Buzzing Reed- Classical Music & Clarinet Culture

Check out this post, You’re Great; Get Lost! (also available here), a well written, biting review of the motives and repercussions of firing Junichi Hirokami as Columbus Symphony Music Director.

After having very publicly fired their music director for having protested against trying to gut the orchestra, I wonder who the board thinks will agree to take his place? The world is full of conductors looking for music director jobs, of course. But ones on the level of Hirokami are few and far between. Good luck in convincing someone to work for a board that just fired the last guy for being as honest as he was competent.

It’s amazing what a group of people can do in a short time when they put their collective mind to it. In the past two weeks the musicians, shut out by their own board and management, went into action and self-produced two concerts, a family concert Friday and a tour de force Saturday in Vets Memorial Auditorium.

Ten days ago we didn’t even know who the conductors would be. Nor did we know where we would get stands and chairs, or who would be generous enough to let us borrow the music we needed. We didn’t have a way to sell tickets, or a box office of any sort. We had no stage crew, and no insurance for the concerts in case someone got injured. Boy, did we learn fast!

With the untiring focus of our “concerts committee”, formed of a dozen or so musicians from the orchestra, the concerts seemed to take shape out of thin air. As I read the email reports, I offered to help, and became involved with centralizing the coordination of volunteers. When Donna Gerhold of the Women’s Association of the CSO, emailed me offering to help, I seized on the opportunity. A few days later, I phoned my friend Jayne Gocken to ask if she would volunteer. Jayne used to run the Granville Symphony, and so has a lot experience working the front of the auditorium as the audience arrives. She jumped on it and shot off a list of questions to me which lead to some very useful outcomes, such as passing clipboards around to gather contact information from supporters so we can notify them of future events.

After one orchestra meeting, David Edge, a violinist in the orchestra, offered to go to Staples to buy the clipboards and lined paper for the signup lists. That was the day before the first concert. Things seemed to fall into place.

The concert itself went very smoothly, with E.J. Thomas as MC introducing each piece from the podium, with Jaime Morales-Matos leading the orchestra through vigorous and exciting tempos, with the heart-felt ceremonial presentation of a plaque from the Musicians of the Columbus Symphony to Marines from the Lima Company for proud service to their country, down to the excited applause between each piece and at the end.

Several musicians commented that the acoustics were not as bad as we remembered it, having rehearsed there for some Picnic with the Pops events. If we could move forward on the stage, toward the audience, the hall would fill with our music even better. The reverb (sound feedback from the hall) was not bad, a bit harsh, but better than the Ohio Theater. The stage of Vets Memorial is also suitably wide to allow the orchestra to spread out, which is the normal configuration for orchestras allowing more of the sound to get off the stage. (Unlike the box shape of the Ohio Theater stage, which bounces much of the sound back into the orchestra, rather than out to the audience. In other words, the Ohio Theater doesn’t give the patron their money’s worth.)

Considering the cavernous size of the auditorium (3600 seats) and a week’s notice for publicity, we had a good crowd, over 1500. Just think what will happen when we REALLY plan it ahead and have learned from this experience. I hope you are able to join us for our next thrilling concert!

I am writing in response to the article about the Columbus Symphony Orchestra and the picture of me and my colleague, Mindy Ewing, that was printed on the front page of the Sunday (June 1) Metro section. It is important that members of the community know the backstory of the picture – not only was I moved to tears after what might have been the final concert of the Columbus Symphony, but because of the orchestra’s current situation, my family and I will be leaving town.

I came to Columbus in 2000 after winning an audition at which 99 other flutists from across the country were present. At that time, the CSO was considered a ‘destination’ orchestra – an excellent group of musicians with very little turnover in personnel (resulting in their musical cohesiveness), fair compensation, and based in a very livable city. It is as part of this orchestra that I learned the ropes -I played all the major repertoire, I played in Carnegie Hall, I played under world-class conductors, I was the soloist in the Mozart Flute Concerto in G with the orchestra in January, 2008. These were all formative, growing experiences for me and through them all I was supported by the warmth and cameraderie that characterize this group.

As a member of the community at large, I put down roots. I arrived here as a newlywed and went on to own a home and give birth to two children at St. Anne’s hospital. I began teaching at Otterbein College in 2003 and in my tenure there taught students that have gone on to teaching jobs in area public schools. I voted. I paid taxes. I built a life here.

