Why do directors do it? Because they can I suppose.
I have seen plenty of poor productions in my time, up till recently the worst production of anything I have ever seen was at, of all places, Covent Garden. The Tristan and Isolde that I saw a few years ago consigned the two principals to red and white boxes, similar in size to the sort of containers that are shipped all over the world. Tristan did leave his box at the end (I can’t remember which colour was assigned to whom) but Isolde was stuck in hers for the duration. All the love music in the second act was sung without touching, I can’t remember many other details other than the men’s chorus came on to sing at the end of Act I will megaphones. It was frightful, but not offensive. I applauded at the end but not with much enthusiasm. As I recall the Isolde was very good, but the Tristan was a stand in and could not really cope with the role. It is a killer and I felt sorry for the poor fellow.
The production was silly, stupid perhaps. It certainly did not pay any attention to the intentions of the composer and librettist (the same person in this opera of course). But it was not offensive. I have just seen the most offensive piece of theatre that I have ever experienced. Something that not only reverses the intentions of the composer and librettist but twists and mangles them to such an extent that I was genuine upset as well as offended.
Bluebeard’s Castle with music by Bela Bartok and libretto by Bela Balazs takes the myth of the Bluebeard legend and adds a twentieth century twist. It is not easy to explain what the opera is about, but to me it is clear Bluebeard and Judith are deeply in love. From here on in I think every individual has to decide for themselves what is going on, this does leave the piece open to alternative interpretations. Perhaps Bluebeard has been damaged, as Judith opens each of the first five doors she finds blood on whatever is in there. At the opening of the 5th door Bluebeard rejoices, happy that Judith has brought light to his castle. He begs her not to open any more, and this for me is where the heart of the story lies. He knows that going further will damage both of them, but Judith is not able to stop and their relationship crumbles.
To turn this into a story about recent mass murderers and criminals is so absurd and hateful that I can’t believe anyone who listened to the ravishing music in the final scenes could ever consider it. This music moves me to tears, now it is spoilt, probably forever.
I feel betrayed. A hooligan, a vandal, a moron has disfigured something beautiful. A great gash has been cut in the face of a beautiful and much admired friend. I will not be able to forgive Daniel Kramer and his cronies for the offence they have caused. I will never attend another of his productions. I don’t really want to set foot in the home of the ENO ever again, the thought of doing so sickens me.
For the first time ever I regret to have to say than on the 6th November 2009, I am genuinely sorry that I went to the opera.
Saturday, 7 November 2009
Sunday, 11 October 2009
From the sublime to the ridiculous
The DVDs of the Master Course in Bulgaria arrived a few days ago. The organisers of the course had rushed through a copy for me to take away but I left them in the car that took me from Ruse to Sofia, I was very cross with myself. I have been looking forward to receiving the replacement disks for a while and since they arrived I have taken a good deal of time studying them.
The session that I was looking forward to watching the most was the twenty minutes I spent running through the finale of Mahler’s third symphony. As I wrote in this blog I have almost no recollection of this rehearsal. I do remember the first few minutes, the moment when Panula makes some remarks about some ties missing in the first violins, and a missed subito piano in the wind.
I went into the session with the wrong idea, I wanted to prove that I had the orchestral control to do rubato. I had not at that point got my head around what could be achieved at the master course and was still looking for a sense of direction. I did not get my thoughts clear until well into the third set of rehearsals and I owe a lot to my colleagues for helping me to realize that the course was about learning, not proving myself.
Even so, I count this session as one of my most successful at the course. When I stepped up to the podium I had already established myself as the conductor with the loud voice, I didn’t need to prove that any more! I made a few opening remarks, which I think were ignored! I waited for the chat let to subside by raising my arms into the ready position, and looking at the chatters until they stopped. The first rubato took the orchestra by surprise, but they caught on quickly and were soon prepared for the music to be pulled about.
From then on, with the exceptions noted earlier, I remember nothing until the end of the movement and the crashing tympani blows. Watching the video has been especially interesting and a great pleasure. I now realize that the orchestra pulled out all the stops for this rehearsal and made a huge effort. The dynamic contrasts are fabulous and the music really sings out. I had been worried about the brass players getting tired, so was keen to give them an easy time, but they play with great feeling and power. The wind play beautifully and the string tone is lush and full. I take the brass restatement of the theme fairly quickly, again I think this must have been because I was concerned not to tax them unduly, but I can’t remember doing so at the time. The final chords are played with great power.
If and when I do that movement again I will do several passages differently, but that is to be expected. I have now played the video several times, and in many of the passages the orchestral playing is superb, bravo!
One of my colleagues mentioned after the rehearsal that he didn’t like the way I shake my hands and arms during long sustained chords. Many conductors do this to encourage the orchestra to sustain a chord fortissimo and I consider it to be an acceptable technique. What I didn’t realise is that this can look a little odd when someone a bit overweight such as myself does it. I posted a remark on this blog a while ago saying that I was going to have to lose some weight, and two dear friends (both ladies, both singers, both mezzo-sopranos!) said that I was perfect as I was and didn’t need to change a bit.
Well ladies, take a look at the last few seconds of the Mahler 3 finale Part 2 video. It’s not the arms that are shaking! The music may be sublime, but I look ridiculous.
