tends to close off the conductor from the ensemble, as well as suggesting a decreased intensity.

Beyond appearance, gesture, and behaviors:  A conductor will want to know his musicians by name.  He will treat them individually and collectively like the human, sound-loving souls they are.  He will thank them; he will affirm them; he will correct them (with humor at times); he will model musicianship.  In all, the conductor and ensemble engage in behaviors the lead toward a sensitive, accurate, exciting¹ renditions of the music—both in rehearsal and performance.

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¹ For that thoroughgoing triple-descriptor, I give credit to my master’s-level conducting teacher, Dr. Robert Streckfuss, of the University of Delaware.

Some top-shelf wind literature

I’m feeling very privileged as I prepare horn parts for the second time with a high-level wind band.  This group would rank second in my personal horn-playing history, just behind UNC’s Wind Ensemble and perhaps tied with, or just ahead of, UDel’s top band.  For no apparent purpose other than my own enjoyment, I’ve written up some commentary on the literature to be performed in two days, given below in program order.

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Pinnacle Winds:  For the Ages

Samuel Barber, Commando March (1943-1944)

I became acquainted with this march a couple of decades ago.  It far surpasses the familiar Sousa style in terms of compositional ingenuity, if not in audience-pleasing.  I’ve conducted this work a couple of times, and it’s huge fun, but I can imagine that it’s even more so for the conductor of this very capable ensemble.  By that I mean there are comparatively few performance issues to be worked out, so it would be almost immediately gratifying.

That said, I must question the title’s militaristic emphasis (“Commando”) manifest at this point in history (and in my philosophical development).  I doubt the piece is performed as often as it was until, say, the time of the Gulf War.  Regardless, here, in part, is a program note I wrote for a past program:

Commando March holds the distinction of being Samuel Barber’s only work for winds, and it was premiered in Atlantic City, New Jersey, in 1943.  Barber spent a short time in a branch of the armed forces that became an Air Force unit and was commissioned to write this music. . . .  Despite his commander’s directive to compose a march in quarter-tones to symbolize what the commander saw as the progressive nature of the air unit, Barber’s ingenuity took a different tack in this impressive concert march.

Cecil Chaminade, Concertino for Flute (1902)

This is a relatively lightweight, repetitive piece, but it’s a pleasure to play.  My only previous touch with it was in a different wind band arrangement, done by my graduate advisor, Ken Singleton.  I believe he did that setting originally for his wife Samantha, an artist-level flutist.

Frank Ticheli, Symphony No. 2 (2004)

My connections with the work and person of Frank Ticheli are overwhelmingly positive.  Ticheli seems to be a prince of a man, and I know him not only from his music but also from a video discussion he did with one of my conducting mentors, Alan McMurray.

I played Ticheli’s Vesuvius as a master’s student, and I later conducted it.  I never got to conduct the more popular, even more challenging Blue Shades, but I did use Cajun Folk Songs, one of the grade 3 standards, with my small band at Highland Community College.  I later conducted American Elegy (see below) and Ticheli’s resplendent setting of Amazing Grace.

I find Ticheli to be a person of heart:  he not only composed An American Elegy for Columbine High School in the aftermath of the tragic school shooting in 1999, but, when he found they did not have a school song, he also composed an alma mater for them.  Then he artfully used a snatch of it during the aforementioned band piece, at just the right, poignant moment.

Symphony No. 2 is a piece with which I was not familiar, and it is a challenging work. I must say my right wrist is strained because of all the stopped notes!  But I’m enjoying playing the piece.

Further on the “heart” angle:  our conductor this weekend, Dr. John Carmichael, shared his personal involvement with the commissioning and delivery of the Symphony, in honor the retirement of Florida colleague James Croft.  Apparently Ticheli was about to renege on the timely delivery of the work because his wife had just had a baby, and his home life was needing to take priority.  He was going to give all the money back to the consortium.  Carmichael graciously offered that the first two movements would be sufficient, and the last could be completed in due time.  I’m glad we have this piece in the repertory!  The composer’s own program notes may be found here.

Gustav Holst, First Suite in Eb for Military Band (1909)

As with the piece that opens the first half (Commando March), I feel averse to the expression “military band” in the title.  I doubt that Holst himself intended militarism as much as an association with a certain historical instrumentation, developed to an extent through military bands.

Regardless, First Suite is by anyone’s estimation a masterwork.  I probably first came into contact with it in the First State Symphonic Band or perhaps at Harding University.  Truth be told, the Second Suite was my first Holst love for a while, but at this point, I surely recognize the higher-level composition that is the First Suite.

