Joe the Cellist

I've been planning to write a "Joe the Orchestral Musician" post for a while, but last night Yo-Yo Ma beat me to it -- announcing on The Colbert Report that he was "Joe the Cellist":

for Canadians, watch the clip here

Colbert: How does it feel to be the #1 at something in the world?

Ma: Well, for people who watch Arthur, you know Mikey the 8-year old cellist? I'm a superstar, because I'm in his show. And so he probably thinks of me as -- "Joe the Cellist."

Colbert: Are enough candidates addressing the concerns of Joe the Cellist?

Ma: Well, you know, I think it could take a while.

That sounds like a side-step to me. I thought maybe I would pick up the subject and ask, what are some of Joe the Cellist's concerns?

• arts funding (so he'll keep getting paid to play)
• music education (so kids will keep wanting to take lessons)
• safe and lively urban centers (so people will keep coming downtown to see his concerts)
• affordable health care (in case he gets tendinitis)
• public transportation and infrastructure (so he can make it to his gigs on time)
• floors made of penetrable materials (so his endpin doesn't slip)

Those are just off the top of my head, and I'm sure there are others. On all of these issues, though, I prefer the solutions offered by Barack Obama. (Note: Obama hasn't yet proposed to install slip-proof floors everywhere, but perhaps in his second term.) That's why he has my support in this election. If any actual cellist (or Joe) wants to give your take, please feel free to comment!

And please visit Drew McManus' blog Adaptistration to watch more Stephen Colbert interviews and vote for your favorite classical music interviewee -- Yo-Yo, Alex Ross, or Lorin Maazel.

these pretzels are making me...

One of the sweetest and most bizarre people I've met here in Calgary is our principal oboist, JL. Yesterday quite a few Calgary Phil musicians, including me and JL, were playing a marathon Bach Society concert -- 2 and 1/2 hours of choral music by Bach, Handel, Buxtehude, and Grutzmacher's 'Boccherini' cello concerto. By intermission I was already rather worn out; JL only played on the two first-half pieces, so on his way out he must have noticed me slumping in a chair next to my bass.

JL: Hey, you sounded good, I hadn't really heard you play before.

Me: Oh, thanks, you too.

JL: Yeah, um, let me give you these pretzels. They've been in my pocket for a few days, but they don't go bad. They're pretzels, what's to go bad in a pretzel!?

Me: Uh, thanks, that's alright though...

JL: No no, they're fine, really, here take them!

Me: Sure...okay. Um, thanks.

JL: Oh alright, here -- I'll eat one just to show you're they're not poisonous or anything. (he takes a pretzel out of the already half-finished bag and eats it.) Of course, I might pass out and die in an hour, and you'll never know. But still, they're good!

Me: (too dumbfounded to speak, accepting the bag of pulverized pretzel bits)

JL: They don't go bad, they're pretzels!

DS (another oboist): Did you hear about this guy who got salmonella and died just from handling some pork rind dog treats? He didn't eat them, just gave them to his dog -- isn't that awful?

Me: Hey, you haven't been keeping any pork rind dog treats in the pocket with the pretzels, have you?

JL: No, I've never even touched a pork rind dog treat, I'm pretty sure.

Me: Oh good, then I'm probably safe. Pretzel, anyone?

that conduciveness thing

The New World Symphony just got written up in the Toronto Star, by classical music critic William Littler: "An attitude conducive to music-making". Littler found some Toronto natives to outline the program's assets:

"I want to be an orchestral musician and the New World Symphony is preparing me. I couldn't be in a better place at this moment," says 27-year-old Toronto violinist Ann Okagito.

Toronto clarinetist Robert Woolfry [sic], 29, agrees, pointing out that "we are all here trying to get a job and having a great experience at the same time. I already hear my playing improving because of the high standards."

That should be Robert Woolfrey (shown here), and I guess he and Ann are both better at sticking to talking points than I am! Or maybe Dan Wakin worked harder to dig past all the application-brochure stuff. Littler goes on:

"I knew there were great musicians being trained in Toronto," says Michael Linville, dean of musicians. "But we aren't just interested in people who play at a high technical level. We are looking for people who have a lot of personality in their playing and a good attitude."

Ah, yes, attitude. Symphony orchestras are notorious repositories of cynicism and discouragement. It was his discovery of this truth, Linville suggests, that helped motivate Michael Tilson Thomas to found the New World Symphony Orchestra all of 19 years ago.

One of the continent's foremost conductors, Tilson Thomas has stayed loyal to his Florida project despite demands of an international career and the music directorship of the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. He has done so with the not-so-hidden agenda of vanquishing negativity in the mindset of symphonic musicians.

"When I was a young musician," he recalls, "among veteran players in orchestras I noticed many were dissatisfied and blasé, yet there were others who, after 30 years, were still inspired. So I asked myself, how do you get to be like the people who still have joy in their work? And it turned out that they were the people who were in love with the process of music making.

