Three readings (the most recent, already obsolete)

This morning before work time, I read three things (in this order):

1.  Part of the MatthewGospel’s text about Jesus in Gethsemane. (This particular reading would have been well chosen for many people today, but I claim no intentionality—only submissiveness.  As directed, I prayed, read the short text, and responded, as part of a biblical studies group.)

2.  Four pages of material on technologies and techniques to “navigate the digital rehearsal.”  This was written and shared about five weeks ago by a conducting professional I don’t know.

3.  Charles C. Helmer IV’s article that selected thoughts, principles, and words from Dietrich Bonhoeffer on Christian community, appropriating them to humanity’s current situation.  This article, titled “Bonhoeffer and COVID-19:  ‘Life Together’ in Isolation,” reminded me of Bonhoeffer’s significance in both Christian and 20th-century world history.

Two of the above readings struck me as relatively timeless.  One of them is already obsolete.¹  (Hint:  it’s the one about technology that’s obsolete.)

The ephemeral complexity of our technological landscape boggles the mind, baffles the massive mainstream, and bedraggles the masses.

Our world changes quickly in some of its aspects, but not in others.

– B. Casey, 4/21/20

¹ Today, I also read a few short, work-related documents.  Composed this week, some were either off-base or already obsolete.  I wrote one of the off-base ones myself!

Who or what leads?

Leadership is well considered in terms of concept over action or role, but let’s think about roles and activities first.  During most activities, someone is probably leading, one way or another.

In most traditional ballroom dancing, the man leads.  His female partner may be more assertive off the dance floor, but she does not lead there.

In team sports, there are leaders.  You got your quarterbacks, your point guards.  In baseball, a team captain may be a noteworthy leader, in addition to managers and coaches.  Major league baseball has sometimes enjoyed player-managers who both led the team from the bench and contributed actively on the field.  It can get more complicated, though, if we think of activities and not only identified roles.   ◊ ◊ ◊

When Jackie Robinson entered the majors, 73 years ago Wednesday, who was it who led the team?  General Manager Branch Rickey?  Interim manager Clyde Sukeforth?  Shortstop Pee Wee Reese?  Jackie himself?  Someone on the Boston Braves (the opposing team)?  Depending on the moment, it could have been any one of them.

Conductors are musical and artistic leaders, but, even in a conducted instrumental ensemble, it is often good practice for individual players or sections to take the lead from time to time.  Dr. Lauren Reynolds, now Director of Bands at one of my alma mater institutions, speaks to this aspect of leadership in ensembles within the first three minutes of this fine pedagogical video.

Leadership by players is even more necessary, if not more advantageous, when there is no conductor, e.g., with chamber groups such as brass quintets and string quartets.  It isn’t the same person who is the actual leader in every moment.  Just as in baseball, the nature of the music (or other practicalities such as a line of sight) might suggest who should lead at a given time.

Now to move toward the conceptual and invisible (as opposed to the more observable) actions of leadership.  When we ponder something, there are primary thoughts that take the lead.  Who or what leads us in ways of faith?  Who or what takes the reins as we think about God—and how to live in Him and for Him?  When we think about something, there are primary thoughts that take the lead.  Hear N.T. Wright as he differentiates between theology and text:

I have long had the sense that theology, especially philosophical theology, and perhaps even analytic theology, has tended to start with its own abstract concepts and, in expounding and adjusting them, has drawn in bits and pieces of Scripture on the way.  That is to say, it’s often system first, scripture second.

That, I suppose, is better than nothing, but it can provide the illusion of engagement with the text rather than allowing the text to lead the way.   – N.T. Wright Online  (emphases mine  -bc)

We ought to be alarmed by the common “illusion” that Wright spotlights above.  Personally, far more often than weekly, I see the effects of a theological-system-driven Christianity.  It has far more dangerous ramifications than a baseball team driven by the team owner’s greed, or a band led by an errant bassoonist.  It is our scripture texts that ought to steer our ships.  The effects of the illusion of scripture’s primacy run deep.  They are difficult to discern, and even more difficult to admit.  People will speak of theology and text as though they are part of the same ball o’ wax, and they are, in a sense.  Still, it is someone uncommon for a person to realize that theology is driving things for him; it is rarer still for someone to allow the scripture text to lead.  Conductors these days¹ will typically allow the musical text to steer, over and above their personal philosophies or other factors such as the perceived needs of the moment.  Such conductors are admirable . . . and Christians ought to let their texts guide, too!

A recent study opportunity from Coffee With Paul did allow the biblical text to set the agenda.  In the process of examining and applying the John 2 text about the upsetting of the traders in the temple courts, one of our study partners in that group commented, “The thought of ‘God is constantly at work turning over evil in the world’ is comforting and reassuring!”  And in saying that, she was leading, in a most welcome and conceptual sense.  Her thought was primarily philosophical, but she had been guided first by a focus on the text.

What or who should lead in churches, practically speaking?  That’s a different topic, and one I’ll reserve for a different day (or maybe never again!).  But I’ll say this:  it is a philosophical theology, not a text, that assumes that the leader in a church should be “the pastor.”

¹ In a bygone era, conductor Eugene Ormandy once said, quite disrespectfully of the composer or his musical text, “That’s the way Stravinsky was—bup, bup, bup—The poor guy’s dead now.  Play it legato.”

An Angell in the mind field

During some lazy afternoon reading-while-grilling, my mind connected a movie and a wind band piece:  Angels in the Outfield and Angels in the Architecture (Frank Ticheli).  Frankly (pun intended), that Ticheli piece doesn’t appear on my list of favorites of his.  Parts of it remind me of the older Vesuvius, but Angels uses a soprano voice along with the winds and percussion, and a soprano, in my book, is often a detriment.  Plus, I prefer many better baseball movies over “Angels in the Outfield.”

Nonetheless, there is that “angels” thing that connects the two with the noted baseball writer Roger Angell.  I just read an Angellic passage that I wanted to share.  Put this in the categories of random delights, skilled writing, and musicianship—actually being a musician, not just someone who plays “my music” through earbuds as she hibernates from humanity while walking around or hanging out with friends.  Of course, add the category of baseball.  Allow yourself to imagine, to get lost in the little thing called the baseball “box score.”

Angell in March 2015
Roger Angell, baseball essayist

A box score is more than a capsule archive.  It is a precisely etched miniature of the sport itself, for baseball, in spite of its grassy spaciousness and apparent unpredictability, is the most intensely and satisfyingly mathematical of all our outdoor sports.  Every player in the game in every game is subjected to a cold and ceaseless accounting; no ball is thrown and no bases gained without an instant responding judgment—ball or strike, hit or error, yay or nay—and an ensuing statistic.  This encompassing neatness permits the baseball fan, aided by experience and memory, to extract from a box score the same joy, the same hallucinatory reality, that prickles the scalp of a musician when he glances at a page of his score of Don Giovanni and actually hears bassos and sopranos, woodwinds and violins.

Just as one’s baseball imagination can be enlivened by reading a box score, particularly if one knows the players’ names, a similar “hallucinatory reality” permits the conductor to audiate as he studies (and conducts from) a music score.  Those notes are not just gobs of ink.  No, they mean something!  They stimulate the memory and imagination.  They can become uniquely enriching for the human soul.

→ For more on the many-faceted word “score,” try this.  It’s fun!