The Chaconne that begins the work includes long phrases, a horn solo that I love, and a masterful build overall.  The middle Intermezzo is so perfectly shaped and orchestrated that it’s a delectable delight it even after conducting it, hearing it, and playing it a hundred times. The concluding March is equally exuberant to play, conduct, or listen to.

I remember sitting in the audience at a CBDNA Eastern Division conference some years ago and hearing someone look down his nose at the fact that one of the invited ensembles was performing the Holst First Suite.  Whoever said that was spouting nonsense.  This piece deserve to be played again and again.  It is one of the pieces from which current concerts takes its title:  “For the Ages.”

Ryan George, Firefly (2008)

I was at one point considering programming this imaginative work, having heard it at a conference.  I have never gotten to have that privilege, so I’m very happy to get to play it now.  It’s a unique addition to the wind repertoire. Clearly, it is a piece of program music in that it depicts something external to the music itself. I don’t know that one could guess the title simply from hearing the music, but once you see the title, it’s easy to imagine the firefly’s flight in the tones and rhythmic patterns. The music includes numerous rhythmic twists and turns.  Two sections are slow, as though the firefly is hovering just so we can experience the wonderful, mysterious, magical glow.

Peter Mennin, Canzona (1954)

A former colleague conducted this on one of his last two concerts, keeping me from doing it with that same ensemble later.  I was a little jealous, but that’s OK.  It’s actually just as fun to play now.  This is a masterwork from a composer who is otherwise unknown to me but who studied with Howard Hanson at Eastman and who moved the Juilliard School to its present location in the Lincoln Center.  A short work, it’s over in less than six  minutes, but it is convincingly put together so that the ear can make sense of even polytonal effects.

Franz von Suppe, Overture:  Morning, Noon, and Night in Vienna (1844)

Before the last hundred years, and even for the first half of the 20th century, the wind bands of the world spent most of their time performing transcriptions of orchestral literature.  It’s no longer easy to be a fan of solid transcriptions when there are so any worthy, new works being written for winds, but I’ve spent a fair amount of time in transcribing, and I studied conducting and band pedagogy with a master transcriber (Ken Singleton).  This is among the best of the historical transcriptions; it survives with good reason.

Our conductor has programmed well—and I believe that programming is itself an art to be acknowledged and honed—and it’s no accident that this audience-pleaser is last on the program.

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If a concert’s content isn’t of sufficient quality, the program will suffer.  (This happens in most churches across the country every Sunday.  Did I say that out loud?)  Both of these programs with the Pinnacle Winds have been of very high quality, and I have nothing but good to say about them.  This program, “For the Ages,” consists of musical works that have stood, or will stand, the test of time.  While it’s impossible to know whether the two works from this century will still be played five or ten decades from now, it’s quite possible that those two will still be in circulation.  Regardless, the content of each of these pieces is worthy.  And I am all about the content, whether it is in Christian scriptures or the written material that musicians play from!

Making a cut

“Blog” is a shortened form of “weblog,” which, as I understand it, was originally conceived as a more-or-less log of occurrences.  Although I have more substantive posts in various stages of development, I think I’ll simply “log” this account of an event in life today on this weblog. . . .

I was studying a score for the spring orchestra concert.  I was studying it with the particular thought of cutting about 3 minutes of music out of the 9-minute total, and I was having a tough time.

I don’t remember ever having had this much trouble making a cut, no matter the reason.  In this piece, though, one finds a lot of chromaticism and multiple modulations.  Harmonic instability is a feature.  You see, the composer of this music, Englebert Humperdinck (1864-1921), happens to have worked with Richard Wagner, who is associated with groundbreaking harmonic work and also with the so-called “endless melody.”  The music in question is an extract from the opera Hansel and Gretel, and Humperdinck seems to me to have assimilated some Wagnerian “endlessless.”  When someone conceives of music as being unbroken for a long period of time, it’s just difficult to find a cut.  Harmonic cadences are present here, but it’s difficult to find a way to jump from one measure to another when the composer conceives of the whole thing as being unbroken.

Why cut any music?  Well, I want my orchestra to sound good, and there are passages in this music that aren’t suited to the orchestra’s strengths.  Also, the nine-minute selection seems a trifle too long for its substance, given contemporary attention spans and sensibilities.  So I’ll sleep on it and try again tomorrow to find a way to abridge this piece in a way that still makes musical sense.

