How to play? Follow the leader...

There are two sides to the "employment opportunities coin" in the modern classical music industry. One side is the "starving artist" side. This is the side most commonly cited by anxious parents and (frankly) condescending non-artsy people when talking about careers in the arts. The other side of this coin is much more exciting, and is the side that I grasp to in my constant pursuit of a performing career: classical music offers seemingly infinite possibilities, from performance to arts management to blogging to academia, classical musicians (and aficionados) have endless career opportunities.

Within a performing career many musicians will find that they have to wear many hats: performer, manager, PR representative, travel agent…the list goes on. But this blog isn't really about all those hats. Instead, it's entirely about the subcategories of performance - the ensembles and musical situations that we find ourselves playing in - and how they differ from each other. 

Gosh, that sounds boring, doesn't it?! Really, it's not. Concerto playing is different from orchestral playing, and chamber music (quartets, trios, duos, etc) is an entirely different animal from a solo recital. Let's talk about them - and see if you can pick up on my opinions of each performance animal - by breaking these performance situations in to two categories, and then subsets of the categories

Ensemble Playing: It's the blend, stupid

No matter how long you've played an instrument, or how recently you came to music, chances are you've found yourself in an ensemble of some type. Almost all singers have performed with a choir (in a church or on the stage at the Met) and I've yet to meet a non-piano playing instrumentalist that hasn't played in an orchestra or a band. But ensemble playing for instrumentalists doesn't end with the band or the orchestra. The first ensembles I'd like to talk about come conductor-sold-separately: chamber music groups.

The String Quartet (but also the Quintets, and Sextets, and on, and on, and on)

One could say that string quartets are the most prominent form of chamber music for any string player. In the world of professional string chamber music, quartets outnumber all other ensemble types (including piano trios). What is it about string quartets that makes the public swoon? It could be the vast and varied repertory or the sweet sounds of string instruments, but I think the love affair with string quarts lies in the blend of the instruments.

Despite their common ancestry and construction, it is NOT easy to balance four instruments from the violin family. There are a vast number of problems that one might encounter when playing in a string quartet, from intonation to dynamic balance, but the first priority of any new, young string quartet should be the blend of the instruments. A quartet must decide what sound - and the subsequent blend - is the goal. Perhaps that sound changes for each piece (such as a specific sound for Haydn and a different sound for Bartok) or perhaps that sound is consistent, like the quartets of old. No matter, there must be a consensus on sound quality. Totally blended v. solo players. Pure pitch v. romantic vibrato. Vast dynamic differences v. small range of volume. 

If you wonder why two masterworks for violin and cello - duos by Kodaly and Ravel - are not more popular, you need only to look at the difficulties of blending the two timbres for your answer. These brilliant composers did all that they could - ingeniously - to make up for the fact that the violin and the cello just aren't the same instrument! They exist in two vastly different registers, the tone quality of the cello is the antithesis of the violin, and technical capabilities of each instrument are different. The same problems exists in the string quartet, except here, the problems are enhanced by the presence of a SECOND (gasp!) violin and an instrument that defies the laws of physics by existing (the viola). 

A good string quartet cellist lays the groundwork for the rest of the quartet lattice to build upon. This is obvious, but what must a cellist do in a string quartet? How must one play? Let's take a look at a wonderful example of quartet blend, the Hagen Quartett  (one of my favorite string quartets*) performing Mozart's K. 465 'Dissonance' String Quartet. Go ahead and watch the opening few minutes:

Clemens Hagen, the cellist, lays a beautiful ground with his repetitive C-natural before the violist enters with her "dissonant" A-flat. What may not be apparent from the video, but is when you hear this group perform live (or on high quality audio) is the resonance that Clemens brings out on this incredibly soft note. Each articulated note blooms and causes his instrument to ring. Without much (or any vibrato) his sound is both powerful and subdued. You are not necessarily aware of it, but it is quite present. Make note of the rising lines between the violin and the cello. Did you hear them before? The sound of these rhythmic unisons are dominated by the violin (because of the register), but without the cello, they'd feel empty. Clemens knows when to change from the linked bowings and bloom of his repetitive Cs to increase the bow speed and pressure, while making the slurred notes legato, to add to this prominent motion, before then suddenly dropping back - as though the bottom fell out - to his original dynamic and timbre. 