The session that I was looking forward to watching the most was the twenty minutes I spent running through the finale of Mahler’s third symphony. As I wrote in this blog I have almost no recollection of this rehearsal. I do remember the first few minutes, the moment when Panula makes some remarks about some ties missing in the first violins, and a missed subito piano in the wind.
I went into the session with the wrong idea, I wanted to prove that I had the orchestral control to do rubato. I had not at that point got my head around what could be achieved at the master course and was still looking for a sense of direction. I did not get my thoughts clear until well into the third set of rehearsals and I owe a lot to my colleagues for helping me to realize that the course was about learning, not proving myself.
Even so, I count this session as one of my most successful at the course. When I stepped up to the podium I had already established myself as the conductor with the loud voice, I didn’t need to prove that any more! I made a few opening remarks, which I think were ignored! I waited for the chat let to subside by raising my arms into the ready position, and looking at the chatters until they stopped. The first rubato took the orchestra by surprise, but they caught on quickly and were soon prepared for the music to be pulled about.
From then on, with the exceptions noted earlier, I remember nothing until the end of the movement and the crashing tympani blows. Watching the video has been especially interesting and a great pleasure. I now realize that the orchestra pulled out all the stops for this rehearsal and made a huge effort. The dynamic contrasts are fabulous and the music really sings out. I had been worried about the brass players getting tired, so was keen to give them an easy time, but they play with great feeling and power. The wind play beautifully and the string tone is lush and full. I take the brass restatement of the theme fairly quickly, again I think this must have been because I was concerned not to tax them unduly, but I can’t remember doing so at the time. The final chords are played with great power.
If and when I do that movement again I will do several passages differently, but that is to be expected. I have now played the video several times, and in many of the passages the orchestral playing is superb, bravo!
One of my colleagues mentioned after the rehearsal that he didn’t like the way I shake my hands and arms during long sustained chords. Many conductors do this to encourage the orchestra to sustain a chord fortissimo and I consider it to be an acceptable technique. What I didn’t realise is that this can look a little odd when someone a bit overweight such as myself does it. I posted a remark on this blog a while ago saying that I was going to have to lose some weight, and two dear friends (both ladies, both singers, both mezzo-sopranos!) said that I was perfect as I was and didn’t need to change a bit.
Well ladies, take a look at the last few seconds of the Mahler 3 finale Part 2 video. It’s not the arms that are shaking! The music may be sublime, but I look ridiculous.
Friday, 25 September 2009
Growing old humorously
I don’t really think of myself as old yet, but it won’t be long before I have to. I am certainly no longer young, and “middle-aged” is such a dreadfully bourgeois term. My youngest child is now over 16 and should therefore be considered an adult in most regards, my eldest is thinking of buying a house. These things alone can make one feel the time that has passed.
As for growing old, my awful sense of humour hasn’t changed much over the years, I still love teasing the wife and kids, I love jokes but can no longer remember them. I enjoy quirky or humorous stories and these I can often remember. Amongst my favourites stories are those about one of my favourite conductors, Sir Thomas Beecham. Beecham’s recordings are wonderful, most especially those made of live performances. They always have life and energy.
The stories are many and I was delighted to add to them on the recent master course. I asked Maestro Panula whether he had ever seen Beecham conduct and got an affirmative answer, “very good”. Panula then smiled and recalled a Beecham story that was new to me. Beecham came to Helsinki on many occasions to conduct the works of Sibelius and others, but had trouble sleeping through the very light evenings. After a particularly bad night he was taking an orchestral rehearsal and whilst continuing to conduct dived into his bag which was below his stand and started rummaging around in it. After a few moments he brought out a sandwich and started to eat it, whilst continuing to conduct! This would be quite unheard of now, and whilst it may seem of little consequence to a non-musician, to a conductor it is quirky beyond belief.
One of the advantages of getting older is that less is expected of you and to some extent you expect less of yourself. If one of the kids volunteers to do something energetic on my behalf, I let them. If they sort something out for me because they think I am tired and a bit gaga, so be it.
The other day I received an “are you there” email from a daughter who shall remain numberless. Since we are both attached to mail servers, emails are delivered more or less instantly. We often have conversations via email. After a few moments the phone went, it was my turn to write something in the email conversation but I answered the phone anyway. It was the same numberless daughter I was having the email conversation with. I asked her to hold for a moment and typed into my computer’s email client “Speaking on the phone to someone now, won’t be a minute.” and sent it. We then had a phone conversation about something so important that I have completely forgotten what (age playing its part again perhaps?). After hanging up I resumed the email conversation with “Off the phone now. What’s up?”. This had the delightful effect of getting the numberless daughter worried about whether I had realised that the email conversation and the phone conversation were with the same person, namely her. Eventually I had to give in and admit that I was teasing her but she remains concerned that I am getting old and confused.
Getting old is going to be fun, if only a bit.
As for growing old, my awful sense of humour hasn’t changed much over the years, I still love teasing the wife and kids, I love jokes but can no longer remember them. I enjoy quirky or humorous stories and these I can often remember. Amongst my favourites stories are those about one of my favourite conductors, Sir Thomas Beecham. Beecham’s recordings are wonderful, most especially those made of live performances. They always have life and energy.