"I see that attitude with my young colleagues here. Every member of our faculty feels the same way. And they realize that music making is not just about them as individuals. It is about communicating with a larger world."

I have heard MTT describe this before - he sometimes sounds a bit like Peter Pan, wondering why all the other children had to grow up and get so jaded. I'm ususally pretty idealistic myself - I wonder if that got me in? - yet I had never thought of New World as specifically addressing this issue, or selecting for positive outlook and attitude. It sort of gives a new meaning to 'affirmative action', doesn't it?

I wouldn't make too much of the attitude factor though, or suggest applicants start walking into their New World auditions with grins plastered on their faces. I doubt Tom Hadley will be impressed, and as he knows, it's very hard to accurately screen for a love of music making. We all have that love, but the audition process itself can often grind it away and obscure it - and here at New World, where the audition process never ends. If you're not taking one, the girl next door is, and she probably wants to play some excerpts for you and hear what you think. So we depend on our fellow musicians to give us encouragement - in addition to corrections and criticism - and to help us maintain a positive attitude.

Often, I feel like that's the most important thing I can offer someone, especially a harp or clarinet player whose techniques and excerpts I barely understand. I still love to listen to them, and I try to ask helpful questions - what kind of character and color do you want to create here, what is the committee looking for there, do you have an image or a story that helps you start this one? Okay, maybe your rhythm went haywire there, but what is the style and groove you want to project overall?

For the past few weeks since the season ended, New World has felt less like an orchestra than a support group for audition-afflicted musicians! I feel much less afflicted than I have in the past, though I also have a lot of new goals and plans I'm trying to realize. Even if none of them work out though, I hope that I always maintain the qualities of joy and inspiration that MTT talks about, even when I'm far from Florida and way past Peter Pan age!

musical short stories

Speaking of short fiction, the past couple of weeks have brought two great stories in The New Yorker, both about musician couples. Actually, in both stories the couple is half musician and half non-musician, and that is the source of a good deal of the tension and interest behind the stories. Last week's story was "The First Sense" by Nadine Gordimer, and this week features "On Chesil Beach" by Ian McEwan.

Thinking about the relationships and tensions in these stories, I suppose that all couples have dimensions where the two people cannot participate equally. Often it might be a consuming hobby, a sports addiction, or a religious devotion. We allow our partners to pursue their interests, even when they separate us, or make us feel alien and inferior. In the long run, those inequalities can possibly help a relationship, giving us a space apart and a way to assert our own identities. I love Nadine Gordimer's description of her office worker married to a cellist:

She was so much part of the confraternity of orchestras. The rivalry among the players, drowned out by the exaltation of the music they created together. The gossip—because she was not one of them, both the men and the women trusted her with indiscretions that they wouldn’t risk with one another. And when he had differences with guest conductors from Bulgaria or Japan or God knows where, their egos as complex as the pronunciation of their names, his exasperation found relief, as he unburdened himself in bed of the podium dramas and moved on to the haven of lovemaking. If she was in a low mood—the -bungles of an inefficient colleague at work, or her father’s “heart condition” and her mother’s long complaints over the telephone about his disobeying doctor’s orders with his whiskey-swilling golfers—the cello would join them in the bedroom and he’d play for her.

There is certainly an upside to having a one-musician marriage - not only does each partner have a separate outlet, but you don't need to fight over practice space. At the same time, it seems unfortunate to not be able to share in that "exaltation" of creating something together, those moments on stage which are the most profound of a musician's life. It's hard to imagine how a couple that does not share such a passion could ever function, as in McEwan's story:

Edward had never cared for classical music, but now he was learning its sprightly argot—legato, pizzicato, con brio. Slowly, through brute repetition, he was coming to recognize and even like certain pieces. There was one that she played with her friends which especially moved him. When she practiced her scales and arpeggios at home, she wore a hair band, an endearing touch that caused him to dream about the daughter they might have one day.

Both of these stories are very much about sex, and musicality seems to become a symbol for emotional intimacy and even sexuality - in Gordimer's, the cello's voice traces the arc of an extramarital affair, while in McEwan, the violinist Florence's "sinuous and exact" playing seems to promise sensual affinities which she doesn't in fact possess. McEwan writes probably the most horrifying description of a kiss that I've ever read.

You could say that neither of these stories is really about music - but they both use the symbol for the beauty and complex awkwardness of a human relationship. In a musical performance hundreds of people can hear the same sounds and interpret them completely differently - horror and ecstasy can coexist, just like in a relationship, even in those precisely, wordlessly rendered notes.

New Times' "An Uncertain Overture"

I've been thinking a lot about music journalism lately, having just told my own story at great length to New York Times reporter Daniel Wakin. This evening I came across the kind of story which I hope Wakin won't write: it's called An Uncertain Overture by Rob Jordan, and it appears in last week's Miami New Times.