From the memory book: “A Touch of Blue Paint”

“A Touch of Blue Paint”

July 29, 2007 (15.5 years ago today, and just re-discovered last night)

This letter was written “to both of my band docs” after I’d finished studies with them.  I was reminiscent, grateful, and a bit emotional as I wrote this.  I’m sharing it publicly now because it brings back good memories and also helps to counter various fears and negativities today.  I’ve also thinking more lately about those generous, dedicated men recently, and I’m happy to say I got to talk with one of them about two weeks ago.

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There are so many things for me to remember as I leave this place . . . so many ways you both have made your mark on me.  For starters:

• Entering the office area and hearing cheerful greetings, without fail
• The almost unbelievable hospitality you’ve shown . . . in your offices as well as in your homes, including the sharing of your space, your desks, your stereo equipment, your computers, your CDs, your scores, your books, and more
• The gifts of meals, time, books, scores, CDs, red pencils, and more
• The innumerable opportunities I’ve had to observe two of the most dedicated, energetic conductors/directors I’ve ever known
  • in your respective administrative roles
  • in the way you lead ensembles
  • in the specific, easily perceived ways you care about your students
• The conducting seminar discussions and experiences with various musical works
• The support you offered as I’ve created opportunities for myself, i.e., with the Foundation Brass
• The affirmations from each of you, both personal and musical
• The sweet concerns and expressions from your wives throughout my time here (after all, they are part of each of you)
• The trust each of you placed in my when I led your ensembles
• The model of how a team of band directors can work together!  Though you are radically different personalities, you have a great respect for each other’s contributions to the program, and you do so much to support each other.

For a long time, every score I review, analyze, and conduct will be seen partly through your eyes.  Your interpretations, your literature choices, your ways of orally phrasing corrections during rehearsals (examples:  “Don’t fuss with the time,” “More energy from the tubas,” and “If you do or don’t do [X], we’re gonna die!”).  Your ensemble seating plans, your ways of communicating with individual players, the ways you field the steady procession of questioners during breaks in rehearsal . . . I could go on, but suffice it to say that each of you has made your mark on me.

And the “touch of blue paint”?  Well, when I was packing, I noticed my old sneakers that have a streak or two of blue paint on them.  It dribbled there when I was painting the ramp for the percussion trailer, and every time I see that blue paint when I’m working in the yard or something, it will represent all the countless ways you have touched my musical life.

Thank you.

Brian

What’s wrong with rental music?

What’s wrong with rental music?  Primarily this:  it’s so costly that ensembles have to choose lesser music in order to stay within their budgets.

First off, a clarification:  I’m talking here about renting notated music that’s printed on paper, not recorded music or the hiring of live musicians.  (The first Google search items tend to be about hiring live musicians.)  It becomes necessary to consider renting music for a band or orchestra (1) when the publisher of a composer’s copyrighted music elects not to sell it, or (2) when the composer himself expressly wishes to work under rental arrangements, presumably because of greater income potential.

What’s wrong with rental music?  Mostly this:  it’s so costly that a college program with multiple ensembles could almost justify a half-time staff position to keep up with all the needs.  Training a work-study student would be possible, but students come and go, so a permanent staff member would be better, yet having more of an institution’s salary money going to non-educator personnel would be deepening an already-out-of-control trend.  There are too many middle manager and program directors already, driving up the cost of operating the institution.

Only the wealthiest high schools in the country could likely deal in rental music.  Essentially, the rental music enterprise is costly and cumbersome.

Costly:

• One piece for orchestra or band can cost $50-$200 to purchase (for keeps). One piece can cost $500 or more to rent.
• Arguably, the fees are not even enough to compensate and honor the composer for the creative work.  If I pay $500 to rent a piece for one performance, the composer might get $50 of that, and that’s simply not enough.  I greatly respect the art, skill, and creative talent on the side of the composer.  I am one of them, with a couple of minor “successes” and a lot of mediocre, unknown creative works to my “credit.”  The point is this:  I’m sympathetic.

Just as arguably,

• • The administrative fees are way too high:  the agency gets far more than the composer.
  • The fees are irrationally high for the educational institution to pay.
• The fees might be acceptable to the institutions with large budgets.  I have taught and directed programs only with small-budget institutions, always having to choose whether to rent one piece or purchase three or four.  If fees increase with inflation, even fewer college ensembles will be able to rent music.

Cumbersome:

• The process of acquiring the music takes about double the time.
  • Quotes and approvals are needed.
  • Online forms are sometimes difficult to navigate, with non-applicable elements and dubious assumptions.
  • Administration and care of the sheet music takes a good deal more effort.  Although it always takes some time and attention to get music returned and properly filed after a performance, special attention is necessary for rental music.  Lost rental parts can be billed at up to $25 per part, whereas a single part of purchased music might be $1.25 or $2.50.  Student musicians must be held more accountable for rented music because the cost risk is greater.