The stories are many and I was delighted to add to them on the recent master course. I asked Maestro Panula whether he had ever seen Beecham conduct and got an affirmative answer, “very good”. Panula then smiled and recalled a Beecham story that was new to me. Beecham came to Helsinki on many occasions to conduct the works of Sibelius and others, but had trouble sleeping through the very light evenings. After a particularly bad night he was taking an orchestral rehearsal and whilst continuing to conduct dived into his bag which was below his stand and started rummaging around in it. After a few moments he brought out a sandwich and started to eat it, whilst continuing to conduct! This would be quite unheard of now, and whilst it may seem of little consequence to a non-musician, to a conductor it is quirky beyond belief.
One of the advantages of getting older is that less is expected of you and to some extent you expect less of yourself. If one of the kids volunteers to do something energetic on my behalf, I let them. If they sort something out for me because they think I am tired and a bit gaga, so be it.
The other day I received an “are you there” email from a daughter who shall remain numberless. Since we are both attached to mail servers, emails are delivered more or less instantly. We often have conversations via email. After a few moments the phone went, it was my turn to write something in the email conversation but I answered the phone anyway. It was the same numberless daughter I was having the email conversation with. I asked her to hold for a moment and typed into my computer’s email client “Speaking on the phone to someone now, won’t be a minute.” and sent it. We then had a phone conversation about something so important that I have completely forgotten what (age playing its part again perhaps?). After hanging up I resumed the email conversation with “Off the phone now. What’s up?”. This had the delightful effect of getting the numberless daughter worried about whether I had realised that the email conversation and the phone conversation were with the same person, namely her. Eventually I had to give in and admit that I was teasing her but she remains concerned that I am getting old and confused.
Getting old is going to be fun, if only a bit.
Friday, 18 September 2009
The end of the course
The Master Course is now over and I am back home in Surrey. Normal life is resuming, the wife has what she calls a stinking cold and I would call the sniffles while daughter No. 4 has the sniffles and calls it the sniffles. No.3 is off to University at the weekend and is cross with me for forgetting her birthday whilst I was away. I was too busy chatting up photographers. There is a mountain of post and the tax on my car needs renewing urgently.
The course ended with a concert in which I conducted the last movement of Sibelius’s Symphony No. 2. It went well and was well received. My tempo was a little fast but in the circumstances was not a bad choice, though if I were to do the whole symphony and have adequate rehearsal time I would probably take it a little slower. The orchestra played well and with spirit.
Unusually for me I felt a little nervous before going on; I am rarely nervous before conducting. I had to calm down and breathe deeply for a few moments. Even so when the moment came to go to the podium I strode on as if I owned the place, took my bow, preened myself a little to show the orchestra that I had had a haircut (smiles from the woodwind), and launched into the music without a worry, all nerves gone.
The orchestra reacted beautifully to everything that I did, the pianissimos were very quiet and the fortissimos powerful. After the performance the orchestra were very complimentary and many of the players congratulated me. I was very pleased about this as orchestral players won’t congratulate a conductor unless they mean it. Panula seemed happy as well, and was all smiles and congratulations. I asked if I had done anything wrong technically, “You bent your knees, but only once”. This man is strict!
I have put the videos from my camera, with sound from the camera, on YouTube. When I have the version with sound from the separate microphones I will add them as well.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TiFqdC6sR24
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvAPrcXkFX0
The next morning I was booked on the early car to Sofia, I had to get up at 4:15 to be ready to leave at 4:45, farewells were taken at the after concert party and final thanks given. I packed and got a few hours sleep before my alarm. The journey home was uneventful apart from the fact that I stupidly left the DVDs of the course which had been rushed through for me in the car at the airport. I am VERY cross with myself about this.
After a coffee and catch-up with an old friend at Gatwick the taxi bore me home and back to reality. The post and the sniffles need to be dealt with, the taxman must be paid and the kids educated.
The course was a wonderful experience, and has given me a great deal to think about. The comments of Panula and my colleagues will be brooded over and the videos studied. The orchestra was hard working and committed, they were unfamiliar with all the music (even Sibelius 2, which did surprise us, it is a standard work in Western Europe) and struggled to sight read some of it, but worked hard at learning it and with dealing with 18 conductors with varying degrees of experience and skill. Congratulations to them.
The course was well run and good value, credit is due to the organizers.
Looking back at my sessions a pattern is starting to emerge. For the first three sessions I was trying to prove something. At the first that I could control an orchestra and get them to play in a disciplined fashion, at the second that I could control a choir, at the third that I had enough technique to get the orchestra to do outrageous rubato. I then realised that continually trying to prove myself was not really what I was there for, so the fourth was about getting the passion and drama out of some very powerful music. From then on I settled down to some conducting and building a working musical relationship with the orchestra. Fortunately there was just enough time for this to be achieved before the concert, the sessions ended with both me and the orchestra happy.
Maestro Panula was critical of some of my conducting but seemed to like other parts, I have to think hard about what he suggests as some of the things he does not like are very built into my technique. I will also reflect on what my colleagues said during the course, there were some fine conductors there and they made many useful and interesting comments. I made some good friends too, I hope to stay in touch and I will follow their careers with interest.
One thing is already clear to me from watching my videos, if I am to continue conducting, I have to lose some weight!
The course ended with a concert in which I conducted the last movement of Sibelius’s Symphony No. 2. It went well and was well received. My tempo was a little fast but in the circumstances was not a bad choice, though if I were to do the whole symphony and have adequate rehearsal time I would probably take it a little slower. The orchestra played well and with spirit.
