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| Yes, we've probably all felt this way... |
Because deep down he was a nice guy.
28oz. (not including urn)
There are skid marks in front of the snake.
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| George Szell: some might have been tempted to run him down, but his legacy lives on in Cleveland |
One day in heaven, the Lord decided He would visit the earth and take a stroll. Walking down the road, He encountered a man who was crying. The Lord asked the man, “Why are you crying, my son?” The man said that he was blind and had never seen a sunset. The Lord touched the man who could then see… and he was happy.
As the Lord walked further, He met another man crying and asked, “Why are you crying, my son?” The man was born a cripple and was never able to walk. The Lord touched him and he could walk… and he was happy.
Farther down the road, the Lord met another man who was crying and asked, “Why are you crying, my son?” The man said, “Lord I’m a high school band director.”
And the Lord sat down and cried with him.
* * * * * * * * * *
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| He did NOT know how to smile. |
There are certainly as many conductor jokes as there are conductors (including a number of them about M. Reiner, above). The ones here are quite tame in comparison with those equating the maestro with the hindquarters of horses, bulls, elephants, etc. Then there are those that imply that "no one watches the conductor anyway." Sadly, but I've noticed that this is all too often the case. Say what one will, the task of the conductor is a demanding one. To perform it well (at least in one's own eyes), it should be a selfless one. And yet, many conductors are ridiculed for their foibles, their bad jokes, their podium demeanor or what have you.
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| Frank Battisti Such an amazing gentleman... |
Personal characteristics:
- Musical talent
- Confidence in oneself.
- A strong work ethic.
- Passion for learning and achieving.
- Passion for music.
- Patience and impatience (and the wisdom to know when to use each).
- Dedication.
- Good memory.
- Leadership talent.
- Creativity, imagination, inventiveness.
- Curiosity.
- Courage.
And if those aren't enough (they're not), Battisti goes on to offer the Necessary skills, knowledge, and experiences:
- Comprehensive basic musicianship skills, including sight reading and inner hearing skills, superior rhythmic skills, acute external listening skills, knowledge and understanding of theory, harmony and compositional practices, highly developed analytical skills.
- Knowledge of music history, composers, style and performance practice.
- Musical vocabulary.
- Descriptive skills, poetic vocabulary.
- Perfect or relative pitch.
- Skills in communicating clearly and effectively in writing and speech.
- Clef reading skills
- Score reading skills
- Procedure(s) for studying scores.
- Keyboard skills.
- Exposure to performances by great artists.
- Acquaintance with great literature, poetry, and philosophy.
- Contact with nature.
- Knowledge of two or three languages.
- Exposure to art, theater, and dance.
- Chamber music performance experience.
- Large ensemble performance experience.
- Knowledge of standard orchestra, wind band/ensemble, chamber music, opera, chorus, vocal, etc., repertoire.
- Indepth knowledge of repertoire for ensemble(s) conductor wishes to conduct.
- Knowledge of jazz and popular music.
- Knowledge of instruments--what they can and cannot do.
- Knowledge of instrument transpositions.
- Expressive, clear conducting technique.
- Instrumental and choral conducting experiences.
- Vocal skills adequate for singing and demonstrating how parts are to be played.
- Skills in composing and arranging music.
- Administrative and organizational skills needed to manage/operate a music ensemble/program.
- Research skills.
I never realized it until later in life, but I finally came to the realization that I am, in many respects, one of the lucky ones. As an eight-year-old, I tried to take piano lessons from my mother, bless her soul. Like many other kids, I was a brat who would rather spend time out playing ball (unorganized sports!) than practicing. But, as a ten-year-old guitar student, I encountered a teacher who approached the instrument from a theoretical standpoint, so I learned the ins and outs of chord structure, eventually carrying those skills to the piano and organ, both in which I eventually developed interest. Theory has always come easy as I can (and do--all the time) apply it in my studies; I can "hear" the progressions before they happen.
Leadership skills developed during scouting and other youth programs (I kept extremely busy with activities of school clubs and organizations, especially the high school Latin Club and its state and national affiliates, having run for national office in the Junior Classical League and serving as President of the national collegiate chapter). With an active music program at our school, I was a veritable musical sponge, taking part in just about every pursuit I could, from band to choir, to theory and history classes. I was a decent tenor (especially since I was a good reader). My trumpet skills were adequate even though I had to work extremely hard to get them that way--if only I'd listened to my junior high teacher and played one of the low brasses.
