Imperfect Pitch

Mr. 3-Jack

2012-06-08T15:59:00.000-05:00

You might be wondering if it is possible to pass off ramblings about golf for a blog on classical music. I, for one, am up for the challenge.

A few weeks ago, while watching round one of the Players Championship (the golf tournament, not the competition to see which guy can pick up the most girls at a bar), I thought about the connection between two of my passions in life – golfing (a hobby) and musical performance (a career).

Becoming a great golfer is all about a lot of hard, lonely work on a driving range, much like musicians spend their time secluded in a practice room endlessly drilling scales and musical passages. The goal for both is to work on executing something incredibly difficult, with a staggering amount of consistency while under intense pressure. In golf, you have no direct control over what your opponent does. Similarly, when taking auditions for orchestra positions, while you want to beat out the other 100 people who walk through the concert hall stage door, you can only control how you play.

Given the extremely focused concentration and drive it takes to pursue both golfing and percussion, it’s no surprise that anyone in either field might hit a wall. For me, my wall occurred when I developed what I call the percussionist’s version of the yips. But what’s surprising about my case of the yips – and my ability to overcome them – is that I actually ended up turning to my hobby passion, golf, in order to solve my career passion’s problem.

Golf woes? Try Club-be-gone®

Last summer, I wrote three blogs about my experience with the yips (Throwing Curve Balls with Lemons) and what affect it had on me and my career. What I didn’t mention was the far more serious problem it created for my golf game. The yips is something quite a few golfers have dealt with when putting, which is a delicate task requiring steady nerves and hands and laser-guided accuracy. The condition has been known to severely hamper several players’ careers.

Around the time I was experiencing the onset of my hand problem while practicing for percussion auditions, my putting simultaneously started becoming a nightmare as well (I can hear my golfing amigos saying, “Started?”). To be fair, it was like an already derailed train, engine consumed in flames, losing its caboose. Much like my thumb and index finger would uncontrollably clench down on my drum stick while striking the drum, my hand would do the same on the putter grip as I came through the ball, turning the putter head slightly and sending my ball rolling off its course.

In short, my yips with the drum stick seemed connected to my yips with the flat stick (golf speak for the putter – or Mr. 3-Jack as I call mine, since I hit far more putts than anyone bold enough to call themselves a golfer should). Two putts on a green are all it should take to get the ball in the hole. Three is good for me and four is, well, par for my course.

The connection

When I began trying to come up with solutions for my hand problem, and since I was having a hard time finding answers in the music world, it was suggested that I turn to golf. Since many golfers’ careers have been affected by the yips, I could apply the techniques and solutions that a golf coach recommended to my musical craft while also becoming a better golfer – a win-win situation for me!

A couple of solutions for my case of the putting yips involved changing my grip, as well as changing the putter grip’s texture and thickness. Someone even recommended switching from putting left handed to right handed. I could apply these ideas with my drum sticks, too, building up their grip with hockey tape, changing how I held them or becoming more of a right-hand dominant player, thus taking the lion’s share of the work off of my problem hand.

Teeing up, once again

A month ago, I was blessed with a new bag of sticks – golf sticks, that is. (My former set had been stolen while on a concert tour with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra back in 2010). On a recent vacation, I was back on the golf course, enjoying the frustrations of trying to become a better player, much like the life-long struggles of many musicians, never satisfied or willing to settle and enjoying the challenges on stage, night in and night out. It’s a curse, really, but it’s what creates incredible musicians, athletes and professionals everywhere – the refusal to be complacent and the desire to improve.

When I ordered my new clubs, I made sure to make it extra clear on the order form that I was, indeed, ordering a right-handed putter. By switching the direction of my putting stroke, thereby putting my left (dud) hand on top and changing how I gripped the club with it, I was finally able to hit a put that wasn’t shanked. I even made a couple. As I watched The Players Championship, enjoying some relaxing Suntory times on the sofa, I pondered what it is that keeps these golfers hitting the links, grinding out 18 holes day after day, still somehow enjoying it.

At times, I’m sure every golfer can’t see the green through the trees (pretty much me on every hole), similar to how every musician loses sight, from time to time, of why they are sawing away day after day. But if you ever need a new perspective, try changing your perspective – or getting into the game of golf. It can be useful on many different levels, helping you to solve a nagging issue or reminding you that, in order to wind up on top of your career, you have to grind through many tough times, year in and year out – we’re not alone!

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Lego Your Ego

2012-05-04T14:27:00.005-05:00

Slash

I recently read the article, “Slash Your Local Orchestra” by David Beem, posted in the Huffington Post Arts section. Mr. Beem is an author and former professional cellist. I am a blogger of drivel and former never-has-been – beside the point. While reading this, I found myself nodding along, enjoying his comparison between becoming a professional musician and a professional athlete. He notes that, for the musician, there is no signing bonus, no large contract along with endorsements, no commercials or super-stardom statuses; however, we work just as hard and have equally lofty goals plus we must sustain our passion and drive for a much longer period of time in order to be successful.

But my nodding up and down turned to cocking my head slightly and furling my brow by the end of the article. While Mr. Beem makes a lot of valid observations about the nature of being a professional musician and what’s happening to orchestras across the country, his long-winded diatribe seemed hyper-focused on what a sorry, bitter life musicians are forced to lead. It occurred to me that, instead, perhaps we need to stop playing this tired “woe is me” card.

What are we thinking…

I’ve written about it on this blog. I’m not the first to point this out and won’t be the last. Trying to make a living as a classical musician, especially as jobs are disappearing, is just plain rough. But just because what we do adds value to our cities, helps educate youth and makes for a more diverse and cultured society doesn’t mean we can jam it down peoples’ throats, talk about how hard we work and how little we get paid and expect everyone to respond by opening up their wallets.

I’m a big fan of the age-old adage, “Actions speak louder than words.” You can talk about your value all you want. You can write about how many hours musicians have to put in to play at a level high enough to maintain the expectations of some of our nation’s top orchestras. But we seem to be doing a lot of writing (not that I should talk) and not a whole lot of doing.

Instead, we have to continue proving through actions that our product adds value. Sure – we work our fingers to the bone practicing our instruments, but we are responsible for selling what we do and a big part of the problem we’re having right now is we’re not selling it well enough. We continue to mass-produce something that maybe needs to be tweaked and re-branded.

And when I talk about selling our art form, I’m not just talking about the 90 minutes of music played on stage. I’m talking about the concert experience as a whole, from the parking lot to the after-concert drinks at the bar. How are we engaging our patrons beyond the walls of the concert hall?

Point to Mr. Beem

Mr. Beem’s best point is that “Art has to be ‘productized’ in order to sell.” People today are inundated with so many different ways to spend a dollar entertaining themselves. Nowadays you don’t have to leave the comforts of your own home to immerse yourself in entertainment, what with the myriad game consoles, 3-D internet Google-YouTube televisions and eight-speaker sound systems.

But pre- and post-concert experiences aside, showing off our product in an inviting aesthetic begins right on stage with the musicians. When musicians get too caught up in how hard they’ve worked and what they might be entitled to, it’s visible both through our actions and our words, and our product suffers.

I agree that most musicians probably have worked just as hard as anyone on this planet if they’ve accomplished anything in their careers. They’ve paid high tuitions, sacrificed so much for years with no end in sight all in the hopes of being able to make a living – but more importantly to make art, right?

The missing point

Most of us chose this career path knowing full well the challenges that lay ahead. I know plenty of musicians who decided all the trouble wasn’t worth the end result. They headed in different directions, seeking business and law degrees.

But for those of us whose fire is still burning for Beethoven and Brahms (Puccini and Prokofiev), we must continue to adapt to the world of the performing arts as it is today. We need to diversify our art form and show our cities why we’re passionate about what we do instead of talking about it. I’ve heard too many stories of patrons being treated rudely by symphony staff, music directors who are too busy or too important to mingle with even the biggest corporate sponsors and musicians being caught reading magazines or thumbing through their iPhones during concerts.

And we’re not the only ones to have to struggle to get by or see our jobs disappear. I feel like Mr. Beem and others paint a picture like we’re a rare, dying breed and the truth is there are many people out there in many different careers who have gone through similarly challenging times.

The clear value

Studies show that classical music is very much alive, but where and how people are consuming it is changing. It’s time to catch up to that change and embrace it.

So let’s set our egos aside. We’ve worked hard and we’re good at what we do. But none of that matters if we’re not conveying our passion through our playing and connecting with the audience on as many levels as possible.

A Call to Action, If You Will

I’d like to see fewer people writing bitter diatribes about how awful things are and fewer musicians lacking engagement on stage. We need people like Mr. Beem to use his position as a writer to create a call to action for positive changes. We need more smiling, animated musicians playing for the fun of it– much like you see a group of fifth graders in the park engrossed in a pick-up baseball game. Those kids can be more fun to watch than the over-inflated, millionaire “sluggers” who hit a ball 390 feet and stand at home plate saluting the ball and admiring themselves. Maybe we all need to attend some youth orchestra concerts to remind ourselves of why we ever started playing to begin with.

Through this point in my life, I feel blessed to have had incredible musical experiences around the world. I wouldn’t trade the memories and knowledge gained for anything (well, I’m open to cash offers). Maybe I’ve broken even and that’s not including the outstanding student loan debts I’m still repaying in my mid-thirties. But making a living, to me, is one thing, being able to inspire and be inspired is something on which I’d rather not put a price.

Here’s my challenge to our country’s world of classical musicians: Let’s close our mouths. Let’s stop blaming everyone else for “smacking down [our] local orchestra.” If we’re “characterized as lazy, greedy, overpaid, conniving and ruthless,” let’s prove otherwise by slimming down our egos and doing something actionable and inspiring.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Perfect Pitch - My Ear Infection

2012-04-06T14:37:00.001-05:00

With great power comes great responsibility. Hi, my name is Rhett, and I have perfect pitch.

Some might say perfect pitch is being able to toss a viola in a trashcan without hitting the rim. But in this case, I refer specifically to the innate ability of some musicians to immediately identify the pitch of virtually anything that produces a tone, from a musical instrument to a piece of metal piping dropped off a truck by a plumber. It’s a gift. Right?

The Diagnosis

I never felt like I had something special; in fact, it’s hard for me to imagine what it’s like to not be able to recognize the note or notes you hear. Like most people can immediately recognize the color green without having to think about it or compare it to a color palette, I can put the appropriate letter with the sound heard from a piano, xylophone or a mixing bowl.

It is said that more people are born with this capability than are aware they have it because they never develop it. I’ve been in front of a musical instrument since the age of three, so the ability resting inside of me was triggered at the right time. If perfect pitch is not discovered and “unlocked,” it is believed that the ability fades away before the person reaches teenage years.

In this way, it’s like a muscle. If it’s developed early and maintained, it will stay strong. So, as my musical career has started to slow in the past couple of years, I’ve also noticed that my ability to be quick and responsive to pitches I hear is diminishing.

Accuracy

Many wonder how accurate perfect pitch can be. Can I identify a pitch, such as A440 (as in the A above middle C, which vibrates at around 440 hertz) down to the specific hertz? Can I tell if it’s two cents sharp at 442? I think at one point, when I was most engaged in musical training, I probably could have, but in my experience, pitch fluctuates. For instance, while working in Europe, where orchestras tend to play on the sharper side (A444-448 as opposed to 442-444), I noticed my pitch naturally getting sharper. I also noticed that, when coming back to the U.S., I generally came in a bit high when judging whether or not something was in tune.

But, enough with the “science” of perfect pitch – I’m certainly not the right person to be talking science since I barely passed high school chemistry. Is perfect pitch truly a gift? Or is it a hindrance, only good for a party trick now and again?

A relative of perfect pitch…

What’s interesting is so many musicians wish they had this ability. However, I find developed relative pitch much more impressive. Relative pitch is being able to use a reference pitch to discern the identity of other pitches. For instance, if someone plays an A on a piano, you can then jump around the keyboard identifying what every other pitch is by referencing that A in your heard and using knowledge of intervals.

My sister, a cellist, has the most impressive relative pitch I’ve ever witnessed. We used to collaborate for Christmas Eve services at our church and, wait-to-the-last-minute guy that I am, I never wrote out her part. Rather, I would play it to her on the piano and she would learn it by rote. With a quick brush of her bow, she got her reference pitch and would quickly figure out the entire piece I dictated to her. I was amazed. This is the same girl that would, at the young age of six, pick out the melody line from my Chopin etudes I practiced repeatedly and play them with her two index fingers while standing with her head barely above the keyboard.

Torment

Because of this ability, I relate to the music world a bit differently. For instance, I can’t turn on a Mac computer without thinking of Billy Joel’s song “River of Dreams.” Why? You know the sound a Mac makes when you turn it on? It’s a G major chord (sort of). “River of Dreams” starts in G major.

At my desk in the offices of the Kansas City Symphony, I sit across the street from Webster House, an antique store and restaurant that was formerly a schoolhouse. There’s a bell on top of it. It rings every hour. It’s the same note as the bell that rings at the beginning of the Christmas song “Bells Will Be Ringing.” So, like a sonic Pavlov’s dog, I can’t stop myself from hearing that darn song eight times a day inside my head. I used to like that song. It reminds me of the movie “Home Alone.” RUINED FOREVER!

I also frequent the Plaza here in Kansas City and walk around with the piccolo part from the third movement of Tchaikovsky’s 4th Symphony resonating in my head because the darn button you press for the walk signal at every street corner produces two tones; a high A and the E below. Those are the first two notes of a famous piccolo excerpt from this piece.

MAKE IT STOP!

Finally, some help

But it’s not all a life of torment. Perfect pitch has saved me many times.

I’ve always found that I memorize very quickly and without effort. Once I hear something, I can play it – it’s how I learned music. I have a difficult time putting written music into action. If I can listen to a recording first, my mind and my body have a much easier time making sense of the music on the stand.

It also is a big help when learning a-tonal music. When playing something in a key, major or minor, it’s easier to know whether or not what you’re playing is correct. A well-trained ear just knows when something is off. But in a-tonal music, where there is no key and notes are quite random, it is much more difficult to learn a passage or an entire piece.

The Italian composer Lucian Berio comes to mind. He has written some pretty challenging music and I’ve had to learn a few vibraphone and marimba parts of his in my time. The difference for someone with perfect pitch is they don’t need a sonic reference to know whether or not the notes on the page match the notes being played or heard. For instance, when reading music in the key of C major, it’s going to be pretty easy to tell that the F sharp (a dissonant note in the key of C major) you just hit doesn’t fit in with the music (I’m over-simplifying to make a point). But in a piece by Berio, for instance, all 12 tones are “fair game” so there’s no reference point for your ear as you plow through a bunch of notes that seem random at times.