Unusually for me I felt a little nervous before going on; I am rarely nervous before conducting. I had to calm down and breathe deeply for a few moments. Even so when the moment came to go to the podium I strode on as if I owned the place, took my bow, preened myself a little to show the orchestra that I had had a haircut (smiles from the woodwind), and launched into the music without a worry, all nerves gone.
The orchestra reacted beautifully to everything that I did, the pianissimos were very quiet and the fortissimos powerful. After the performance the orchestra were very complimentary and many of the players congratulated me. I was very pleased about this as orchestral players won’t congratulate a conductor unless they mean it. Panula seemed happy as well, and was all smiles and congratulations. I asked if I had done anything wrong technically, “You bent your knees, but only once”. This man is strict!
I have put the videos from my camera, with sound from the camera, on YouTube. When I have the version with sound from the separate microphones I will add them as well.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TiFqdC6sR24
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvAPrcXkFX0
The next morning I was booked on the early car to Sofia, I had to get up at 4:15 to be ready to leave at 4:45, farewells were taken at the after concert party and final thanks given. I packed and got a few hours sleep before my alarm. The journey home was uneventful apart from the fact that I stupidly left the DVDs of the course which had been rushed through for me in the car at the airport. I am VERY cross with myself about this.
After a coffee and catch-up with an old friend at Gatwick the taxi bore me home and back to reality. The post and the sniffles need to be dealt with, the taxman must be paid and the kids educated.
The course was a wonderful experience, and has given me a great deal to think about. The comments of Panula and my colleagues will be brooded over and the videos studied. The orchestra was hard working and committed, they were unfamiliar with all the music (even Sibelius 2, which did surprise us, it is a standard work in Western Europe) and struggled to sight read some of it, but worked hard at learning it and with dealing with 18 conductors with varying degrees of experience and skill. Congratulations to them.
The course was well run and good value, credit is due to the organizers.
Looking back at my sessions a pattern is starting to emerge. For the first three sessions I was trying to prove something. At the first that I could control an orchestra and get them to play in a disciplined fashion, at the second that I could control a choir, at the third that I had enough technique to get the orchestra to do outrageous rubato. I then realised that continually trying to prove myself was not really what I was there for, so the fourth was about getting the passion and drama out of some very powerful music. From then on I settled down to some conducting and building a working musical relationship with the orchestra. Fortunately there was just enough time for this to be achieved before the concert, the sessions ended with both me and the orchestra happy.
Maestro Panula was critical of some of my conducting but seemed to like other parts, I have to think hard about what he suggests as some of the things he does not like are very built into my technique. I will also reflect on what my colleagues said during the course, there were some fine conductors there and they made many useful and interesting comments. I made some good friends too, I hope to stay in touch and I will follow their careers with interest.
One thing is already clear to me from watching my videos, if I am to continue conducting, I have to lose some weight!
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Soap operas and faux pas
I write this sitting in my hotel room, which as I have mentioned before is basic but has air conditioning. I am grateful for this as I have promised not to buy shorts on this trip and it is once again hot outside. I did a brief rehearsal of the finale of Sibelius 2 this morning and I will conduct it at the concert this evening, the rehearsal went well and I am relaxed about the concert.
The master course is nearly over and what I would really like to do is to describe the final few days in the most dramatic fashion possible, allowing free reign to English language’s propensity for exaggeration and hyperbole. I could write that one conductor was on the point of refusing to work with the orchestra, that the orchestra were on the point of refusing to work with a conductor, that Maestro had gone missing for an hour an no-one could find him and that a colleague and friend had been taken very ill for a while and we were on the point of calling a doctor. But of course no-one would believe me. This is nerd’s convention, we all sit around discussing our down beats, on occasions we seek some light relief but discussing our up beats. Nothing so exciting could ever happen on such a course. Hmmm....
So instead I shall tell you (remind you might be better) of my continuing ability to open my mouth and put my foot in it, as deeply as possible. One of the conductors told us in the first week that a friend of his would be arriving to take some photos of him at the master class. She was a student at the university in Berlin and was studying film; she designed websites to get by. When she arrived she asked if she could take photos of me and I agreed, I hate having my photo taken but it is necessary to have good photos of oneself conducting and a few more would not go amiss. We got chatting and I mentioned this blog amongst other things. We met a few days later and greatly to my surprise she said that she had read the blog and enjoyed my story about the Turkey Sandwich (see below). I was of course delighted and very flattered and since then we have had a good chat every time we meet.
She showed me some of the photos she had taken of me during a rehearsal; I was very pleased with several which showed me not looking too ridiculous, perhaps even a bit artistic. My favourite was one where I am making some dramatic gesture with my right hand, which is holding my baton, while my left hand is brought up and back and looks as though it is just about to pluck out my eye.
After today’s rehearsal I went once again to the restaurant next door to have lunch, I had had a short discussion with Panula and he seem satisfied with what I was doing, some of the others were discussing matters but I had nothing more to say so left the group. In the restaurant I saw the conductor and his photographer friend and went to join them. I ordered the cat-fish from the river and we got chatting again. She had heard that I have four daughters and was asking after them so I gave my usual laconic description of each (sorry kids!). I was a bit surprised when she said that she had a daughter, I don’t suppose that I should have been, it’s not that unusual for students to have children these days. My standard reply when caught like this is to say “You’re not old enough to have children!” which usually goes down quite well. “Ah, you might be a bit shocked to find out my daughter’s age then” she said. OK, so the child might be five or six I thought. “She is twenty”.