But I was never convinced that music would be a career, even though I availed myself nearly every opportunity to make music in different ways: serving as a substitute organist for my own church while singing in the choir at St. Paul's Episcopal in Lansing, among the largest in the area and without doubt, having the most outstanding music programs. It was there, under the tutelage of Stephen Lange, that I sang some of the great choral works, including pieces by Britten, Haydn, and Vaughan Williams, among others. I even developed an interest in the local professional theater company, serving as an usher any chance I could get, all so I could repeatedly catch performances of Hamlet, MacBeth, and their ilk. Combined with theatrical experiences (always the comedic sidekick, never the lead), it was an active cultural life.
After a disastrous couple of terms at Michigan State, where I was wandering aimlessly with no real "plan," I found myself at Olivet College and was hooked. Attending my first orchestra concert, I knew that I was at the right place. The sounds of Albinoni, Saint-Saens and others were astounding. And the experiences continued. I conducted every chance I could: with choirs and instrumental ensembles. Following graduation and eventual employment, I joined every conducting symposium within driving distance, all with the intention of actually becoming a conductor (someday, I'll get there). For short stints, at least, I have studied with the likes of Frank Battisti, Eugene Corporon, H. Robert Reynolds, and many others. It's been a journey and a blessing....
But what we're not told in Becoming a Conductor is how lonely the profession can be. My colleagues who spend countless (probably too many according to current research) hours practicing concertos and chamber music actually have something concrete to show for it. One can study etudes to shore up technique, or solo music of Bach to commune with the master. But the conductor is not that fortunate. His/her work (study) is done in private, poring over the intricacies of the score, searching for answers that may be simple or incredibly complex. For those to whom theoretical knowledge does not come easy, the task would seem impossible, but--then again--at least rudimentary keyboard facility can assist in developing some sense of the sound.
But Battisti is right in so many of the other attributes he holds important. I recall a time when one of my conducting colleagues was having difficulty with the sixth symphony (Pastorale) of Beethoven, searching for answers in tempo relations and what not. He just couldn't get his head around it. Granted, the sixth is a difficult nut to crack as it is definitely different than any other. My advice? Go for a walk in the woods. I had been fortunate enough to visit the Brunswick estate in Martonvásár, outside Budapest; on my visit I walked the grounds and traipsed the forests Beethoven himself had once trod. There I could soak in the milieu in which this music was created, offering an insight I could not have gained otherwise. Does this mean that I hold the key to understanding the totality of the Pastorale symphony? I would not be so bold. But again (as usual) I digress...
Study is done in silence, unless one plunks out a few notes on the piano. The conductor marks items in the score for clarity in all aspects of music: form, cuing, progressions, etc. My own scores are often filled with written commentary from theorists and other conductors. Texts may recommend metronomic markings for works written before the invention of that contraption (of course, there are never-ending arguments about Beethoven's marks and his "broken metronome.") Other later composers (such as Brahms) eschewed the machine, although there exist limited examples of his own tempi in personal scores that he used in performance, a prime example of which is the German Requiem. For 25 years he conducted from a score with precise tempo indications; if it was good enough for him, it's good enough for me. (And of course that means that my tempos for the work are the right ones! <snark>.)
But when does the conductor get the opportunity to truly refine his art in practice? He doesn't. Before standing before his "instrument," he must be prepared for every musical possibility. He must know what problems may arise and possess a number of solutions to them. He doesn't have the luxury that every player has had to actually "practice." And, of course, if s/he makes a mistake, everyone knows it. Then s/he has a decision to make and, in the "old days" it certainly was an "ego thing." I'm the opposite; if something goes awry in rehearsal--especially an aspect that we've previously done well--the first words from my mouth are, "What did I do wrong/differently?" Sometimes, I'll just go back and conduct a section differently, changing a gesture ever so slightly to provide clarity to my musical conception. But still, it's an individual decision, one made through those countless hours of study--alone.