This week marks the last of my son’s fourth baseball season.  Three games this week!  He has in some ways had his best season ever, and his comprehension and love of the game have grown, but those stats could use some improvement.  (Good thing they don’t publish box scores for this league.)  He’s gotten to pitch a little, and he loves every practice and every game.  We’ll both miss the season when it’s over.

Baseball is a great game, and the relatively slow pace of the game is good for the soul—not lazy at all if you like strategy and imagination!  Thanks to Roger Angell for writing so marvelously about baseball.  Your work, as it deals with the most appealing kind of sports field there is, is also good for the field of the mind.


Here are some comments on coordination in three areas:  conducting of ensembles, PowerPoint slides in worship assemblies, and intersections/stop signs.

Student conductors sometimes have difficulty coordinating the cueing of entrances.  Although precise, technical attention is sometimes required, fledgling conductors tend to over-technicalize cueing.

Breathing is an important component of the whole.  I have encouraged students who are working on cueing simply to think as a singer or wind instrumentalist¹—breathing as if s/he were singing or playing the same passage.  A student will often do better if s/he doesn’t overthink it, rather simply coordinating the gesture with a breath.  One ought simply to breathe and move naturally, within the learned musical “habitat.”  It seems to me that this more organic approach—mentally placing oneself in the position of the musician(s) being cued, and breathing as though one is making the sound on his/her instrument—helps immeasurably in the process of mastering and coordinating the gesture.

Changing PowerPoint slides
In church assemblies (commonly called “services”), coordination of slide changes with musical phrases is rarely executed well.  In one recent church visit, the slide-changing effort was better than most, yet it was clear that no one was coordinating slides with actual singing.  A later experience at a different church was more typical—with three or four egregious errors (not changing the slide at all until all the words on the next slide were nearly complete!), and a split-second to a full second late on many other slide changes.  The timing does make a difference.

Again, I have found from personal experience that the natural approach works:  the person who’s changing the slides should be actually singing or at least mouthing the words.  Otherwise, the slide change will typically be too late, causing the singer to miss the first word or two.  It can be difficult to sing without a feeling of mild gasping or hiccuping.

Driving/stop signsImage result for stop sign
Poor driver coordination at stop signs hinders the flow of traffic.  A driver who arrives first at a four-way stop-intersection might think he’s being nice by gesturing to another driver to go first.  However, a clog can be the result.  The second driver doesn’t see the gesture made by the first, so both of them end up waiting, and the hesitation takes everyone’s time.  The system works best when everyone coordinates by following the established protocol.²

[If you have 4 more minutes for an earlier, lengthier (more entertaining?) post on driver issues at stop signs, go here.  Or just thank me for not adding more anecdotes here, such as one about the driver just yesterday.  Ignore the fact that I was dutifully stopped at a stop sign; he had no stop sign at all; and I couldn’t have begun to see any gesture on his part because of sun glare and tinted windows, anyway.  Wait.  I just added an anecdote, didn’t I?]

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In the Middle Ages, a musical composition technique came to be known as hoquet (later Anglicized as hocket), meaning “hiccup.”³  That hiccup effect—involving the stopping and starting of different voices—can be entertaining and musically interesting when conceived intentionally.  On the other hand, hiccuping at stop signs and during congregational worship music is unintentional, uncoordinated, and largely avoidable.

B. Casey, 1/28 – 4/17/19

¹ Since string players and percussionists technically don’t have to breathe in order to play, some of them will naturally have more difficulty with this skill. 

²  Where I live, the stop sign issue is complicated at certain poorly graded and/or un-repaired intersections.  My little sedan will bottom out unless I approach slowly, at an angle.  In one case, I have to veer far to the left, using the lane reserved for oncoming traffic, which of course complicates everything further.

³ In that time, metric/rhythmic notation was relatively new, having been apparently absent for a millennium.  The lack of focus on rhythm makes the Middle Ages the Dark Ages in my book!

David Zinman, pasta, and player positions

On Saturday, February 24, my wife and I heard the KC Symphony in performances of a Bernstein suite, a Prokofiev violin concerto, and a Schumann symphony.  A Kauffman Center/Helzberg Hall concert is always a treat. 

Image result for helzberg hall

This concert was guest-conducted by David Zinman, whose name I knew from his long tenure with the Baltimore Symphony.  Not that I had seen him conduct before, but the Baltimore Symphony was 65 miles to my southwest when I was in nearby Delaware.  It was a 2nd-tier ensemble, always in the shadow of the Philadelphia Orchestra, 45 miles to my northeast.  Yet the former was an ensemble on the rise, whereas the Philly O has been seen as rather static and staid.Image result for david zinman

Now that I’ve seen Zinman conduct for the first time, I have given him a nickname:  Papa Pasta.  He is aging and a little tottery at 81, needing a stool on the podium and some support on the way out to it.  He’s respectable and old.  Thus “Papa.”  Whence the “pasta” part?  His arms sometimes looked like spaghetti in a centrifuge, especially in faster tempos.  Such visual “noise” is a no-no for a conductor; it might feel good in the moment, but it doesn’t help the ensemble.  Rather than getting caught up in good music and flailing about wildly and passionately, one will usually do better with clear gestures that are in the music, as opposed to gestures that ride along euphorically above or outside the music.  I’ve had many a time of euphoria and over-the-top gesture, so I know what it feels like to watch a video of myself and be embarrassed at being out of control.  Zinman’s arms were not very bad at all in the grand scheme, but his elbows were a bit loose at times.  Overall, he cued with grace and led the music well.

If I’d seen him from the ensemble’s perspective, I imagine I would have seen tremendous facial expression, because his interpretive gifts were apparent.  I particularly liked the 3rd and 4th movements of his Schumann Symphony No. 2 in C.  He seemed to know that music intimately and also seemed to enjoy what he was doing.  I long for higher-level music experiences, and I envied Zinman.  He must’ve had so many wonderful opportunities in music . . . .  Our son is now in a somewhat select school music group and had taken off with his recorder playing recently.  I don’t want to be one of those live-vicariously-through-your offspring kinds of parents as I guideImage result for david zinman or advise Jedd here & there, but I’m happy for him.  I do know, both first-hand and long-term, that music can be a sustained, positive force in a life.  Clearly it has been so for Zinman, and it had also been so for me.  Thinking back to the last post, “I can do that,” I’d like to say that, yes, I can conduct like that (a trifle better in some respects, and not as well in others), but I have no delusions that I could ever be in a position like Zinman’s as a sought-after guest conductor, a once-conductor-laureate, and a resident conductor for European orchestras.  I have neither his experience nor what I sense is a rare charisma.  I also suspect he has a gift for innovation and institution-building.  His stature as a leader far surpasses my own, even in my dreams.  Zinman is in a different league.

KC Symphony 4

Maestro Zinman is not pictured on the podium above, but the KC orchestra is.  This ensemble (I assume always, and not just for specific pieces or conductors) sits in a somewhat Image result for violin f holeuncommon arrangement—”switching” the 2nd violins and the cellos.  This places the 2nd violins at the conductor’s right arm, across from the 1st violins, allowing for good “mirror image” visuals.  The arrangement has the potential to mask the sound of the 2nd part in the audience, since the “f” holes of those instruments are facing back in toward the orchestra just a tad.  This is not a problem for a professional-level 2nd violin section, but rarely can this be a good thing for balance in a high school or small college orchestra.  The primary benefit of this seating arrangement is more cello projection.  In this instance (not always), the double basses are directly behind the cellos, which creates an even stronger low string sound. From the conductor’s position—which is not always optimal for picking up ensemble balance—this positioning would result in a left-heavy string sound.  In other words, the frequently prominent first violins plus all the force of the low instruments on the left would dwarf the 2nd violins and violas on the right, but I suppose I’d get used to it . . . or I’d put the violas next to the first violins and have the basses and cellos shift to the right side of middle.