It does take a while to extract one’s foot when it is THAT deep in one’s mouth.
The master course is nearly over and what I would really like to do is to describe the final few days in the most dramatic fashion possible, allowing free reign to English language’s propensity for exaggeration and hyperbole. I could write that one conductor was on the point of refusing to work with the orchestra, that the orchestra were on the point of refusing to work with a conductor, that Maestro had gone missing for an hour an no-one could find him and that a colleague and friend had been taken very ill for a while and we were on the point of calling a doctor. But of course no-one would believe me. This is nerd’s convention, we all sit around discussing our down beats, on occasions we seek some light relief but discussing our up beats. Nothing so exciting could ever happen on such a course. Hmmm....
So instead I shall tell you (remind you might be better) of my continuing ability to open my mouth and put my foot in it, as deeply as possible. One of the conductors told us in the first week that a friend of his would be arriving to take some photos of him at the master class. She was a student at the university in Berlin and was studying film; she designed websites to get by. When she arrived she asked if she could take photos of me and I agreed, I hate having my photo taken but it is necessary to have good photos of oneself conducting and a few more would not go amiss. We got chatting and I mentioned this blog amongst other things. We met a few days later and greatly to my surprise she said that she had read the blog and enjoyed my story about the Turkey Sandwich (see below). I was of course delighted and very flattered and since then we have had a good chat every time we meet.
She showed me some of the photos she had taken of me during a rehearsal; I was very pleased with several which showed me not looking too ridiculous, perhaps even a bit artistic. My favourite was one where I am making some dramatic gesture with my right hand, which is holding my baton, while my left hand is brought up and back and looks as though it is just about to pluck out my eye.
After today’s rehearsal I went once again to the restaurant next door to have lunch, I had had a short discussion with Panula and he seem satisfied with what I was doing, some of the others were discussing matters but I had nothing more to say so left the group. In the restaurant I saw the conductor and his photographer friend and went to join them. I ordered the cat-fish from the river and we got chatting again. She had heard that I have four daughters and was asking after them so I gave my usual laconic description of each (sorry kids!). I was a bit surprised when she said that she had a daughter, I don’t suppose that I should have been, it’s not that unusual for students to have children these days. My standard reply when caught like this is to say “You’re not old enough to have children!” which usually goes down quite well. “Ah, you might be a bit shocked to find out my daughter’s age then” she said. OK, so the child might be five or six I thought. “She is twenty”.
It does take a while to extract one’s foot when it is THAT deep in one’s mouth.
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Fishing and to be a fish.
A few days ago a group of my conducting colleagues and I were sitting at the breakfast table discussing our favourite topic, conducting technique. Yes I know, yawn - yawn, but bear with me for a moment please.
I am, and always have been, fascinated by conducting. I watch other conductors very carefully and with interest. I study their movement, technique and the way they act out the music. I like to think that over the years I have gained a good deal of technique and have enough presence on the podium to keep things going well. I can and do conduct opera, and you can’t do that without technique.
So these conversations with other conductors are fascinating to me, and with apologies for repeating myself, we were discussing technique a few days ago when the subject of “fishing” came up. This is conducting with a series of upbeats that can look like someone making regular rhythmic pulls on a fishing line. According to my colleagues, all of whom have been on Panula’s Masterclasses before, the Maestro doesn’t like fishing conductors.
One of my colleagues has to conduct a movement which is one beat to a bar and is concerned about being criticised for fishing. Panula can be cutting sometimes if he wishes to be, and avoidance of techniques he dislikes is strongly advised on his courses.
I had decided some time ago to concentrate on the Sibelius works in this Masterclass, and I am ill-prepared to avoid fishing. As it happens none of the pieces or movements that I have done or want to do are one beat to a bar, and so far the Maestro seems to like what I have been doing, so I have to date escaped his wrath with the possible exception of overdoing the rubato in the finale Mahler 3.
The next thing I wanted to conduct was the 1st movement of Mahler 2. I thought long and hard about this, but I decided on it as I had not worked on the first movement of Mahler 3 and I thought it would be sensible to do a first movement of something. This movement is a very powerful statement, words can never do it justice, despair and desperation seem the most appropriate of them. As my response to the finale of Mahler 3 had caught me by surprise, I wanted to be properly prepared for this piece. For a couple of days I avoided most company, studied the score and got myself mentally prepared.
When the moment came I stepped to the podium and started. I realised that all the preparation had been entirely unnecessary, the music said it all. I was quite pleased with the session apart from the fact that the Cor Anglais player was missing, I was very annoyed about this as there are many important solos for the instrument in this movement. I was told he was ill and that there wasn’t another player available in the town.
I did rehearse a few sections, and got to the crushing climax which held together well. When I left the podium I was still cross that there was no Cor Anglais but I had had a satisfactory rehearsal, even if my mood didn’t make me particularly popular with the orchestra!
Most of my colleagues have brought their own Camcorders with them to video themselves conducting, I had not as I didn’t have one to bring. I was anxious to see myself conducting before the next video session with Panula so I have bought one. I recorded myself conducting the Mahler so dashed away to view it.
