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Until the middle of the 19th Century, orchestral conducting did not really exist as a separate profession. Generally, it was the composers themselves who led the orchestras - with varying degrees of success. Or, the players simply followed the orchestra's lead musician, usually a violinist. However, as orchestras became larger and larger and scores became more and more complex, it became increasingly necessary to have one person in authority who would stand on the podium and lead the players. In recent times there have been a few composers who were also very good conductors, notably Leonard Bernstein, Andre Previn, and Pierre Boulez. There have also been conductors who are virtuoso solo players. Daniel Barenboim and Vladimir Ashkenazy are prime examples, sometimes playing the piano solo in piano concertos while simultaneously conducting the orchestra from the keyboard. However, the composer/conductor and the soloist/conductor tend to be very much a vanishing breed. Last year in London, there was a singularly odd performance by a soloist/ conductor, which I doubt will be repeated. The tenor, Jose Cura, who was a conductor before he became an opera singer, sang arias, while simultaneously conducting the orchestra that was accompanying him. Most of the audience found the sight of the singer waving his arms about not only distracting but faintly ludicrous. Today, conductors can be revered as gods, the stars of the show - especially in symphonic music where the conductor's name is often displayed as prominently as the composer's on album covers. But does a conductor really make a difference? Could orchestras get along without them? There have been occasions when orchestras have played successfully when the conductor had failed to show up, suddenly collapsed on the podium, or (in the case of one very elderly conductor) fallen asleep! I once heard a musician say in a radio interview that, yes, an orchestra could work together and rehearse and in the end produce a good performance of a symphony without a conductor to lead them, but it would take them working all day for three weeks to produce the effect that a conductor could achieve in one session. However, it would be virtually impossible to perform an opera adequately without a conductor not only to lead the orchestra, but also to lead the singers and to coordinate the entire ensemble. As Zubin Mehta has pointed out, the conductor "is often the only person aware of the entire expanse of a given work - orchestral players usually learn only their own parts - and must know exactly where he is going so he can guide the music and plan its climaxes accordingly."
Conductors also pay close attention to the sound qualities of the particular hall or opera house where the orchestra has to perform, walking around during rehearsals to hear how the orchestra sounds in different parts of the house, how much reverberation there is, etc. and adjusting their directions to the orchestra accordingly. And perhaps most importantly, there is the personal interpretation that the conductor brings to the score. Helena Matheopoulos makes the point that every conductor's reading of a score is unique, no matter how much he feels he is following the composer's wishes.... "As an interpreter, he has to form an opinion about the musical and spiritual meaning of each work and acquire a mental image of the sound contained in the score [...] the quality of his musicianship, his personality, his depth and quality as a human being (or lack of it) will greatly affect his perceptions of what lies behind those black dots. For musical notation is an inexact, mysterious language, and even instructions written in words - like allegro or pianissimo - are subject to different and highly individual interpretations." Indeed, how loud is fortissimo? How slow is adagio? Research at the Karajan center has also shown that even the conductor's own particular metabolism, heartbeat, pulse, etc. can affect their interpretation of the score. But there is another aspect to the conductor's art, something far harder to pin down and describe. That is their ability to communicate their interpretation to the players and singers. Force of character. Charisma. Total conviction that what they are doing is right. A kind of mesmerizing quality that makes the orchestra play as one, and play as their conductor wants them to play. There is one school of thought that it's all in the eyes.
But of course, to the spectator and musicians alike the most obvious means of communication are the gestures made by the conductor. But even here, there is enormous scope for individual and very personal styles of conducting. From Joseph Rescigno, Artistic Director & Conductor of Montreal's l'Orchestre Métropolitain and Milwaukee's Florentine Opera... "As for pure technique, there are standard gestures and baton movements that relate primarily to such technical matters as upbeats, downbeats, and beat patterns. But even in these matters, there are choices: one may choose to beat each of the notes in a measure or more or fewer, for example, to help an orchestra over a difficult passage or to achieve a subtle change in mood. Most conductors prefer to use a baton, as I do, because it gives a more precise point in space and permits finer gestures when needed. Some will use their two hands in much the same way most of the time whereas I tend to use one hand for beating time and the other for messages about dynamics and expression. While there are some standard ways of communicating expressive qualities desired, this is where conducting techniques get more individual and idiosyncratic. People are more or less graceful, expressive, energetic, demonstrative, expansive and, even, clear and precise. Some just naturally make a larger gesture or a smaller gesture for much the same intended effect."
Actually, the first batons were not really batons as we know them today. In the 17th Century, conductors used large staffs which they would thump up and down on the floor to beat the time. The French opera composer and conductor, Jean-Baptiste Lully, used such a staff, and had a terrible temper to boot. In one of his fits of anger with his orchestra, he thumped the staff down with great force. But by mistake, he hit his foot instead of the floor, and died at the age of 55 when the wound became infected. Although there have been a few cases of conductors falling off their podiums or being hit with flying vegetables from unhappy audiences, modern maestros seem to have escaped the horrific consequences of 'artistic temperament' suffered by poor Lully. In fact, conducting seems to be an especially long-lived profession. Karl Bohm, Georg Solti, Otto Klemperer, and Herbert von Karajan were conducting well into their 80's. Today, Colin Davis, Pierre Boulez and Bernard Haitink, all in their 70's, are still going strong. Toscanini probably had a worse temper than Lully - he would frequently smash his baton in rage, rip his own clothing, punch orchestra players, and once even broke a bow over a hapless violinist's head - but he lived to the age of 90. In addition to his symphonic work, Toscanini was also a great conductor of opera. He revolutionized operatic performance at La Scala during his time there, forbidding the use of encored arias during the performance (a common practice at the time which broke the dramatic continuity), and ensuring that a proper orchestra pit was built to avoid drowning out the singers. There have been others besides Toscanini who were renowned for their operatic conducting. Karajan and Solti, to name just two, were especially good at conducting for the voice and worked very closely with their singers. What they brought to the task was not only a deep understanding and love for the music of opera, but also a deep understanding of and love for the human voice. It takes a special skill to be able to adapt both the orchestra and the music to support singers and to bring out their best qualities. Conductor Joseph Rescigno explains... "If you remember that Mozart's keys were a whole step lower, and Bellini's and Donizetti's about a half-step lower, there is certainly a case for transposition in my mind, particularly if the singer can bring in a wonderful performance. If a singer has to transpose only a particular passage, I am even more flexible. You have a great interpretation, terrific acting, and generally beautiful singing for more than 95 percent of the evening but difficulty negotiating a handful of notes? I wouldn't hesitate to transpose the passage as long as the transition into the new key can be arranged smoothly. [...] When at all possible, I like to get together with soloists at a piano to talk through and then play through a piece. [...] I will also be assessing the size of the singer's sound in order to get the balance right. I'm interested in taking advantage of special gifts--fabulous trills or shimmering pianissimi".
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Written By: Jean Peccei Date Modified: July 24, 2000 Copyright © 1999-2000 JCarreras.com |