Rob Jordan writes about an 18-year-old classical pianist named Xavier Spencer, clearly an incredibly talented kid who is struggling through a transition in his education and life. Jordan does a great job showing the frustratingly long odds a poor young musician faces, and the impressive achievements Spencer has already made. It seems to me that a profile like this also walks a difficult line: the reporter must get into the subject's head, to voice his thoughts and emotions. At the same time, he needs to be an objective critic of his playing and abilities. This is especially problematic with a young musician like Spencer - he hasn't had enough time yet to develop as a musician (he began at age 13); and he also seems to express himself much more eloquently in his playing than in his words.

So Rob Jordan relies for quotes and commentary on Spencer's mom, his main teacher Felix Spengler, and other teachers who have heard and encouraged him. We get a very warm view of his playing, as when Jordan writes "He had 'all the ingredients' to become a professional, according to one of his instructors. 'When you hear him play, you say, "Oh my God, he's a musician."'" (Sorry for the triple-quotes!) At the same time, Jordan keeps a kind of ominous drumbeat going in the background: "he wasn't sure he'd ever perform again", "in the months since Spencer's high school graduation, little had gone right..." The gloomy vibe fully emerges at the end of Jordan's story, when Spencer and his prospects seem literally to fade away: "'Maybe it's the thought that this might not actually work,' he said, his voice trailing off, little more than a whisper."

Spencer's story deserves to be told and read, but this strikes me as too much melodrama. Teacher Spengler has already given his verdict on Spencer's doubts, saying "He's just being a teenager." Jordan clearly sees it as much more than that, and makes sure we follow his tragic conclusions. Maybe Spengler is right though - maybe Spencer is just being a teenager, trying to put words to a lot of conflicted emotions. Not many 18-year-olds are 100% sure of their direction, and being a talented pianist doesn't exempt a kid from feelings of confusion and doubt. I'd argue that it's healthy to be dealing with those insecurities at Spencer's age. Success in the arts is rarely quick or easy, no matter how great the talent, and all the struggling and questioning can give us a better perspective on what we're trying to accomplish.

Reading the article definitely left me pulling for Spencer, and I hope he keeps working and developing as a musician. Really though, there's reason to be hopeful for this kid whether or not he succeeds in music - he's already accomplished so much, seen so many places, and created a great sense of pride in his family and in the people in his community. Maybe it's easier to see that hope in another person's life than in one's own. In any case, I'm much more inclined to Spengler's optimism than Jordan's pessimism.

By tracing the arc of Spencer's story, an article like this can provide further inspiration to an even wider community; I think it can also serve a function for Spencer himself, seeing his life formed into a narrative shape. But by ending the story with a pessimistic shrug, I think the writer hits a sour note himself. Hopefully others who read this article, and Spencer himself, will recognize that note as false, and will see that his success story is by no means finished.

Hippocratic Oath for string players

'First, do no harm' - it's a simple principle, yet it has guided many a physician towards a humble and respectful practice of the healing art. Well, we string players need simple guiding principles too, and Vienna Philharmonic violist Hans Peter Ochsenhofer offered one in a master class this afternoon: "First, change no bowings," we might say.

Or at the very least, think very carefully before changing those bowings. We would never rewrite a great composer's notes, and yet we frequently disregard their phrasing and articulation instructions, adding bow changes at will. Brahms would often tie together long phrases beneath a single slur - taken at a slow tempo or a loud dynamic, such markings might seem nearly impossible. However, Herr Ochsenhofer pointed out, Brahms was actually a very smart guy, and "pretty musical" too. Those phrase and bowing markings can guide our tempo and dynamic choices, providing a fuller understanding of the composer's intentions.

The problems arise when we treat bowing decisions independently from other factors, taking them out of musical context. Herr Ochsenhofer mimicked a wild-west gunslinger, making fun of the 'shoot first, ask questions later' approach to bowings. We bass players are probably more guilty of this than most, choosing based on technical convenience and comfort rather than musical context. The result is to obscure that context, garble the phrasing, and homogenize the effect - basically to make everything boring. Where a bowing doesn't seem to work in the composer's marking, Ochsenhofer suggested to "work your butt off" to figure out that original intention first, before changing anything. Only with that kind of understanding can we change the bowings and still keep the essential character.

I was very impressed by Hans Peter Ochsenhofer, and not just his fealty to the musical text - he seemed to exemplify the kind of spirited, committed, and joyful orchestral musician that we all hope to become. And he still talks about learning and developing musically as his highest priorities. As much as an orchestral string player must learn how to compromise - like in a marriage, there will always be tensions, disagreements, differences, he said - we need to work hard to maintain our own unique musical identity. We need to be able to wake up in the morning, look ourselves in the mirror, and recognize, "Aha, there is that little musician I know." If we can keep that in focus, hopefully we will not only do no harm, but perhaps do a bit of good.