An outstanding quartet cellist knows when s/he is a soloist or a compliment. Being aware of the other parts in a quartet is essential and total knowledge of the score can not be overemphasized. Here, communication is key, and a great quartet cellist can't communicate - or make decisions about his/her playing - without a firm grasp on each part. So sit down with a score BEFORE you arrive at rehearsal. /soapbox

Want to hear another outstanding quartet cellist play some great quartet cello? Check out the Borromeo Quartet playing the second movement of Schubert's 'Death and the Maiden' and be aware of cellist Yeesun Kim and her ability to lay down a solid foundation, play soloistically, and also add touches of color to the texture with her pizzicato. 

* - other favorites include the Lydian Quartet and ETHEL

Playing in an Orchestral Section

Much of orchestral playing, like quartet playing, is about blend, but here the decision is not up to the players, nor is the balance across ensemble. Rather, in an orchestra, the blend happens intra-section. Cellists must blend with cellists and woodwinds with woodwinds. It is up to the conductor to balance the well-blended sections for a successfully blended ensemble.

Unlike quartet playing, the dynamic range of orchestral playing is much smaller. Certainly all players have seen 'ffff' markings in music (and even 'pppp' in the likes of Tchaikovsky), but these markings should be taken with a grain of salt, especially those on the louder sound of the spectrum. Have you heard the phrases, "orchestral forte," or "solo piano?" They refer specifically to dynamic differences between solo/concerto playing and orchestral playing. An 'orchestral forte' is not the same as a 'solo forte,' and a 'solo piano' is definitely not the same as an 'orchestral piano.' The dynamic level in orchestral playing is always softer than solo dynamics. When you come upon a forte dynamic marking, you shouldn't play as loud as you can. Rather, the section must play at that dynamic. Consider how much it takes for eight to ten celli to play forte in an orchestra. Each player should play piano or even (at the most) mezzo forte to achieve the forte dynamic. When one player in the section plays too loudly, the blend is destroyed.

Remember, as an orchestra section player, unlike in a quartet, you are never a soloist. Never. Your job is entirely to play as a unit with a common instrument and common goal. Take a look at the beginning of this movement from Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, THE most requested orchestral excerpt on orchestral auditions.

Even with so many cellists in the section the sound comes across as one (VERY LARGE) cello. The players move together, their bows are proportioned similarly and they use the same amount of bow. Even their fingerings (for the most part) are the same. Every detail has been carefully decided upon to unify the sound. You might also notice that no one member of the section sticks out, in either sound quality (dynamics, pitch, tone) or in movement. The section is unified behind the principal player and the conductor. 

Playing in an orchestra is awfully difficult because the sound that comes out of your instrument is only one small part of the larger picture. Take note of the solo flutist entering after the opening theme in the celli. Even her solo playing blends beautifully with the other woodwinds. She knows that parts of her line must be supported by her section, and even as a soloist, her playing is not vastly more important that what is happening around her. 

Blend is the most important part of being a section orchestral player, but what else? Here are a few other things that you must be cognizant of while playing in an orchestra:

1. Anticipate your conductor - s/he won't look directly at YOU before a tempo change (unlike, probably, in a quartet) so always be aware of what is happening. Don't get caught in your part.
2. Togetherness - in addition to sound blend, there are concerns of rhythmic blend. Are you with your conductor? Principal? Stand partner? Is your bow moving in the same direction as everyone else? Should you be at the tip or at the frog? How much bow should you be using?! If each player in the section is aware of what each other player is doing around them, there's little chance of a train wreck occurring!
3. SUB DIVIDE - if anything is the primary emphasis in orchestral auditions, it's rhythm (go ahead and disagree with me, orchestral players!), and you must be aware of it at all times. The easiest way to combat rushing (or slowing down) or difficult rhythms is to subdivide, always at one level beyond the most prominent rhythm (if playing constant, or mostly constant, eighth notes, subdivide sixteenths; quarters, subdivide eighths; etc.)

Coming up next, I'll move in to the second category: SOLO PLAYING! So watch this space! Until then, head on over to FACEBOOK and TWITTER and let me know what you think (string players, wind/brass players…and even pianists)!

Escaping the Norms: Recital Programming

Something I really love - besides actually performing - is dreaming up potential recital programs. Yes, I'm a dreamer, because at some point my mommy told me I could be anything I wanted to be; she's still upset that I'm not a lawyer… Anyway, because I have interests that encompass many different areas of classical music, I’m always striving to satisfy both my own artistic palate and that of the audience that is paying to be entertained. My friend Jennifer Bewerse, cellist in the Diagenesis Duo, recently told me that she believes there are two types of performers (paraphrasing): one type that plays music for the love of the music itself, and another type that plays music to connect with people. I believe I fall closer to the side of music for music's sake - the love of the music - and I imagine there isn't much middle ground. 