This year, as the problems of the orchestra began to escalate, it became necessary to look elsewhere for employment. I am one of the six members of the orchestra who will be leaving Columbus, as I was recently appointed Assistant Professor of Flute at the University of South Carolina. My tears, as photographed after what may have been the CSO’s last concert, were for more than the caption indicated. Even though I was born and raised in SC, Columbus has become my home. I am saddened beyond words to leave such a great orchestra and so many fine colleagues.

Like me, members of the orchestra have come here from across the country and the world to make this city their home. Many of my colleagues have spent their entire careers here, contributing to the orchestra, but also to the community through teaching, raising children, voting, paying taxes, buying homes. If the board does not do what is necessary for musicians to survive, the city will continue to lose these highly educated, contributing citizens.

Most, if not all of us, began music lessons as very young children. We have devoted many years, much time and countless dollars to the pursuit of beauty and expression through music. Here, in this city, we have provided a world class model of orchestral playing that has had a ripple effect on the cultural life of the entire region. I urge the citizens of Columbus and the board to consider what the community will lose, as, like me, other musicians are forced to move away in order to pursue their life’s work.

Dr. Jennifer Parker-Harley
Second Flute, Columbus Symphony Orchestra/Assistant Professor of Music, University of South Carolina

Ron Spigelman of Sticks and Drones, a music culture blog written by two conductors, makes an admirable foray into the swamp of Columbus cultural politics with his analysis of the Dispatch’s article announcing the creation of a second arts panel.

The situation can be summed up with the following analogy, which also applies to board’s decision to, among other things, cancel the Summer season, withhold ticket sales for next year, and terminate its contract with the musicians.

A reasonably healthy patient is bleeding to death from wounds inflicted by her doctors to “improve” her health. The doctors responsible for her care have decided to withhold blood, water and nourishment, so as not to waste any, in case she dies. They also decide to call in a second panel of doctors to advise them on how they might save the patient. When asked if the decision to withhold life support might affect the patient’s health, the lead doctor replies, “Terminating life support will not have any affect on the patient’s health”.

It’s like something out of Monty Python! Except the patient is real and the doctor culpable.

I carve a tiny piece of wood off the base of the reed. The shaving isn’t much larger than one or two hairs of daily growth on a man’s face. Almost nothing. I put the reed back on the mouthpiece and fasten it with the ligature. I form an embouchure and play the scale I repeat hundreds of times a day to check reeds. The raspiness has gone from the reed’s vibrations. The difference is huge. Now it has a bell-like ring as it pings through the instrument. Ahh!

After 2 hours of working on reeds, I am tired. Add five hours of rehearsals today and that’s a full day. But I haven’t finished. I still need to review specific sections of this weekend’s music. And the reed I just fixed might not make it through five minutes of playing, with the time spent on it lost after that.

Why do I do this? I smile as I ask myself. “Because I love it” might be one answer. But that’s not quite it. It’s more like an itch I have to scratch. From age 12 on I had the “ring” of the clarinet’s tone in my head, an ideal to strive for. Such a goal is elusive; it shifts and hides moments after being within your grasp.

Reeds are part of the problem, but so is being human. I am not a machine. I have to eat and sleep. I get tired. I have good days and bad. Yet the goal is always there; to outdo myself. Like an athlete wishing to win the Olympics, I strive for perfection with an all too human body and life. I may not always achieve it. But the striving tenures me to strong and tenacious character.

Of course, playing the instrument alone is only part of this puzzle. I am a clarinetist because I love music. Why do I love classical music so much?

As I ponder this question, my ear wanders to a CD I have playing of Bach’s Goldberg Variations performed by Andras Schiff. It’s a new recording for me. I have at least four recordings of this piece by different performers. Each player creates something fresh with their interpretation. So while the music is very familiar to me, it sounds new in this pianist’s hands.

Bach’s variations are accessible, dancelike and intimate, humorous and poignant. One in particular, the 26th, breaks my heart each time I hear it. I hang on every note. Schiff’s version is surprisingly feminine and coquettish, but with amazing facility and control. The tone of the particular piano he plays is also exquisite.

This brilliant music, and the performance, seems to come from somewhere beyond human capabilities. Yet it reflects human emotions in a crystalline way. It says something to me which I cannot articulate. It tells me who I am and who I could be. It reminds me of my humanity and my frailty, my nobility and my baseness. It reaches across ages, like sculpture or painting, and shows me how history and art has formed me and the civilization I live in.