I would further assert that descendants of composers should not be making passive income based on their forbears’ work decades ago.  Other economic travesties exist, of course, and many are worse than this one, but this is the one I’m dealing with today.  (Tomorrow, maybe I’ll take on the IRS system.  [No, I won’t.])  When a composer dies, the intellectual property fees—and therefore the rental or sale fees for his music—should either be reduced to a small fraction of what was paid when he was alive or eliminated altogether.

Composers of the band and orchestra worlds, I salute you.  And I wish there were a more feasible way to perform your music more often—paying you more, and paying the middle-man agencies less as a result.

Music on 10/1/21: experiences and observations on a Friday evening

I attended two concerts yesterday—one outdoors, mostly in daylight, and the other, a mile away, indoors.  Here are some musings and observations.

Despite the need to make money, most musicians I’ve known or heard have a greater love for music, performing, and people than they have of making money.  So, artistic-level musicians may still be found playing in accessible venues for free.  Supportive, charitable professional organizations also exist.

Brass music is terrific . . . and it’s nice to see people broadening their horizons by listening to something they might not ordinarily listen to.

Young people who have, say, a marketing or music business degree but no upper-level musical training might be spotted gesturing to the sound guy to turn the volume up, but it sounded worse when it got louder.  Brass instruments typically don’t need amplification at all; moreover, the timbre tends to suffer more with a mic on a trumpet than on a viola, for some reason.

About 18 years ago, I was subbing in an orchestra and enjoying some high-level rehearsing and performing.  Last night, I heard another orchestra perform in the same hall.  It was a small orchestra, and not many more could have fit on the small stage, but the musicians’ intonation and tone production was impressive.  Again, this was a much-appreciated free concert.

The clueless parents of two rather oblivious children, however, were not appreciated by a large swath of audience members.  Three times within ten minutes, house staff members quietly approached these children in order to get them to stop speaking aloud and making clattering noises with plastic toys on the wooden seating during the quiet music.  I don’t recall ever seeing this occur in a concert hall, but it was necessary in this case.  Still, the parents barely noticed either the noise or the staff members!  They should have been embarrassed at their children’s lack of sensitivity to the quiet environment.  This is not about classical music vs. popular music.¹  This is about being courteous and adapting our behavior to different environments.

Printed programs always need proofreading.  Always.  (Just like blogposts.)

The orchestral enterprise has been duly criticized for its tired programming.  (Many loyal orchestra concert-goers still flock to hear the same music that’s been performed for 100 or even 200 years.)  I myself was not particularly excited by a concert program that included one piece I can almost conduct from memory and two other “workhorses” by household-name composers.  Still, there is value in hearing time-tested masterworks for the 28th time, being open to the inspiration of slightly different interpretations, and experiencing the obvious passion and artistry on the stage.

My own programming for wind, orchestral, and chamber ensembles manifests an attempt to balance the known and the less known, the easily accessible and the ear-stretching.  This musing reminds me that I have yet to register my spring ’21 programs on a professional site and report a couple of performances of original pieces in order to get $15-20 from ASCAP.  The mundane must accompany the musical!  On the other hand, I played with the Atchison Jazz Express in a free outdoor concert today.  What I received last night, I tried to give back a little today, and I had fun doing it.

I have a dear friend who views the experience of watching a movie together at home as quite a relational thing.  Movie-watching, for him, is not lost communication time during a visit.  He wants to share the movie.  I’m learning to see movie-watching that way too.  Similarly, it is very nice to be able to share live music-making with a friend or loved one.  Last night, I was solo, but next time, I hope not to be.

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¹ Nor is it all about “reverence” when people are told to be quiet in church.  One can be quite reverent and loud at the same time.  Again, it’s about being aware, courteous and respectful of your surroundings.  By the way, I know what kind of toys the children had because I had unfortunately sat in the row behind them.

Wigglesworth #1

If that subject line doesn’t catch a few people’s attention, I’m not sure what will. This is a quote without comment.

If we have a relationship with any instrument at all, it would perhaps be a fairer analogy to say that it is with our own physicality. This is how we express ourselves. This is how we shape the invisible, and as such, it is through our own body that we need to learn to speak. Although verbal communication is tolerated in rehearsals, it is never especially welcomed in performance. At the most important part of the musical process, a conductor’s expression has to be visual, not verbal.

Mark Wigglesworth, The Silent Musician: Why Conducting Matters. London: Faber & Faber, 2018, p. 15