Wagnerian cues

On a more identifiable level, one of the biggest advantages I’ve found is being able to keep track of rests in music. As a percussionist, I have counted more than my fair share of rests, but the ability to recognize a key signature makes it a whole lot easier. Playing Wagner’s “Ring Cycle” in Sweden meant I spent a lot of time waiting through 30 and 45 minute rests. My perfect pitch would allow me to just wait, instead of counting minutes, until I heard the key of A major. It would trigger an alarm inside of me. My colleagues got so annoyed with me (understandably) because instead of writing in cues that could help everyone, I just wrote in key signatures – not very helpful to them but wildly useful for me! I now realize I should have thought about how I marked up parts so it was more helpful to everyone.

I was lazy with my ear training because of this gift. I relied too heavily on the unique ability instead of really understanding intervals, key signatures and clefs. On some levels it made my life easier but, if I could start my musical training all over again, I would be better off working to develop my ear rather than having this sonic cheat sheet inside my head. It’s still fun, every once in a while, to play a few games at musicians’ parties but I feel like I let the power get the best of me. I felt invincible. No pitch could beat me.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo (www.describedbylauren.wordpress.com)

Don't Forget

2012-03-30T12:31:00.002-05:00

No, this blog isn’t about memory lapses but perhaps I’ve just given myself an idea for a future blog. More to come on that! Someone reached out to me the week day with a question: A friend of hers has been unemployed for over a year and wanted to talk to anyone who might have some leads. She asked me if I would look at this person’s resume and speak with him, seeing if I had any ideas or job leads.

I was in this same position not even a year ago, so I know what it’s like to reach out to total strangers and have doors slammed in your face or not answered at all when you come knocking. So what did I do? I let this person’s email to me slip through the e-cracks and I didn’t respond until two weeks later.

Slap on my wrist

Needless to say, I gave myself a time-out after finally reaching out to this guy. I sat for a while facing the brick-walled corner in my newest apartment with my dunce cap on (ok, it was a baseball cap). My mistake got me thinking about how musicians specifically support each other and help pull one another through the bog that is trying to scratch out a career as a performer. Do we leave each other in the lurch or do we always do whatever is in our power to help?

If you’ve worked hard and enjoyed some good fortune and success in your career as a musician, you might look back on those times when you took every church and community orchestra gig offered and wondered if you were ever going to make it. You probably remember what it felt like to risk it all even though you could be pretty certain you would fail. And you undoubtedly spent every last dime traveling to auditions and digging through your 4th generation, torn up hand-me-down sofa to find change to take extra lessons with mentors in hopes of gaining a bit of an edge (or buying another cup of Ramen Noodles).

No groceries for you

I remember being so broke when I arrived for my first year with the New World Symphony that I “borrowed” change to buy crackers from the vending machine while waiting for my first paycheck. When I finally got that paycheck and deposited it, I went straight to the grocery store with my temporary checks, only to have my groceries taken away at the checkout line because, after the clerk called the bank to verify the funds, the bank told them the funds were only on deposit. I remember these times vividly, still, which is why I wanted to make this blog a bit of a message to those enjoying the fruits of their labor. I want to encourage those enjoying success to continue doing whatever possible to be there for those who are still trying to figure where they’re going.

Pay it backward

In college and graduate school, on top of my regular lessons, I sought out other great players and teachers and took lessons with them. Some charged a small and fair fee ($50 at the most) while others probably felt too guilty to take my money after they heard my uneven snare drum roll or watched me miss more notes on the xylophone than a slacking student misses while napping during a Music History lecture.

But they dedicated themselves when I showed I wanted to learn. They also continued to care about me after I graduated. They checked up on me. If I came to town, they would give me a lesson free of charge.

To this day, I keep in touch with these individuals and tell them how life is going. They seem genuinely interested. They seem like the kind of musicians who will never forget how tough it is to make it and how we all, at one point or another, had no money in the bank and spent the remaining balance on our credit card for the next audition – and a cheap beer after it didn’t go so well.

I don’t have many students, but I’ve always told them they can come take a lesson whenever they want free of charge, which is the going rate for a hack like me. If there’s ever anything I can do to help, I hope they will ask. The blunder I mentioned at the beginning will serve as a potent reminder to respond in a timely manner since I know all too well that sitting around waiting for someone to respond to your call for help can add frustration and humiliation to an already rough time.

Foot on ground

With that in mind, no matter how much success you enjoy as an artist, I think it’s important to keep at least one foot on the ground and avoid getting too caught up in yourself and your career. What we do as musicians is unique. We can forget that our small little world isn’t the only important thing.

It’s easy to feel like you’re too busy to take on anything else (as I did). But as a friend said to me recently, there is no excuse for “no time.” There is always time if you make time. So when that total stranger calls for help or to ask for some advice, make the time. I know, personally, how hard it can be to pick up the phone or compose an email to a stranger asking for a moment of their time. If anything, having a friendly person on the other end willing to talk, even if there’s not much they can do to help, makes the bog that much easier to navigate.

Next up on this blog: The creator of Imperfect Pitch will talk openly and candidly about the challenges of living a life suffering from perfect pitch. If you have questions you want answered, send them to me in the next few days. I’ll dive into this disease and dissect it from the first-person perspective of a tormented victim.

Also, speaking of making time, I have been a little off schedule but will now be posting regularly on Friday’s again. I know you’re all breathing a huge sigh of relief! As always, thanks for reading.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo (www.describedbylauren.wordpress.com)

Coming Attractions - Onstage Omissions

2012-03-20T19:45:00.003-05:00

I read this blog article, “Mannequins or Musicians?” and felt like jumping on the bandwagon. The topic of how musicians carry themselves on stage before, during and after a concert is something I’ve wanted to touch upon for a while. What do people in the audience think of our behavior? Are some offended by the way we act? Do others wish they could see a more casual side of the orchestra?

I always take pride in my work on stage. Before weighing in, however, I should admit there have been times when my etiquette has been less than acceptable. It’s not that I ever meant to be disrespectful to the audience – it’s just that when performing is what you do every day, the stage is “your office.” It’s easy to become too comfortable in your surroundings and forget where you are and why you’re there. Discussing dinner plans while having a meeting on the pitching mound is one thing (if you’re a Cub), but these sort of social conversations aren’t for the stage, especially if people can hear you.

Asleep at the cymbal

Let’s start with my own, well, let’s call them brain farts. I remember when I was on trial for my job with the Royal Swedish Opera in Sweden. Everything I played and everything I did was scrutinized as the orchestra decided whether or not it was going to allow this cap-wearing American boy to take up residence in its theater pit (and country).

One particularly memorable instance occurred when I left the pit during La Traviata’s intermission. I was immediately confronted by a fellow percussion colleague who seemed annoyed with me and asked me not to sleep on my stool during the performance. I was taken aback by the accusation at first. I would never do such a thing. Then, I realized that the way I was sitting could have easily been mistaken for a guy snoozing on the subway. I had my eyes closed, arms folded across my chest while I enjoyed the music. My head was leaning back a bit so it looked like it was resting on the side wall.

Being buried in the dark pit can give off a false sense of being out of site. Of course, I could see how anyone in the audience who might have glanced at me probably thought, “Hey! That drummer’s sleeping on the job!” (Little did they know there was a bed in our percussion office and I would occasionally nap there during long periods of rest during a Wagner opera. So, yes, I have technically slept on the job.)

My colleague had a great point. While I was doing nothing more (or less) than enjoying the music and counting rests, it was a prime example of how easily our actions on stage (or the pit) can be misconstrued by an important donor, concert hall newcomer or a kindergartner having his or her first symphonic experience.

I’ve done my fair share of yawning, slouching and looking generally clueless. I do make an effort, though, to zone in on the task at hand (putting on a good performance) when I walk through the stage door into the bright lights and in front of the paying audience. I make sure my cell phone is off and put away, that my tie is on straight and, whether or not I have too much to do, I try to walk with purpose to my chair, check my instruments and take a seat in a position that’s comfortable enough to sit for extended periods of time without having to shift too much.

Destroying the moment

One thing I’ve never understood when it comes to onstage, pre-concert warming up is when someone practices the big solo they have over and over again five minutes immediately preceding the down beat for all in the hall to hear. To me, this is ruining the moment that, as a listener, I’m waiting to hear in context, not cutting through the wash of sound produced by 90 musicians plucking and chirping away, trying to keep busy before it’s time to tune.

Would you see an actress out in front of the curtain before Romeo and Juliet saying, “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” over and over again, trying to get it right? Probably not.

We don't all make the untied
bow tie look this good.

You also wouldn’t want to see that same actress in front of the curtain only partially dressed in her costume. Yet, to this day, I have seen musicians walk on stage or into the pit before they are completely dressed. I’ve seen colleagues carry on cell phone conversations, read magazines and even walk through the orchestra pit in street clothes during intermissions.

But the most common gaffe is the tie that’s not yet tied or even put on. Why this is okay, I’m not sure. We’re not racecar drivers buckling our seat belts before the green flag. Despite feeling like we’re “strapped in” with our clip-on ties, mock vests, suspenders and whatever else we have to click-in in order to consider ourselves performance-ready, this is our “costume,” not a safety device, and it should be on before we show ourselves on stage.

European Walk-On

Have you ever been to a concert where, five minutes prior to the start time, no one is on stage and you start to worry you’re in the wrong place? While playing in different parts of Europe, I experienced what a lot of orchestras across the pond practice, which I’ve named, for lack of any name at all, the “European Walk-On.” The entire ensemble remains off stage and then walks on together just before concert time. I like this a lot. It keeps the stage from becoming the drinking fountain at the office where people come to take a break, get a sip of water and discuss office gossip. Once the performers enter, it is time to play.

From a musician’s perspective, it can be annoying having to wait in the crowded backstage area. Also, if you need to make sure you are set up on stage, you have to be there extra early to have it done before the house opens to patrons, usually 30 minutes prior to the start of the concert. In the U.S., however, musicians seem to have too much idle time on stage. Maybe it’s just easier for us to get to our chairs and wait for the downbeat. Maybe there’s not enough practice space backstage. Either way, we can’t lose sight of the fact that the audience deserves our respect.

Solutions?

I know I’m walking a fine line here. I am well aware that the classical music world has entered a time in which we need to bring down the imaginary curtain between the audience and the stage. We need to connect more. But we also need to remember that we’re performing in front of people who have paid a high price for the evening’s entertainment and we should show them that we respect and understand this.

What about combining the “European Walk-On” (to appease those who want to see nothing but formality) with a pre-concert lecture that starts later (most start an hour before the concert)? Start the lecture 35 minutes before concert time, and allow people to filter into their seats while listening to remarks about the music they are about to hear. Throw in the use of mobile devices, on which a user can tap into a live feed from backstage and see an impromptu interview with a musician (I’ve mentioned this before) and witness the hustle and bustle of life backstage before a performance. Then, five minutes before, the orchestra walks on as a group, or a team, and takes their seats quietly. I love it when the nine players on baseball team exit the dugout and take their positions at the start of the game. It’s reason to cheer. Perhaps starting this tradition in the U.S. could help spark some positive change.

If anything, hopefully this blog will serve as a reminder for all of us to check in with ourselves and what we do onstage. I don’t think we should act like zombies or stiffs; rather we should show that we are enjoying our jobs and having a ball. But just like my inadvertent mid-Traviata snooze, one never knows how patrons will react to what they perceive from 100 feet away.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo (www.describedbylauren.wordpress.com)

Circle of LIfe

2012-03-11T10:24:00.000-05:00

Here we go with the Disney themes again.

The other weekend, I experienced a hair-raising reminder of why I wanted be a performer in the first place, and what will keep driving me forward. On an evening when I’d normally be “suiting up” in my worn-out tuxedo, I, instead, “suited down” from my work clothes (nice dress slacks and a business shirt) and headed back out into the unusually warm Missouri evening. The concert hall up on the hill was my destination.

It’s been awhile since I went to a concert as a legitimate ticketholder with no other purpose than to sit, listen and observe for two hours. Upon walking into the Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts lobby, I realized I made a slight miscalculation of the dress code. I shouldn’t have “suited down.” I was impressed to see a building buzzing with patrons of all ages dressed to the nines and brimming with anticipation of the evening’s performance of the Kansas City Symphony lead by none other than former Cleveland Orchestra Music Director Christoph von Dohnányi. I’m not sure what I was thinking but I had decided to wear nice jeans, a button-down shirt and a sweater.

I was immediately struck with that feeling of sticking out like a broken drumstick. And how strange this feeling was. This is the concert hall – my home. I feel as though I own the place (not the Kauffman Center, specifically; but any concert hall feels like my office). So off I went through the lobby, running into people since my head was buried in the ticket I had in hand, trying to figure out where my seat was located. Luckily, an usher noticed I looked lost and showed me – a new way of “being directed” in the concert hall – and also not the first time I’ve looked lost in a concert hall (but that’s usually when I’m not paying attention in rehearsal).

If I wasn’t feeling out of place enough already, my seat neighbor made me even more uncomfortable. It was Maestro Dohnányi’s wife, who looked very fancy. We nodded a friendly “Yes, we’re seat neighbors and I recognize who you are” hello and I took my seat, trying to hide my jeans with the program book, which was frustratingly small. She sat incredibly still, watching her husband command the performance, the stage, and the entire concert hall as he mixed the music like he’s done tens of thousands of times before. I felt her concentration and intensity and I followed her lead. I don’t think I’ve sat that still throughout a performance in my entire life.

As I sat there looking out onto the stage, I saw an orchestra with which I was familiar from a new perspective. I’m used to seeing the back of the bass players’ heads and staring into the horn players’ bells. But this view was something totally different. And the orchestra looked like it was right where it was supposed to be, encapsulated by the beauty that is the inside of Helzberg Hall – a place that I think will quickly become known as one of the world’s great performance halls.

The maestro walked on stage and began “mixing” (K)ein Sommernachtsraum by Schnittke, which is a slightly ambiguous work, starting with a violin solo played by a violinist in the back of the string section rather than by the principal. At intermission, I overheard a patron talking about the piece and she perfectly described it: “It was like a finger painting that started with one finger stroke by a child followed by many children’s input.”

Strauss’ Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks came next and the piece progressed towards one of my favorite parts, where the horn section plays in octave unison. The Kansas City Symphony’s horn section nailed the part to the walls. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I felt as though my seat was attached to a roller coaster. It was exhilarating. And the way the entire orchestra sounded in the sonically superb hall made this moment even more impactful.

After that moment, it didn’t matter how the rest of the concert went (although it went well). I immediately said to myself, “I want to experience that again tomorrow.” I thought seriously about sneaking into the concert hall for the Sunday performance. That is exactly what every concert should aim to do – to make an impact on someone in a way that makes him or her feel as though they have to come back. And no matter if you’re a performer or someone working in an office making decisions, that one moment should always be the ultimate goal.