A few days ago an American had passed comment on the fact that I seem to conduct with an open mouth, and perhaps I was vocalising a bit to the music. Not having seen myself conduct much I was curious about this and watched my video for it. Sure enough, there it was. I sing along to the music, I hope I sing soundlessly (if that is not a contradiction in terms) as I don’t like my own singing voice much, and the family hate it. I have not had complaints from any orchestras so I am pretty sure that I make no noise.
But I now have to reconcile myself to the fact that when I conduct my mouth opens and closes all the time as though one of my fishing conductor colleagues has just landed me.
This was not the sort of fishing I was expecting to have to deal with.
I am, and always have been, fascinated by conducting. I watch other conductors very carefully and with interest. I study their movement, technique and the way they act out the music. I like to think that over the years I have gained a good deal of technique and have enough presence on the podium to keep things going well. I can and do conduct opera, and you can’t do that without technique.
So these conversations with other conductors are fascinating to me, and with apologies for repeating myself, we were discussing technique a few days ago when the subject of “fishing” came up. This is conducting with a series of upbeats that can look like someone making regular rhythmic pulls on a fishing line. According to my colleagues, all of whom have been on Panula’s Masterclasses before, the Maestro doesn’t like fishing conductors.
One of my colleagues has to conduct a movement which is one beat to a bar and is concerned about being criticised for fishing. Panula can be cutting sometimes if he wishes to be, and avoidance of techniques he dislikes is strongly advised on his courses.
I had decided some time ago to concentrate on the Sibelius works in this Masterclass, and I am ill-prepared to avoid fishing. As it happens none of the pieces or movements that I have done or want to do are one beat to a bar, and so far the Maestro seems to like what I have been doing, so I have to date escaped his wrath with the possible exception of overdoing the rubato in the finale Mahler 3.
The next thing I wanted to conduct was the 1st movement of Mahler 2. I thought long and hard about this, but I decided on it as I had not worked on the first movement of Mahler 3 and I thought it would be sensible to do a first movement of something. This movement is a very powerful statement, words can never do it justice, despair and desperation seem the most appropriate of them. As my response to the finale of Mahler 3 had caught me by surprise, I wanted to be properly prepared for this piece. For a couple of days I avoided most company, studied the score and got myself mentally prepared.
When the moment came I stepped to the podium and started. I realised that all the preparation had been entirely unnecessary, the music said it all. I was quite pleased with the session apart from the fact that the Cor Anglais player was missing, I was very annoyed about this as there are many important solos for the instrument in this movement. I was told he was ill and that there wasn’t another player available in the town.
I did rehearse a few sections, and got to the crushing climax which held together well. When I left the podium I was still cross that there was no Cor Anglais but I had had a satisfactory rehearsal, even if my mood didn’t make me particularly popular with the orchestra!
Most of my colleagues have brought their own Camcorders with them to video themselves conducting, I had not as I didn’t have one to bring. I was anxious to see myself conducting before the next video session with Panula so I have bought one. I recorded myself conducting the Mahler so dashed away to view it.
A few days ago an American had passed comment on the fact that I seem to conduct with an open mouth, and perhaps I was vocalising a bit to the music. Not having seen myself conduct much I was curious about this and watched my video for it. Sure enough, there it was. I sing along to the music, I hope I sing soundlessly (if that is not a contradiction in terms) as I don’t like my own singing voice much, and the family hate it. I have not had complaints from any orchestras so I am pretty sure that I make no noise.
But I now have to reconcile myself to the fact that when I conduct my mouth opens and closes all the time as though one of my fishing conductor colleagues has just landed me.
This was not the sort of fishing I was expecting to have to deal with.
Friday, 11 September 2009
R is for Rubato
The Master class with Jorma Panula in Ruse, Bulgaria is now entering its second week. I have enjoyed the first week enormously, the freedom to discuss problems and technique with ones colleagues and peers doesn’t come around frequently for conductors, we are solitary beasts.
I have taken the podium three times, each has been different in its way and it is the opportunity to discuss the sessions with Panula and the other participants of the master class that makes this experience unique. All the conductors are very sympathetic, there is no bitchiness or jealousy and comments are freely exchanged and discussed. Whilst there are no cliques we do mix and discuss matters mostly with the colleagues who are sharing the same hotel. The group I am staying with are very open, honest and helpful. It has been enlightening discussing my sessions with them and I try to contribute something meaningful to theirs.
My first session was on the 4th movement of Mahler’s epic 3rd Symphony. The piece lasts about 90 minutes, the first movement taking over 30. The 4th movement is very slow and features a low female vocal solo. It is not that difficult to play once all the parties know what they are doing, but can be frustrating whilst everyone is learning. Before I went on the orchestra were getting a little restless and the chat level was rising. When I got to the podium my first priority was firmly but politely to put a stop to this. Those reading this who know my rehearsal technique will know that I like to be in control, and that when I need to establish this I do it with my voice. It’s loud! The orchestra were soon persuaded to pay a bit more attention and we got some useful work done. I was not particularly happy with my conducting, but I established a good relationship with the singer by giving her time to be expressive when she needed it (in my experience this is the quickest way to a singer’s heart).
After my 15 minutes were up I left the podium reasonably satisfied but annoyed that I had made a number of small but basic mistakes with my beat. The singer seemed happy but disappointed that we couldn’t finish the movement, Maestro Panula made a few comments but seemed satisfied. I had got my first appearance over and done with, and several of my colleagues congratulated me.