Classical music offers a place of sanity in a harsh world. It clears the haze of daily life and allows us a glimpse of the thoughts and feelings of great people and a connection to our higher selves. And of their vulnerabilities. Who wouldn’t want to be inside Einstein’s head, or Picasso’s or Martin Luther King’s, as they thought and felt their great deeds? Well, I do. My life’s commitment is to be the instrument which recreates the vision of great composers for others.

Unlike painting or literature, classical music is experienced directly in time. Though I enjoy recordings of great pianists and orchestras, I relish hearing one as it happens. A live performance reflects a unique snapshot in time, much like sports are reality in action. Just like the excitement of a supportive crowd in sports, the audience affects performers with their attention and enjoyment. In a live performance, the history of today day can cue a great performer to fresh new depths of expression and heights of emotion for those listeners.

Orchestral performances are an intersection of many parts. First you have the music itself and the history of its style, something like recreating Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Then you have the particular orchestra and conductor, the “repainters”, if you will. Each member of the orchestra brings their own ideals and experience to the table, which then has to amalgamate into one voice. Then there are the acoustics of the hall, and the audience’s interest. It comes together each time to form a unique experience. When it all gels and the energy builds towards perfection, a particular performance can become an epiphany for all concerned.

Back to my own life and career. I may fix numerous good reeds at home, but few withstand the test of playing in my hall. The acoustics are deplorable, sadly, for the orchestra and especially the audience. This is not a concert hall, but a movie theater. It is not meant for the subtle voice of great music. I need a dense, resonant tone to carry my musical intentions to the odd corners of the cavernous room and the ears of listeners. Dozens of hours of work are usually spent to find the right reed for the hall, one which responds in the weather of that day and the demands of that night’s music.

Recently, I have been experimenting with other aspects of tone production, especially mouthpieces. When I first got this job 18 years ago, I had a great combination of reed type and mouthpiece which fit perfectly with the hall. I thought it was all the practicing I had done before winning the audition. I was naive. When that mouthpiece warped, ruining it, I searched for a decade and never found one with such beauty of tone. In the process I became a better musician. But it wasn’t without its cost in tens of thousands of dollars and countless hours and stress. Somehow I wonder if it’s worth it. I warn students of the gravity of choosing a music career.

All this thought and activity is before I play a note in a concert. In a live performance, a musician is naked. Even beyond practicing clarinet, I have worked a great deal behind the scenes to make it seem “effortless” on stage. I have studied various techniques for focus and presence in order to overcome fatigue and stress from so many hours of repetitive practicing. In truth, much of my daily life since age 12 has been working toward the present performance. The goal may be ideal, but a human plays for it. Personally, I play better when I know I am being heard and appreciated. A great conductor helps bring my focus together, and a great audience.

When the concert finally begins, the first note is a commitment to the rest of the piece and to my colleagues. Egos may clash on and off stage, but conflict usually disappears as the conductor raises his baton and we come together to go beyond ourselves. All my work may or may not pay off this time. Even the best athletes fall.

Is it worth it? All this for the love of great ideas!? I guess that tiny shaving of reed is worth a great deal to me.’

We played a family oriented program this afternoon. It involved a quick rehearsal followed by an hour long pops concert. The conductor for this event is a long standing regular with us. He has established himself as our main pops conductor, with good reason. His amiable, energetic and lighthearted demeanor appeals to our pops audiences.

To give you perspective, our pops concerts usually feature a big name artist who plays with the orchestra on the second half. The first half features just the orchestra. Most of the audience comes to hear the big name act, not necessarily the orchestra. So, despite our being “featured” on the first half, most of the audience is patiently waiting for the big act. This conductor bridges that gap well. He has high energy and is comfortable chatting and joking with them between pieces.

He also has talent as a musician. He knows good phrasing, good sound and pitch when he hears it. He corrects valid problems during rehearsals. But he has a disconcerting tension in his body when he conducts. There’s an urgency about him, despite his affable exterior. His face is often contorted and impatient during performances, and his arms move in tight, insistent motions. All this contributes to a tense orchestra. Our demeanor reflects his.

The most frustrating expression of this tension and urgency are his tempos. He tends to take them too fast. Even after setting a tempo, he seems to want to “keep us on our toes” by constantly pushing the tempo forward. It’s as if it’s never fast enough. So we never settle into a rhythm, a beat. As a player, I feel like I’m being dragged on a short leash through a beautiful park, missing all the glorious scenery I am paid to notice and recreate. Perhaps he sees it as a way to keep the audience from being bored, but is that doing justice to the music or the audience?