Thinking of bass sound brings to mind the apt words of an otherwise predictable preacher:  “Everyone loves the bass player.”  There was nothing particularly profound or exemplary about that preacher, so he doesn’t get a nickname.  Nor does this rather meandering blogpost get a real ending.

I can do that

The musical theater show A Chorus Line (which I hasten to point out that I’ve never seen) includes the song “I Can Do That.”  The song’s lyrics aren’t much to read, and the musical’s subject matter isn’t very worthwhile, either, but the song is rhythmically interesting, and it made for a good intermediary piece in a medley I played in high school band.¹  And the title phrase does tend to stick with you.  It sometimes comes to me even at work.

Every few days or so, one of my coworkers will be struggling with a minor technology matter, such as a Image result for i can do thatphotocopier or scanner function, or getting the Excel spreadsheet dimensions, margins, and print areas set for optimum output.  “I can do that” kind of thing.  I could also help with written material.  Only in two cases has anyone asked for help with in important memos and letters.  I could help a lot more by editing out misappropriated apostrophes in simple plurals or by advising on the use of strangely absent past participles.  I can do that.  Rarely does anyone ask for proofreading or editing or a writer’s advice, and I really don’t expect them to, because these kinds of things aren’t very important to most people . . . but I have this desire to use capabilities.

I’m apprehensive about this post.  This “I can do that” thing can seem childish, and maybe that’s because of the association with Dr. Seuss.  It might seem childish to some that I continue to write this instead of holding my “pen.”  I might regret this, as I have one other post recently.  Please realize that I know it doesn’t sound very good in spots. . . .

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Many moons ago, a special men’s group attempted to recreate Glad’s “And Can It Be?” for a morning church assembly, in conjunction with communion.  I had taken dictation on the Glad arrangement, because I can do that, and I got the group of men together to rehearse a couple times.  I wanted to offer this special song, using not only my capabilities and those of an old DOS-based notation program, but the abilities of five other men.  Here’s a recording from a rehearsal.  It’s not great, but it’s not bad for an ad hoc group from a church of 200, right?  Go ahead and give it a listen.  If you’re into the seasonal observances, it happens to fit in about now.

Sometime after the rendition we gave, a generally capable, articulate man expressed offense at not having been asked to sing.  He had not been included.  I hadn’t asked him.  Directing his objection toward a church elder, he appended (and I have remembered this for about 20 years … who knows why?), “I can do that.”  I would have known that he and maybe a couple others had the technical ability to join in, but this guy didn’t fit in to well.  Knowing something of his background and orientation to issues, I don’t believe it was so much that he wanted to contribute to the effort; rather, he was opposed to the use of any select group for a musical selection, feeling that all church music should be congregational.²  He was saying “I can do that” to assert that he and others should not have been excluded, instead of being content in listening and soaking it in.  Also, not insignificantly, although he could probably have sung the correct notes on one of the five men’s parts, his voice was very bright and would not have blended well with the others in his vocal range.  (Another bright voice was present in the group, but he was one of two on the lowest bass part, and he did end up cutting through too much, at least in the recording.)

These days, whenever I’m in a church hall and hearing or participating in the musical expressions of worship and edification, I might note what the leaders are doing and think I can do that.  It’s not so much that I want to be a part of what’s going on.  It’s not that I’m opposed or offended.  I can’t explain it, really.  It’s more like this:

Oh.  I remember doing things like that.  I am pretty good at it.  People responded when I led.  But it took a lot out of me.  I don’t have that opportunity anymore.  Wonder if I ever will again.  Probably not.

Back to the man who commented negatively on our small group’s rendition of “And Can It Be?”  I could not and cannot see into his or anyone else’s soul.  But I’m persuaded that he would really rather that the song had not been sung.  He wasn’t about contributing and helping; he was about opposing the effort.  That is not me, though.  When I think about being able to do something, it’s usually in a spirit of slightly melancholy musing on whether I could support this or that effort at some point.

And now, moving from work group and corporate church matters to individual musical ones. . . .  When I am having a musical experience as a concertgoer or ensemble member, I also might have the thought that I can do that.  Or maybe it’s “I can’t do that” sometimes. . . .

I actually can’t sing very well anymore, because (1) I don’t exercise my voice that way, and (2) I’ve only ever had a mediocre voice.  But I don’t need the part played for me, because I can hit the notes, and I can often figure out how to help others.  I can do that.  I can hear when the basses descend to a “fa” instead of a root “sol” in a dominant 11th chord.  When most others merely see or hear a major-7th or sharp-9th chord and go, “Oh, that’s a clash,” I can probably hear which voice part is out of tune.

My horn playing and trumpet playing leave much to be desired, and I can’t do what I once could.  But I can diagnose problems and rehearse groups.  In some cases, I can do that better than anyone nearby.  I have a few things I can offer, and I want to help.

Three years ago, I heard an all-state orchestra playing (in a gymnasium, of all places), and I heard a horn playing a little sharp.  I thought it sounded like a fourth-line D, so I quietly checked, and I was correct.  What I’d heard was an all-too-common evidence that the horn player had not been trained to pull out the first-valve slide on the Bb side of the horn.  Pulling it out about an inch would have the tuned the D better.  I can diagnose things like this with brass instruments, and sometimes with woodwinds.

Weekly these days, there are ways I could help musicians around me.  It might be “note police” error detection, or suggesting that the amp settings aren’t optimum, or, more important, discerning ways to enhance musical effects and arrival points.

(There is a tacit rule of law that governs interactions during rehearsals, and usually it works out just fine, with all the musicians respecting whoever’s in charge at the moment.  Others with more technical playing gifts and experiences than I have respected my musical leadership roles, and it’s always much appreciated.  I’m generally pretty good at pointing out a thing or two without making another leader look bad, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could do more.)

My conducting muscles aren’t getting enough workout, but I’ve had a couple opportunities in the last year, and I know I can still do that.  And I can teach, too:

When a conductor neglects breathing with an ensemble (particularly wind players or singers), I would remind her that entrances and style can be affected.

When the tempo increases, a conductor might find himself dividing the beat, and I would suggest to him that this technique will frequently hinder the ensemble.

When the sight line to and from the conductor is compromised, it can almost always be mitigated with a minimum of effort, and I would teach a group of future music educators about that.

When a young conductor gratuitously “dances” on the podium, moving ten extra body parts instead of just the hands and arms, the tendency deserves attention from a teacher.  I learned this the hard way, watching myself on video and also being instructed by others.  Now, I can do that better than I could, and I can also help others.

In these situations, I often have gestures rising within, and words formed on my lips.  Sometimes, I almost lean in to help or say something . . . but it is often inappropriate, so I sit and wonder when or if I could do that.  The vast majority of people probably never have thoughts like these, but maybe this strange piece has helped someone to understand a few of us a little better.