My second appearance on the podium was to do the 5th movement, this also features the alto singer but Mahler adds female and children’s choruses to the mix. Several of the conductors wanted to have a go at this movement but no-one wanted to go first and this slot refused to fill. I work with choruses all the time, I have four children and I used to teach. I felt that I could also use my (now infamous) voice to get them going. Up I stepped.
The choruses were in the hall with the orchestra for the first time so I knew that they would need some encouragement. This was given in the form of firm direction and careful rehearsal, once again I used my voice at full power and the results were obtained. The kids, who of course were shy and unsure opened their mouths after a while and the “Bims” and “Bams” started to ring through the hall. At the end of my time one of the organisers of the course came straight up to me, shook my hand and congratulated me on a good job. “That’s the way to do it”. Some of the other conductors were not so sure, and worried that I had frightened the children. They didn’t sound frightened, but I was concerned about this. I had made a small joke at one point, and I could immediately tell that about two of the children spoke good English as they laughed before the translation had filtered through. I saw one of these young ladies passing so I gently enquired about whether I had been a bit OTT for them, “No, not at all, you did very well!”. But nevertheless I took notice that some of the adults thought I was a bit too aggressive with the youngsters.
I was discussing this session with one of my colleagues, and was deciding what to do in my next. There were still problems with wind intonation in the first movement so I was wondering whether to spend some time sorting this out. My colleague suggested that I had already proven I could rehearse and sort out problems; it was time for me to do some music. This was a very kind and helpful suggestion and I was very grateful for it. My favourite movement in Mahler three is the 6th, the Adagio. I decided to take this on.
I had already heard several people rehearse this and I felt that something was still missing. Mahler is not played frequently in Bulgaria and we could all tell that the orchestra did not know the piece at all. The 6th movement, which is passionate and very beautiful had not yet reached the state where it really had begun to live, so I would try to see if I could get it going.
What I had noticed in particular is that no other conductor had tried to get any sort of rubato in this movement. Rubato is when a phrase is stretched or compressed in time to make it more expressive, singers use it a great deal and one of the challenges of opera is to get the orchestra to follow a singer’s rubato, Mahler was a great opera conductor and Richard Strauss commented on his rubato so I felt justified in taking this approach to his orchestral music. I set myself the task of putting as much rubato into the movement as I could. Even if it didn’t work musically it would be fun to try to get the orchestra to follow my beat as I pulled and pushed the music around.
I expected to have to stop in the rehearsal and correct things, and I did not want to get to the end as I wanted to save the brass player’s lips. The end of the movement is a series of D major chords played fortissimo. I started the movement and immediately started doing some outrageous rubati, the orchestra cottoned on fairly quickly and within a few minutes they had learnt to expect me to pull every phrase around. I kept going and before I knew it the end of the movement was approaching, it arrived and the brass seemed willing to play so I got to the end and we played the thundering D major chords and timpani blows with great style.
The orchestral gave me a brief round of applause at the end and I descended the podium quite satisfied. I was immediately congratulated by another member of the organising team and one or two of my colleagues. I said “I got through it in 20 minutes, it must have been really fast!” One of my colleagues replied “Sometimes you must let go of the written notes and let the emotion take over” and another said “No, not fast, moving.” I was quite pleased at these remarks and was feeling quite content and a bit pleased with myself.
I was just about to re-enter the hall to listen to the next rehearsal when I realised that I was feeling a quite odd, I left the hall and was walking to the foyer when I became quite overcome and didn’t know what to do with myself. I found a quiet corner, sat down for 20 minutes and gathered myself together. I do respond emotionally to music, I have been very moved in the past by performances I have conducted of Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder, but I have never been taken so completely by surprise before. I had no idea that I had become so emotional.
I tried to think back to the rehearsal and realised that for large sections of my rehearsal I had no recollection of the music, however much I tried I could not remember how it had gone! Later that day I had a video session with Panula, I expected to find much of what I had done to be over the top, and this was indeed the case. I commented at one point “There is so much rubato it sounds like opera” and Panula said at another “Not bad for film music”. But at another he said “This is love”, found the comment at the front of the score pointing out that Mahler had said of this movement “What love tells me”. While I’m sure Panula thought that much of what I had done was unnecessary he seemed pleased with other bits and pleased with my orchestral control.
The following day I asked to see the video of this session in full, and watched it with great interest. The passages of which I had no recollection sounded OK, and the video prompted memories of several gestures and technical details, but even now I cannot properly recall much of what happened. I must have been completely “in the moment” a phrase which I have previously dismissed as meaningless.
I must like this music more that I thought.
I have taken the podium three times, each has been different in its way and it is the opportunity to discuss the sessions with Panula and the other participants of the master class that makes this experience unique. All the conductors are very sympathetic, there is no bitchiness or jealousy and comments are freely exchanged and discussed. Whilst there are no cliques we do mix and discuss matters mostly with the colleagues who are sharing the same hotel. The group I am staying with are very open, honest and helpful. It has been enlightening discussing my sessions with them and I try to contribute something meaningful to theirs.