Many musicians in my orchestra are as frustrated as I am. We don’t presume to know the best tempo for any piece. There are many valid possibilities for tempos for any particular music. That’s not the issue here. It’s whether the music is playable, and also about allowing a tempo to settle.

So, preparing for this short family concert we rehearsed a well known piece. It was very familiar, in fact. Which means we’ve also played it under some top notch conductors over the years. We know what the tempos should be. After we rehearsed is for a half hour or so, with tempos the upper edge of speed, he implored us to perform the music well despite such little rehearsal. (remember we know this music)

Then, during the concert, he pushed the tempos even more. When I tried to stabilize one accelerando to keep it sensible, he just ignored me and pushed ahead to an unplayable speed. It’s a shame he doesn’t have enough respect for us to give us the benefit of the doubt. He always says how much he loves us, but I don’t feel respect from the podium under him. I give my best, and he pushes it more.

I don’t know any conductor who would ignore the collective experience of 55 well trained, very experienced musicians. Does he remember that we have notes to play while he’s zipping away up there? Even if we get the notes at those tempos, they sound frantic with tension. I am happy to give my best, but when it’s never fast enough, I tend to give up and ignore him. I don’t think he would want that. The fact is, many big orchestras ignore their conductors to survive. The Columbus Symphony is unusual in that we really give our best and try to follow any conductor who leads us.

But we do so at a risk. The players are the ones blamed if the musical product is lacking, rarely the conductor. Who will be our advocate in this case if not we? No one. Again, I don’t question this person’s ability or validity as a musician. As I’ve said, he bridges a difficult gap with out pops audiences. But he insists on pushing us to play tempos beyond either tradition or reason. That affects our musical product.

Making music shouldn’t be a tug of war. A conductor can give urgency to a tempo without ignoring the musicians and without looking frantic. A balance of responsibility between conductor and musicians is crucial. It’s a group effort. Each knows what they’re doing. True, each may prefer differing tempos for good reasons. The musicians want playable tempos so the music sounds clear, the conductor wants to create excitement. The two meet in the middle. That’s the way music is made.

So what?! It doesn’t matter a pile of feathers if it’s not together. Many musicians, good ones, don’t understand this basic fact of life in an orchestra. You have to factor in delay time for acoustics and human response time. So staying with the conductor is not the blanket solution. But it’s not rocket science, either.

There’s a clear hierarchy of leadership in the orchestra. The concertmaster leads not only the first violins, but also has some leadership of the other string sections. Within each string section, its principal is leader. So, 1st and 2end violins, violas, cellos, basses, have their own leaders. The same applies to every other section. In the woodwinds, the oboe is usually the leader of the whole section, while each section leader is responsible for that section. The brass are similar, with the trumpet leading all the other leaders of the various brass sections. The French Horns tend to be their own section, influencing both the brass and woodwinds.

So how do all those leaders stay together? Well, the conductor leads the way, giving the musical gestures and tempo and style indications. Then each section leader must interpret to make sense of it for their sections. The section leaders moderate and codify the conductor’s lead. For example, if the conductor’s tempo is simply too fast or erratic for a section, the leader may take the sensible path and lead a steadier, more playable tempo. The other sections will follow suit.

Within each small section, the players must follow both the conductor and their section leader. In other words, they get information from both and make sense of it within their group. It’s easier in the woodwinds, where there are only a few players in each section. The second oboe will always defer to the first oboe, no matter what the conductor does. And when the flute and oboe play together, since they are both leaders, they will work out their own hierarchy of leadership.

The leaders have to develop courage and tenacity to lead their sections in times of crisis. Occasionally a conductor will get lost or befuddled, and the section leaders have to become conductors, literally swaying in time to show where the beat it.

All this processing takes some time, so there’s an inevitable delay from the time a beat is given by the conductor and the resulting music follows in the orchestra. As a kid seeing a live orchestra or the first time, I thought it was rude and lazy of the orchestra to play so far behind the conductor’s beat. Now I know why. In order to get 80-100 people in lock step doing a subtle ballet of ever changing music, it takes time.

Like a huge, delicate machine, the orchestra undulates in subtle response to the various leads within it. Like a flock of birds or a swarm of insects, the group will stay together no matter what. At least it should, if the professional hierarchy is intact. But that’s another post.