¹ Another time, ask me about the rest on beat two after the first verse of “What I Did for Love.”  What I did in rehearsal of that medley got me in trouble with my band director.

² Nevermind that preachers do things “solo” or that no complete chorus of everyone made announcements or offered communion meditations.  This man capably articulated things during “Sunday school” on a solo basis, too.  He could do that, and this or that other person wouldn’t have been the best choice for the teaching role.

Technology and instruction (2 of 2)–online conducting??

The notion of skepticism about technology in educational endeavors (see here for part 1) serves as a segue to the sharing of something I’d written two years ago to a fellow ensemble instrumentalist.

A person of multiple talents, my interlocutor is a fine instrumentalist and a devoted father.  He is employed in a computer technology field, and I perceived that he was knowledgeable within that general field.  More to the point, this man was substantially younger than I, and he immediately showed himself to be of a different generational mindset regarding technology.  (I’d say he is something of a GenXer with Millennial leanings whereas I am an older “mutt” who has at least equal affinity with prior generations.)

To set the stage:  we were riding in a carpool, and I had opened a can of worms too late—when we were almost done with our second hour-long ride, after one of the typically frustrating (for me) rehearsals.  I had recently read a job posting for a college conducting/teaching position, and this one Image result for batonemphasized technology-based instruction more explicitly than any I had seen.  It manifest the assumption that the teaching of conducting would be technology-dependent and technology-focused.  No matter the credentials or general intellect of the VP or Dean who made such a determination, I will say unequivocally that the mind that conceives of an entirely online conducting degree is a mind that does not comprehend conducting.  One could say the same thing about online degrees in other physically based vocations.  Conducting education may be well enhanced by technologies, and even entire courses could be based on technology, but a conducting program may not legitimately be borne entirely on technological wings.  The very idea of a distance-learning conducting degree program is flat-out ridiculous.  Here is how the interview for a such a graduate should  go:  “Your master’s in conducting was an online degree?  (Or, you learned how to cut hair or how to be a chef or how to counsel abused women entirely on a computer screen?)  Thank you for your time.  Next candidate, please.”

I would assert that distance learning scenarios will rarely if ever prove more effective than classrooms and other real-life (or should I say counter-virtual these days?) venues.  I suppose some students might do fairly well studying accounting, actuarial science or literature online, but vocations based in physicality are especially dependent on real-life learning. 

Back to my conversation with this trumpet-playing musician-computer-technologist.  I had opened it in an admittedly biased manner, and he reacted as though I needed to be shown the light.  “Technology is the way everything is heading,” he said, instructing me along these lines (I imagine) because I was than a dozen years his senior.  So I reacted back, and I regretted it a bit, and I wrote him a letter a few days later.  My introduction was half a page long, apologizing relationally for the tension I’d created through my timing and manner.  I stand firm on the substance of the disagreement, though.  Here is the non-personal portion of that letter that pertains, both philosophically and practically, to technology and education:

My basic presupposition is that, no matter how the world is heading, there are some areas that should not be given entirely over to technologically based education.  These areas would include cosmetology, surgery, and conducting.  The physicality of the necessary skills demands that the lion’s share of the training be hands-on with the real materials—not behind a screen, a joystick, or a set of headphones.

I also resist fight (a futile fight, I know) the apparently irresistible inclination for those in enterprise-level authority to move quickly, and often with only shallow thought, toward technology as “savior” when they don’t know what else to do.  This syndrome among one institution’s administrators, I would assert, is why that institution is entertaining the idea of an entirely online conducting master’s degree.  It may be cheaper to do certain things online, but that doesn’t make it wiser, and some things may not be viable at all online.

I’ve always been tech-capable and tech-involved.  I like and use many technologies every day.  None of this is about disavowing technology; it’s about being honest about some of its limitations.  Technology can obviously be a great support, but it is not itself the content for most of us, and it does not always represent the best direction for instruction.

The point that certain education gurus and deans of instruction and vice presidents for academic affairs and provosts need to hear, and hear well, is this:  technology is a tool to be used in the service of teaching students.  Technology is a means, not an end; the degree to which it becomes the focus of curricula and disciplines other than technology itself is the degree to which it is being misused.  Technology may be used effectively—or it may be used simply for the sake of using it, which is a futile endeavor, devoid of meaning.  In a remote region (including two in which I’ve taught), there might be no other way to give a student contact with a credentialed private voice or trumpet teacher.  Applied music might in those cases be taught via a Wifi connection and a tablet-sized screen, but not very effectively.  Such methods are not optimal; they are concessions to geography.  And conducting instruction, while it might be enhanced by a few cool technologies available these days, is also better in person.  (Some readers might be interested in this account of the use of Google Glass in conducting.  I have heard this very fine conductor and cutting-edge professor speak and have observed her ensemble leadership.  I’ll attest to the fact that she would acknowledge that Google Glass use wasn’t quite what she’d envisioned in all respects.  Note the limitations mentioned under the YouTube video image.)

Again, the very idea of an online conducting degree is as ludicrous—although obviously not as medically consequential as an online brain surgery credential.  Sure, technological tools can be amazing and should be used, where possible, and where they can enhance education.  Imaging technologies can be revelatory for medical students and veteran physicians, and also for conducting students, but never should those tools be the only platforms from which the skills are deployed and assimilated.  In conducting, as in hair cutting and lawn care, one does the thing in real life with real people, and there are real implications in real air with real sound.  One cannot learn the implications of preparatory gestures or profligate beat-division on a screen or by listening and gesturing and having a laser-based device plot and graph the gestures.  Learning the discipline and skill of conducting must be directly tied to musicians (persons) and the sounds they make.

Currently, in one worker’s non-academic position, she uses a few technologies.  She is limited by a backward computer technology framework and a seriously lacking application that make her a prisoner to embarrassingly outdated visuals, comatose response times, and the lack of basic functionality.  This scenario nearly daily gives her frustrations.  (People care about technology, including when it is bad.)  When technology that should be serving the content or core process does not do what it should, or does it poorly, we should acknowledge that the emperor has no clothes!  An elephant is in the room!  We should also aim to estimate properly the contribution of technology to the thing, i.e., neither overestimating nor underestimating what technology does, and this point ties back to the assertion that technology must be seen as the means, not the end in itself.

I strenuously resist the notion that major, enterprise-wide decisions should be driven by shallow estimations of the worth of certain technologies—or worse, by unilateral or under-informed prognostications about various, ephemeral technologies.  The programmers should be more attentive to function and to the work (and learning) of real people.  The Cram flashcard app helps me learn Greek vocabulary, but its scope is limited.  My GPS screen and a mobile map can be helpful, but the perspective is tiny.  I’m more agile with full-size screens and keyboards, so I will nearly always choose a computer over a mobile app if both are accessible, but there is place for both.  Whatever the technology under consideration, it is important not to remove (inadvertently or otherwise) functionalities that people use effectively, in favor of some cool, cutting-edge glitz that is less functional.²  Do Millennials trust mobile devices and apps and internet-based financial infrastructures more than going to the bank or talking to a financial advisor.  Millennials have my sympathies, and I do love the convenience of my apps for certain things, but that doesn’t mean I necessarily think young programmers or workers possess foresight or wisdom.  Sometimes, technology is neither here nor there.  Sometimes it’s just gadgetry without longevity or improved function.