So as my circle continues to, well, circulate, I think back to when I first saw the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on stage at what was then Orchestra Hall. The performance sparked something inside of me that ignited my passion for performing. Thankfully, I was reminded this past weekend that the passion is still there and my new perspective serves as a much-needed reminder of what my ultimate goals are. Whether as a performer or someone working on the other side of the arts world, I want to help create that moment for as many people as I can, as often as possible.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo (www.describedbylauren.wordpress.com)

Sticks for Stickies

2012-03-02T13:38:00.001-06:00

I really wanted to call this blog “A Whole New World” but I was afraid it would have revealed my teenaged obsession with Alan Menken’s Disney soundtracks – yes, I had a lot of dates in High School… with my Discman.

What does it mean for a musician to leave a performance career? How does it feel? I’m sure it varies for anyone experiencing any sort of career change, which is just about all of us at one point or another, but this is my experience thus far – if you can call beating a drum a career.

Concrete to Glass

From the window at my desk in the Kansas City Symphony offices, just down the hill from the Kauffman Center where the orchestra performs, I can see up towards the tall downtown buildings, a mixture of modern glass skyscrapers and old 1930s Art Deco concrete behemoths like the KCP&L building. Perhaps the older buildings were built to represent strength and stability but the newer, sleeker structures, with their glass facades that blend into the ever-changing sky, represent today’s need to remain efficient and adaptable. To the left of these buildings is the beautiful new Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts, which I’m just now realizing seems to perfectly encapsulate the dichotomy of the Kansas City skyline and the varying styles from different time periods. The exterior of this new facility is mostly concrete except for the glass-encased front housing the lobbies for both halls. It’s not a bad view from my desk!

Stage to Desk
I always felt proud to say my “office” was the concert stage, my “desk area” a black, swiveling stool, a bunch of random instruments laid out in front of me and a music stand. The bright lights that illuminate the stage cause everything to glimmer and shine, like a new car. And, in previous blogs, I’ve touched upon how fortunate I’ve been with the concert halls I’ve called home. And I remain lucky. I’m now working for an organization entering a new chapter, in offices that are modern and bright, surrounded by people I like and respect.

But it’s my first week where I’m not involved in a performance over at the hall. As rehearsal time nears, instead of being back stage, experiencing an ever-increasing amount of hustle and bustle from musicians and support staff gathering on and around the stage, the office gets eerily quiet as many here leave to trek up that hill and assist with rehearsal.

Tonight (Friday) will also be new and strange for me. I will leave the office after a long day at work and, instead of being at home, clearing my head and having a snack before heading to the concert hall for some intense concentration and a performance, I will be heading home to decompress from a busy week on a new job with the whole evening and rest of the weekend clear ahead of me. How this will feel, I’m not sure.

Perhaps tonight, if I’ve sufficiently recovered from the week and a 5:30 p.m. run up and around the World War I Memorial near my apartment, I will head back out to catch my former colleagues performing Strauss and Tchaikovsky under former Cleveland Orchestra music director Christoph von Dohnányi (that is, if I can even find a seat). Maybe I’ll even wave from the audience. Watching them, however, I know that part of me will wish I was up there whacking the bass drum in Strauss’ “Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks.”

Here to…

But I’ve finally traded in my sticks for a desk and an endless supply in multiple colors of Sticky Notes (which I use very liberally!). One thing I know about myself is that I enjoy checking a task off of a list. It’s the very simple, physical reminder that you’ve accomplished something, however small. And whether that task is preparing a piece of music or putting together a report, I seem to feel the same amount of pride and fulfillment. I also hate mistakes, whether it’s a missed note, wrong entrance, forgotten task or poorly worded email. It’s surprising how much translates over from being a performer to an administrator.

I’ve gone from 20 years studying and performing as a pianist, nearly 20 years of pounding out rhythms as a concussionist – I mean percussionist – and now I’m a year into this new path in the realm of technology and arts administration. It’s not that I’m going after any records here, but if the average professional changes careers between four and five times, where am I going to be when I’m 68? I hope my experiences will resemble the skyline of a great city, built up over time with icons dotting and marking each time period and accomplishment.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo (www.describedbylauren.wordpress.com)

The Trans-Siberian Orchestra Musician

2012-02-24T17:35:00.002-06:00

I wrote this blog while sitting underneath the stage during the first intermission of the Kansas City Ballet’s production of Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet.” I know it’s time to get back in the pit because I can hear the dancers above jumping up and down, pounding the stage, getting limber again. You think ballet is graceful and pretty? Stand underneath the stage. It sounds like a group of overly buff construction workers slamming down cinder blocks and steel girders.

I digress.

As I sat there underneath the ~~construction workers~~ graceful ballerinas, I realized this performance would be one of my last as a regular substitute with the Kansas City Symphony. It was time for me to take on yet another new direction in my ever-evolving career.

Have some catch up

The past couple of weeks have been a blur. If you read this blog regularly, you know all about my sometimes unconventional path through the classical music world and the many twists and turns it has taken, some by my own steering and others due to the natural curve of the road (or potholes). My most recent turn marks both the end of one avenue and the beginning of a whole new road; or perhaps just another widening of the road from two lanes to three.

This turn involves an opportunity to work on the administrative side of a symphony orchestra with the Kansas City Symphony. Make no mistake – I chose to put a music performance career on the back burner more than two years ago. No more orchestra auditions. No more spending all of my waking hours practicing desperately for whatever job might be available next.

But for the last two years, my life has been a bit nebulous. I’ve still been performing. I’ve committed to work with the Chicago-based technology company SocialRaise, to which I keep referring. I even taught a little as well.

This newest change, however, is one that required me to give up making music as a full-time job. This decision brings with it mixed emotions. But rather than focus on those (extreme nostalgia, reflecting on great experiences and the general comfort of that life-style), I should look forward and avoid getting mired in emotion that may be tainted with imperfect memory of the past, as I’ll point out in the next section.

The Blind Leading the Blind

Recently, a friend gave me a book she thought might lend a useful perspective on my future. (I’m more appreciative of this book than the last one gifted to me – “Blogging for Dummies.”) It’s not a book about how to find happiness, so don’t be fooled by the title, “Stumbling on Happiness.” Rather, it exposes the imperfections of imagination and the illusions of foresight fueled by the power of our brains. More simply put, it discusses the inaccuracies of our perceptions of past and future happiness, suggesting why we actually know so little about the people into whom we will evolve and the things that will make those people happy.

“We like to frolic in the best of all imaginary tomorrows – and why shouldn’t we? After all, we fill our photo albums with pictures of birthday parties and tropical vacations rather than car wrecks and emergency-room visits because we want to be happy when we stroll down Memory Lane, so why shouldn’t we take the same attitude towards our strolls up Imagination Avenue?”

I brought up the book because I felt, for the longest time, that I was always trying to recreate the level of happiness and satisfaction I experienced while living in Miami Beach and playing with the New World Symphony. Back then, I had a wealth of performance opportunities, warm weather, regular golf outings and runs down the beach. I was in a bit of heaven. But this book is helping me to realize that, while living in Miami was incredible, the experience built up my “happiness” muscle. So now, rather than trying to find that place again, or somehow recreating the elements that existed during that time, I need to help my brain adjust to the idea that it will be an entirely different and somewhat unknown set of circumstances (or new kind of Cheeto) that make Future Rhett happy.

“…most of us spend so much of our lives turning rudders and hoisting sails, only to find that Shangri-la isn’t what and where we thought it would be.”

Forward March!

Today, while I am worried I might miss being in the concert hall every day, it’s time to see a new side to the world of orchestras and focus on the future rather than the past, which we tend to glorify anyway. I already know what it’s like and what it takes to show up to the concert hall, grab my triangle and sit in the back of the orchestra cracking jokes in between notes and taking beta-blockers to keep my nerves at bay.

This is an opportunity to add to that knowledge and experience in hopes of expanding my horizons even further. It feels like a risk. It is possible that five years down the road I might wish I were still a regularly performing musician. The one thing that makes me feel most confident about this leap, however, is the fact that it does feel risky. And anything worth doing involves a calculated amount of danger. When calculating, though, you have to factor in the gain and I’m confident that, taking into account my current direction, it is only possible to be in the black.

So back to those ballerinas (and the pit, for me), who will hopefully be doing very little stumbling of any kind. Talk about a life of risk. They dedicate so much to a career that ends up shorter than most athletes’. I’ll play my triangle a bit prettier for them, and with better time– they deserve it.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Blogformance

2012-02-17T13:10:00.000-06:00

I knew this day would come. In this blog, I’ve hit on a number of different topics having to do with being a classical musician. I’ve also detailed my own experiences as a I transition through life as both a performer and someone who is exploring other avenues. As it happens, the transition continues heading in a positive direction but recent changes have forced me to re-think my blogging schedule.

So, for this week, I will not be able to post much but I have prepared for just such an occasion. I have been practicing diligently, recording myself to check how I sound and I can say, with confidence, that I am ready for my first Blogformance.

Without any further ado, I will now perform John Cage’s 4’33” (click here for program notes) in what may be the first ever performance using a computer for the instrument with an audience that is entirely web-based. Please silence your cell phones and all other electronic devices. (Cracking knuckles now)

Movement I

Movement II

Movement III

Thank you very much! I will continue posting on Fridays as normal starting next week.

For the Record

2012-02-10T14:21:00.001-06:00

What happens when you put a microphone in front of an orchestra?

For me, the following story is a pretty accurate description. It occurred after a recent recording session with the Kansas City Symphony. Things were going along swimmingly until, on the umpteenth take of a 30 second patch of music, I hit a wrong note on the orchestra bells I was playing. The take finished and a voice came on over the speakers saying, “Perfect! We have it.”

Dear Recording Engineer,

Could you please refrain from using take 689 from the 4^th movement of Prokofiev’s “Love of Three Oranges” Suite? It was a foul ball for me.

Much Obliged,

Hack

Inorganic

There are two different ways to record. I’ll start with my least favorite: recording sessions. I wish this whole concept could be dis-invented. Recording yourself for an audition CD, whether it’s required to be considered for invitation to an orchestra audition or for a school application, is tough. You are forced to listen to your product in a way you never have before, and it’s nearly impossible to settle on the takes you’re going to send in to be scrutinized by a panel.

Now, imagine putting 90 musicians plus a conductor on stage for a recording session.

Let me be the first to tell you: it’s brutal. These sessions usually go something like this:

1) The orchestra runs through the piece, a section of it or a movement if it’s short enough

2) The fun begins

3) The orchestra goes back through what was just recorded with a fine-tooth comb (made of painfully sharp needles) and starts getting nitpicky

4) The musicians grow even more nitpicky, worrying about intonation, minor mistakes and extraneous noises

5) Things really get out of hand when individual bars of music are patched together to get it just right (even though that’s not possible)

6) Rinse and repeat… for days

It is taxing to say the least. Tiptoeing around stage, making page turns as quietly as possible while trying not to breathe at the end of takes gets exhausting. Also, every musician deals with this process in a highly individualized way. Some are at their peak from the beginning and, as the day drags on, they tire and lose focus. Others (perhaps me?) are tired and cranky at 10 a.m. and can’t seem to find the zone until sometime after lunch break. However each one operates, it’s impossible not to have a small hick-up or momentary loss of concentration. And when that happens, I don’t know about everyone else, but I sit and dread the possibility that my mistake will show up on the CD in stores (I mean, on iTunes).

The finished product of an orchestra recording is out of the hands of the musician, which requires us to let go and not care, something at which we don’t excel. Minor details we care so much about and work so tirelessly to make just right don’t matter in the end. When the recording does come out, I’ll have a careful listen-through to see how it all turned out. How did the engineer mix the sound? Did he use the take I wanted? Did my stomach rumble make it in?

Always buy organic?

The other recording method is much simpler and usually a lot cheaper. The piece to be recorded is scheduled on a concert series. Microphones are set up and the process occurs over the course of three or four performances in front of a packed concert hall. A 30- to 60-minute patch session is scheduled immediately following the last performance and anything that needs to be fixed is taken care of. Usually it’s the beginnings and ends of music, since dead silence in a concert hall full of people is impossible to achieve.

I’ve always preferred this way to record. It’s simple, and the end product is much more organic. To the trained ear, it’s easy to tell the difference. Bad cuts and patches are easy to pick out on those “inorganic” sessions, but the sound of a live recording is a solid representation of the reality of the performance.

Nightmare on Strandvägen

I’ve been involved in recordings ever since I was an undergraduate at New England Conservatory of Music. The wind ensemble director, Frank Battisti, taught me more about music and performing in those five years (yes, I was on the extended undergraduate plan) than I have learned anywhere else combined throughout my formal education. He was a task master and incredibly passionate about educating his fledgling musicians. He accepted nothing less than our best and never hesitated to let someone know in front of the entire ensemble when that person was letting the group down. He also knew that recording was a tough process, so he made sure we recorded a CD almost every year to get experience.

But nothing could have prepared me for what was one of the more frustrating and surreal recording experiences I had when I was fresh off the boat, on the job in Sweden. The orchestra was scheduled to record music from the new ballet “Pippi Longstocking.” It was premiered the season before I arrived and the percussion writing was an intense book of notes from beginning to end. If memory serves, it required more than 80 instruments including the musical saw, which I had to spend time learning. Because the orchestra had performed it recently, no rehearsals were scheduled and I was thrust immediately into recording without so much as a run through. To prepare, I spent a month buried in a room of the opera house learning the music, fine-tuning my instrument set-up and playing it through with a recording from a performance as many times as I could stand each day.

All of the instruments and equipment needed were packed up and trucked over to the Swedish Radio recording studios and set up for a week of sessions. My understanding of the Swedish language was nonexistent at this point but I made sure to learn the numbers since at least I could understand when rehearsal numbers were called out. Unfortunately, this didn’t help one bit. Not only did I not understand a word that was said, barely catching where we started each time, the composer kept running out from the sound booth and telling me (in Swedish) to change what I was doing. He was used to certain sounds unique to the other player who had played the part the year prior. He never quite understood that I was the “New American.”

We didn’t get everything recorded in the time allotted and another week of sessions was planned later in the winter. The process of packing everything, moving to the studios and recording was repeated.

In the end, the powers that be decided that the result was not usable. All that time and work went without a finished product to celebrate.