Easily the most difficult part of programming repertoire - for me - is coming up with a recital that is diverse in style, character, era, and sound world but is cohesive enough to keep audience members interested throughout.

The specific steps that I follow are really larger concerns. The concerns often boil down to three things:

1. What do I want to play?
2. What do I want to say to the audience?
3. Is the music that I’m choosing accessible to even the newest classical music audience member?
4. Will anyone leave at intermission? (So, I don’t really ask myself this question, but I do wonder...) 

Okay, so that's four things, but who's counting?! Either way, that fourth thing is important: as performers, we want audiences to be interested, engaged, following along even if they don't like what they're hearing. Let's go backwards through Justin's Three (Four) Points of Programming.

To keep someone from walking out at intermission, I find that a simple theme is enough four the casual audience member to grab on to. For example, when I was at The Boston Conservatory, I developed a program for one of my graduate recitals that I called “Face à Face: music for duos.” The repertoire included Zoltan Kodaly's Duo for violin and cello, John Tavener's Akhmatova Songs for soprano and cello, Beethoven's Duo for viola and cello "with two eyeglasses obligato," and Brahms' Sonata no. 2 in F Major for Cello and Piano.

This program was to be given at the Conservatory, with a built in conservatory student/faculty audience, but I was thinking about a program that appealed to Point Number Three. Is this music accessible to the newest listener? I think, yes, it is! By purposefully programming music for eclectic duos, I was hoping that the audience would find interest in the different sonorities presented. Obviously, the tried-and-true combination of cello and piano is much different sounding than the relatively new combination of cello and soprano! For all intents and purposes, it worked! Talking to audience members after the performance reinforced my belief that interesting programming results in interested audiences. Audiences that were both newer to classical music (or were afraid of newer music) and members of the conservatory community enjoyed the program equally.

In subsequent recitals, I’ve sought to mimic the idea of this unifying theme, even if that theme is known only to me! A recent performance was titled - in my head only - Opus Six and included three works: Samuel Barber’s Sonata, op. 6, Richard Strauss’ Sonata, op. 6, and Ludwig van Beethoven’s Sonata in F Major, op. 5, no. 1. Certainly someone must have realized the subtle play with numbers. With these three pieces, what was actually on display was the early compositional method of three recognized masters. Themes, people, themes!

Point Number Two is a bit more difficult to determine. In Ms. Bewerse's theory of performance camps mentioned above, I believe I fall more toward the side of music for performance sake. I think that good music should be played and played often and audiences will inherently love this good music (even if they don't). So what do I want to say (musically) to an audience with my selection of repertoire? Well, that's hard to…say. With Opus Six, I intended only to play three great works by young composers. In essence, I was saying, "What's that? You're in love with Beethoven's Ninth Symphony? Who isn't?! But guess what, you'll be amazed at the difference between this Cello Sonata (1796) and that Symphony (1824) written 30 years apart!"

Other times, I have a more direct message to convey, something more concrete than, "this is great music and you should hear it." This is the point of my ongoing Queering the Pitch recital project. The project began as four separate but united parts: two parts for solo cello, one for cello and soprano, and one for cello and piano. We'll get to how I programmed the music for part one later. First, the message: guess what, y'all. Gay people are everywhere. They're in the sciences; in engineering; in professional sports; and - hard as it may be to believe - they're in the arts. Even in 2010 (when I began this project) attitudes were still kind of meh toward the gay population and their individual contributions to society. So I decided to play music celebrating these contributions in the only way I am qualified to: playing the cello.

Continuing with our trip backwards through my Points, Point Number One is the easiest to conquer. "What do I want to play? EVERYTHING!" There, wasn't that easy?! It's really not that easy, actually, but quite difficult. I love playing Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms, but these guys and their contemporaries are played ALL THE TIME. Traipse on over to Amazon, find a recording of the Six Bach Suites and read the comment section. Er'body's got an O-PINION. I mean, I'd like to play Bach until the cows come home, but not at the expense of an audience members enjoyment of the music and their O-PINION of my playing! 

Instead, I find it much more fun to peruse the countless number of works that are out there that an audience might not know - and that might be new to me, too! My thought process for new music: "Dear audience member. I can see that you hate the idea of this new piece I'm about to play, but I bet - if I play it well - you'll love it when it's over." Because of those Amazon O-PINIONs mentioned above, no matter how well I play a Bach Suite, somebody - a FEW somebodys - is/are going to HATE my interpretation of it. I'm guilty of this, too. Instead, I'll avoid the situation altogether, playing Bach only sparingly. (Like on September 6, 2013!)