My first session was on the 4th movement of Mahler’s epic 3rd Symphony. The piece lasts about 90 minutes, the first movement taking over 30. The 4th movement is very slow and features a low female vocal solo. It is not that difficult to play once all the parties know what they are doing, but can be frustrating whilst everyone is learning. Before I went on the orchestra were getting a little restless and the chat level was rising. When I got to the podium my first priority was firmly but politely to put a stop to this. Those reading this who know my rehearsal technique will know that I like to be in control, and that when I need to establish this I do it with my voice. It’s loud! The orchestra were soon persuaded to pay a bit more attention and we got some useful work done. I was not particularly happy with my conducting, but I established a good relationship with the singer by giving her time to be expressive when she needed it (in my experience this is the quickest way to a singer’s heart).
After my 15 minutes were up I left the podium reasonably satisfied but annoyed that I had made a number of small but basic mistakes with my beat. The singer seemed happy but disappointed that we couldn’t finish the movement, Maestro Panula made a few comments but seemed satisfied. I had got my first appearance over and done with, and several of my colleagues congratulated me.
My second appearance on the podium was to do the 5th movement, this also features the alto singer but Mahler adds female and children’s choruses to the mix. Several of the conductors wanted to have a go at this movement but no-one wanted to go first and this slot refused to fill. I work with choruses all the time, I have four children and I used to teach. I felt that I could also use my (now infamous) voice to get them going. Up I stepped.
The choruses were in the hall with the orchestra for the first time so I knew that they would need some encouragement. This was given in the form of firm direction and careful rehearsal, once again I used my voice at full power and the results were obtained. The kids, who of course were shy and unsure opened their mouths after a while and the “Bims” and “Bams” started to ring through the hall. At the end of my time one of the organisers of the course came straight up to me, shook my hand and congratulated me on a good job. “That’s the way to do it”. Some of the other conductors were not so sure, and worried that I had frightened the children. They didn’t sound frightened, but I was concerned about this. I had made a small joke at one point, and I could immediately tell that about two of the children spoke good English as they laughed before the translation had filtered through. I saw one of these young ladies passing so I gently enquired about whether I had been a bit OTT for them, “No, not at all, you did very well!”. But nevertheless I took notice that some of the adults thought I was a bit too aggressive with the youngsters.
I was discussing this session with one of my colleagues, and was deciding what to do in my next. There were still problems with wind intonation in the first movement so I was wondering whether to spend some time sorting this out. My colleague suggested that I had already proven I could rehearse and sort out problems; it was time for me to do some music. This was a very kind and helpful suggestion and I was very grateful for it. My favourite movement in Mahler three is the 6th, the Adagio. I decided to take this on.
I had already heard several people rehearse this and I felt that something was still missing. Mahler is not played frequently in Bulgaria and we could all tell that the orchestra did not know the piece at all. The 6th movement, which is passionate and very beautiful had not yet reached the state where it really had begun to live, so I would try to see if I could get it going.
What I had noticed in particular is that no other conductor had tried to get any sort of rubato in this movement. Rubato is when a phrase is stretched or compressed in time to make it more expressive, singers use it a great deal and one of the challenges of opera is to get the orchestra to follow a singer’s rubato, Mahler was a great opera conductor and Richard Strauss commented on his rubato so I felt justified in taking this approach to his orchestral music. I set myself the task of putting as much rubato into the movement as I could. Even if it didn’t work musically it would be fun to try to get the orchestra to follow my beat as I pulled and pushed the music around.
I expected to have to stop in the rehearsal and correct things, and I did not want to get to the end as I wanted to save the brass player’s lips. The end of the movement is a series of D major chords played fortissimo. I started the movement and immediately started doing some outrageous rubati, the orchestra cottoned on fairly quickly and within a few minutes they had learnt to expect me to pull every phrase around. I kept going and before I knew it the end of the movement was approaching, it arrived and the brass seemed willing to play so I got to the end and we played the thundering D major chords and timpani blows with great style.
The orchestral gave me a brief round of applause at the end and I descended the podium quite satisfied. I was immediately congratulated by another member of the organising team and one or two of my colleagues. I said “I got through it in 20 minutes, it must have been really fast!” One of my colleagues replied “Sometimes you must let go of the written notes and let the emotion take over” and another said “No, not fast, moving.” I was quite pleased at these remarks and was feeling quite content and a bit pleased with myself.
I was just about to re-enter the hall to listen to the next rehearsal when I realised that I was feeling a quite odd, I left the hall and was walking to the foyer when I became quite overcome and didn’t know what to do with myself. I found a quiet corner, sat down for 20 minutes and gathered myself together. I do respond emotionally to music, I have been very moved in the past by performances I have conducted of Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder, but I have never been taken so completely by surprise before. I had no idea that I had become so emotional.
I tried to think back to the rehearsal and realised that for large sections of my rehearsal I had no recollection of the music, however much I tried I could not remember how it had gone! Later that day I had a video session with Panula, I expected to find much of what I had done to be over the top, and this was indeed the case. I commented at one point “There is so much rubato it sounds like opera” and Panula said at another “Not bad for film music”. But at another he said “This is love”, found the comment at the front of the score pointing out that Mahler had said of this movement “What love tells me”. While I’m sure Panula thought that much of what I had done was unnecessary he seemed pleased with other bits and pleased with my orchestral control.
The following day I asked to see the video of this session in full, and watched it with great interest. The passages of which I had no recollection sounded OK, and the video prompted memories of several gestures and technical details, but even now I cannot properly recall much of what happened. I must have been completely “in the moment” a phrase which I have previously dismissed as meaningless.
I must like this music more that I thought.
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