Turn off the microphones

I’m an old timer already. I miss the days of going to Tower Records on Mass Ave in Boston and spending my work-study dollars on several of the newest classical releases, and then going home to have a listening session. After that, I’d carefully file the CD in with its appropriate label in my ever-growing collection. I like having a physical product in my hand if I’m going to spend the money. I’m curious to see how recording will factor into the 21^st century. Is the CD a thing of the past? I still love sitting in front of a pair of good speakers and blasting through my favorite pieces and recordings. Every once in a while, if I can stand it, I’ll pop in one of my own.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Striking the Perfect Tone at Festival Mozaic

2012-02-08T09:07:00.000-06:00

A view from our host's home in Los Osos

I consider summer music festivals to be one of the biggest perks that come with being a classical musician. Some of this country’s most beautiful destinations, such as Aspen or Sun Valley, boast weeks of world-class concerts that serve as a breath of fresh air for both musician and concertgoer. California’s coast is dotted with festivals and lucky for me, I was able to play with Festival Mozaic and learn what a unique, stand-alone experience it is. You work hard and the music (and a glass of wine) is your reward.

Ever since 1998, my summers always involved packing some percussion equipment, my golf clubs and hiking shoes and heading to Colorado to make music, meet new friends and generally have a blast. I participated in the Aspen Music Festival for several years, played with the National Repertory Orchestra for one and then spent three years with the Breckenridge Music Festival. Admittedly, I didn’t know what to expect when bypassing the Rocky Mountains altogether and heading straight for the West Cost.

Coming to San Luis Obispo for Festival Mozaic is an entirely different, less mountainous experience. It was my first time participating in a festival outside of the state of Colorado and the feel is entirely different. For one thing, it was nice not to have to take a few days to get used to the altitude! Flying into LAX and driving north along the beautiful California coast is a great way to kick-off two weeks of intense music making.

For the complete article, visit Festival Mozaic's new blog.

What's In Your Bag?

2012-02-03T13:24:00.002-06:00

It has occurred to me recently that musicians are anything but normal. We have idiosyncrasies and strange habits that probably make little sense to the outside word. Do you ever pause during the day and think about what you’re doing, and how strange it seems in the grand scheme of things? If you don’t, you’re definitely not a percussionist. I thought I’d take this moment to perform and share an impromptu analysis on my daily work habits and what’s necessary for me to make it through each performance.

Walk on. Walk off.

I sat on stage yesterday morning, tired from too many late nights followed by early mornings, stars spotting my vision. For this week’s performance of Mahler’s 2^nd Symphony, I’m wedged between the back wall of the stage, three metal bell plates, two tam-tams and directly below one sneezing chorister in the choir loft (sneeze guard please?). Here I am, making music as a professional, my lifelong dream, and playing one of my favorite pieces – but I’m really just whacking a little metal.

The part I play only requires me to be on stage during the 5^th and final movement. Here’s a walk-through of my role in four simple steps:

I start back stage and sneak on from the right side behind the horns, who enter from playing off stage.
I immediately play three snare drum rolls.
Then, I move to my right and whack some bell plates with a hammer for three bars.
After that, I trot over to assist the timpanist and play a timpani roll for a few more bars.
As soon as I’m done with the roll, I slyly exit stage left and run to play offstage triangle as part of a “banda,” made up of brass and percussion similar to a military band. Mahler used this effect in several of his symphonies.

Is this really a profession, you wonder? These job characteristics seem to better describe a blacksmith.

Not much of a view

When it’s all said and done, I wipe the sweat off my brow, grab a sip of “water” (coffee and M&Ms), make a few jokes to people standing around watching this debacle and proceed back on stage to whack a few more bell plates before the piece ends triumphantly. It’s always a strange day at the concert hall.

And a strange day warrants strange habits. While preparing to play my snare drum rolls in the Mahler symphony, without thinking, I instinctively switched my snare drum sticks from one hand to the other, putting the one in my left hand into my right and vice versa. Why did I do this? Concert snare drum sticks are made of wood and some are finished with a stain, like the pair in my hands. I cannot figure out when this began, but it is impossible for me to start playing unless the lighter-stained stick is in my right hand.

Another strange habit is when I have a few different pair of mallets on a stand, the heads of each pair can’t be together. One has to be displaced higher than the other so the mallet heads aren’t touching. It is always the one on the left, too. I’ve noticed people like to mess with my stick tray. I keep track of them in my log. Payback time will come!

Bag check

If you ever watch professional tennis tournaments like the U.S. Open, you may have noticed the “bag check” segment. A player is pulled aside and asked to reveal what she keeps in her tennis bag for the television audience. Some of the items are obvious but other, more personal affects reveal a side different than the one we see beating a tiny yellow ball into oblivion (and screaming as it’s done).

So here’s my bag check (you’re on the edge of your chair, I know):

There are the expected items, like custom-made earplugs and mallet bare essentials.
Because I am a bit sentimental, I have kept back stage passes from concert halls I’ve been in throughout the world. I have some from Abu Dhabi, the Royal Albert Hall in London, BBC recording studios in Maida Vale, and the Palau de les Arts in Valencia.
Usually there is my coffee travel mug that has day old, cold coffee still sitting in it with a half-eaten bag of M&Ms.
And of course I have my pill bottle with beta-blockers, in case I get too nervous to play my triangle cleanly. That reminds me, I’m running low and my supply chain has dried up. Time to call my doctor and beg for more.

Leg Ball, anyone?

Oddly enough, there is always a tennis ball in my bag. Why, you ask? Because percussionists sit around back stage waiting more than any other member of the orchestra. This has created the need to become experts in self-entertainment and time killing. A tennis ball is the perfect object to throw around and it’s easy to invent games using it.

Judging by the trajectory, I think that was a bean ball.

In this picture, a few percussionists are in concert dress messing around in the percussion practice room area that occupied the space underneath the Lyric Theater, Kansas City Symphony’s home until this past September. The area we’re in was formerly the KMBC Channel 9 Newsroom, but there was a hostile takeover of the space in a way only a crafty percussion section could orchestrate.

In the foreground, I can be seen using a bat, which is actually a fake severed leg made of rubber from the nearby opera props department. My friend is throwing a miniature basketball and we’re having a heated battle in the newly invented game of Leg Ball. It’s a little dangerous and maybe not the best activity in which to engage right before a concert. Luckily, I always have a black towel in my bag to use on a mallet tray or to wipe sweat before, during and after performances.

This is only the tip of the iceberg. I would love to hear stories from other people about habits formed that serve no real purpose other than to make us feel like we’re in control and everything is situation-normal – all fouled up (SNAFU). Most of the time I take what I do pretty seriously. But it’s easy to get a reality check on the days when, while I still love what I’m doing, I walk back to my car, laughing at how silly it can all seem. But maybe I just need more sleep…

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

A Concert Hall Fit For Tomorrow’s Audiences

2012-01-27T15:16:00.002-06:00

In a previous post, I touched on integrating today’s technology (eh hem – silenced technology) into symphony centers in order to better serve an evolving, modern audience. But how else can orchestras be sure to continue filling seats?

Let’s think about the concert experience in an unusual light. A light that’s more like walking into an airport – going through security, doing a little shopping or dining (or downing a drink to quell jumpy nerves), and boarding a plane for a tropical destination. Forget about the music for a bit, if you will.

Denver in action

When new airports are built, plenty of thought and planning (usually) goes into making the experience as easy and enjoyable as possible for travelers. By the time they board the plane, passengers should be relaxed and maybe even a bit sad to have to leave the terminal. (I hate that word, though – The Terminal Café. Can’t we think of something less morbid?) One example is Denver International Airport. It’s a spacious, airy, bright and modern facility that never feels crowded or claustrophobic. I love flying into or out of DIA, and I always remember the comforting little tunes that announce the arrival and departure of the tram, taking people from one terminal to the next.

A poorly designed airport has the opposite effect. A bad travel experience can have a lasting impact – lengthy security lines, dirty bathrooms, dim surroundings (I’m thinking of Lambert in St. Louis now), unsatisfying food options and unhelpful airline personnel aren’t likely to coax travelers back through anytime soon.

While an orchestra hall doesn’t necessarily transport its visitors to another place, it can have the same sort of impact (albeit a limited version) as a pleasant travel experience, when done right. It can put its patrons into a receptive and positive mood; it can make them feel welcomed and warm; it can make them willing to listen to something they might never have considered listening to before. These halls need to wow the audience before they even get to their seats. They need to put them in a better mood. Some of these people have had a stressful day at work, a rough commute to the hall; they’ve dealt with lines for parking, crowds on the stairs – maybe a few of them were even dragged there by someone else. After all the struggling, are they already too on edge by the time they get to their seats to enjoy the performance?

Appropriately named

A new performance complex that exudes this “wow factor” just celebrated its one-year anniversary: the New World Center in Miami Beach, home to the New World Symphony. Although I haven’t been able to visit the new digs, I can already tell the idea behind its conception – to allow for different ways to engage with a more diverse audience – is working. New World Center is not just a concert hall. It’s an outdoor theater and park where people can relax and enjoy a picnic and a concert projected live on the wall of the hall (they also do movie nights). With more options to enjoy the concert experience than just sitting inside, the hall lets people come see the beautiful building and enjoy the performance in ways that suit their preference – not everyone wants to sit crammed in a seat for two hours.

When it’s not being used for concerts, the space can host “after hours” events, sometimes offering DJs and dancing on different levels – more a club than a classical music venue. The actual theater itself is smaller in size as far as seating capacity, but the venue still serves a great number of people with its multifaceted design.

Just east of Denver on I-70

I live in the middle of the Crossroads District of downtown Kansas City. It lies south of the business district, which is dotted with a few more skyscrapers than a newcomer might expect in this mid-size Midwest town. But the Crossroads district is simply a cluster of old brick buildings, some alleys with old railroad tracks, warehouses that have been turned into loft spaces, and a sprinkling of businesses and art galleries.

Here, you wouldn’t expect to run smack into a state-of-the-art-performance facility. But here indeed the Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts sits, on top of a hill, soaring over a smaller part of town with an incredible view from inside the glass atrium lobby. When visitors park in the garage, an elevator takes them directly into the glass lobby. The lobby interior is white and the ceilings high, which make for a bright and spacious atmosphere regardless of the time of day. The concert hall itself envelopes the listener in warm wood panels with tastefully colorful seats.

Within the lobby, the gift shop is also surrounded by glass, its offerings shimmering from natural light reflecting throughout the space, beckoning you to take a closer look (and perhaps take out your wallet).

It is truly awesome to see this venue, with its theater and concert hall, overflowing with concertgoers three nights a week. Where all these people come from, I have no idea, but I have yet to play a concert that didn’t seem to be at least 95 percent full. And it’s not just the music inside that’s the draw. It is the entire space. It’s simultaneously bright and open and calming and inspiring. Concert-goers can grab a drink at a bar floating in the middle of the lobby or climb a winding staircase and look over the Crossroads District as if from a lookout tower. It’s a place tourists must see and locals want to frequent. In fact, before the hall was even open last September, I overheard a group of tourists trying to get in for a sneak preview. They were told it was a must see. I’d have to agree.

I had a guest in town last weekend and she (my sister, or my “slice and dice” editor, as I like to call her) came to a performance. It was her first time in Kansas City and I was curious to get her impression of the new hall:

“I’ve listened to all kinds of music in venues ranging from a small dive bar to a large, regal concert hall, but I was blown away by the new center in Kansas City. It felt different from other classical music experiences I've had - the modern design of the hall made the historically rooted event feel relevant and dignified; the energy felt fresh and exciting; people were wowed by their surroundings and equally wowed by the music played within the hall, with its phenomenal acoustics. And you could tell the musicians were proud, too. A hall of this caliber begs for the concert experience to be more a part of the daily fabric of residents' lives, as opposed to a one-stop shop.”

A good point there!

Finale (or finally, you’re probably thinking)

I’ve enjoyed concerts on every level, from high school quality to community orchestra all the way to the best orchestras in the world in their finest form. No matter the caliber, music will always have something to say. So another avenue to pursue (or continue pursuing) is that of the concert experience as a whole– the one that begins well before the downbeat and continues long after the final note.

Not everybody loves to fly as much as I do. Not every concert-goer is as enthralled with classical music as I am. But when an airport, a place people can both love, hate and feel indifferent towards, takes steps to make the experience as fun and relaxing as possible, it makes an especially notable difference in each person who comes through its doors and leaves on its jets – whether that person loves to fly or not. The takeaway here is the word “experience” – and the experience of one’s surroundings can make or break any place of business.

We don’t have $5 billion to throw into new concert halls in every city with a symphony, but over the next 100 years, I wonder if the trend to remake them will continue. It would surely be a win for classical music if more and more halls became fascinating, must-see destinations, attracting and delighting its visitors from start to finish – for more than just the music.

** No, I didn't forget about my resolution. For now, this new template will have to do. I hope it's easier for readers and more accessible. I am working on a new format over on Wordpress (www.rhettsimperfectpitch.wordpress.com) but it is a work in progress and is going to take some time to develop. I will have to shell out a little $$ to make this into something more substantial. Comments are welcome on the new template, for now.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

The Gas Pedal is on the Right

2012-01-20T13:42:00.000-06:00

Whoops!

I forgot to share my 2012 New Year’s resolutions with the World Wide Web. While thinking about resolutions – and knowing how unachievable many of them end up being – I wondered about the successful ones. A successful resolution is really a goal. And a goal needs to be actionable.

Actionable is a word with which I’m becoming more familiar. At SocialRaise, we’re focused on implementing different systems and technology platforms to increase the effectiveness of nonprofit organizations. One of the more visible parts of what we do can be seen on the front end of a client’s web platform. It could be a large button on a home screen that’s calling you to make a donation, read a blog, attend an event or sign up as a volunteer. Whatever it is, the aim is to put something in motion.

How can this apply to a resolution? If your resolution is to “get in shape,” it’s not actionable, and you’ll probably be part of the 88 percent or so who fail (according to Wikipedia), to be brutally honest. Instead, a more productive resolution would be: “I will spend 20 minutes five times a week doing an aerobic exercise after work.” That will create action because it’s specific, and it’s not just a lofty thought.

What are my actionable goals? One might be to write the rest of this blog post without saying that word again. That’s pretty actionable.

Last night, I sat down and stared at my blank computer screen expecting my 2012 goals to matriculate into my thought process, force their way onto the screen and turn into a great post. Embarrassingly enough, I realized I didn’t make any. My screen remained blank… and dusty, too, so I cleaned it off. Then I fell asleep. Things weren’t going well.

To spark some thought, I started reading other blogs about, funny enough, being a writer. I’m not calling myself a writer by any stretch of the imagination, but one theme kept coming up on these blogs - goals. Goals are many times the reason you get anywhere on a particular career path. As a current former never-has-been musician, technology company worker, and blogger (I use that term loosely), anything I’ve accomplished up until this point has been the result of a specific and identified direction – even though the ultimate destination may have been unknown. Whether that direction is at the forefront of your thought process or something below the surface, it’s hard to achieve anything by accident. There has got to be something poking, whispering, or maybe even screaming at you from somewhere inside your head.