The conductor's work does not come to life until s/he steps to a podium and works with other musicians. Unlike every other player in the ensemble, s/he requires others with whom to make music, others willing to take direction, others willing to allow their own conception of the music to be --in some way--subservient to another's. That, too, is difficult, but again, the conductor needs to have been so thoroughly prepared--in every aspect Battisti mentions--that the musicians will be willing to go "along for the ride." If everyone is working in the same way, with the same end goal--be it radically different than ever before--the results can be among the most exhilarating experiences in the world.
I've lived on both sides of that world, from standing in front of a middle school orchestra introducing them to the incredible world of J.S. Bach to (hopefully?) harnessing the power of a great orchestra in a symphony of Johannes Brahms. One hopes that both will offer outcomes worthy of the composer. I have led performances in which ensembles have risen to a level beyond their dreams and others in which I experienced nothing but frustration. Such is the life--the lonely life--of the conductor.
Leadership skills developed during scouting and other youth programs (I kept extremely busy with activities of school clubs and organizations, especially the high school Latin Club and its state and national affiliates, having run for national office in the Junior Classical League and serving as President of the national collegiate chapter). With an active music program at our school, I was a veritable musical sponge, taking part in just about every pursuit I could, from band to choir, to theory and history classes. I was a decent tenor (especially since I was a good reader). My trumpet skills were adequate even though I had to work extremely hard to get them that way--if only I'd listened to my junior high teacher and played one of the low brasses.
But I was never convinced that music would be a career, even though I availed myself nearly every opportunity to make music in different ways: serving as a substitute organist for my own church while singing in the choir at St. Paul's Episcopal in Lansing, among the largest in the area and without doubt, having the most outstanding music programs. It was there, under the tutelage of Stephen Lange, that I sang some of the great choral works, including pieces by Britten, Haydn, and Vaughan Williams, among others. I even developed an interest in the local professional theater company, serving as an usher any chance I could get, all so I could repeatedly catch performances of Hamlet, MacBeth, and their ilk. Combined with theatrical experiences (always the comedic sidekick, never the lead), it was an active cultural life.
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| First Congregational UCC Church, Olivet, Michigan How many hours of music were created here? |
But what we're not told in Becoming a Conductor is how lonely the profession can be. My colleagues who spend countless (probably too many according to current research) hours practicing concertos and chamber music actually have something concrete to show for it. One can study etudes to shore up technique, or solo music of Bach to commune with the master. But the conductor is not that fortunate. His/her work (study) is done in private, poring over the intricacies of the score, searching for answers that may be simple or incredibly complex. For those to whom theoretical knowledge does not come easy, the task would seem impossible, but--then again--at least rudimentary keyboard facility can assist in developing some sense of the sound.
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| The Brunswick Castle and Museum, Hungary |
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| One never knows when the elusive score will reveal new insights. |
But when does the conductor get the opportunity to truly refine his art in practice? He doesn't. Before standing before his "instrument," he must be prepared for every musical possibility. He must know what problems may arise and possess a number of solutions to them. He doesn't have the luxury that every player has had to actually "practice." And, of course, if s/he makes a mistake, everyone knows it. Then s/he has a decision to make and, in the "old days" it certainly was an "ego thing." I'm the opposite; if something goes awry in rehearsal--especially an aspect that we've previously done well--the first words from my mouth are, "What did I do wrong/differently?" Sometimes, I'll just go back and conduct a section differently, changing a gesture ever so slightly to provide clarity to my musical conception. But still, it's an individual decision, one made through those countless hours of study--alone.
The conductor's work does not come to life until s/he steps to a podium and works with other musicians. Unlike every other player in the ensemble, s/he requires others with whom to make music, others willing to take direction, others willing to allow their own conception of the music to be --in some way--subservient to another's. That, too, is difficult, but again, the conductor needs to have been so thoroughly prepared--in every aspect Battisti mentions--that the musicians will be willing to go "along for the ride." If everyone is working in the same way, with the same end goal--be it radically different than ever before--the results can be among the most exhilarating experiences in the world.
I've lived on both sides of that world, from standing in front of a middle school orchestra introducing them to the incredible world of J.S. Bach to (hopefully?) harnessing the power of a great orchestra in a symphony of Johannes Brahms. One hopes that both will offer outcomes worthy of the composer. I have led performances in which ensembles have risen to a level beyond their dreams and others in which I experienced nothing but frustration. Such is the life--the lonely life--of the conductor.
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