For my part, I hope the next life begins before banks and traditional colleges fade away.  More and more, colleges and universities, because of financial pressures, are moving toward part-time, adjunct instructors who teach mostly online courses on a part-time basis.  It’s a cheaper way to offer courses of instruction.  As long as there are more and more layers of management and administrivia, that trend will continue.  I’m not a fan of the tenure idea or the process, but I do think there should be fewer managers and program directors and assistant deans, making way for more full-time faculty members who teach students around tables, in classrooms, and in studios and offices.  And I am available to present to academic deans on the ridiculous enterprise of online conducting degrees!  I will do this for the first five institutions who pay my expenses!

It will continue to be important for deans and provosts and academic VPs—and, dare I say it, H/R people and educators and teachers’ unions—to give prominence to education and learning, more than to technology as an end in itself.

¹ I have tended to gloss over H/R-infused boilerplate language, knowing first-hand how H/R folks can sometimes commandeer such communication vehicles as job postings from the academic departments they are supposedly serving.

² I am a witness to reversions or loss of capability in, for example, Google Drive, the editor in WordPress, AirDroid, Microsoft Word (don’t get me started about how WordPerfect was a better word processor that lost our to marketing giant Microsoft), Media Player, sound file conversion software, and even Windows Task Manager.  And that’s just off the top of my head.

A concertgoer’s tales

Feeling generally supportive of live music and resolved to keep my musical imagination stimulated, I’ve made it a point recently to attend some high-quality performances.  Below is a travelogue through four recent concert events.

Trombone Music in the 17th Century
Timothy Howe, JoDee Davis, Michael Davidson, Jason Hausback and guests

This multi-trombone-professor recital, held in a Methodist sanctuary near UMKC, featured faculty members from four universities.  I’m very glad my entire family could hear this music.

The program featured a variety of 17C music with 1-4 trombones.  In keeping with the performance practice of the period, the organ was used frequently.  I don’t typically prefer organ sonorities, but I must say that the organ, played ably by Beth Elswick, was well-balanced and not over-heard in a concert of this nature.  I could have done without most of the vocal work; some of it wasn’t even clearly audible, and one of the two voices was flaccid and sub-par.  Particularly enjoyable repertoire included a quartet sonata by Daniel Speer, Gabrieli’s Canzona per Sonare No. 4, and Scheidt’s Drei Symphonien (for three trombones).

The performers who coordinated the event talked a bit too much.  I’m pretty sure he teaches music history at his university, in addition to trombone.  He was not an interesting speaker and simply gave too many boring details.

The overall performance level was not quite A+ but was a solid A.  Hearing three or four trombones playing well together is always a treat.  [Aside:  for me, the trombone choir is now officially tied for first, with the clarinet choir, among homogeneous wind groups.  In last place is the ear-splitting trumpet choir.  Rising in order above massed trumpet ensembles are the flute, tuba/euphonium, saxophone, and horn choirs.  The percussion ensemble is in a different league.  Often very interesting, they tend to be far less homogeneous these days, and they can positively pummel the senses.]

Ensemble Series:  Conservatory Wind Ensemble
UMKC Conservatory Wind Ensemble, Joseph Parisi, Conductor, with Allan Dean, trumpet and Grace Wallace, soprano

The Conservatory Wind Ensemble is the second UMKC wind band.¹  CWE conductor Joe Parisi is a very fine musical leader, manifesting both musical passion and strong technique.  I suspect, based on particular gestures observed and overall control, that he is also a capable conducting pedagogue.

This was my first time hearing a UMKC wind concert on their campus.  This ensemble performed at an appropriately high level, even considering its conservatory stature.  I missed the first piece, a new work by Nancy Galbraith, due to a parking issue (likely to be a problem any time one goes to UMKC).  Some of the repertoire I did hear was somewhat disappointing:

  • I’m not a Ron Nelson fan, and I’m certainly not a fan of the soprano voice, whether with an ensemble or not, so I just politely endured my first live hearing of Aspen Jubilee (1988).
  • Although I am fond of a lot of Frank Ticheli’s music, on hearing Angels in the Architecture (2009) live for the second time in 3.5 years, plus hearing a recording a time or two, I can say that I simply don’t like the piece very much.  Only part of that is because it employs a soprano voice.  The particular soprano was a UMKC student and had a large, heavy voice.  I found the voice overbearing and uneven.

On the other hand, trumpet soloist Allan Dean played beautifully and effortlessly, and I enjoyed every style and piece he performed—from a Hunsberger arrangement of the Negro spiritual Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child to a Herbert Clarke showcase piece to a 17th-century tune with improvisations.

A serendipity:  I was able to see a former student from Texas A&M-Kingsville perform as part of this ensemble.  Flor is now in her second year of graduate studies and is doing well.

Rachmaninoff and Capriccio Espagnol
Kansas City Symphony

My son and I had attended a Classics Uncorked concert last spring, sitting in the “choir seats” of the impressive Helzberg Hall, enjoying a perfect view of the conductor.  The music was fine, but it was too short a program, and too much time was taken with educative talkety-talk from the associate conductor.  I realize some people need and want such things, but had I been made aware that it was an educational program, I probably would have chosen another.

At any rate, I had resolved to attend a future program by myself and chose this first-of-season program that featured Rachmaninoff’s inimitable third piano concerto, the ever-popular Capriccio Espagnole, and a relatively recent work by celebrated living composer Christopher Rouse.  Not a single musical moment disappointed!  Pianist Natasha Paremski was highly artistic, as anticipated, and the balance with the orchestra was very good.  (I was glad her extremely high skirt slit was on the orchestra side, not the audience side.  No one needed to be distracted visually from the sonic glory of the Rachmaninoff music!)  Rouse’s piece, a poignant tribute to his wife, was both ear-stretching and moving.  I thoroughly enjoyed the Rimsky-Korsakov rendition.

Also noteworthy was the extraordinary conducting of music director Michael Stern.  He appeared both gesturally provocative and musically on point:  he knew the music well.  The only reason he might not enjoy a long tenure with the KC Symphony would be that some other, higher-profile orchestra would snatch him up.  The present program involved a moderate amount of artful, hospitable communication from the podium, courtesy of Stern.

The ushers in my section twice made very poor decisions to allow latecomers in through a squeaky door during very quiet musical moments.  One of them came to apologize to me later (since I had held my hand up to ask them to stop making noise).  I accepted her effusive apology, but some of the music and an aspect of my experience had been compromised.

Pranks and Passions
Chamber ensembles formed from the Kansas City Symphony

A delight in every respect, this program was my favorite of the four.  These works were performed by a string trio, a mixed quintet, and a string quartet.  I love such lighter, more transparent textures.

The first piece, Evan Chambers’s six-minute Love Dogs for string trio, was jaunty and sparkly, showcasing strong rhythmic construction and folk elements from Albania and the U.S.  The performers were evenly matched and obviously enjoyed the music.  The Smetana Quartet No. 1 (“From My Life”) was evocative and was performed splendidly.

An unusually formed quintet of mixed strings and winds (violin, clarinet, horn, bassoon, and double bass) gave a spirited performance of a perennial full-orchestra favorite, Strauss’s Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks.  I know that piece fairly well, and I’ll attest that the reduction was very effective, covering all the essential parts and expressing the dramatic character of the work.