During my latest “space-out” in rehearsal yesterday, I thought about retirement and where in the world I’ll be and what I’ll be doing when that day comes. I figured it might help me formulate some goals for 2012 if I thought about how I want to retire. I quickly realized, however, that I really don’t know when I want to retire, or what job I want to retire from. What I do know is that I want to keep moving forward and up. With that desire in mind, I thought about a realistic goal I could set to keep things interesting.

I’m the ultimate creature of habit. I like my routines and my limited amount of acceptable foods. But I know I’m not going to get where I want to be – wherever that is – if I don’t test my own limits – if I don’t continue to force myself out of my comfort zone, pushing further into the future and challenging myself on a daily basis.

Since change is often best achieved in small steps, my first resolution (yes, it took me this far into the post to come up with one) will be to turn my 5 p.m. coffee hour into a work hour five days a week. In addition to taking a break from the day, I will do some relevant reading, studying or writing while enjoying my coffee at my desk rather than on the sofa. This will keep the momentum I’ve built up throughout the day going into the evening so I can keep being productive, if need be.

This goal reminds me of one I achieved with this blog. I have successfully achieved my target of posting once a week on Friday afternoon (forget about that one Friday in December, please). This once-weekly post requirement has forced me to be productive and, most importantly, to follow through on something I started. It’s given me an outlet for my thoughts and required me to become a better writer.

(Also, please note: I invested in myself as a reward for my dedication by purchasing the domain name. You no longer have to type the extra .blogspot after rhettsimperfectpitch. Simply go to www.rhettsimperfectpitch.com. I had my readers in mind by saving them seven keystrokes. The pressure is on to continue!)

My next actionable goal will be to revamp the site. I will look into better blog design options over the next week and come up with a new format that – wait for it – creates more action. So if Rhett’s Imperfect Pitch still looks the same next week, feel free to let me hear the boos since I will have joined the 88 percent who fail to accomplish their resolutions.

I haven’t necessarily figured out where I want to go in life while writing this post, but I am reminding myself to continue making goals along the way, however small they may be, however trivial they may seem. It’s a good habit to get into, and one that will undoubtedly lead to unexpected, surprising results. You’ll never “connect the dots,” as Steve Jobs said, if you have no dots to begin with.

This blog post is brought to you by the letter S, the number 4 and by the word Actionable.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Turn Your Phone Off... Wait... Don't

2012-01-13T12:47:00.000-06:00

What’s up with conductors, anyway?

Just kidding. I’ll leave them be for now. Two interesting articles showed up in The New York Times this week. One talked about theaters and orchestras that experiment with reserving sections of seats for people who want to tweet throughout the performance (read here). The other recounted a recent performance of Mahler’s 9^th Symphony by the New York Philharmonic interrupted by an audience member’s persistent phone alarm (read here). The performance was actually halted by the music director, Alan Gilbert, who turned around to look for the offender. But these two stories send a confusing message. Is there a place for mobile devices in the concert hall? I sense a heated confrontation between older generations and younger ones coming soon to a theater near you.

The Big Screen

It even made international headlines

If the media isn’t sending a mixed message, please, allow me to. I can understand both sides here very clearly. While I haven’t been to a movie theater in a very long time, I do know this: when I pay $9 for a ticket and $9 for a medium soda (the smallest size available) and another $9 for a bucket of popcorn soaked in real butter flavored flavoring with 1,500 calories, I hope to have a comfortable experience void of all distractions and interruptions. (Unrelated: I would never actually get the bucket of popcorn because I don’t eat foods that come in buckets.) But there is nothing more annoying (besides the kid behind me kicking my seat) than someone who keeps picking up a phone and texting or whispering through a phone conversation. Even if the device is silent, the light coming on and off from the screen is distracting.

But, Hollywood the classical music world is not. Opening weekend at the symphony is not playing in theaters across the country and grossing $50 million. Listening intently to 100 minutes of classical music takes a lot more concentration and thought than required during James Bond’s “Mission Impossible XXIV.” Orchestras, however, do need to think about tapping into the possible resource that is mobile technology. The challenge is to find ways of doing this that won’t disrupt the concert and prevent people from focusing on the music.

A.D.D.

I can admit to having attention span shortages while listening to concerts. I can be impatient. I’m not always engaged in every moment of every piece except on the rare occasion, which tends to happen when I’m hearing something that’s unfamiliar yet completely gripping. So sure, I would love to take out my phone and tweet something or “check in” on Facebook. But this could be distracting to the person sitting next to me and I risk looking like some uncultured miscreant.

“How” the classical music world embraces the new technology is a far more important question than “will” they. Can we figure out unique ways through which to integrate? Are there ways of doing this that will make the concert experience more engaging, that will connect with people just out of reach of our current efforts to attract new fans, all while keeping the sanctity of the concert experience in tact?

iBenefit

I’ll start with how smart phones have changed my life as a performer. First, I no longer have to reference the rather large recording library in my closet. If I’m called to play something unfamiliar at the last minute, I can get out my phone, use YouTube or the Naxos Music Library online to access a video or recording for quick reference. YouTube has saved my professional life on a number of occasions when I’ve had a relatively new and difficult work to prepare that has not yet been recorded. A quick search will sometimes yield a raw video of a premier that I can use to study. If I’m on stage during rehearsal of a Mahler symphony and my German translations have eluded me, I can Google a term to find out what kind of stick Gustav intended for me to use.

In this picture, you can see me in rehearsal, trusty pencil securely behind my ear, sitting behind a set of congas frantically looking up on the Internet how to play the darn things. (Yes, it’s come to that.) I’m also thinking to myself, “Why didn’t I pay attention in that mandatory hand drumming class I took in college?” Naïve as I was at the time, I probably figured I didn’t care about hand drumming because how was that going to be useful to a brilliant burgeoning classical percussionist? Little did I know that, as a freelance percussionist, I would play more congas than xylophones. Also, I was absent from the class most evenings, which didn’t help my cause. What administrator in his or her right mind would schedule such a college course on a Friday evening at 6 p.m.?

But I digress.

A cautionary word

We could all learn a lesson or two from attending a sporting event – any sporting event. Recently, for me, it was a minor league hockey game in Kansas City. Everyone at the event under the age of 30 was on their phones constantly rather than watching the game. Hockey is a sport with nonstop action, unlike baseball, which should make it easier to watch without mobile distractions. It’s sad that, in today’s society, we can’t do anything without our attention being turned to the little mobile device in our pockets. But, on the other hand, our world today is a world of constant engagement and interaction – like it or not.

I don’t want the concert hall to be another place where we forget what’s happening around us. We’re there to be immersed in music and sound. However, I also recognize the opportunity organizations have with this new technology. Orchestras could offer e-programs, which would save paper and reduce the expense of printing programs. They could allow people arriving at the hall early to use their phones to vote on the overture they want to hear that evening (maybe giving them three or four options). We could roll back the curtain on the classical music world and have a live, streaming video feed showing what goes on backstage prior to the performance. We could highlight musicians going through their pre-concert routine and maybe have an impromptu interview with one of them. I could go on: direct the user to the orchestra’s website. Have quizzes about the evening’s repertoire or soloists. Offer the mobile user a quick way to donate via one easy touch on the screen. Allow patrons to take photos, non-flash photography of course, and post to the orchestra’s Facebook page.

If we want to bring mobile devices into the concert experience, disruptions will occur from time to time. But figuring out a way to incorporate today’s technology into music halls without causing the same frustrations people experience at movie theaters – and at the same time allowing patrons to have a more interactive, engaging experience – could reap some potentially industry-changing benefits for the world of classical music.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Direct Me to the Nearest Double Bar

2012-01-06T14:20:00.001-06:00

There are many people out there who question what a person standing on a podium waving a stick can really bring to a performance. The answer is nothing. And everything.

You might start to think I have a personal vendetta towards conductors since I’m continuing this thread. Maybe I’ve been biting my tongue, using every ounce of self-restraint to avoid chucking a mallet at one of them. But it’s quite the contrary. The relationship between conductor and musician, music director and orchestra is fascinating and ripe with subtleties. Let’s take a look.

The first rehearsal

When you’re working with your music director, the person who spends the most time standing before you, there are no big surprises from week to week. You know how they operate, how they’ll run rehearsals and how much they might demand from the group. It’s comforting. For me, I’ll know if that person will completely ignore the percussion section or if he or she is going to be irritatingly particular about how we sound based on our history together.

But a guest conductor, someone coming through town just for a week during the season, is a different story. You might be familiar with some of them, but it’s the ones you’re not familiar with who leave the door open for unpredictable first impressions and knee-jerk conclusions.

A guest conductor’s challenge, depending on the level of the orchestra, is to connect with the group of musicians in front of him or her, forming a bond over the course of four short rehearsals while commanding as much respect as possible. But, it’s a lot easier said than done. Although I’m not a conductor, I can guess that it must be a balancing act between trying to push musicians to make changes and play slightly out of their comfort zone, and being careful not to be too overbearing as to make enemies.

Different conductors bring different levels of intensity. Some are like a friend. They’ll talk a lot and try to connect with the orchestra that way. Others want to bury their head and get to work, saying very little and using up every spare second to mold and shape the music to his or her desire.

Depending on the conductor’s personality and style, rehearsals can either fly by or drag on forever. One might work so furiously that you don’t have time to think. Another might become so obsessed with the details of certain passages and bars that you find yourself watching the red-numbered, digital atomic rehearsal clock as the minutes and seconds grind to a halt. Your eyes play tricks on you. You can’t stop your head from constantly turning in its direction. How is it still 10:59? It’s been 10:59 for half an hour now.

Thinking of sluggish rehearsal clocks reminds me of something I heard while on tour with the Philharmonia Orchestra. I was treated to a retirement speech by a long-time section violinist at a post-concert reception. His speech had the typical dry, self-deprecating humor of a Britt sprinkled with a bit of sentimentality here and there. At one point, the gentleman quipped, “The only parting gift I want from my colleagues is the rehearsal clock. Because if my retirement drags on as slowly as that clock did, I’ll be blessed with endless amounts of time with which I can do everything I’ve always wanted in retirement.”

Wave it and it won't make a sound

Tick, tick, tick…

It’s always interesting to watch the transition a conductor (and orchestra) makes from rehearsals to concerts. In a way, it’s like the first flight of a new aircraft. You’ve gone through all the testing, making sure everything is in the right place and put together properly. You think you’re prepared for every challenge and unforeseen event you’re going to face. But it’s not until takeoff comes at 8:07 p.m. that orchestra and conductor really find out how they’re going to work together.

At that moment, adrenaline takes over and nerves come into play (yes, conductors get nervous too). Spontaneity kicks in and sometimes the orchestra will react; other times they won’t pick up on it. Some conductors can be very flexible and able to change certain moments with a subtle flick of the wrist or nod of the head, while others will stick to predetermined routines and patterns – they do what they’ve practiced. One way is not better than the other; it’s just a matter of what is tried and tested for each individual baton wielder.

Good Conductor, Great Conductor

I have played for conductors who command such attention throughout a performance I find myself peering at them around my music stand even when I’m in the midst of a 10-minute rest. It’s enthralling seeing someone so capable and confident that they can stretch out certain moments more than expected and coax the orchestra at their will. (It’s also slightly awkward when the conductor catches you staring at him in wonder from behind the bass drum.)

From my chair in the back of the orchestra, it’s like this: a good conductor looks like he is (or she is) just following along with what the orchestra plays. At certain times, he provides needed guidance through a transition. A great conductor is one step ahead of the orchestra. His brain is probably several seconds ahead of what’s actually happening. He’s pushing the group. Pulling them. Tugging at them. Wanting more. Wanting less. He acts as a liaison between orchestra and audience. His body movements communicate one thing to us and another to the people behind them. And he never stops until he’s cut off the very last bit of sound that reverberates through out the hall.

As far as I’m concerned, the most important job any conductor has is to bring something different to the stage – something the audience will be able to detect. This could be a familiar symphony with drastically different tempi, a brass section that blends more rather than dominating the sound, or a string section playing just above being inaudible. If the musicians are walking off stage after the last concert, sad that the week is over or feeling like they’ll be happy never to see this conductor again, the maestro has probably done his job.

A professional orchestra can get through any piece of music without much direction. If a conductor doesn’t take some risks, both in his relationship with the musicians and in the music itself, a stagnant product will be presented to the paying public (and they’ll pick up on it!). But, if they’re able to choose their battles wisely and garner the support of the group on stage, there is more often than not a recipe for good things to happen on a Friday evening at the symphony.

(By the way, have you ever wanted to stand up and conduct something? Try conducting along with a recording of a piece of music with which you’re familiar. For me, it’s the 4^th movement of Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony. It’s pretty simple since it’s in a four pattern throughout and it can also be good exercise if you really get into it. Don’t worry about conducting a pattern - just go nuts.)

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Conductors and the Evil Eye

2011-12-30T15:03:00.000-06:00

A few people have asked me to share some thoughts and stories about my experience with conductors. I’ve had the honor of working with some of today’s top directors including Zubin Mehta, Lorin Maazel, Esa-Pekka Salonen, Michael Tilson Thomas, Sir Neville Marriner and Leonard Slatkin. These are inspiring and brilliant musicians who have created some of my most memorable performances. But since they each bring huge levels of passion and energy to work every day, it’s no surprise that they can get quite fed up when things don’t go the way they intend.

*** DISCLAIMER ***

I’m not going to get specific with my anecdotes for fear I might see a certain conductor on the podium again someday and suffer his wrath – not to presume any of them would take time away from studying their scores to bother with this word jumble of a blog. But, if you are a conductor and are reading this… I think you’re awesome.

Fear of the unknown

I’ll never forget the first time I was in a rehearsal and a world-famous conductor stepped up to the podium. It was while I was with the Civic Orchestra of Chicago, Chicago Symphony’s “training orchestra.” CSO’s music director at the time, Daniel Barenboim, walked through the stage door and up to the front of the orchestra, “sniffing” the air as he went (it always looks like he’s sniffing the way he walks with his head slightly forward and nose raised in the air – it’s very distinct and cat-like). Surprisingly, but instinctually, I felt a wave of fear and nervousness. This was a renowned music director who works with the world’s best musicians and I was just a graduate student, still very wet behind the ears. Whatever ego I had about my own playing up and vanished like an eyelash in a tornado.

Part of me was anxious because, if you don’t know, being called out in rehearsal, yelled at and embarrassed in front of your colleagues, can leave you feeling so small you could sit on a dime and swing your legs. We’ve all been there. There is no escape when you’re not getting your part just right (whether it’s not quite in time, too soft, too loud, not expressive enough or just plain wrong) and the conductor has decided to make an example of you for the rest of the rehearsal. Once you’ve called negative attention to yourself, you become a magnet for criticism and it feels as though there is no escape except to run through the back stage door, into the alley and hide in a dumpster. I don’t mean to say that conductors are mean-spirited. On the contrary: most are serious about educating and nurturing young talent, but I can still see how young musicians’ naivety can be frustrating.