So, what am I getting at here? Well, for Point Number One, I like to choose music that I enjoy; that is new to me or I have been eagerly looking forward to playing again; that I think the audience will enjoy; and, frankly, that I find to be GOOD. That said, just because I like it, it's new to me, and I think the audience will enjoy it, doesn't mean that it's good. See, Rihanna covers. I won't be programming something like that anytime soon.

All of that said, let's go back to the Queering the Pitch project and talk about programming. The first challenge in programming such a project was first finding composers who were openly queer during their lives or, in the case of living composers, who are/have been wiling to be known, and potentially pigeonholed, as a gay composer.

This was not nearly as difficult as I originally thought it might be. Throughout history, there have been a huge number of gay composers (SHOCK!). There are countless composers currently living who are not only openly gay, but more than willing to be known as such. The first challenge arose when searching for works for solo cello by these composers. Solo cello repertoire between Bach and the 20th-century is mostly non-existent (an exaggeration, but not too far a stretch…) and some of the more prolific gay composers from the pre-20th century wrote nothing for the cello by its lonesome.

I had a cohesive program with a built in message. This satisfies Point Number Two and Point Number Three. But what about Point Number One? This was a problem because of the challenge mentioned above. Sure I'd love to play some Bach on this recital, but guess what y'all? Bach wasn't gay, Bach didn't have ties to gays, Bach was down with G-O-D, something that modern politicians what you to believe is anti-gay (it's not). Either way, Bach - beautiful as his music is and as much as I love to play it - didn't fit the narrow scope of this project. So what could I play that I WANT to play?

The four existing works that I settled on for the first part of the project easily satisfied Point Number One:

Britten - Third Suite for Cello: In 2010, the only "standard" repertoire that I had played for solo cello had been Bach Suites and Paul Hindemith's Solo Sonata. I knew the Suites for Cello by Benjamin Britten, but I had not ventured too far in to these works. I desperately WANTED to perform these pieces, and this was the perfect place (Britten being gay before it was cool - or acceptable). I've since performed the other two Suites celebrating Britten's 100th birthday this year, in 2013. They are fantastic, standard cello repertoire, and you should know them, even if you're not a cellist.

Rorem - After Reading Shakespeare: I had been trying to find a reason to play Ned Rorem’s After Reading Shakespeare for a while. I was worried that my fourth bullet point would come in to play, and that people would leave after hearing the Rorem because, I’ll be completely honest, it’s not the easiest work to listen to at times. (aside: I was wrong. Non-musicians, non-classical-music-listeners, and musicians who hate new music all LOVED ARS.) Rorem's prolific - and often risque - diary writings made him familiar to even the most casual audience member. His was the perfect anchor.

DiOrio - Tarantella: Dominick DiOrio's piece is a lively work that I came across when Meredith Mecum and I commissioned him to write a large song cycle for us to perform on the second part of the Queering the Pitch project. I found his compositional voice to be fresh, very expressive, and thoughtful, and his writing to be evocative and entertaining. (All the Es, apparently.) His traditional, yet boundary-pushing writing was the perfect complement to the not-so-much-but-kind-of avant garde writing in Britten and Rorem. When I received the score and heard the accompanying recording, I immediately wanted to play it.

Balter - Memoria: I must give credit to my great friend, composer Joe Colombo, for introducing me to the works of Marcos Balter, the fabulous Chicago-based composer. In my mind, Memoria is much more affectual than the other three works. I often used it as an encore OR an opener because I find the sound world to be so transfixing that it can serve as both an amuse bouche or a palate cleansing dessert. It's wonderful to play and the audience always enjoyed it most of all. 

Programming is not easy.  Music has a different influence on each individual. One person, who is dear to my heart and who has heard me play countless times, has told me on more than one occasion that a lot of the music that I play makes him uncomfortable and that he finds himself sitting on his hands during performances.  Sometimes, that’s the goal.  Discomfort is just as much a part of music as the music that they put on those Classics for Relaxation CDs. Don't be ashamed to love (and want to program) a piece of music that makes an audience uncomfortable. Push boundaries!

When programming recitals, I often stick to an infallible (Fifth?) rule: would my mother still love me after she heard the piece I just played?  If the answer is no, then I should probably jettison that piece from the program. But if the answer is yes, well, then it’s a go. Go on over to FACEBOOK and/or TWITTER and tell me what you think of this blog and how we can all be better in our musical choices! Happy Programming!