Recalling wistfully that the architecture of the performance space (Helzberg Hall) was cello-inspired, I wished for a little more cello sound in both the string trio and string quartet, but you can’t have everything.  It was really quite the effervescent program.  Speaking in terms of programming and concert production, I did have two critical thoughts:

  1. I wished the longest piece had been first or second, not last.  (It’s rarely a good idea to have the longest piece at the end, when audience attention is likely not at its best.)
  2. The physical placement of the horn in the mixed quintet was not optimal.  The bell was directed toward a wood panel (on stage left), with some odd acoustic results, including the obscuring of the chromatic resolution (minor 3rd to major 3rd) in the famed opening “Till” horn call.  That problem could have been solved if this ensemble swapped sides with the string trio (on stage right).

The program length (about 70 minutes) was perfect for the audience of mixed education levels.  I plan to attend more “Happy Hour” programs just like it.  Thanks to Lead Bank for sponsoring this terrific early-evening music.

~ ~ ~

This fall, I will be a performer in at least five concerts myself.  A couple of these ensembles rise to a strong amateur level, but none of them will be in the same league as the four concerts captioned above.  I do intend for my own performance level to be as high as I can make it, contributing to a good performance experience for all concerned.

¹ Typically, where both a Wind Ensemble and a Wind Symphony exist, the former would be expected to be the higher-level group.  At UMKC, the premier UMKC wind band is the Wind Symphony, led by Steve Davis, Director of Bands and Wind Ensembles.

Conductors: my most admired two

This post is a continuing tribute to influential conductors in my curriculum vitae—literally, my “life’s course.”  The first post is here, spotlighting several conductors who influenced me to one degree or another.  In concluding that essay two months ago, I purposed to offer some more detailed praise of my two most admired conductors.  First, regarding the one I know less about, I’ll comment on her impressive concert offered at the recent CBDNA conference.  That concert was a shining example of gesture that is at once beautiful and distinctly connected with sound—not to mentinon other attributes.  First, some important background.

Most of the non-art-music world comes to have a shallow view of the conductor as a musician.  TV and movies that depict conductors almost invariably use actors who may have little sense of what a conductor does (and the producers obviously never to bother to call in experts to help).  Some characters seem to appear in caricature.  Other professions or cultural subgroups may receive more explicitly negative treatment in televised media, but the point is this:  few people whose worlds do not include ensemble music appear to have much idea of a conductor’s training, abilities, or activities.  The sometimes-arrhythmic waving of arms in nonstandard patterns in the movies needs a corrective, so I’ll offer one in two sentences:

A good conductor’s gestures (and other nonverbal signals) are not only in time and in style, using conventional patterns and cues.  Beyond those attributes, what a conductor does should also be in the music to such a degree that the nonverbals play a major role in evoking group sound—sound that turns out to be connected directly to the composer’s musical creation.

“In time,” of course, denotes solid rhythmic connection.  Most Western large ensemble music needs a conductor to help keep players together, and this factor demands the use of standard gestural “beat patterns” and other conventions that are executed at specific points in time.  Beyond tempo and patterns, and surpassing the other qualifier I used above (“in style”), “in the music” is all-encompassing.  To be “in the music” is to comprehend—and then authentically to elicit—the musical content of a given musical work.  A conductor “in the music” will of course be in tempo, and in style (for instance, not using accented gestures for smooth, flowing music).  He will also be so wrapped up in the musical content at hand that every gesture, every change in facial expression and barely perceptible move of the eyebrows, and every explanatory word offered will serve a faithful recreation of the composer’s musical work.

In the previous post on conductors, I had spotlighted three conductors (Sarah McKoin, Patrick Casey, Cynthia Johnston-Turner, and Craig Kirchoff) as particularly strong examples of impressive, beautiful, controlled gesture, well connected with sound.  Steve Davis and Jerry Junkin have also struck me as inimitable leaders and strong musical interpreters.  Their conducting manner and other leadership expressions are passionate (at times Bernstein-esque), engaging, and infectious, but sometimes less than efficient and not always connected to dynamics, but there are sometimes other factors to consider.  Of course there are many conductors in the world that I’ve never seen or heard in action, but of the 1000+ I have observed, these six are some of the very best.  I would travel many miles to listen to them talk about music or to be present for a rehearsal or concert.

There are yet two conductors I consider my most formative and/or most deeply admired conductors.  These are, for me, the best of the best:   Mallory Thompson, of Northwestern University in Chicago; and Allan McMurray, recently retired from the University of Colorado at Boulder.

Mallory Thompson
Mallory Thompson

Several years ago, I observed Mallory Thompson demonstrating rehearsal technique in a clinic and was impressed.  It was not Thompson’s impressive CV (including an Eastman doctorate) that made the difference.  No, it was actually what she did as a teacher, ensemble leader, and conductor—as well as how she did it.  I have never had the opportunity to be taught directly by Thompson, so I cannot say much in personal terms.  I will merely say that her ensemble’s concert at the CBDNA conference in Kansas City was the most nearly perfectly conducted concert I have witnessed.  I don’t remember a single moment that called for criticism, and that in itself says a lot for a natural critic like me.  Her convincing programming was comparatively simple, with an introductory work (by Richard Strauss, 1864-1949) and two more extended ones (by living composers Carter Pann and Joel Puckett).  The program showed shape and balance in terms of style and musical depth.  The Pann work, a programmatic symphony laced with intense human feeling, required a special combination of mature control, serene sensitivity, and sustained awareness of the music’s direction and the approaching points of “arrival.”  Throughout the program, Thompson’s gestures kept my eyes riveted, yet I was peripherally aware of various players.  My ears were enthralled not only with the gloriously expressive ensemble sounds, but also a precise, focused, almost inhumanly perfect connection between the visual and the aural.  My own view was from about 10 meters directly above the vantage point from which this shot was taken (by someone else) during this very concert:

A Northwestern University follow-up article about this concert is found here.  Reading just the first few paragraphs provides a good overview.  Should I ever have opportunity to seek more training/mentoring from a more seasoned artist-conductor again, I think I will first seek it from Mallory Thompson.

Of all the conductors from whom I have learned first-hand, Allan McMurray has topped my list since the summer of 2000 when I first submitted myself as a conductor-participant in a symposium at CU-Boulder.  The next two summers involved similar but increasingly rewarding experiences.  Allan’s teaching collaborators at these symposia were strong, too, but none so captivatingly, pedagogically on-point every time—in terms of both overall musicianship and conducting.  It would be a gross exaggeration to say I entered into a “discipling” relationship with McMurray, but following in his footsteps from afar has been something of a goal, and an ongoing teacher-student relationship of the apprentice type, unrealistic in my life, was something I nevertheless desired.

In my experience, McMurray is a sterling, relational teacher who goes to great lengths to help each student move to the next level.  While a student-conductor works with players through a musical passage, McMurray will stand off to the side or in the back, taking everything in.  He allows the music to proceed for a good length of time, then comfortably engaging the student in dialogue, imitation, or merely another attempt, as appropriate.  There is always a sense that nothing is important at that moment except helping this one conductor to progress in his/her ability to conduct that particular music better.  McMurray is not likely to call attention to his own masterful technique with long Image result for Allan McMurraydemonstrations, rather choosing to show something for a few seconds, patiently assisting the student to catch the vision, emulate the gesture, or embody some other conducting ideal.  I have not yet been able to part with VHS recordings of my own work in these workshops; they are priceless to me.  This brief video shows just a bit of Allan McMurray in his natural teaching habitat—possibly with his own graduate students—but cannot do justice to his teaching method and manner.