Mercury rising

Some of the top maestros also have histories of tempers that can flare without notice. Why is this? To be a world-class conductor, you have to inspire and move a large group of people (and one that’s not always easy to deal with). You demand the very best of yourself and the people who play in front of you. This kind of (necessary) heated passion can leave one walking a fine line between waving a baton, trying desperately to get 100 people to follow your every nuance, and pure outrage when they don’t.

I’ve seen a few outbursts in my day, some of them sparked by sub-par playing, with others brought on by reasons still unknown to me today. I witnessed one conductor throw his rehearsal stool off of the stage when the orchestra wasn’t responding. I’ve been in performances when a conductor got so mad at someone’s playing they actually yelled at them while they were playing. I’ve seen them walk out on rehearsals if the orchestra wasn’t prepared and I’ve even been kicked off stage during a rehearsal for chewing gum. I never chewed gum in rehearsal but since I was rushed on stage at the last minute due to a schedule change, I forgot to get rid of it – a mistake I never made again.

Sitting during a particularly serene part of a certain symphony, I vividly remember watching as a conductor suddenly slammed his baton down in frustration. Irate because of the audiences’ poor behavior (making noise, talking, walking in and out during the performance), he stormed off stage exclaiming, “That’s it. I’ve had it!” Scary as a situation like this can be for a performer, interrupted mid-phrase (or, in my case, mid-slow movement snooze), it’s also fascinating to watch how a conductor recovers a performance after stopping it so suddenly (when is the last time you were at a concert that was halted mid-performance?). Walking back on stage, the maestro proceeded to lecture the audience on what it means to be part of a performance and how their involvement and attention is just as important as what’s going on in the music. It was sound advice. The performance continued and the audiences’ applause at the end sounded like their way of apologizing.

Saying maestro made me think of this scene from Seinfeld:

Knowing that conductors demand a lot, it’s impossible to always please them with your playing. As a percussionist, what you play stands out – every note is a solo note while string players, for example, function as part of a larger group playing the same parts. So if I don’t get a triangle note in the exact right place or a cymbal note quite right, I’ve noticed that I’ll sometimes get a glare from the general direction of the podium. Over time, I’ve learned two things:

1) I’m not always going to please them with my playing and

2) When I insult them with my playing, it’s best to just avoid eye contact and pretend I don’t see them staring through my eyes and burning a hole in the back of my head.

Compliments to the drummer

Conductors can be terrifying – this I know first hand. But a simple compliment from them can lift your spirits for days. Musicians are sensitive people who are critical of themselves and their playing – and a slight pat on the back tends to go a long way. Recently, I walked off stage after a performance of Shostakovich’s 10^th Symphony and ran into the conductor walking down the hall to his dressing room. It was one of those awkward situations when you’re both headed in the same direction, walking at the same pace and you’re forced to either acknowledge each other or slow down and walk in the other person’s shadow to avoid contact. I tend to avoid speaking to conductors since they are usually on a different wavelength than me – I think about sports and they probably think about how Beethoven harmonized differently than Brahms. But this conductor actually wanted to talk to me and compliment my tam-tam playing (of all things). I was a bit shocked but assumed he was being funny. So I laughed. He directed me not to laugh. I obeyed. He’s heard many people make the tam-tam sound bad and he acknowledged it’s not easy to place the extremely soft notes in such a way so it makes sense in the context of the music. I’ll write this one down in my “compliments from conductors” journal. I have plenty of empty pages.

Performing wouldn’t be the same without all the drama. I guess that’s part of what makes the world of the classical musician interesting. You never know what’s going to happen from day to day. One performance might be a little mundane while the next is ripe with excitement and spontaneity. I might fear the maestro at times but fear, I’ve learned, is a great motivator.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Chicken Little Cries Wolf - The Movie

2011-12-23T15:46:00.001-06:00

Why is music important? People are always buying tickets for concerts, rock and classical alike, but what does a concertgoer hope to gain from the experience? Listening to a great performance can be energizing, inspiring and uplifting. It is our job as musicians to make each performance as momentous as possible and the job of music organizations to continue to find different ways of doing this. While some fear the walls of our classical music world (as we know it) are collapsing around us, I beg to differ.

There’s something about soundtracks…

Imagine your favorite movies. What moments stand out? Perhaps it’s when the hero triumphantly defeats the villain, the lost soul finds his way home or the protagonist finally gets redemption. Whatever it is, can you imagine the music playing during that particular scene?

I love movie soundtracks. I have over 150 of them in my CD collection. Some of them I’m embarrassed to have ever purchased (like the soundtracks to “Beaches” or “Beauty and the Beast” – both the Disney and Broadway versions) but most of them have a great story to tell purely through the music. It’s fascinating how a great film score composer captures certain moments so perfectly and accompanies the plot with suitable music throughout. Here are a few that stand out for me:

- “Rudy”: Jerry Goldsmith is one of my all time favorite film composers. He creates some of the most poignant melodies that stand alone without the need for fancy accompaniment – just a great horn section playing in unison.

-       “Shawshank Redemption”: Thomas Newman writes unique scores, which is why I like them so much. He uses interesting instrumentation and doesn’t always stick to classic movie scoring. Like Goldsmith, he also concocts inspiring themes. When an innocent Andy Dufresne emerges from a sewage pipe, escaping prison after 20 years, he breaks free from his prison garb and washes himself off in a stream. It’s a powerful movie moment.

-       “Miracle”: This one surprised me. I didn’t know much about Mark Isham but he composed a score that seamlessly followed the formation, training and eventual triumph of the 1980 U.S. Olympic Men’s ice hockey team. The score starts out small, using a chamber-sized orchestra, and builds to the end of the movie finishing with a full-blown symphony orchestra powering through the moment when the U.S. beats the Russians.

-       “Birth”: Known more recently for the soundtrack to “The Kings Speech,” Alexandre Desplat also wrote the score for "Birth." I mention this because it starts with a solo triangle beating like a clock followed by a flute trio – very unique. When do trianglists get solos on the big screen or anywhere else for that matter? Alice and I should perform this in a recital.

-       “Face/Off”: I refer to films like this one as “bad-good movies.” They’re so bad but so good. (“ConAir” is another example with Nicolas Cage’s poor attempt at a southern drawl.) John Powell’s music for “Face/Off” far surpasses the content on the screen. Even my professor in college referred to the music as very “Wagnerian” during my Wagner course one semester.

- “Cast Away”: Some of you probably hate this movie but Alan Silvestri is one of the industries best scorers (he’s also known for “Forrest Gump” and “The Polar Express”). Even though the film's score is heard only in the final third of the film when Tom Hanks’ character floats away from the island he’s been stranded on for over three years, this is another unforgettable movie moment. It’s capped off with a lush string orchestra fading in over the sound of the ocean as an oboe solo emerges, playing in angst above it all. Although it’s very short, his score won a Grammy for best instrumental composition. I second the nomination!

- “The Mission”: I’ve never even seen the movie but I still love the music of Italian composer and conductor Ennio Morricone. I own this soundtrack, listen to it frequently, and insert my own stories and personal experiences while doing so.

Movies wouldn’t be the same without music. In many cases, the penultimate moments can be more aural than visual for someone like me, so the right combination of themes and build-up make or break a movie’s entire reason for existence.

When I was preparing for one of the last auditions I ever took, I had the soundtrack to “The Miracle” on my iPod constantly, listening to it on the train ride to and from work. I thought the story lines were oddly similar. After all, it really does take a small miracle to win an audition. Being reminded of the U.S. Olympic hockey team’s punishing training regimen and impossible accomplishment was perfect inspiration for me as I dragged myself out of bed, morning after morning, and trudged through the ice and snow to spend my entire day in a windowless practicing room with one goal in mind (I fell embarrassingly short but… sigh).

The sky isn’t falling…

So how does this apply to the classical music world, you ask? At times, it seems like most classical musicians are convinced their world is crumbling before their very eyes. Eventually, every orchestra will fold and Beethoven and Brahms will never be heard again. We’ll all be homeless, crouching in an alley behind a disintegrating concert hall stoking a fire kindled with our precious instruments in order to heat our Ramen noodle dinner. Even though many musicians are facing hard times with pay cuts, loss of benefits, strikes and unemployment (I’ve experienced my fair share), the art form will live on and thrive once again, I am sure.

Why?

Because music has been and will always be an important part of our society. I mentioned movies because music adds so much to their effect on us. I go to the concert hall for that very same reason. It won’t happen every time you attend, but people come to the concert hall to be moved and inspired for much the same reason that they go to the movies.

This continues to be our job as musicians. Our challenge, going forward, is to achieve a balance of keeping Beethoven and Brahms alive while finding innovative ways of performing newer music that evoke fresh emotions and prevents our art form from becoming stagnant.

We’re not lemmings

An encouraging sign from Kansas City was a recent Facebook status posted by someone involved with the Kansas City Symphony. Apparently, the ticketing department received a call from a customer wanting tickets to hear Yo-Yo Ma perform the Dvorák Cello Concerto this January (speaking of triangles, this piece forces one poor percussionist to be on stage the entire time for three triangle rolls in the third movement). At the end of the transaction, the caller asked, “And by the way, who is Yo-Yo Ma?” Most people in our world might laugh. It’s like asking who is Albert Pujols or Michael Jordan (or me asking who Kanye West is). But the positive take away from something like that is the fact that someone who doesn’t know the name Yo-Yo Ma is buying tickets to a symphony concert.

So the next time you perform, think about how you can help to create that penultimate moment in the performance. As a listener, see if you can make a connection between the music and your own life experiences. Try to make the performance the soundtrack to your life and encourage your local symphony to perform music that will help serve this purpose for you.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Der Blog des Nibelungen

2011-12-16T14:07:00.000-06:00

Nothing strikes as much wonder and excitement in the opera lover (or fear of tendinitis in a string player) as the four war-horse operas that make up Wagner’s “Ring of the Nibelung.” I was always curious about what it would be like to be involved in a production of this magnitude. I love theater, drama and classical music, and this is the perfect combination of all three that will hopefully stay fresh for years to come.

I was finally able to experience playing the Ring Cycle in 2008, and, not long into rehearsing, I wondered if I’d end up being let down. While violinists saw away through the entire opera, barely able to get a breath or shake out a hand cramp, a percussionist merely has to check in every once in a while, playing a quarter note here, two eighth notes an hour later.

Not counting intermissions, the score is nearly 14 hours. That’s enough music to cover the length of more than nine traditional classical orchestra concerts (or the amount of music a normal symphony plays over the course of two months). Up until recently, I had performed my fair share of excerpts from it on the concert stage (including far too many attempts at “Ride of the Valkyries”), but I’d never played it in its entirety.

Sorry – back to Sweden.

The Royal Swedish Opera’s new production was timed perfectly with my tenure there from 2006 to 2009. It was my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I was eager to learn how an opera company takes on such a daunting task.

If you don’t already know, while Wagner used a good amount of percussion in his operas, the playing and entrances are so sparse that, if I played every bar of music in my part consecutively, I could perform my entire part to “The Ring of the Nibelung” in less than five minutes. (I should make a video for YouTube and call it: Götterrheinfriedwalkürdämmerung.) It almost takes as long to say that as it would to play.

Since we played so little, rehearsals usually started like this: I walked up to the conductor, asked what parts he planned on rehearsing that day and then subtly suggested he let us go. German conductor Gregor Bühl eventually caught on to our tactics and would preemptively excuse us from most rehearsals until general repetitions (opera speak for dress rehearsals). While this was convenient for us, it also created a new challenge: when we eventually did show up for rehearsals, we had to be extra careful not to miss our entrances so as not to call undue attention to ourselves – that would risk being forced to attend all future rehearsals. (Luckily, I only failed once or twice.)

Commence to start

The call for “five minutes to top of Act I” over the back stage P.A. system means something a little different to a percussionist during Wagner. For two of the operas (depending on which part I was playing), I didn’t even need to be at the opera house until an hour or more into the performance. But at the beginning of Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, I needed to get in the pit, as there is percussion near the beginnings of both. In Die Walküre, however, I only had to play a few rolls in the second timpani part and then I could get out of my concert tails, practice, go meet Alice for a coffee or take a stroll around Stockholm for a while.

Since the instrumentation calls for quite a few more players than normal operas, space in the pit was incredibly limited. Plus, these productions were being filmed for TV broadcast so there were cameras taking up precious room. Just getting to my stool took some careful maneuvering. I would have to crawl, squeeze and contort myself to get to my spot, pressed against the pit wall. My area was about the size of a phone booth. Immediately to my left was the principal trombone; I had to be careful not to hit him with errant recoils after cymbal crashes. My elbow was up against the largest of the four timpani and my music stand was within arms reach even if I was sitting as far back on my stool as possible.

I had many cymbals to fit into the space to which I needed easy access. It took a small design marvel to have each cymbal and mallet set up in this tiny space. For most of the operas, I only played cymbals, and having the right sound for each moment was key. It was important to know what was going on in the opera when you played so you could respond with appropriate sounds (a lot of the notes the percussionists played were symbolic - or cymbalic if you will).

Cymbal color is important. Sometimes a dark sound was needed for the more eerie and dramatic moments while a brighter sound was needed at others. Near the end of Götterdämmerung, when the ring is taken off of the slain Siegfried’s finger, there is a cymbal note strategically placed. For this spot, I didn’t play a normal cymbal crash. Rather, I would scrape the edges of the cymbals together to create a sound more like a “zing” or a sword being taken out of its sheath. This, I hope, added to the drama of the moment.

Underneath the stage playing the anvils in Das Rheingold

Take 90

Generally, my experience playing the Ring Cycle was somewhat disjointed. If I wasn’t playing the cymbal part on Das Rheingold (the percussionists rotated personnel so we didn’t play every performance), I would come in just to cover the offstage anvils (representing the sound of Alberich’s minions mining for gold)) with five other percussionists. In the second act of Siegfried, I played two notes. If you were to play parts of Die Walküre for me, I might not recognize them because I was never in the opera house during those scenes. I would wait for an hour to play one note but wanted that one note to be placed perfectly and sound exactly how I wanted. For those instances, I would sneak back in the pit early to reacquaint myself with the mood of the opera.

Sometimes I would be done before the opera was finished and, walking under the stage to get out of the opera house, I would hear the action going on above me. A soloist or the chorus singing and the orchestra chugging away in the pit – it was an inspiring feeling to be walking below a performance like this of which I was a (small) part.

