I read with interest an archived review by Stephen Marc Beaudoin from the Willamette Week of the OSO’s last classical subscription concert, which featured the works of MacMillan’s The Confession of Isobel Gowdie and Mendelssohn’s Incidental Music to A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It was nice to hear that the MacMillan was appreciated (I even had a woman approach the edge of the stage at the end of intermission to thank me for that piece in particular), and the high state of artistic prowess that the orchestra acknowledged.
But then, in a brief fit of snarkiness, there was an aside about how great our new concertmaster, Jun Iwasaki, was – and how some of the back stand violinists suffered by comparison due to their lack of facial engagement:
It’s about halfway through young Jun Iwasaki’s first season as concertmaster, by the way, and he looks always more confident and sounds first-rate: a clarion tone, and utterly committed. Maybe he can get those dead-in-the-face back desk players to join him for the fun.
I’ll admit, it can be daunting to look across the orchestra and see a sea of mostly blank faces staring back at you, even in the most beguiling passages in the literature, but to each his/her own. What most people mistake for detachment is usually abject concentration – it’s hard to play in the back! You’re far away from the conductor and your section leader, you’re usually close to either loud percussion or loud brass instruments, and there’s a lot to be distracted by in the nether reaches of the orchestra. Especially on our stage.
I know that we orchestra players can, could, and should improve our stage deportment, but there’s only so much we can do about how we look when we play our instruments. We sometimes make funny expressions either due to the fact that we buzz our lips into a mouthpiece, or shove a piece of plastic or wood or reed into our mouths and blow through it, or we’re doing something that took years and years of practice and hard work to do without sounding completely terrible, and then it took years and years more to reach the level required to enter a major professional ensemble.
It’s easy to look at acts such as Riverdance, John Tesh, or Yanni and see the mugging, aping musicians smiling and prancing around and wonder, why can’t orchestral musicians look so happy and engaged? Well, there are nearly 80 of us on stage at the OSO, and if we all acted like that, the staff of the Oregon Psychiatric Hospital would be waiting for us at the stage door with a form-fitting jacket with extra long sleeves. Plus, we’re a collective show – the whole orchestra is the star, along with the conductor and soloist. There aren’t just 10 or 4 of us on stage alongside hugely amplified instruments, trying to justify our existence in a sea of electronics and amplification.
A lot of it has to do with conditioning upon entering an orchestra, too. If you come into a section in which everyone is quite still when they play (and we once had a concertmaster who was very keen on having section players keep still and just play, thank you very much), you will pretty naturally fall into line with them. If, on the other hand, you’re in a section where cohesion and collaboration is highlighted, and a majority of the section plays pretty actively, you’ll be more inclined to emote a bit more when you play. There’s also the habit of “leading from the back” that isn’t looked upon too kindly by one’s section mates. Another factor is the way you were taught to play. If you had a teacher who was heavily influenced by Heifetz, you’d have been taught to stay very still, like the master himself, and put all of your energy into producing a flowing, pristine line as you play. Other teachers prefer a less rigid approach, and view movement as a way of keeping the body loose while playing, and as an expressive device.
We try our best to acknowledge you when we turn to take our bows, and I try very much to look as many of you in the eye as I can, no matter how badly I thought the performance went, especially on my part. I also try to give a natural, engaging smile while I do this, and this can actually be the hardest thing I do at the concert sometimes. Just remember, we’re up there doing our utmost to make the concert an enjoyable, memorable, and uplifting experience for you, and we’ll try to smile a bit more, too.
One reply on “grim-faced music making?”
-thanks, charles, for sticking up for your colleagues who sit in the back. we really appreciate that you didn’t reveal us for the lazy, complacent, uncaring, inartistic, washed-up wanna-be soloists that we really are. what would we ever do if people ever figured out the truth about those of us who sit in the backs of orchestras across the nation and the globe? when are those pesky critics gonna learn that title players get paid to move and smile, and we don’t…and that it makes us bitter and suicidal?
-all kidding aside…I think one of the reasons players who spend more time in the back don’t move as much or look as involved is that it’s simply harder to hear when you are farther from the core of the group. your comment about concentration is right on. having said that, i also believe that the body language of “back” players is directly related to the level of trust a conductor has in his or her orchestra. suffice it to say, it’s unrealistic to expect us all to swoon and sniff our way through every concert.