I distinctly remember a moment during the third or fourth day of a five-day symposium, probably 15 years ago.  At this point, I was playing horn when one of the other 19 conductors was on the podium leading the rehearsal ensemble.  We were nearing the lunch break time, and there was some question as to how to spend the next 15 minutes since all the scheduled conductors had received instruction for the morning.  Feeling we could all use a sort of synthesized lesson, I took the step of nearly begging McMurray to conduct us in a demo of an entire movement.  Unassuming as he is, he was difficult to convince, and I can hardly remember whether he actually did engage in conducting for 10 minutes or not.  I only remember the feeling of the moment:  (1) deeply wanting to be shown how by this master—through an extended example of his abilities to lead willing musicians, evoking sound with gesture and eyes and posture and all the rest—and (2) his humble spirit in the face of the public request I made.

Here, McMurray and CU colleague Matthew Roeder discuss an upcoming concert in a 3-minute video, providing insight into thought about music and programming.

And here is a rare find:  a video of a McMurray rehearsal with another university ensemble in his own rehearsal hall.  I would doubt that McMurray made any special preparation for the production here, but polish and glitz are not the point.  For him, music-making and connecting with real people playing real instruments are as natural as walking.  One deceptively significant practice I learned from Allan was the value of referring to the player by name in rehearsal:  e.g., “When Jacqueline enters with her line” instead of “When the 1st oboe starts playing.”  In the above-linked video and this one (part 2 of the same rehearsal), one might notice such aspects as McMurray’s complete, memorized command of the composition’s musical expressions and their “in the music” evocation, and his natural, unforced charisma.

Watching that rehearsal instantly took me back to the same room and the three extended symposia in which I participated there, plus a couple other times that Allan graciously allowed me to sit in for an afternoon even when I wasn’t a participant.  Far better players than I would also return, summer after summer, just for that unique, communal music-making experience.  I miss that kind of music-making, that kind of leader, and that kind of conducting in my life.

Allan, I am glad you are still active in your early retirement years.  The rest of us still need you. I didn’t presume on your time when I saw you in Kansas City, because twenty others probably wanted to talk with you at the same time, but if I had approached you, I know you would have received me with warmth.  I am grateful for your early patience with me, and your encouragement as I developed.  Your influence is extensive and has extended through many years.  As you often pay tribute to your teacher Bob Reynolds, I am paying tribute to you.  I am but one of many, but I will long remember your examples, your long-lived constancy as a musician and as a conductor-model, and your ability to make students know that you are genuinely interested in guiding, in helping each one move to the “next thing.”

Image result for Allan McMurray

Conductors from whom I’ve learned

This post is a tribute to influential conductors.  I’ve learned things from all of these; in some cases, the impact has been broad and deep.

I’ll start with men I never had the opportunity to learn from in person but whose conducting has, in one way or another, had strong impact on me.  Of the conductors I have only seen on video, three deceased men rise to the top of the list.  These are three men I’d like to have observed and learned from in person:

Image result for carlos kleiber

Carlos Kleiber

Image result for leonard bernstein
Leonard Bernstein

Image result for Frederick Fennell

Frederick Fennell

Kleiber is perhaps most admirable for his depth of score knowledge (albeit, reputedly, with a limited repertoire) and ability to show the music’s character; Bernstein and Fennell, perhaps for their unbridled passion and thoroughgoing musicianship.  If I knew his work better, one living composer might fall into a similar category for me:

Gustavo Dudamel

I played or sang under these next two only once or twice, back in the 1990s.  Those occasions are now in my distant memory, so I am not altogether sure how I would assess them as conductor-musicians at this point:

Mary Woodmansee Green
Miguel Harth-Bedoya

Green and Harth-Bedoya have the distinction of being conductors who had multiple, standing appointments (as opposed to being a principal guest or regular guest conductor) in different cities.  That always struck me as a goal to which to aspire, but I’m not so sure anymore.  A life of perpetual flux and travel is not very desirable.

Of all those conductors under whom I have performed on a regular basis for some period of time, the next two seem the most exemplary to me at this juncture.  One is deceased, another in his seventies.  Their personalities were markedly different, and I learned very different things from them in vastly different scenarios and phases of life.  In their respective idioms and milieux, they were strong leaders and rehearsers, and they both had impact on me:

Image result for images kenneth davis, jr harding

Robert Streckfuss (University of Delaware)

There have been many conductors that I do not feel I have learned much from.  Some of these seem to be viewed by others as iconic, and at times, I have been unable to discern why they were admired so much.  Other times, I happen to have had similar skill sets and values, so I didn’t particularly take anything from them.  I suspect the strengths of some lie not in conducting per se, but more in their musicianship or program leadership effectiveness or administration than in their conducting and artistry on the podium.  I will not list names in this category, because it is not my desire here to be critical of any individuals in the slightest.  There are actually two or three from whom I learned negative lessons, i.e., “Brian, do not do as s/he did!”  Like many others, I witness unhelpful and/or stylistically inappropriate division of beat, spasmodic gesture, and other nonverbals that should be checked in a mirror or on a video recording.

Other lessons have been interpersonal in nature:  one has consistently modeled, as a gentleman musician, how to treat people with dignity; another once displayed in the starkest terms what a travesty can be made of the communal music-making experience when a conductor shows no human concern or care for what an individual musician is going through in life.

Leaving generalities and negatives behind . . . the next group is short list of conductors whose work has impacted me in unique ways.  They have affected me for good and have been particularly exemplary in one or more respects:

Richard Mayne
Kenneth Singleton
H. Robert “Bob” Reynolds

I never had the opportunity to play under Reynolds, a true prince of conducting pedagogues, but I did spend a little time with him, both personally and in a group.  At summer symposia, he shared a lesson won’t forget.  Here, I honor Reynolds (the teacher of some who later taught me) along with two graduate professors who were and are examples of generosity, teaching, and devotion to music-making and students.

The next list includes a few more I’ve learned from at symposia, plus others I have observed on only one or two occasions.  These conductors strike me as highly artistic, but they have not been specifically formative in my development.

Patrick Casey (no relative)
Steve Davis
Craig Kirchhoff
John Lynch
Cynthia Johnston Turner
Jerry Junkin
Sarah McKoin

In some of the above instances, chronologically distant memories are still strong of impressive, beautiful, controlled gesture, well connected with sound (McKoin, Casey, and Kirchhoff in particular).  From Lynch I learned the necessity of correlating baton “travel” distance with the relative duration of pulses in asymmetric meter.  In all of these, the traits I admire include visible, artistic passion.

These last two conductors exhibit different yet overlapping sets of strengths.  Among all those I have played under or observed on multiple occasions, I have learned most from these two, who rise above all the rest, in my estimation and experience of artistry and pedagogy.  One knows me, and the other doesn’t.  These are the two most formative, most deeply admired conductors in my experience.  Image result for allan mcmurray

Allan McMurray

Image result for mallory thompson
Mallory Thompson

Above, I have opted to show McMurray and Thompson doing one thing they both do very well:  teach younger, aspiring conductors.  In the next post on this topic, I will offer some more detailed praise of these two, as well as the concert offered at the CBDNA conference by Thompson’s ensemble, the Northwestern University Symphonic Wind Ensemble.

Four eyes

eyeSometimes I see unexpected things at inopportune times.