Attentive audience

As hard of a time as I had being idle between entrances or spending 15 minutes sitting on my stool in the pit waiting to play one more note, I was continually impressed at how much the audience loved this experience. Every seat in the house was filled without fail. People would sit in the worst, most uncomfortable seats with an obstructed view for hours and not make a peep. The audience sat impressively still and felt more like part of the performance, which made the opera house feel like one big stage – soloists, chorus, orchestra and audience performing as one. When the operas would finally finish, well past 11 p.m., they wouldn’t rush from their seats to beat the crowd out the door like you sometimes see nowadays. Rather, they stayed and clapped for ten minutes or longer until their hands were red and raw, like the brass players’ chops.

D-flat Major, Finally

When it was all sung and done, despite all my resting, I felt like I got the full experience, albeit slightly unique from my perspective. After each performance, the orchestra would drag themselves to the orchestra bar and have a much-deserved beer. The conductor would join, drenched in sweat and exhausted from waving his arms at us for so long. Staggering down the hall from the orchestra pit, it felt like everyone was coming back from a battle.

As for my percussion section, I was proud. I can say with conviction that, over the course of six complete cycles, we never missed an entrance (OK, I missed one but I was sick that night!). I watched the TV broadcast at one point and noticed that I got two seconds of fame. The camera cut to me to catch one of my cymbal crashes. I think it was a good one, too! I also learned that the “Ride of the Valkyries” is much more effective within the context of the opera. The next time I play it on a concert stage, it will have a renewed sense of energy but I will most certainly miss experiencing it as it was originally intended.

Below is the last 10 minutes of the Royal Swedish Opera's production of Götterdämmerung:

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

The Ghost of Blogs Yet to Come

2011-12-12T10:51:00.000-06:00

Is it possible to blog about not blogging? We’re about to find out. I’m sitting here reeling because I failed to meet my self-imposed Friday afternoon weekly blog deadline. I’ve been analyzing what went wrong from many different angles but…

Excuses?

My week was as busy as any week has been these past couple of months. It started in Columbia, Missouri, teaching through Tuesday and continued with four rehearsals, six concerts, two meetings and a partridge in a pear tree. But, I had my Friday morning free and planned on waking up early to polish off a post, send it to my sister for review and put it up before a noon meeting, afternoon rehearsal and evening concert, which included a last minute part change due to a colleague’s illness. It required me to drop everything and get to the concert hall early to review new parts just prior to the downbeat.

The concert was with the Texas Tenors, finalists on America’s Got Talent several years ago. I actually enjoyed the performance, which included traditional Christmas songs as well as some Broadway, Country and Western music. When the three of them sang “Danny Boy,” I couldn’t help but think of this Muppets clip:

Failure is an option

I failed. Even though I woke up at seven, which is early for me, contemplated and wrote for two solid hours, I couldn’t put sentences together. I must be suffering from a bout of writer’s block because the blog I came up with was worse than my usual drivel. It lacked a clear point, jumped from one topic to the next and made no sense when I tried to wrap it up.

After sending it off to my sister, knowing it was not a coherent product, she immediately messaged me, “Your writing today has the wayward tendency of a dump truck.” Even though I said in a previous post, Blogiversay, that it is important to post regularly, regardless of quality, this particular attempt was a foul ball, a missed field goal, a second serve chunked into the net or, for you musicians, a botched entrance during a silent pause.

Writer’s Penalty Box

So I was given a time-out to regroup and get my writing mojo back. The actual blog was an attempt to talk about orchestra auditions and the small window of opportunity young musicians face before they start to feel like their life needs to begin. But it ended up resembling other blogs I’ve written (was I plagiarizing myself?). Maybe I’ll give that another attempt some other time.

Retractions and apologies

For now, I should apologize to anyone who regularly reads this blog, but most importantly to those who Google “Perfect Pitch”, expecting to find a website that will teach them how to “learn” perfect pitch (something I think is impossible – you can learn pitch memory… don’t get me started). I know these people exist because in my Blogger analytics, I can see how people come to the blog, whether it’s on a PC, an iPad, if they linked to it through Facebook or Googled a keyword such as the name of a conductor. But, a number of the searches continue to be for “Perfect Pitch”, not “Imperfect Pitch.” So, I’m sorry to disappoint those particular people.

Give me ideas

I’m realizing that writing regularly can be as challenging as performing six concerts in a week. It requires a lot of stamina and energy and it can be difficult to summon up the inspiration when you need it most (like at 7 a.m. on a Friday morning). As I continue blogging, and get back on track with a Friday posting, it’s always helpful to get suggestions as to what would be interesting to readers. So please don’t hesitate to post a comment or write me a message with ideas! Until next time...

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Nutcracker, Rinse, Repeat.

2011-12-02T13:46:00.001-06:00

Christmas wouldn’t be the same without the music: holiday pops shows, church choir concerts, “Messiah” performances and “The Nutcracker.” As joyful and warm as this makes most people feel during the month of December, the musicians that make these performances possible show up to Christmas Eve dinner feeling like overused, outdated, tangled tree light strands with half the bulbs burnt out. This leads me to wonder: are we over doing it? Do we need 25 repetitions of the Nutcracker? Have we run the same music and productions into the ground so much so that they’ve lost their twinkle?

Sounds of the season

Here in the BBQ capital of the world, the Kansas City Symphony puts on a variety of shows to appeal to all different crowds. This weekend features three performances of Handel’s “Messiah” and also marks the beginning of a three-week run of Tchaikovsky’s “The Nutcracker,” in conjunction with the Kansas City Ballet. “Messiah” is so popular that over 1,000 people showed up for the dress rehearsal. All of them even stood up in unison, right on cue, for the “Hallelujah Chorus.” The next week will include a couple of different Christmas pops shows and the final week wraps up with five performances of the symphony’s annual Christmas Festival concerts. All in all, it’s a lot of music to play – and, for me, a lot of sleigh bells to jingle.

The front of the Kauffman Center

What’s unique about this season’s run for the Kansas City Symphony is every performance, including the ballet, will be under one roof (or glass enclosure). The new Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts features both a concert hall and theatre. Yesterday, while waiting to play my two movements in the “Messiah”, I was able to walk down the hall and pop in on the dress rehearsal for “The Nutcracker” and bug my colleagues in the pit with useless comments about orchestra balance.

I enjoy all of this music. I even have my Christmas CDs loaded into my car to enjoy on drives to and from Mizzou in Columbia. They include recordings of “The Nutcracker” and the soundtrack to “Home Alone. ” Go ahead and laugh, but I always love a John Williams score, and the movie was filmed in the northern suburbs of Chicago (where I’m from).

But the downside to playing all of this Christmas music, for a musician, is the repetition. As much as you may love it, by the end of the month, you’re ready for Sleigh Ride to hit a snow bank and the Nutcracker to break his jaw on an over-roasted chestnut. The effects can be long-lasting, too. Last year, I played in the Kansas City Symphony’s Christmas Festival concerts and really enjoyed the last piece, “Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas,” which was from the soundtrack to “Home Alone 2, Lost in New York” (maybe that strikes a chord with Alice being that she’s a former New Yorker…I’d have to ask). But after playing it through eight times, I couldn’t get it out of my head. As it replayed over and over, I came up with new words, like a version with the 15^th century Indian mantra “Hare Krishna.” I even have a version that includes lyrics about my cat. (Yes, I need help.) To this day, I’ve had a hard time forgetting it. And, right on cue, I see it’s showing up on a program in a couple of weeks. Is this considered hazardous to my (mental) health? Should I get hazard pay for this?

Is there even a problem?

So musicians are tired of playing the same music year after year, but does that mean the public is tired of hearing it? Tradition plays a big role in what people do during the Christmas season. I’m sure many families go to the Nutcracker every year and would be upset if it were taken out of the performance rotation. The Christmas concerts I’ve been a part of in several different cities and countries always seem packed with festive people ready to hear popular seasonal tunes. I’m sure a few of them still fall asleep from too much cookies and eggnog, but that’s beside the point. I’m no Scrooge (although some will argue to the contrary) so I’m not going to suggest everything needs to be scrapped.

Rather, I’ve learned over time that change happens in small doses – sometimes too small to notice. Major changes in how something operates or what music is performed during this particular season would create too many waves and upset too many people. Instead, from a performer’s standpoint, and one who generally loves everything he’s playing this month, I would suggest a continued effort to find new and quality arrangements of Christmas music. Playing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” in four different keys isn’t interesting. I have enough Christmas music in my car to know that there are better arrangements out there.

Christmas concerts also tend to be on the long side, sometimes lasting over two hours. Maybe they need to be kept to an hour, which would prevent them from becoming repetitive and also leave time for everyone to attend a Christmas party afterwards, do a little extra Christmas shopping beforehand or go to dinner.

I know new productions are expensive to design, build and produce, but I’ll reiterate what I said last year at this time: why not freshen up “The Nutcracker” with a brand new production? An easy way for cities to put their stamp on this ballet would be to set it on their own city streets. Make the scenery recognizable and put some twists in the story line so that it hits closer to home and is more modernized for today’s world.

The little drummer boy forges ahead

Our challenge as musicians is to bring a level of energy and quality playing to each performance no matter how old it’s getting. I try to remember that, while I’m playing my umpteenth show, most people in the audience are seeing it for the first and only time. It’s important to make a good impression. (This serves as a reminder for me to keep my yawning to a minimum.) Yes, I will be tired from driving all over the state of Missouri, working every day from now until Christmas. But when I’m on stage each afternoon and evening, I should be sure to have my caffeine levels right so that I can do my part to keep the music sounding renewed. If each musician can remind himself or herself to do this, and we combine that with small innovations in programing, the amount of performances, concert length and scenery, it’s possible we can keep the month of December interesting and fresh while maintaining celebrated traditions.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Blogiversary

2011-11-28T11:00:00.001-06:00

Time flies when you’re having fun. It’s already been a year since I started Imperfect Pitch and I thought I should take a moment to mark this occasion (thrilled, aren't you?). My first blog, “Will Call,” was posted on November 17^th, 2010. A lot has changed in my life since then, but it’s good to be reminded of why I started blogging, what I’m learning from it and what I hope to gain from it over the next 12 months – besides another $16 in earnings from Google AdSense.

Why do I blog?

This time last year, not much was going on in my professional life and I was anxiously searching for other career opportunities besides music performance. While chatting with my sister one afternoon, she asked if I would ever consider being a music reviewer. I thought the idea sounded intriguing, so she recommended starting a blog, and said I should treat it like a job and post regularly. She instructed me to be myself and, more importantly, find a voice. Finding a voice, she cautioned, can be easier said than done. You can’t necessarily decide what your voice will be and then start writing. Rather, it has to come out naturally over time.

So I did just that. I started writing and just went with whatever came out. Luckily, my sister also happens to have a master’s degree in journalism and now works as a writer and editor for an integrated marketing firm in Chicago. I’m getting some pretty good advice and input from week to week.

Learning me good

Searching for a job and having limited experience in anything other than performance is a daunting situation, but starting a blog has helped me in more ways than I expected. Aside from giving me something to focus on every week when I was idle, it has forced me to work on my writing skills, which can be applied to any career path.

Also, writing something down on a computer is one thing, but posting it on the Internet for all to see makes you think twice before clicking the “Post Now” button. I’m a perfectionist (more specifically, a lazy perfectionist) so I get annoyed when there’s a mistake or a sentence that doesn’t quite flow right. There are also times when I post something I’m not happy with but I’m learning it’s more important to put content out there on a regular basis than it is to post only when you’re completely satisfied with the end result.

An example of what the editor sends back to me

Some people think it’s funny, almost silly that I have an editor. If you read some of my sister’s comments on my writing, you might laugh. My favorite remarks include the highlighted sentence or paragraph with a simple “No” in the margin, or my all-time favorite, “Ah. Always a joy finding your opening sentence... buried in the middle of the blog.” Despite Ms. Slice and Dice’s brutal honesty, I find it’s imperative to have someone skilled in the art of editing ramblings such as mine. They point out common mistakes that you’re used to skimming over without noticing and can help guide your thoughts so that they’re communicated clearly.

An editor also helps you remember who your audience is. Just because something makes sense to you, such as a musical reference, doesn’t mean it will make sense to everyone else. I try to write in such a way that’s interesting and useful for not only active professional musicians, students and classical music lovers, but also for those who may not know much about this odd little world, but are still curious.

Keep it simple and personal…

Once I started getting into a good rhythm with my blog, I decided it was time to start becoming a better writer. One book that promised to help me is “On Writing Well” by William Zinsser. One of my favorite chapters in this book is entitled Simplicity. It begins:

“Clutter is the disease of American writing. We are a society strangling in unnecessary words, circular constructions, pompous frills and meaningless jargon.”

“But the secret of good writing is to strip every sentence to its cleanest components.”

These insights have been incredibly useful to me as I continue writing. Why use fancy words that people will have to look up (not that I know any fancy words)? Why spend four sentences trying to describe something when it could be stated in one? Attention spans on the Internet tend to be fleeting, so if I get too detailed or lost in a description, I’ll be the victim of a quick mouse click back over to Facebook. Blogs need to be on the shorter side, as my sister has instructed, which is why she now refuses to edit anything I send to her that’s over two pages (she’ll enforce it next week, she promises).

I’m also surprised to find that the more personal I get on the blog, the more people respond. The most personal posts I’ve made (“Throwing Curve Balls with Lemons” or “Secondary Symptoms”) have gotten the most hits and feedback. They are also the easiest to write as the information flows pretty freely from my mind out onto the written page. (They’re also therapeutic and come cheaper than a psychologist.)

Goals

Thanks to the Music Institute of Chicago’s request for me to write every week, I’ve had a specific goal and timeline to follow. Research suggests that one of the best times to post new content is early on Friday afternoons (I assume because that’s when a lot of people are in the waning hours of the work week and more prone to distractions). So I always make sure, no matter what rehearsals, meetings or travels I have, that I post sometime before 3 p.m. on Fridays. (I took a little break over the Thanksgiving weekend, which is why this post is on a Monday.)

I plan to continue blogging no matter how busy I get. I want to find new and interesting topics that are relevant to the music world while still personal in nature and fresh (suggestions are always welcome). I’ve also felt the urge to weigh in on some of the more important issues facing the classical music world today and perhaps that will give me reason to start a different blog. Maybe I’ll call it “Rhettoric.” Am I ready to ruffle some feathers?

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Life and Luck: All In

2011-11-18T13:26:00.001-06:00

I am fascinated by how our life’s direction is affected by the most random people, coincidences and moments despite how much we think we control what happens. Complete strangers make choices and experience good fortune that, years later, will come to affect your own life. For musicians, these happenstances can sometimes be traced to one victorious audition. For me, if it weren’t for a new orchestra, a stranger-turned-friend and colleague and his good fortune as well as several other people’s successes, I can’t even fathom what I’d be doing or where I’d be living today.

Miami, 1988

Wolfie's, Miami Beach,
on 21st and Collins is no longer there

A new orchestra was being formed by one of the world’s leading artists and conductors, Michael Tilson Thomas. The idea behind it was to start an ensemble filled with highly gifted graduates from some of the country’s top music schools. MTT wanted to give these hopeful professionals a place to play, hone their craft and collaborate with the best conductors of the time.

Cleveland, 1988

Around this time, a percussionist named John Kapenekas had recently graduated from the Cleveland Institute of Music and was desperately seeking work as a full-time orchestra musician. Back then, the best way to look for orchestra openings, since this was long before the Internet, was the monthly union paper. The ad said the group was to be called the New World Symphony and it’s home would be in Miami, Florida. John immediately sent for more information and found out he was the right age. Representatives from the new organization would be coming to different cities, including Cleveland, to audition people. It was to be “America’s Orchestral Training Institution.”

At that time, much the same as it is now, there were many talented people ready to risk it all in the hopes of having any kind of employment. Although John played a good audition, he was not immediately accepted as one of the four original percussionists.

The Plymouth Hotel which
housed NWS Fellows

But luck swung his way when one of the original members was offered a position in another orchestra and the New World Symphony, in turn, offered John the resulting vacancy. It was time for him to uproot for the unknown. This wouldn’t be the last time John made a leap of faith in his musical career.

Aspen, 1998

In 1988, I was 11 and didn’t even know what percussion was. But 10 years later (around the time that John Kapenekas moved to Stockholm, Sweden, for a job), I had just finished my sophomore year at the New England Conservatory as a percussion performance major. I was still an inexperienced amateur but was looking forward to my first summer music festival.

I soon learned that Aspen is one of the greatest places on earth to spend a summer. It’s perfectly set between the mountains and is filled with active people hiking, enjoying the outdoors by day and taking in the New York City-style nightlife by night. I was immersed in a world of students and professionals that began to form who I am as a player and person today. It was where I met one of my best friends. (Oddly enough, despite both of our world travels, we live in the same city again.) But Aspen was also the place where I first ran into someone by the name of Alice K. Dade. I was on stage at a rehearsal of John Adam’s music conducted by the composer himself when another percussionist commented on how cute a certain flute student was. I agreed and, in fact, I was floored by her looks, smile and playing. But shy as I was at the time, we never exchanged much more than a quick hello.

Two years later, still obsessed with spending my summers in Aspen, I left the mountain town for a couple of days to play extra with another summer festival, the National Repertory Orchestra, which was two hours away in Breckenridge. As I walked on stage for rehearsal, a girl whisked by me, smiled and said, “Hi Rhett.” It was Alice, again, but how did she even remember me?

Miami Beach, May 2002

It was one of those defining life moments I’m talking about. All of my work was about to pay off. Fourteen years after the start of the New World Symphony, long after John Kapenekas (whom I’d never met at the time) had left, I was walking off stage after playing a great final round at the audition for a vacancy in the symphony’s percussion section. After a 40-minute deliberation, I was announced as the winner. From that moment on I would be charting a brand new course. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would even live in the same apartment as John did.

Juilliard, New York City, April 2004

Alice was about to walk on stage for her Masters recital when her cell phone rang. It was the New World Symphony calling. She told the gentleman on the phone that he had better have good news since she was about to start her recital. As luck would have it, he was calling to offer her a flute fellowship.

Five months later, Alice was moving into her studio apartment at the Plymouth Hotel in Miami Beach. By coincidence, she was directly across the hall from my room, #323.

Stockholm, Sweden, May 2006

I came to this fish-loving, Scandinavian town for the Royal Swedish Opera’s principal percussion audition. The only reason I knew about it was because of its principal timpanist, John Kapenekas. He had sent an audition ad to the New World Symphony in the hopes of attracting some young talent from the U.S. I only knew John’s name because he had such a large impact on the New World Symphony, staying there for over six years, developing its instrument and equipment collection and starting the percussion ensemble South Beat. For some reason, seeing his name on the orchestra roster in Sweden helped me commit to taking the audition. I guess I was thinking at least there would be an American around to whom I could relate. After I found out I won the spot, I met John for the first time, nearly 18 years after he started with the New World Symphony.

Had it not been for John, I may not have survived my first few weeks living in Sweden. He met me at the airport and drove me to my first apartment. He went to the grocery store (ICA, pronounced Ee-ka) and stocked the place with food, although I didn’t eat it because it looked weird and I couldn’t figure out what bregott was. (Butter, I later found out, but it was packaged much differently than I was used to.) John also got me a cell phone, a subway pass and had all of my keys for the Opera sitting on the counter. I joked with him that the only thing missing was milk and cookies on my night stand. He also took me to the bank and tax office and translated Swedish to English so I could set up my accounts. For the next three years, he served as a great friend and colleague and was someone I could always lean on for help with “international issues” or any other day-to-day challenges.

People at the Opera actually thought we looked like brothers; the resemblance is uncanny, I have to admit.

What if?

It’s worth taking a moment to consider everything that had to happen to get you to the place in your life where you’re at today. As I sit here, I think: what if Michael Tilson Thomas had never started the New World Symphony? What if John Kapenekas didn’t get off of the alternate list? What if he never won his audition for the timpani position in Sweden? What if Alice and I had never met in Aspen or didn’t both manage to win highly sought after spots in the New World Symphony?

I’ve chronicled many of my experiences here on this blog. I realize that if it weren’t for these coincidences, I certainly would have had other opportunities, but it’s interesting to think how different my life could have been.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

Dirty Jobs: Parenting a Musician

2011-11-11T12:11:00.001-06:00

The role of parents in the life of a musician varies considerably from one performer to the next. Parents who have musical backgrounds are sometimes a child’s first teacher. Others with no musical experience have very little to do with the shaping of their musician. Either way, raising a child who seems bound to risk a life dedicated to music requires a large commitment, both financially and in the amount of time spent driving a young upstart to and from lessons, recitals, competitions and youth orchestra rehearsals (much like many other endeavors, such as sports). It also takes a certain amount of courage.

During a performance at Symphony Center with the Chicago Sinfonietta this past Monday, I routinely glanced up to check on my parents who were in the audience. It’s something I do anytime they attend one of my concerts. I can always spot them in a matter of seconds. Seeing them out in the hall gives me a sense of calm and pride and an added sense of motivation for the upcoming performance. I get excited to show off what I do since they played an integral role in getting me to where I am today.

This particular evening, while waiting for the concert to begin, I watched as they snuck into Box N only to be kicked out a minute later by an usher. But they were not to be discouraged and soon were taking their seats at the back of another box, successfully snagging some prime seats. In their defense, because of a large video screen hanging over the stage, it was impossible for orchestra members playing at the back of the stage (i.e., me) to be seen by anyone sitting in the balconies. The concert included the Daphnis and Chloe Suites by Ravel performed along with visuals created by visual artist José Francisco Salgado.

It’s rare nowadays for my parents to be able to attend one of my performances so they were not going to sit with an obstructed view of the stage. But please don’t think sneaking into box seats is a problem that runs in the family (since I mentioned that I had done something similar in Blogstorm: $7 Box Seats).

This concert got me thinking about what it must be like for parents to watch their child’s talent grow from a tiny seed of possibility to a life of success as a performer – to go from feeling nervous and on-edge during their first recitals to being able to sit back and enjoy their playing when it hits a level never thought possible.

I never really thought about the pressure and responsibility parents must feel when they realize their child has a gift. How do you nurture that gift? How much do you push them and how involved do you get? Parents watch and listen as their child practices and prepares for bigger and bigger performances. Their first recital in a teacher’s home or lesson room turns into their first music competition, then their first solo recital, which can quickly turn into a live television debut on stage with a world-class orchestra at the mere age of 12. I spoke of beta-blockers a while back and how musicians use this nerve-abating drug from time to time, but how about offering some to the parents? Now that I think about it, I can’t imagine what it’s like to sit in the audience in that situation having no control over how your child performs. What if they have a memory slip? What if they trip on stage before reaching the front?

On a tour of Italy with the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra back in the summer of 1994, I performed Beethoven’s Emperor Piano Concerto in several of Italy’s biggest concert halls. Before one performance, I could see my dad pacing back and forth in my parent’s box (this one I’m sure they had tickets for). Even though I was a teenager and was growing more responsible for my own practice and preparation, I think my parents felt stressed and helpless since they were unable to make sure I was prepared and being diligent about my practicing while on tour (which I wasn’t).

Eventually, though, college rolls around and the inevitable distance between parent and offspring helps to separate the pair. The responsibility for success falls more squarely on the student’s shoulders. The parents (hopefully) can sit back and watch as their child turns into a professional. Eventually, they can probably start enjoying performances they attend rather than sitting and gripping the armrest like they’re on a turbulent flight through a thunderstorm.

A life in the arts, albeit challenging and frustrating at times, can afford one a very rich experience filled with travels to foreign places and time in the spotlight. As the musician, you hope that your accomplishments, the ability to perform and inspire, gives your parents the thanks they deserve for all of their time, effort and energy. Each goal achieved, new opportunity or audition success that you celebrate hopefully feels just as exhilarating to them.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo

A Body in Motion

2011-11-04T14:34:00.000-05:00

While checking in at the Drury Inn in St. Louis the other day, I looked around the lobby wondering why I felt like I had been there before. I knew I had never stayed at this hotel, but something was oddly familiar about my surroundings. The smell of stale popcorn in the makeshift lounge eventually helped jog my memory. As I reflected on the circumstances, I started to consider moments that have led up to where I am, career wise, today (besides smack dab in the middle of the Midwest).

Back up for a moment, if you would please…

I was due for a rare weekend off in Kansas City but at the last minute, I was offered some performance work in Chicago. Perfect timing! I could use this opportunity as an excuse to get back to the Windy City, visit family and meet face to face with my colleagues at SocialRaise (part of Duple Meter) during a critical time in the company’s growth. So this past Tuesday morning, I left Kansas City for the all-too familiar two-hour drive to Columbia, Missouri, for five hours of teaching. Afterwards, I swung by our “house in the Columbian countryside” to scoop up Alice and her luggage. She’ll spend the week playing in St. Louis so it worked out perfectly for me to drive her there on my way to Chicago. It was also a much-needed opportunity to spend a few hours together, have a dinner date and catch up.

Upon arrival in St. Louis, we walked into the lobby of the Drury Inn (which Alice affectionately calls the Dreary Inn). There, three years ago, I had met a friend for a post-audition consolation drink after my futile attempt to land a position at the St. Louis Symphony back in the winter of 2008 (detailed in my blog, Throwing Curve Balls with Lemons). It brought back some vivid memories from that confusing and frustrating time, when I felt like I was watching my dreams and aspirations as a musician vanish before my eyes.

Looking back on that moment, and at a time when I had essentially hit rock bottom, I thought of others that have led me to where I am today. When you make a major shift in your direction, there are always defining moments along the way that stand out vividly when you reflect, years later. Recalling those times made me question how satisfied I am today.

Tall drip with extra bandwidth…

Yesterday, in between different rehearsal and business obligations, I visited three Starbucks in Chicago and the surrounding suburbs to abuse free Internet and grab my free coffee promised if you bring in your Starbucks Coffee Beans bag purchased at a grocery store (which I collect, in case you feel like sending any along). I used the 30 or so minutes I had each time to write a company press release, return emails from an inbox that I’m happy to report is becoming busier each day, and write this drivel I call a blog.

The second Starbucks visit of the day, on the corner of North Avenue and Wells in Chicago’s Old Town neighborhood, was for a meeting with a co-worker at SocialRaise. This was the same person I met with back in February before I was even familiar with what an Internet technology company was.

Our meeting yesterday was productive. We laid out some plans for the next month and I noticed that I was starting to become fluent in this new language of the business and technology world. For instance, I now know that EOD means end of day, PR is a press release (or public relations) and Drupal is free, open source software available for anyone to use in developing websites and technology.

But I couldn’t help but think back to the first time I met this woman. I was merely following up on another job opportunity, and honestly, I was at the point where I stopped getting my hopes up only to have them even further deflated.

Blizzard event

Two days after the famous blizzard of February 2011, which left hundreds of people stranded in their cars on Lake Shore Drive, I pushed through piles of slush and snow, trying to keep my dress pants and shoes from getting ruined. I was meeting a woman who worked for SocialRaise and knew Alice. Knowing that I was looking for career opportunities, she asked Alice if I might be interested in working in technology. I jumped at the opportunity to meet someone who could potentially offer me a job, regardless of the line of work.

But there I was, a directionless drummer, not quite sure what I wanted to be doing, meeting with a person with an entirely different and impressive background. As we talked, she quipped, “I hope you didn’t wear the tie for me!” I lied and said of course not, it was for a meeting later that day, as I realized I was not dressed appropriately for a meeting with a tech exec.

I watched as she walked me through the company’s website and demos as well as sites they had created recently for new clients. Admittedly, I was overwhelmed. The combination of being inundated with new information and trying to make a good impression made me nervous, and I wasn’t sure this company could ever be a place where I’d feel I belonged. I would have a lot of adjustments to make and things to learn before becoming comfortable if I went this direction.

Moving forward

These moments, and others, were important crossroads in my career. It’s easy to talk about doing something different, but when you are actually staring that major life change directly in the eyes, you feel a little tug from behind– familiarity wants to grab you and pull you back to your comfort zone (and we all know how much I need my comfort zones). I felt this tug. It was strong. Actually talking to people in other walks of life really drove reality home for me.

While I haven’t quite lived what some may consider a “normal” life, my oddly carved out career in music was my own personal comfort zone –I knew what I was doing, what to expect and how to fit in. These meetings for potential job opportunities were with people coming from strange, foreign worlds. Jumping into any of these worlds would require a firm commitment from me in order to move forward. In these situations, I find it’s best to stop thinking and just jump in.

So my week in Chicago continues to be a great way to check in with everything new that I’m doing and gauge my level of satisfaction. I remember talking to my career advisor about my concerns with being productive when the time came for me to get going again. Sitting idle for so long caused me to be rather ineffective when it came to even the simplest of daily tasks (or writing this blog). But my advisor instilled a sense of confidence in me. I would rise to the challenge, she insisted. While I get more done in an hour now than I used to be able to accomplish in a day last year, I’m still working to get myself to a higher level of effectiveness. Standing in the hotel lobby in St. Louis, looking back at myself in another period of my life and with an entirely different mindset, helped me confirm that I’ve made some good choices and taken the right turns. Now that I’m in motion again, momentum is taking over.

Edited by Lauren L. Del Campo