A few nights ago during a long, multi-measure rest in a concert, for reasons I can’t completely remember at this point, I thought of four eyes.  I quickly moved from the childish eyeglasses taunt to things more substantive.

Eye No. 1:  The One that Communicates (with Music-making Partners)

Surely communication theorists have a plethora of journal articles and graduate research papers devoted to studies of the eyes.  An important aspect of communicating with anyone (or any group of someones) is looking him in the eyes—with your active eyes.

Any conductor who does not use the eyes to communicate is not using a crucial tool.  Yet it is such an extremely common problem as to be cliché:  most conductors stare at the score while they are talking to the ensemble, when giving cues, and immediately after having given cues.  Score-orientation is an important core value, to be sure, but the conductor should know the score well enough, and be confident enough, to speak to the ensemble vocally and gesturally without constant visual connection with the score.

The effective conductor will look at the ensemble intentionally and meaningfully during music-making.

Eye No. 2:  The One in the Skyeye

These words have been included hymnals:

Watching you, watching you,
Ev’ry day mind the course you pursue;
Watching you, watching you,
There’s an all-seeing Eye watching you.

The song’s inclusion should be embarrassing to generations of churchgoers, if not to the offspring of the poet (who doubtless had very good intentions).  No matter how you view God on the judgment vs. grace spectrum, you have to admit it’s silly (and downright counterproductive if one is thinking evangelistically) to think of God as a big eye in the sky.

It’s not that God’s eyes don’t see, of course; it’s a matter of how the reality is portrayed.

The eyes of the Lord are in every place, keeping watch on those who are evil and those who are good.  (Proverbs 15:3, NET Bible)

“Keeping watch” sounds different from “an eye watching you,” doesn’t it?

eyeEye No. 3:  The Ever-Open One

Psalm 34:15, which is quoted, more or less, in 1Peter, has God’s eyes “on the righteous,” or perhaps “toward” the righteous, and His ears, open to their cries for help.  The NET Bible renders this “eye” as simply “paying attention to,” and that’s an acceptable idiomatic translation, although the Hebrew and Greek do include eyes specifically.

Here, we might add 2Chron 16:9, which has God’s eyes actively searching the earth in order to bolster those who in turn are seeking Him.

eyeEye No. 4:  The Bird- and Me-Watching One

This meditation song wasn’t part of my growing-up years, although I gather it was quite familiar in some circles.  I first heard it at an Integrity Music worship conference sometime in the 1990s, and I still have the CD recording (reproduced here) offering Ron Kenoly’s personable voice presenting the song.  Part of it goes like this:

I sing because I’m happy.
I sing because I’m free.
For His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me.

Now that’s a positive faith-expression.  The second half comes loosely from Matthew 6:26f.

If you want to read more on this topic, try this post from Rubel Shelly.  If I’d seen his extended treatment first, I might simply have shared his link instead of writing a post of my own!

On Conducting (8a): Rhythmic Skill Level

When a baseball player is in a slump, a batting coach works with him on his timing.  When a guy is getting to know a girl and thinking about asking her out, timing is important.  Timing is everything for a comedian, and so it is in music, as well.  The successful player or singer must have a good sense of timing, and for the conductor, timing must be even better.

The timing-related aspects of music include duration, tempo, pulse, meter, division/subdivision, and rrhythmic patterns.  A conductor’s perception of all these aspects is important, and they might all be subsumed under the heading rhythm.

One year, I had an associate who was both very busy and very musically supportive. From a moderately knowledgeable standpoint, I can testify to the fact that she was an effective program builder who engendered greater-than-average loyalty (and that is saying a lot, since even mediocre directors often have very loyal students!).  She was a capable player and a musical leader herself.  I respect her, but she stands in my memory as only average in terms of rhythm.  Her rhythm was good, in that she could read and play rhythms fairly well, but actually, no director can be expected to have obtained a music degree without a good deal of rhythmic proficiency.

At one rehearsal, the above-mentioned associate’s section was not negotiating a rhythm pattern very well.  I noticed the problem, which effectively included rushing the pulse and arriving at the next downbeat too early.  I did as most leaders would do in this case and attempted to correct the problem without direct attention to the fellow professional.  After two or three attempts—including singing the rhythm correctly and saying something along the lines of “let’s be careful to give that rhythm some space . . . be careful not to get to the downbeat too early,” it wasn’t getting better.  Feeling pressed for time, I became more insistent:  “The trombones are rushing there.  You’re playing it like this [singing again], and it should be like this [singing].  You’re rushing.”  At this point, the associate looked at her younger section members (and two of them were her students at the time) and said, “That’s not happening.”  I read her lips and heard her voice, and there was no mistaking this comment.

Backstepping for a moment . . . when professional musicians work together in an ensemble, there are understood protocols.  Tacit understandings and practices are at work.  One doesn’t generally call out another professional’s mistake directly from the podium, for instance.  Nor does an ensemble member generally buck the authority of a conductor.[1]  There are ways to question the decision or perception of a conductor that do not undermine him or her.  What the above-mentioned associate did on that one occasion did in fact undermine me.

Despite the inappropriate, authority-challenging remark on that occasion, the rhythmic execution was off.  There is no question:  all the trombones were having the same rhythmic problem.  I know this just as well as being able to determine when another car arrives first at a four-way-stop intersection, or when an umpire misses a safe or out call at 1st base.  I was correct, and that musical colleague was in the wrong both rhythmically and relationally.  (It was a blip on the ensemble’s screen, and I doubt anyone consciously remembered the moment but me.)  So, in a mild outburst that was more common in conducting’s yesteryear, I retorted, “Yes, the trombones are rushing.  It is happening, and the rhythm needs work.”  We returned to it later in the rehearsal, and also the following week.

Another former associate—this one far less esteemed relationally, and far more intimidating and even arrogant on occasion—once mused aloud that he thought he had “perfect rhythm.”  Now, let’s leave alone for a moment the unlikely event that any vocal/choral musician will have better rhythm than an instrumental musician with similar experience and training.  I had never before considered the possibility of having perfect rhythm.  I took him to be suggesting that he had an inner, absolute rhythmic sense that enabled him to know in an instant whether music had been rendered rhythmically correctly or not.  I have continued to think about that possibility, and it does now strike me as a real possibility, just as absolute pitch is a sense possessed by a small number of individuals.  Can absolute or perfect rhythm reside in a person?  Perhaps.

I am confident that I do not have perfect rhythm, but I’m just as confident of my rhythmic ability.  As a conductor, I do make rhythmic mistakes periodically—including gestural ones, aural ones, and pedagogical ones.  Whether rhythm figures into the given moments of rehearsal or not, I can perceive it and do have the capacity to diagnose mistakes with any rhythm I’ve ever encountered—my mistake or anyone else’s.  Does anyone have “perfect rhythm”?  It might be that a few clairvoyant, hyper-aware souls could be characterized that way, but not me.

Conductors need not be (or be thought of as being) perfect, but they do need to be rhythmically more astute and agile than the musicians in their ensembles.

More rhythm to come, but with irregular meter and pulse!

[1] If a conductor’s authority is challenged openly, various consequences may come into play, such as decreased effectiveness of rehearsal and degraded esprit de corps—both in the moment and in the future.  Despite a conductor’s necessary public leadership, he or she is a human being who may take the incident personally and retain it on a subconscious level for some time.